Being a sniper was one thing, being a vigilante something altogether different. She shuddered in a breath as they rode the elevator to Rebel’s condo.
It was three-forty in the morning when they got back.
Though he hadn’t spoken a single word on the drive back, she couldn’t miss the anger billowing off him in waves.
At the kitchen island, he opened his laptop, started typing.
While her tea heated in the microwave, she said, “I know you’re going after him.”
“I should never have dragged you?—”
“I’m sorry they wouldn’t give up his first name, but we’ll find him. You’ll never have peace until you do.”
“This isn’t a good way to start a life together.”
Whoa.
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“We should be dating. Dinner, movies?—”
“That’s never really been my style.” With her mug in hand, she eased onto a stool beside him. “Whatcha doing?”
“I’m searching the national criminal database for anyone named Whitaker with a record.”
“And if he doesn’t have priors?” She sipped the hot drink.
“I’ll run a general search,” he replied.
She opened her laptop, jumped onto ALPHA’s secure site, and ran a search for anyone named Whitaker in the US.
“About tonight,” she said, while the data compiled. “Your condo building has security cameras. They show us leaving and returning.”
“You sat in the back.” He paused. “And the cameras were off.”
“How?”
“Hawk Security operates the building surveillance.”
“Oh, boy, you’ve got an accomplice,” she murmured.
While they waited for the reports to generate, her thoughts were pinging from the Hurly brothers to Rebel’s hunt for a man named Whitaker—if that was even his real name.
Her results were in. There were almost sixty-thousand people with the surname Whitaker. She narrowed the search to men between the ages of thirty and sixty in the DMV.
The result: Thirty-four hundred.
She didn’t want to tell him the bad news, but he needed to know the challenge facing him.
“I ran a report on the name Whitaker.” She slid her laptop toward him.
After he read the results, he said, “Fuck. That’s too many.” He squared his shoulders. “I’m still not giving up.”
His program finished running. The search had yielded results. After Rebel narrowed the results to the DMV, there were three men named Whitaker with a criminal history.
One was in prison, the second had been dead for fifteen years, and the third had been arrested for domestic violence, but the charges had been dropped.
“Dammit,” he said.
