My fingers flying wildly over the keyboard nearly drowns out her faint reply, “No. That’s why I was so shocked by what I walked in on. Luca had never mentioned him, much less hung around with him before.”
The little vein in her neck works overtime as her eyes flicker. “He had a bomber jacket slung over his bed. It had the same emblem as Luca’s football team emblazoned on the back. He was either a part of Luca’s team or a member of their cheer squad—you couldn’t use the emblem unless you were on their team.”
I look at her as if she’s grown a second head. My nose wasn’t buried in a book my entire college career, but that seems a bit excessive.
Regan slaps my arm, her playfulness a welcome addition to our exchange. The tension was getting so muggy, sweat is beading my nape. “Cattle aren’t the only ones branded, Alex. If you didn’t have teenagers copying your style, you were in the wrong crowd.”
I wink, revealing I’m proud of the determination in her eyes before shifting my focus back to the task at hand.
A few keystrokes later, I ask, “This emblem?”
I have a picture of Luca and Regan up on the screen. Luca is wearing a red bomber jacket, and Rae is tucked under his arm, wearing his jersey number on her cheek with paint.
When she nods, barely holding in the tears filling her eyes, I yank her cellphone out of my pocket. She watches me curiously when I snap a photo of the emblem.
Happy I have an unpixellated shot, I hand Regan back her laptop, then run a reverse image search on her phone. Within seconds, numerous matches pop up.
“Who needs facial recognition software when you have Google?” I’m smiling, blind to the fact I’m dropping hints left, right, and center on what I really do for a living.
I’m not looking forward to Regan discovering the truth, but the past four days has made my worry less obvious. She won’t be happy when she discovers who my target is, but I’ve dug my footholds into her deep enough, she’ll at least give me a chance to explain myself before she bolts.
“Do any of these men’s faces ring a bell?” My low tone indicates I’m more worried about losing her than I’m letting on.
She scans three pages of photos before frustration clutches her throat. “How many groupies did his team have?”
Failing to recognize her question is rhetorical, I scroll to the very bottom of the page. “Only fifty-eight pages to go.”
She groans. “Is there a quicker way? We’ll be here all night at this rate.”
“I can probably refine the search by adding hair and eye coloring.”
I do exactly that when she passes on the information I’m seeking. It narrows our list of suspects to thirty-eight pages. It’s still a long list, but not as bad as it was.
A few seconds later, Regan freezes as if a lightning bolt sparked through her brain. “Can we narrow the demographics by adding a fraternity? I confronted Luca at the man’s frat house.”
Hope flares through my eyes as I nod. “I’ve never been overly good with this techie shit, but I learned a few things at the academy.”
There I go again with another little snippet of my real life. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear Regan swapped the water in my bottle for vodka. My lips have only been this loose once before: the night Dane and I got rip-roaring drunk after graduation. Waking up with my head in a bucket of vomit, my feet bare, and my body stripped of clothing ensured it was the last time I used alcohol to enhance my excitement. I doubt it will take more than a glass for me to tiptoe to Drunkville as I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol in over six years.
Within seconds, the list of candidates has significantly narrowed. Only twenty-three men remain.
“Stop. There,” Regan shouts, halting my scan of the photos mid-scroll.
I zoom in on the picture she is pointing to. She takes her time appraising it, wanting to ensure she has all her t’s crossed and i’s dotted. I understand her need to be sure. The message scribbled across her vanity was filled with hatred, but this isn’t an accusation she wants to throw out without due diligence.
Furthermore, Luca died years ago, so why would her stalker wait so long to seek his revenge? She did go a little off the radar after Luca’s death, but she was very much present in all aspects of his life before and after his death.
After tracking her finger down the man’s profound nose and extremely sharp jaw, Regan says, “That’s him.”
“Are you sure? Take another look just in case. We don’t want to start an investigation on an innocent man. Just an accusation like this can ruin a man’s credibility for years to come. . .”
I stop cautioning her when she points to the unnamed man’s dainty, feminine hands. The tick in my jaw ramps up as my nostrils flare. I remain quiet for several moments, sucking in enough oxygen my lungs stop demanding air, but not enough to weaken the red-hot anger heating my cheeks.
Two taps on a phone screen, and one screen shot later, I fire off a message to an unidentified number on Regan’s cell.
“Now what?” Regan asks when I toss her phone to her side and flop my back onto the bed we’re sitting on.
I rake my fingers through my hair as my eyes stray to the ceiling. “Now we do the one part of my job I hate more than anything.” I exhale deeply. “We wait.”
