Touch of Red (Tracers #12)(20)

Brooke’s voice dissolved his tension. He liked the sound of it. And he liked that she knew she didn’t need to identify herself.

“Lay it on me, and I hope it’s good.”

“I can narrow the list for you. Factoring in the wheelbase, we believe you’re looking for a pickup truck, not an SUV.”

Sean paused. “You went back and measured those tread marks. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you didn’t spend your first year as a CSI investigating motor-vehicle accidents for the sheriff’s office. I haven’t always had this cushy gig at Delphi.”

Cushy. Right. Sean knew what kind of hours she worked. With the exception of Wednesday night, Brooke was always one of the last to leave a crime scene. And she often went back for a second pass if the evidence she’d collected the first time didn’t yield any leads. Brooke was fiercely dedicated to her work, and Sean admired her for it.

And, yes, Callie was right. He had a thing for her.

“Thanks for the tip.” He wanted to ask Brooke what she was doing later, but he’d wait until he was alone.

“No problem. Call me if anything breaks, okay?”

“Same for you.” He ended the call and looked at Callie. “Pickup trucks only, not SUVs.”

“Go, Brooke. What’s that do to our workload?”

Sean scanned the list. “Cuts it in half.”

? ? ?

Brooke surveyed the storefronts. A dry cleaner, a nail salon, a doughnut shop. She had already tried the Dairy Queen on the corner and the convenience store across the street, but those had been dead ends. Her best bet was Sunrise Donuts.

Brooke had left work early to canvass Samantha Bonner’s neighborhood. Roland would lecture her if he knew what she was up to. This wasn’t her job. But Sean’s team was overwhelmed, and Brooke couldn’t let perfectly good leads go unpursued—not when a child’s safety was at risk.

She entered the shop and was immediately hit by the scent of fried sugar. She didn’t even like doughnuts, but her stomach growled in response.

A pimply-faced teen in a yellow apron stood behind the cash register. Beside him was a portly man who looked remarkably like the guy from the old Dunkin’ Donuts commercials. Time to make the doughnuts. He was loading a sheet of fresh, perfectly glazed pastries into the case.

“Are you the manager?” Brooke asked cheerfully.

“Yes.”

She flashed her official-looking Delphi Center ID badge. He glanced down, but didn’t study it closely.

“I’m looking for a neighborhood boy who may have been in here recently. Around ten years old? He rides a white bike and wears a blue Boston Red Sox cap.”

The manager fisted his hand on his hip. “What’s this about?”

She smiled. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say.”

“We get a lot of kids in here. Especially after school.” He glanced at the window, and Brooke followed his gaze. He did, indeed, have a number of young customers clustered around the metal picnic tables outside. They looked too old, though. One girl held a pink leash with a sleeping beagle on the end of it.

“It’s possible this boy might have had a dog with him?” Brooke looked at the manager.

“Sorry. Don’t know him.” He finished arranging pastries and looked at her. “You want to order something?”

“Uh . . . yes. A chocolate glazed. With sprinkles.”

He nodded at the kid behind the register and then shuffled into the back room.

“Anything else?” the teen asked.

“And a bottle of water, please.”

She glanced back at the outdoor tables. Not a single one of the customers there looked to be younger than fourteen.

“I know that kid you’re talking about.”

She turned around. “You do?”

“He comes in about once a week. Gets a dozen doughnut holes and always pays with quarters.”

She glanced at his name tag. Evan. “And do you know his name?”

“Nope.”

“Does he come in with a parent? Or maybe a sibling?”

“Nope.”

“Does he hang out with anyone else here?”

“No. Just shells out his quarters and takes off.”

Brooke’s heart was racing now. She couldn’t believe this. And she wanted to call Sean, but instead she calmly pulled out a ten and paid for her food.

“What’s he look like?”

The teen rubbed his chin. “Skinny little guy. Red hair. Freckles. And the white bike, like you said. When he’s on foot, sometimes he brings a little white dog with him.”

Her pulse jumped. “What kind of dog?”

“I don’t know. Think it’s a mutt.”

He handed back her change, and she dropped it into the tip jar.

“Want me to call you if I see him again?”

“Thank you, Evan.” Brooke took out her business card. “You read my mind.”

? ? ?

Sean was pulling out of the parking lot when he got a call from Ric.

“Get anything?” Sean asked.

“Nothing. What about you guys?”

“Struck out. Callie’s going to do some drive-bys tonight, a few houses where the vehicles weren’t there on our first pass.”