Touch of Red (Tracers #12)(65)

“Oh, wait!” She rushed back into the kitchen before he could object.

Sean checked his watch. He was so freaking late, Ric was going to kill him. And he still hadn’t told Brooke his news.

She reappeared with a can of Coke and a plastic baggie containing a grilled-cheese sandwich sliced diagonally in half. Sean’s heart squeezed.

“For your stakeout.”

“Thanks.” No one had ever given him homemade food for a stakeout before. And now he felt guilty for the rest of what he had to tell her.

“Listen, I talked to Kaitlyn Spence tonight. She agreed to bring Cameron in for a session with a forensic artist.”

Brooke stiffened. “When?”

“Tomorrow. After he finishes school and Kaitlyn gets off work at the coffee shop.”

The look in her eyes chilled.

“Reynolds pushed hard for this. I stalled him as long as I could, which is why this is happening late tomorrow. If we get lucky, we’ll catch a break before then and we won’t need him.”

Brooke pulled the door open. No touch, no kiss. Sean stepped out into the cold, wondering if he’d just undone all the progress he’d made with her.

“Be careful tonight,” she said crisply. “I hope you catch that break.”





CHAPTER 19


Callie parked in the shadow of a huge oak tree and looked up and down the street. She sent Sean a text to alert him before getting out of her SUV and trekking up the dark driveway where the minivan was parked.

The door slid open silently, but the interior light didn’t come on. Callie climbed inside. No heat. No radio. Only a soft snick as the automatic door eased shut.

“Damn, it’s an icebox in here.” Callie slid into the front passenger seat as Sean lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes. “Brought you some coffee.” She set a cardboard cup in the console.

He muttered a thanks.

Callie glanced around, expecting to see the typical heap of discarded food wrappers. But the van was fairly tidy. She looked at Sean, who seemed to be in a foul mood. Not that she could blame him. He had seven hours left on his shift, whereas she was on her way home to a warm apartment.

“So, what’s the lay of the land?” She noted the for sale sign in the front yard beside the driveway where Sean was parked. “Is this house vacant, or are the people out of town?”

“Vacant.” Sean lowered the binoculars. “Mahoney’s house is across the street and to the right.”

“That’s a pretty big lot.”

“A full acre. There’s a long driveway leading up to it, gated at the top. That’s the only way in or out by car. The gate’s been closed since he got home around seven thirty.”

“You’ve been here since seven thirty?”

“I got here after nine. Ric was here before that. Wife pulled in at five, probably coming from tennis, based on what she was wearing. No one’s been in or out since seven thirty.”

Callie stared at the two-story brick house with black shutters. It looked expensive but not ostentatious. An autumn wreath decorated the front door, and spotlights illuminated two giant oak trees in the yard.

“I did some checking,” Sean said. “No dark red Ford or black Chevy pickup registered to the judge or his wife.”

“Of course. That would be too easy.”

“Yep.”

“You really think he’s our guy?” She looked at him.

“Don’t know, but I plan to find out.” Sean lifted the binoculars again. “How’d it go at Delphi?”

“I dropped off Samantha’s computer.”

“You give Alex Lovell a heads-up?”

“Yes, and she wasn’t happy that we don’t have either of the victims’ phones.”

“She’ll work around it.”

“Also, I confirmed the forensic artist for four thirty tomorrow. That’s what you told Kaitlyn Spence, right?”

Sean didn’t respond.

“Right?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the problem?”

He rested the binocs on his lap and stared at the house. “Brooke thinks we should skip the artist.”

“Why?”

“She thinks the kid’s traumatized by the murder he probably witnessed and then yesterday’s shooting. She’s worried about him.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Honestly? No.” Sean looked at Callie, but she couldn’t read his expression in the dimness. “I met him at the hospital. He seems like a tough kid. I think he can handle it. It might even be good for him, like talking to a shrink. Could be cathartic.”

“Wow. That’s very evolved.”

“What?”

“Every cop I know hates shrinks and avoids them like a root canal.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes you can’t.”

She looked him over, remembering the department-mandated psych visits he’d had to go through following the shooting several months ago. Sean seemed to remember, too, and shifted in his seat to stretch out his leg. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Your leg bothering you?”

“No.”

“You don’t have to give me that crap, Sean. I won’t tell anyone.”