I smirk, straightening away from the island. “Continue,” I say, trying to move the conversation away from ravishing.
He sweeps his hand out in a gesture to remind me that I’m the one who needs to continue.
“The perp was wearing a gray hoodie, faded jeans, and had a brown leather bracelet on his left wrist. He looked to be in his late twenties.”
“What else can you tell me about the perp?” His smile tells me he’s amused.
“What? I watchLaw and Order.”
He chuckles. “Anything you want to add?”
I stare at the stainless-steel refrigerator, trying to focus on what was said, and then it hits me.
“He told me his name,” I offer, turning back toward Nick.
His eyes fly to mine. “Why didn’t you lead with that?” His words aren’t harsh, but he’s surprised by this revelation.
I shrug. “I forgot.”
“Do you remember what he said?” Nick chews on his bottom lip, gaze trained on my face.
“Yes,” I say, raising my finger into the air. “Billy Garet.”
Something shifts in Nick’s expression, but I can’t read it. “Billy Garet?”
I nod tersely.
His eyes narrow before he turns on his toes and walks from the kitchen toward my formal dining room. I’m hot on his heels, wondering what he’s up to. He sits at the six-person table, pulling my laptop toward him.
“I remembered seeing this while I was searching the place,” he explains, eyes focused on the screen. “Is there a password for this?”
My cheeks heat, and I turn my head to avoid looking at Nick.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, leaning to the side as if to see my face more clearly.
“I’d rather not share. Scoot the thing over here, and I’ll enter it.”
His eyes narrow. “I’m not going to steal your internet. I have my own.”
My shoulders straighten and I meet his stare. Why do I care what he thinks of me? “Boobs fourteen. CapitalB.”
His lips form a thin line, but he thankfully doesn’t press for the story behind my less-than-appropriate password, choosing wisely to continue on with the task at hand. A few long minutes go by as he clicks through whatever he’s looking at, then he swings the computer toward me.
“This him?”
I take a couple steps toward the table, bending down to get agood look at the Mac. When I see the picture, a grin spreads across my face.
“That’s him,” I confirm.
Nick shakes his head. “That’s impossible, Alyssa.”
“I just told you that’s the guy. You win; it wasn’t a ghost. Go arrest him.”
“Listen, I worked his case until I was called off, and this isn’t your guy.”
My fists rest on my hips. “What are you talking about?”
Nick points to the text under the picture, and the smile of triumph drops off my face.
