Touch of Red (Tracers #12)(19)

The crazy thing was, she’d actually thought she loved him at one point. How had she been such a terrible judge of character?

Alex focused on the phone, swiping at the screen while Brooke got her emotions under control. She’d thought she’d put all this behind her, and now it was back again.

“You’ve got two options,” Alex said matter-of-factly, as though Brooke weren’t sitting there weeping. “Option one, remove the app.”

“Sounds like a no-brainer.”

“The problem with that option is that he’ll know that you know he put it there, which could prompt communication.” Alex paused. “When it comes to cases like this, where the guy is controlling and obsessive, where there’s any sort of stalking behavior, communication is what you want to avoid. It only feeds his delusion that you’re in a relationship together. He’s trying to get a reaction out of you, and you don’t want to give him one. You’re better off ignoring him.”

Brooke’s chest burned. “So, I’m just supposed to let him spy on me indefinitely?”

“I’m not saying that. Another option is to accidentally ‘lose’ your phone. Go paddleboarding and drop it in the lake or something.”

Brooke squeezed the bridge of her nose. “Damn it, I don’t have time for this! I’m working a homicide case.”

“If he thinks it was lost or stolen, then he won’t suspect you’ve figured him out when you switch to a new device.”

“I can’t afford a new device. Anyway, I like this one. I bought this phone less than a year ago, and I paid good money.”

Alex nodded. “Okay. I hear you. But I’ve seen this before. You’re essentially calling him out on what he did, and that might spark a confrontation. Are you willing to risk that?”

Brooke wrestled with the question. What was wrong with her? She used to be so decisive. He’d undermined her faith in her own decision making.

“It’s your call, Brooke. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do.” Alex gave her a calm, reassuring look, and Brooke had never been so grateful to have her for a friend.

Brooke stared down at the phone—her phone—and she felt a surge of fury.

“Remove it. I don’t care what he thinks. He can go screw himself.”





CHAPTER 7


“This could be a waste of time, you know.”

Sean glanced at Callie as she maneuvered the unmarked police unit through afternoon traffic.

“If she’s wrong about the kid witness,” Callie elaborated.

“She meaning Brooke.”

“That’s right. Or even if she’s right about the kid witness, but wrong about him being on that bike, then we’ve wasted most of the day.”

It was a fair point. They’d spent the better part of the day systematically working the list of locally registered vehicles that fit Brooke’s description. They were on number thirty-two of more than one hundred. In a homicide investigation, early days were critical, and Sean hoped to hell they hadn’t wasted one.

“It’s a solid theory,” he said. “Outside the box, but solid.”

“Solid but not provable. That’s my point.”

He looked at her. “Not provable yet. If it pans out, we might have ourselves an eyewitness.”

Callie stopped at a red light, and Sean checked out the gas station on the corner. No people with dark red pickups or SUVs gassing up or buying snacks.

“So, you have a thing for her?”

He looked at Callie.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Callie smiled. “I’ve worked with you for a year now.”

“And?”

“And I’m a detective. I detect things. Such as vibes between people.”

The light changed, and Sean looked out the window. Between people. So, Callie didn’t detect that this thing—whatever it was—was only one-sided. Sometimes Sean wondered. Brooke seemed guarded around him, immune to his efforts to get her to loosen up. It wasn’t a problem he usually had.

A lot of women had a thing for men in law enforcement, but not Brooke. She’d never seemed particularly impressed by Sean’s job, which made him all the more determined to impress her in other ways. Sean wanted to get to know her. He wanted to get past the cool and aloof attitude she showed the world.

“You take the Fifth, huh?” Callie turned onto a street. “Why am I not surprised.”

Sean gave her what he hoped was a neutral look and then read off the street number. “Should be up here on the left.”

Callie neared the house, and low and behold, a dark red F-150 was parked right in front. No need to sneak up the driveway and set off a bunch of dogs.

Callie rolled to a stop and Sean hopped out. He circled the vehicle, a late-nineties pickup with an extended cab. He noted a scratch in the paint where someone had keyed the driver’s-side door, but no dents. And no paint transfer, white or otherwise.

He returned to the car, frustrated. This process was tedious. They’d called every body shop in town this morning searching for the hit-and-run vehicle, but no one had seen it. That would have been too easy.

His phone buzzed as he slid back into the Taurus. “Byrne.”

“I’ve got something for you.”