Page 77 of The Deadly Shallows

“That’d be great.” His skin pricked, eager to confirm Tom was okay.

Felix opened the door. “Dang fool is asleep.” He shook his head and strode toward the chair as if he was about to ream Tom out. Instead, he froze in his tracks, his jaw slackening.

Just as Noah feared. The poor guy had been shot—once to the head, twice to center mass. Likely with a silencer. He highly doubted the booth was soundproof.

Felix stepped back. “I better call the ME to come get Tom . . . his . . . body.” He covered his shock with a cough.

“Actually, I’ll call up to our crime-scene investigator and have him process the scene before we hand him over to Hadley.” Noah shifted his gaze to the monitors—black fuzz with intermittent flakes of white snow. “Looks like we got nothing.”

“We have a backup storage device,” Felix said. “If they didn’t take it, you should still be able to access the footage.”

When Logan finished the sketch of the man posing as a nurse, he turned it to face Brooke.

“How’s this?” he asked.

Anxiety sucked the air from her lungs, realizing she was staring into the eyes of her torturer.

Noah entered her room wearing a fresh pair of gray Mickey Mouse lounge pants.

She smiled. “The kids?” she asked.

“Owen chose them.”

His nephew was everything mouse, Mickey in particular.

“They suit you.” Logan smothered a chuckle.

“How’d it go?” Noah asked, moving to her side.

“Hopefully, it’s helpful.” She shrugged.

“She did great,” Logan said, holding up the sketch. “I’ll start running his description and face through the database.”

“I pray you find a hit,” she said. But the way things were going, she wasn’t betting on it.

“Brooke?” Emmy said in a rush as she rounded the corner, dressed in a gorgeous, flowing deep purple dress and matching pumps.

“Em,” Brooke said. “You look . . .”

“Ravishing,” Logan said, then quickly clamped his mouth.

All eyes fixed on him.

“I just meant . . . that . . . that she looks . . . nice.”

Brooke narrowed her gaze. Logan fumbling for words? That was a first. And was that a flush on his typically fair cheeks?

“Thanks,” Em said, not paying the compliment much mind.

Brooke didn’t blame her. Logan was a flirt, often playfully with Emmy, but never in a disrespectful way. Though . . . he hadn’t been bragging on the number of dates he had of late, at least not when Brooke was around. Come to think of it, she didn’t remember him mentioning a date at all for months.

“I heard what happened and wanted to make sure you’re all right,” Em said, moving toward Brooke’s side where Logan sat.

He stood and gestured to the seat.

“Thanks,” she said, taking a seat and crossing her legs, her silk dress shifting to reveal a modest slit up her calf.

Logan’s gaze filled with something akin to tender affection. She knew he cared about Emmy, but had it become more? She shook off the thought and focused on sweet Emmy coming to make sure she was okay.