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"I'm Colin," he said with a flash of a smile. The spark of interest in his light green eyes was noticeable. Upon second thought, she might have been mistaken. It was almost as if he found her attempt at distancing herself to be humorous. "And now I know who to go to if I ever need to know which restaurant has the best delivery people. Nothing is worse than opening up the bag only to find out that the fries are missing."
Brook hinted a slight accent. It almost sounded British.
He also hadn't taken her hint or walked into the elevator.
Colin Vogal didn't strike her as a man who would be obtuse.
"I'll have to think on that," Brook said, deciding to take a different tactic. Considering that she was carrying her purse and briefcase, the strain on her right shoulder wasn't pleasant. Add on that she was holding the elevator door open with her right hand, her muscles were in the middle of protesting. "I'm running a bit late, though. It was nice meeting you."
The way Colin continued to stare at her told her one thing—he had recognized her from the brief statement that she'd given to the press. Granted, he'd probably already known about her due to the other tenants and their propensity to gossip. Either way, he clearly wanted to keep their conversation going, and he was forcing her hand. She didn't want to come across as a bitch. She really didn't, but he was basically leaving her no choice.
Brook let go of her hold on the elevator.
"Have a good night, Colin."
"You, too, Brook."
She hated to turn her back on anyone, but she did so in order to walk to her front door. She'd taken off her gloves in the elevator, so all she had to do was pull out her keys, which she had in her coat pocket. While doing so, she'd listened carefully for any sound that indicated Colin hadn't gotten onto the elevator. The doors had finally closed, but that hadn't meant he'd been inside when they had sealed.
Not wanting anyone to witness her run her fingers over the top of her doorframe, she risked glancing behind her. There was no sign of Colin. Breathing a sigh of relief that she wouldn't be stuck in another awkward situation, she went ahead and checked to see if the strip of tape that she'd secured to the frame and door was still intact.
Finding it all in one piece, she removed it before slipping her key into its slot.
She'd learned that she could never be too careful when it came to Jacob.
Once inside, she quickly tossed her keys onto the entryway table that her father had made for her mother back in the day. She also abandoned her purse and briefcase near the door, because she'd need to take both with her when she left to head back to work.
Brook was never one to pause to take in her surroundings, but she allowed herself one minute.
Sixty seconds.
Surely that would be enough time to regain her equilibrium.
She'd already decided that she'd probably end her sessions with Dr. Swift. She hadn't been able to keep an appointment within these last two months due to all the changes in her life, which she'd handled just fine on her own.
Well, as best as anyone could in her situation.
Right?
Brook allowed the quiet of her own place to settle over her. Technically, it was her home, although she wasn't sure she ever truly had a home. The last time she'd ever felt like she truly belonged to a family had been before the age of ten. Even those precious memories had been tarnished in retrospect, and she would never get them back.
The salted caramel candle fragrance that was her favorite still hung in the air from the last time she'd burned the candles. When she opened her eyes, her gaze wasn't drawn to the large floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city. No, her focus was on the wall that served as her own whiteboard when it came to her brother.
It was good thing that she'd been overly busy getting the new company up and running. Otherwise, she might have lost a grip on what little sanity she had left.
She finally accepted what she hadn't wanted to believe—Jacob would have made an appearance had he still been in town. She'd noticed that the van hadn't been parked across the street. She highly doubted that it had anything to do with the incoming storm, either.
Special Agent Russ Houser had been denied the extension on the surveillance of her building. After two months of no leads, she had a suspicion that he might even be sent packing back to Boston. His field office probably wasn't too happy that he'd left his other cases to wither away. Not being monitored twenty-four-seven would be nice, but her picture was still floating around in the media. She'd seen a newspaper on an officer's desk. Her brief statement to the press had only given her a little breathing space, but they were still hovering at an uncomfortable distance.
While Brook would like nothing more than to put on some light jazz, pour herself a glass of cheap sparkling Moscato, and order a large pizza covered with pepperoni and mushrooms, she needed to change clothes and head back to the office. She'd missed something during the course of the day, which was exactly what the unsub had wanted her to do.
She'd been close.
Too close.
It was the reason that the unsub had gone to such extremes as to commit two murders in basically one day. The mistake was usually in the first kill, but she was now confident that it was different this time around. The unsub wouldn't have been able to take the dedicated amount of time that he was used to in planning his crimes.
As she went into her bedroom and changed her clothes for something a bit more comfortable, she mulled over every step that she'd taken in the past twelve hours, along with every piece of information that had been given to her by the team. She'd had to delegate tasks to them, such as Sylvie calling Brenda Snyder after their visit to assure her that they were doing everything possible for her middle son to Bit searching every security camera near Les Snyder's apartment for anyone familiar related to the case.
