Page 116 of Deep Tide

“Paint transfer. You know, with hit-and-runs? We get quite a few in here, usually involving a drunk driver who hits someone and then takes off. If the police get a suspect and bring the car in, we can typically find some trace paint from the victim’s vehicle.”

“Nothing near the steering column,” Ryan said, closing the door. He sat down by the front tire and shimmied underneath the car. Nicole admired his long body while he rooted around.

“Bingo.”

Her pulse jumped. “Bingo?”

“Yep.”

He shimmied out from beneath the car and held up his gloved hand. On his palm was a small black box.

Nicole’s stomach knotted. There it was, right there. Further proof that the hit man in the San Antonio murders had killed Amelia Albright, too.

“It was just, what, stuck under there?” She looked at Ryan.

He slid his goggles to his forehead. “It’s magnetic.” He flipped the box over in his palm. “See? Two strong magnets.”

“I can examine it for fingerprints,” Miranda said.

“Please.” Nicole gave Miranda a sharp look. Nothing against Ryan, but she wanted Miranda to do it. She did the best latent-print work Nicole had ever seen. The woman performed miracles.

“I’m happy to try,” Miranda said. “But don’t get too excited. There’s all that road grime.”

“This is just a protective case.” Ryan got to his feet and held out the black box. “The actual GPS device is inside this. So, maybe there could be prints on that.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Nicole said.

“Although whoever handled it could have worn gloves,” Miranda said.

“True. But if he was careless enough to leave the device on the vehicle, maybe he was careless enough to skip the gloves.”

“You never know. You might get lucky with this one.”

“So far, I haven’t had much luck with anything on this case,” Nicole said. “But it’s worth a try.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

It’s out again.”

Leyla looked up from the rose she was piping onto a cupcake as Rogelio slapped down an oven mitt.

“What’s out?” she asked.

“The fridge in front. It’s the compressor again.”

Leyla set down her piping bag and stepped to the door between the Windjammer kitchen and the Java Place. The café was bustling with afternoon customers. Their newest hire had her hands full at the register, and Rachel was busy unloading jugs of milk from the fridge.

Leyla strode over to help her. “How long has it been out?” she asked.

“No idea. I just noticed it.”

Leyla grabbed two gallon-size jugs in each hand. They felt cool, thank goodness. But the fridge was definitely warmer than it should have been.

She went into the kitchen and handed the jugs to Rogelio, who was already rearranging the big reach-in that, technically, was reserved for the hotel’s restaurant.

“Leyla.”

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