Chapter 9
NINE
Nice to meet you. I'm the creeper
REED
My cell rings right as Andrews steers the car onto Oak Winds property.
“It’s Romero,” I announce before answering on speakerphone.
Drake Romero is one of nine other special agents on our task force. Hopefully, he has some news for us.
He jumps in without preamble. “We found doorbell cam footage of one of the perps from the Cocoa Beach job. Sending it to you now. Maybe your vic can confirm if it’s the same guy who hit her home. Unfortunately, it isn’t a clear enough shot for facial rec. I enhanced it, but it’s still shitty.”
Damn.
“We already left the Ross home. We’re about to interview the daughter over at Oak Winds.”
“She a gambler?” he asks, his tone amused.
“Nope. She’s a dealer, mostly blackjack.”
Same job as Lila.
I bite my tongue to keep from mentioning how this tidbit is sending up red flags, given my hunch that Lila’s involved with something sketchy. Now that one of her coworkers is connected to a victim in our case, my suspicions have multiplied.
After we left the Ross home a few minutes ago, Andrews said it’d be best to keep the Lila thing between the two of us—for now.
Andrews already got an earful from me about the man I chased through the casino last week—Elliot Riddick and how Lila refused to ID him. Even when confronted with the picture of him interacting with her ex-boyfriend, she played dumb.
I’ve been trained to follow my instincts, and they are firing cannons. As a practice, we share openly among the unit. Even hunches are worth throwing on the wall to see if they stick.
Yet I understood his caution against doing so in this instance. Even if it chaps my ass.
Given his constant badgering about my family, he knows my feelings about my adopted sister aren’t all roses and rainbows, which then spills over to Lila—her best friend and roommate. Accordingly, he’s worried it might sway my judgment and make me see connections where none exist.
His point is solid. I’ve got bias where Kenzie is concerned.
Not to mention the overall tumult in my gut regarding Lila.
I kept my toxic past with her out of what I told him. And you can bet your ass I didn’t mention that she gave me the slip the other night by grabbing my crotch. Getting distracted because of your dick isn’t a good look for an FBI agent.
Maybe it should be called dickstracted.
No doubt the way she fucks with my mind is likely to skew my judgment more so than my family issues already do. All the more reason to keep my distance from her.
And yet, I’m about to walk into her place of employment with my nosy ass partner in tow.
Fuck my life.
Romero’s harrumph sails through the speaker. “Maybe the daughter will recognize the perp. You should have the image now. It’s a still shot. Trust me, it’s the best view we got from the video footage. I sent it to Quantico to see if they can enhance it any further.”
I swipe my cell’s screen to check my inbox. “Got it. We’ll let you know. Anything else for us?”
“Not yet. But everyone’s just digging in. We’ve got some real shit files to comb through. Most of the agencies that did the initial investigations were out of their depth or simply didn’t care.”
“Same with our case. They didn’t even interview the daughter or the granddaughter, for fuck’s sake.”
Seriously, a home invasion where nothing is stolen and they didn’t talk to all the people who live there? That’s shoddy work. Don’t get me wrong; there are plenty of top-notch law enforcement agencies out there. However, some should stick to traffic stops.
As if to illustrate my point, Romero piles on. “McBride just called to tell me the PD didn’t run ballistics on the bullets found at his crime scene down south. They’re in an evidence locker, still waiting to be processed eight fucking days later.”
Andrews shakes his head, face crumpled comically. “Yikes.”
“That’s what budget cuts get you,” I joke sardonically.
Before ending the call, Romero adds, “Bianca and I are digging through digital files on all eight home invasions. I’ll keep you posted on what I find. Expect more soon.”
“Thanks, Drake.”
I end the call as we park. We flash our badges to the valet so they don’t get on our ass for taking a spot up front. My apprehension grows with each step through the casino. Not because I’ll be exposed to gambling, since exposure therapy has been effective.
My racing heart and growing boulder in my gut are because of one thing alone—Lila Kent.
I haven’t returned to the casino since the other night, too ashamed to see her again. Unfortunately, my job doesn’t give a fuck about my wounded pride. My best and only hope is that she’s off today.
As we advance past the shops lining the corridor, I open the photo Drake sent me. He was right. It’s a shitty angle. The fucker is shielding his face.
I flash my screen at Andrews as we navigate past the shops and the first bar. “Get a look at this.”
He adjusts his glasses and takes the phone. “Huh. He knew exactly where the camera was.” He clicks his tongue, adding, “Not that those cams are hidden. It’s sort of the point to let people know they’re being filmed.”
“Yeah. They’re good for fending off porch pirates.
Based on the graininess, this one must have been a knock-off version from Temu.
” Grabbing my phone back, I study the image closer.
Unfortunately, I don’t recognize the perp.
He could be Elliot Riddick or anyone else, frankly.
“With the camera placement, we can see the right side of the front yard, the walkway, and the entire porch. So if this was the best shot we got, the guy must have done some recon before the hit. Otherwise, his face would have been more exposed.”
Andrews nods. “Agree.”
“It wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment hit,” I surmise. “There was forethought. Wonder where the accomplice was when this was taken.”
As I slip my phone into my pocket, I scan the casino floor. My eyes immediately home in on the first pit of blackjack tables.
No sign of Lila. Thank fuck.
Oddly, I’m also a little disappointed. Something is undoubtedly wrong with me.
Andrews waves down a passing cocktail server. “Excuse me. Do you know where we can find a dealer named Dana Ross?”
The petite brunette eyes us carefully, glossy red lips pursing. “Who’s asking?”
Unable to prevent a glorious eye roll, I flash my badge. “FBI. We need to ask her a few questions. Don’t worry; she isn’t in trouble.”
Probably.
The server lowers her tray, leans closer, and whispers, “Is this about what happened to her mom?”
Looks like the gossip mill is alive and well at Oak Winds.
“Yep,” I answer.
Honestly, why hide it? It’s no secret that law enforcement is involved.
“Dana’s on baccarat today.” She points across the room with her chin. “She’s the blond at the far table.”
Andrews grins at her, lowering his head in a slight bow. “Thank you, ma’am.”
She flutters her gaze to me, looking me up and down. “Don’t I know you?” Her expression brightens with recognition. “Oh. Now I remember. The lurker from the bar. Welcome back, cutie.” And she winks. “Sorry, but Lila isn’t here.”
Without responding, I thunder toward the baccarat tables.
Suddenly, with the spryness of a man half his age, Andrews catches up in less than two steps. “Care to tell me what that was about?”
“Nope.”
“Interesting language she used. Paints a certain picture.”
“Drop it, Andrews.”
Naturally, he doesn’t drop it. Why start respecting my privacy now and break his perfect streak?
“I knew you came here periodically, but I thought you were pissing away your paycheck. Especially with all that bullshit you spew about only weak men having vices, which I assumed was projection.” He hums annoyingly.
“It’s not gambling, it’s . . . what did she call it?
Lurking in the bar. In a casino, no less. ”
I tune him out.
He stops needling me to whistle, low and slow. When that doesn’t make me crack, he tries again. “I guess you like paying triple the price for your drinks.” He leans close. “I’d like to acknowledge that I’m not pointing out that alcohol is a vice. For the record.”
“Noted.”
“Didn’t take you for a lush.”
“I’m not a big drinker.”
Growing exasperated, he grumbles, “Then why the hell do you hang out at a casino bar?”
In accordance with my time-honored tradition, I ignore him and pick up the pace.
The fucker stays lock step with me. “Perhaps you come to see your sister’s best friend. The server just mentioned her name.” He snaps like he’s trying to recall something. “Was it Layla?”
“Lila,” I fire back before I can stop myself.
His grin is so wide I can see it from the corner of my eye. “Ah, yes. Lila. Point her out to me before we leave. I’d love to talk to her.”
“No.”
“For the case,” he tacks on unconvincingly.
“Still no.”
He laughs, the sound grating like nails on a chalkboard.
Fortunately, I’m spared from further discussion by our arrival at Dana’s baccarat table.
She smiles brightly as we approach, motioning to all the open seats. Looks like she’s got a dead table, which works out nicely for us. “Hi, there. Must be my lucky day. Not one but two handsome high rollers. Have a seat. Minimum is only five dollars this morning. Do you need chips?”
After glancing at her name tag, I show her my badge. “We’re not here to play, Ms. Ross. I’m Special Agent Hayes, and this is Special Agent Andrews. We’re with the FBI and have a few questions for you.”
Her entire body stiffens like she took a cattle prod to the asshole.
Andrews, ever the tension-diffuser, uses a gentle tone.
“You aren’t in any trouble.” He takes a seat, smiling warmly at her.
“This is about the incident at your house. We just spoke with your mother, and she told us where to find you. It’s customary to interview family members when something like this happens. ”