“We need to get information on all the criminals the Bureau is investigating and tail them. So when the killer strikes again, we’re already there.”
Sam picks up his plate. “It’s not bad, but how long will we do that? The killer has no timeline. And between the two of us, it’d be impossible to watch all of them all the time.”
“Not if I ask Nicholas to get his team involved.”
Sam thinks it over and shrugs. “You can try, but from what I know, his team isn’t that big either. And will his boss be willing to spend that many resources now that they’re already planning to change strategies?”
I narrow my eyes. “Why are you being so unhelpful with this?”
He blows out a breath. “You’re right. Sorry. Uh… I can keep an eye on them digitally?”
“Yes, see, that's helpful. Both murders happened inside the victims’ homes, so just getting coverage of cameras around their houses and doors should be enough. I’m seeing Nicholas today. I’ll get you the list.” I smile.
Sam doesn’t. “You do that,” he says before taking another bite of his sandwich, which does look a bit soggy.
“Hey, are you alright?” I ask because Sam not being excited about a new project isnotnormal.
“Of course, I am. I looked into Adrian’s files, by the way.”
I allow the topic change because, honestly, he knows how to do it so well that I can't fight it. “What did you find?”
“A big heap of nothing. It was all confidential case information. So, unless you’re looking to blackmail certainMrs. Miranda Jenine for the company money she used to fly her boytoy to Cabo, it’s a dead end.”
“Fuck.”
“I really think we should try his place again,” he suggests.
I get up, walking away without even entertaining the subject. “If there was nothing on his computer, there’s nothing to be found in his house. We’ll need to find a better way to get him to talk.”
“I can ask him for dinner?”
I turn to look at him. “At a public place?”
“A super public restaurant.”
“And you won’t go back to his place?” I fold my hands across my chest.
Sam suddenly gets too interested in his sandwich, peeling the bread to look at the stuffing. “Iknewthey added jalapeno. It was—”
“Sam? You’re not meeting him if you’re not coming straight home.” I feel like a mother from the seventies uttering those words.
Sam shoots me a mutinous look. “What if it’s just to sleep with him, though? ”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re either seeing him in public or not seeing him at all.”
“Ugh, fine.”
“And you’ll wear your tracker,” I warn.
Sam stands up and storms off inside. “Fine,” he whines over his shoulder.
“Don’t you walk away when I’m still talking.” Okay, yeah, that was too far. I shake my head.
Now that that's out of the way, we can get this investigation moving.
Chapter Fourteen
Cards on the Table, Crushed Hopes, and Cold Goodbyes
