Touch of Red (Tracers #12)(57)

Sean looked at Callie. “I hate being right about this shit.”

The doctor gave him a disapproving look as she pulled a phone from the pocket of her lab coat. “The prints are in.” She read a message. “Jasmine Michelle Jones, twenty-two, of San Marcos.” She glanced up. “Right again, Detective.”

? ? ?

Their next stop was the Burr County Administrative Center, which housed an array of offices, including Child Protective Services. Once again, Callie pulled her car into a space beside Sean’s truck, and they trudged across the parking lot together.

She cast a sideways glance at him. His eyes were bloodshot, he needed a shave, and his shoulders looked tense under his black leather jacket.

“So, this thing with Brooke,” she said, earning another glare. “I’m guessing it didn’t go well?”

“No comment.”

“Well, can I make a comment?”

“What happens if I say no?”

She pursed her lips, trying to think of a response that would get her what she wanted, which was information.

“What the hell, make your comment.”

“She’s probably gun-shy.”

He just looked at her.

“I mean, isn’t she getting out of a long-term thing? And it didn’t end well, obviously, so can you blame her for not wanting to dive right into something new? It probably has nothing to do with you.”

He made a grunting noise.

“That’s it? Your response is a grunt?”

He sent her a cranky look. “My response is that this is an interesting insight coming from you. What happened to ‘ask her out’ and ‘the weekend is young’?”

“Well, did you?”

“Yes.”

“And did it go okay?”

“She’s dodging me.”

What did that mean, exactly? Men were so hard to read. Was she dodging his calls? His visits? Or was it more of a conversational dodge, like she didn’t want to define the relationship? Callie wasn’t usually this meddlesome, but she liked Sean and she wanted to help him with his love life, because he was so obviously botching it up.

“So, what’s your plan now?” she asked as they reached the building.

“To keep trying.”

The determination in his voice made her smile. “You really like her, don’t you?”

He pulled open the door and held it for some people exiting, ignoring Callie’s question and essentially ending the conversation.

They stepped into the lobby. The place was dated and dingy and smelled like industrial cleaner. Callie looked around for a directory.

“There she is.” Sean strode ahead. “Farrah,” he called.

The woman turned around. She was tall and rail thin, with curly blond hair that she wore loose around her shoulders. She looked surprised to see Sean. Then the surprise gave way to impatience as she glanced at her watch.

“This is Detective Callie McLean,” Sean said to her. “Callie, this is Farrah Saunders.”

The woman gave Callie a wary look before turning her attention back to Sean. “I’ve been in court all morning. I haven’t had time to go through that file yet.”

“We’re here about Jasmine Jones,” Sean said.

“Jasmine Jones.”

“That’s right. I saw you talking to her at Samantha Bonner’s funeral. You know her?”

“Yes. Why?”

“In what capacity?”

Farrah’s brow furrowed with confusion. “I thought you were here about Sam?”

“And Jasmine,” Sean said. “She was found dead this morning.”

Farrah blanched. “You mean—”

“She was murdered. We believe her death might be related to Samantha Bonner’s.”

The woman’s jaw dropped and for a moment she simply stood there. Then she seemed to get her bearings. She glanced around the lobby. “Come back to my office.”

Farrah led them through a glass door and then through a corridor lined with gray cubicles. It was midafternoon, and most people were at their desks, either tapping on keyboards or talking on the phone. She stopped at a door and ushered them into a small private office.

The two guest chairs were stacked with binders and files, but Farrah seemed oblivious as she walked behind her desk and sank into a chair.

“I don’t know what . . .” She looked at Sean. “Are you sure it’s Jasmine? I just saw her on Saturday.”

Sean and Callie moved the binders and files to the floor and took seats.

“I’m sure,” Sean said. “They made a positive ID with fingerprints at autopsy.”

Farrah blanched again at the word autopsy.

Callie watched her, picking up everything she could about the reaction. Somehow Farrah Saunders was a link between two young women who had been murdered over the last five days. They weren’t sure what the link was, but Sean intended to lead the questioning, while Callie was here to observe and form impressions.

First impression? This woman was shocked by the news. Callie had interviewed plenty of witnesses, and Farrah’s reaction seemed genuine.

“Was Jasmine one of your cases?” Sean asked the social worker.

She shook her head distractedly. “Clients, not cases. And, yes, she was.”