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Fear.
Fear that she’d been exposed.
He rationalized that he’d misread her. It was dark and it was a fleeting flash in her eyes. But even as he tried to tell himself that, he didn’t believe it.
Anna was up to something, and he was going to find out what it was.
The surveillance photos the agents had taken tonight were already in the system and as Jackson clicked through them, he paused on the image of Ryley.
He didn’t look familiar, but Jackson didn’t expect him to. What was interesting, though, was the T-shirt he was wearing. Jackson enlarged the logo on the right chest and, sure enough, it was a Toronto Raptors T-shirt. Jackson mulled over that. It could mean nothing. Someone could’ve given him the T-shirt as a gift or a hand-me-down, otherwise Ryley was well-dressed, including a pair of limited-edition Nike Jordan’s that Jackson himself had tried to buy, but he hadn’t been able to get a pair before they were sold out.
Ryley didn’t seem like the kind of guy to wear something just because it was a gift or something else. He appeared to take pride in what he wore and how he styled his slightly longer on the top, swept-back hair.
Jackson grabbed a pad of paper and scribbled:Spent time in Toronto.
He had all the technology in the world in this FBI office, but writing things down helped him clear his head.
They’d used profiling in the serial-killer case to help unravel it, and Jackson wondered if it could be used here too.
He opened the file on Ryley and read through it in full.
Ryley Somerton was the owner of a local cleaning company that had grown substantially over the past three years and now had offices all over America.
Born and raised in Seattle. Moved to Missouri ten years ago.
One brother: Julian Somerton, also based in Missouri. Head of operations for the cleaning company.
Married, no children.
Income on last tax return: one million dollars.
Jackson raised his eyebrows as he looked over the figures. The first year the company barely broke even, and that trend had continued for a few years. Then the company made half a million, the next year it made one million, and then this past year three million.
It was impressive, Jackson thought, and then he wondered how much of that was drug money.
He looked through the file for anything that mentioned Toronto. But nothing was in the file at all.
Maybe Ryley had been on vacation, gone to a game, and decided to buy a T-shirt. Or he could’ve bought it online.
Jackson rubbed his eyes.
Maybe he was so desperate for a lead he was hyper-focused on irrelevant details.
He closed his scratchy eyes and took a deep breath.
God, reveal to me what I need to know.
ANNA
Anna cradled her cup of tea in her hands as she sat curled up on one end of the couch while Diaz paced back and forth across the living room floor.
“We’re going to start going to church,” he said.
Anna blinked. “What?” She must’ve heard him incorrectly.
Diaz nodded, like he was reassuring himself. “I’ve seen one of the agents at church before. We’re going to start going regularly. I want to see for myself who attends with him. We need to start files on every agent working this case, and this is a good way to glean some information,” he said, seeming pleased with himself.
That part Anna agreed with, but not the church part. She was not going to church—not for anyone.
