Page 6 of Chasing Wildflowers
Miles has been scouring the internet between working on our other cases, while I pick my way through his long, miserable list of towns.
Even with his computer skills and our combined investigative skills, this case has been dead end after dead end.
Picking up the file again, I flip through the witness statements, rereading them until the words blur. Every single one says the same thing: perfect couple, perfect life. Byron was good to her. She was lucky to have him.
Bullshit. When something smells too sweet, it’s usually hiding something rotten underneath.
The same question surfaces again. If she really just lost it one day and shot him in cold blood, how did she manage to stay hidden for five years? No, she planned this. A new identity isn’t cheap, and it takes time.
I pull out my phone and shoot Miles a text.
Jameson
Have you looked around the dark web for counterfitters near Los Angeles?
Miles
Seriously? Who is the computer genius here? Of course, I checked the Dark Web. It was the first thing I did. I found nothing.
Fucking smartass. He’s been that way since we were kids. Straight to the point and sarcastic as fuck. But loyal to a fault. I wouldn’t have made it without him.
Miles
Did you find her?
Jameson
Maybe. We need confirmation before we make a move. If she’s Ceciley, she’s smart, careful, and ready to run again.
I’m well aware I wasn’t hired to dig into the why. Just to find her, get paid, and move on. But I can’t get her out of my head, and not just because of the case.
I bite my lip, my mind drifting to the way her teeth sank into her own plush bottom lip. The way she tripped over her words, all flustered.
Fuck.
What is it about her?
I’ve been with beautiful women, plenty of them. None of them hit me like she did. She knocked the wind out of me.
She’s off limits. A possible target. She might even be a murderer.
With a muttered curse, I straighten and head for the bathroom. A cold shower might take the edge off, but it won’t erase the memory of her eyes.
Fear.
Lust.
Recognition.
One of those might get her caught. The other two might get me killed.
Three
Lane
I pull my tips from the jar sitting beside the outdated register and shove them into my purse, too lazy to count them out right now. My shoulders ache from the long shift. The faint smell of vodka still clings to my legs.
My co-worker Rodney leans against the bar, one leg crossed over the other, an easy smile on his lips. “You and Kam coming out tonight to listen to the band?”
