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I stuff my hands in my pocket and look up.
“No. He got away, and it was too dark for anyone to see the plate numbers.”
“Damn,” he mutters then looks at me earnestly. “So you don’t know who the person was after?”
“No.”
There’s no way I’d give this guy the answer even if I knew it.
We both turn and face my front yard where the deep ruts from the guy peeling out are. My phone creaks in my hand, and I have to force my fingers to loosen around it. My phone is my only connection to Mac right now.
“Did you hear?” he asks, leaning toward me.
“What?”
“They picked up a girl the night of the shooting a block over,” he whispers.
My eyes swing to him. His are dancing in excitement.
“What do you mean a girl was picked up?”
“I mean a girl was found wandering the streets, and she was picked up by the police. I heard it on my scanner.” I raise my brow, and he shrugs. “You know how everyone’s in everyone’s business around here and leaves their scanners on all night. Anyway, she was limping or something. Not wearing any shoes and her clothes were torn and dirty. They had an ambulance come out and everything.” His eyes narrow. “Hey, why don’t you know this already? I thought all you cop dudes kept each other in check with everything. Especially since it was in our neighborhood.”
I scowl and wonder the same thing.
“When was this?”
His eyebrows drop as he thinks for a moment. “It was a few hours after the gunshots.”
I keep back the growl that wants to slip free. I was at the department for hours yesterday. Why the fuck wasn’t I told about this? This is my neighborhood, and the courteous thing to do when something happens in a law enforcement officer’s neighborhood is to tell them.
My eyes catch on the footprints on the ground at my feet then slide over to the side of the house where the small prints are at the basement window.
“You said she was barefoot?”
“Yep.”
I rub the back of my head, feeling my headache coming back. Could she be the same person who’s been sneaking in my house? And if so, why? What was she doing in there?
Vibration against my leg has me scrambling for my phone in my pocket. When I look down and see Mom’s name on the screen and not fucking Mac’s, I scowl at the device and force back the snarl that wants to rip from my chest. I reject the call, jam the phone back in my pocket, and then turn to Jeremy.
“Have you seen anyone around here who doesn’t look familiar?” I ask.
“No. Not that I can think of.”
“No one looking suspicious or out of place?” I press.
He shakes his head. “No. Why?”
Instead of answering him, I tip my head back and close my eyes, frustration taking hold. There’s too much weird shit going on with not enough answers.
An engine has me lifting my head to see Tavers pulling into my driveway. I didn’t expect to see him today. Last night after my near meltdown, Captain forced me to take a few days off to get my head on straight, claiming my obsession with Aislin’s killer is fucking up my judgment. I wanted to tell him to fuck off, that he didn’t know what he was talking about, but I couldn’t. Not only because he was my boss, but because he did know what he was talking about. I know this shit’s fucking with my head. I know my need to finish this may be unhealthy, but I won’t stop until it’s done. I’ve let Aislin down once; I won’t do it again.
Without looking back at Jeremy, I leave him and meet Tavers at his truck just as he shuts the engine off and climbs out.
“What’re you doing here?” I ask.
He pets Betsy, who has run up to him with a wagging tail, and lifts his chin to the house, indicating he wants to go inside. I lead us to the back door since the front is still locked.
