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Ben peeks his head around the corner. “Why are you still here?”
“I’m just wrapping up a few things.”
This time, instead of leaving me alone, he pulls up a chair and sits across from me. “We have everything worked out for next week, which means there’s only one thing you could still be spending all this time working on—and obsessing over.
“There’s no trail. Nothing explains why she was targeted or attacked. Nothing connects the three men before this except the fact that they all have minor offenses on their records.”
“Have you talked to her?”
I roll my neck, but the aching tension doesn’t let up. “Last night, for a few minutes.”
“And you think you’re going to figure it out, sitting at this table, staring at that screen?”
“What else can I do? What if I interrupted before they got what they wanted? I can’t—” I turn my computer to face Ben.
“Beckett Cooper. Engaged to Elizabeth—”
“Yeah, you can skip that part. Libby said they broke up two months ago, but he hasn’t updated anything.”
Ben gives me one, long dramatic nod. “So, what am I looking for? Other than you creeping on her ex.”
“I don’t know, but Libby mentioned that she’s not close to that many people. I thought it might be connected to her job, but they wouldn’t hurt her to target someone else unless they were anticipating an emotional reaction. Pretty sure Libby’s sixty-year-old mother isn’t pissing anyone off to that extent.”
“And anyone creeping on him—present company excluded—would see they’re engaged.” His eyes dart up and down as he scans down the page. “Seems to have a lot of businesses.”
“Which requires a lot of capital. He wasn’t born into money. His father was a math professor. Mom didn’t work. But about seven years ago, he had enough profit from his accounting business to start a tap room. From there, he’s marketed himself as a business incubator. He’s in their local paper almost every week.”
“You don’t think Libby has put any of this together? She does run a police station.”
I throw up my hands. “I didn’t specifically bring it up, but—”
“But you’re going to sit here and obsess because you’re worried about her. You know what you could do?” He stands leaning over the corner of my desk and shuts the laptop. “You could take a little trek and do some exploration in person.”
“Very funny, Hulk.”
“I thought so. You obviously care about her.”
“You sound like Harper.”
“Okay, so two people who find you mildly tolerable are concerned for your well-being. You need to be focused when you leave next week—”
“I know.”
“You could be in Ohio by tomorrow afternoon.”
“I can’t just up and leave.”
Ben waggles his finger at me. “Already covered. No one will be expecting to see you until Wednesday. So, get your ass on a plane, Trekker. There’s only one way you’re going to find the answers you’re really looking for, so do something before you regret doing nothing.”
Chapter Thirteen
Libby
Spiegel scampers back across the living room and drops her ball at my feet. I swear she never tires, and even though I’m exhausted from work and the last week in general. I scoop up the ball and continue our game.
This week hasn’t been particularly work heavy. It’s the chasing thoughts in circles around a dead end that’s most exhausting. I’m still nowhere closer to identifying whoever hired the men in Georgia, nor are the police there, it seems.
Someone knocks and Spiegel forgets about the ball laying her ears back and letting out a deep bark.
