Touch of Red (Tracers #12)(22)
Not great, but passable. Sean would be in his work clothes most likely—a button-down shirt, with his sleeves rolled up because it was the end of the day. Or maybe he’d be wearing that black leather jacket he’d worn to her house the other night.
Who cared what he was wearing? This was beer with a friend. Same as last night, except it was Sean instead of her coworkers.
Brooke spotted him as she stepped through the door. He turned around on his stool the moment she walked in. Maybe it was that weird connection they had going.
Or maybe he’d simply seen her in the mirror behind the bar.
His gaze locked on her as she crossed the bar. Sure enough, he’d worn the leather jacket, and she felt a twinge of excitement as the sexiest man in the room zeroed in on her.
“Saved you a seat.”
She took the empty stool. “It’s crowded.”
“It’s Friday. Considered by many to be the start of the weekend.” He looked her over. “You changed.”
“I had a yoga class.”
Sean flagged the bartender, and she sauntered over with a flirty smile on her face. “Get y’all something?”
Sean nodded at Brooke.
“I’ll have a Guinness, please.”
“Make it two.”
The bartender left, and Brooke turned to Sean.
“Yoga and Guinness.” He smiled. “I like that.”
“Gotta feed your soul.”
“So”—his smile faded—“you want to tell me how this went down?”
“How what went down?”
“You finding our mystery witness.”
“I haven’t found him yet.”
“It’s only a matter of time now that we know where to look. What’d you do, canvass the neighborhood?”
“Not really.” Brooke shifted her gaze to the large Irish flag on the wall. Beneath it, in a row of cozy booths, couples were enjoying their drinks, and she felt a tug of envy.
She glanced back at Sean and shrugged. “Basically, I just did some poking around.”
Two beers appeared in front of them, cold dark brews with frothy heads. The bartender smiled. “Anything else, Blue?”
“We’re good, thanks.”
She winked and walked off.
“Blue?”
“She knows I’m a cop.”
Brooke managed not to roll her eyes.
Sean lifted his beer and clinked the glass against hers. “Here’s to you.”
“Why?”
“That was some decent work you did today.”
“Gee, thanks, Blue.”
“I’m serious. You took what sounded like a far-fetched theory and turned it into a real lead.” He leaned closer. “But next time, stick with the physical evidence. Leave the interviews to the detectives.”
The beer was cold and bitter and soothed the tension lingering in her chest. “You’re very territorial about this.”
“Not territorial. Protective.”
“Of the case?”
“Of you.” His bluntness startled her. “You shouldn’t be mixing with potential suspects. It isn’t protocol and it definitely isn’t safe.”
“I hardly think this kid is your suspect.”
“Yeah, but you don’t know how he fits in. Could be it’s his dad or his uncle or his older brother. We don’t know how all the players tie together. If this kid was in her house—”
“He was.”
“How do you know that?” His words had an edge now. “For all we know, this kid with the baseball cap got knocked off his bike the night of the murder, but has nothing to do with Samantha Bonner.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“I don’t believe anything yet. I’m still building a case theory.”
She looked at him for a long time, considering it.
The bar was loud and getting louder. It wasn’t the normal place to discuss a homicide investigation, or anything else of a macabre nature. But here they were.
He sipped his beer, watching her. “So, fill me in. What’s this description you got?”
She gave him a rundown of her conversation with the teen at the doughnut shop.
“You notice any cameras?”
“What, like security cams?”
He nodded.
“No. But I doubt there would be any. It’s a doughnut place, not a liquor store.”
“I’ll check.”
“Why?”
“Maybe they have this kid on tape.”
“If they do, you wouldn’t actually release that, would you?”
“Depends. Video footage can be one of the fastest ways to ID someone.”
“No video.” She put her hand over his. “Promise me, Sean.”
“I doubt we’d go that route, given the circumstances. We don’t want to put a target on his back.”
Brooke’s stomach knotted. “There might be a target there already if the killer knows there was a witness. And if that witness happens to be the same kid who was bumped off his bike—”
“A lot of ifs.”
Brooke couldn’t disagree. Yet she couldn’t shake the certainty that they were onto something. The fingerprints, the tire mark, the trashed bicycle. It all added up to a dangerous situation for this child, whoever he was.