She turned back to the files, moving faster now. Jake liked her mind. Show her a piece and she saw where it fit.
"Found something." She held up a ledger, the old-fashioned kind. "Double-entry bookkeeping, but there's a separate column that doesn't match anything in the official records. He was tracking two sets of numbers."
"Vance's money?"
"Has to be. These amounts line up with the wire transfers we already flagged."
She set the ledger aside, kept digging. A voice from the doorway made them both turn.
"You folks the ones asking about Ryan?"
Middle-aged man in a rumpled suit, the soft look of too many business lunches. He leaned against the doorframe, curious but not concerned.
Jake stepped forward, easy and open. "We're trying to help find him. His family's worried."
"Phil Brennan, office next door." He entered without being invited. "Ryan and I grabbed lunch sometimes. Nice guy. Distracted the last few weeks, though. I asked if everything was okay and he started talking about family stuff. Old memories coming up."
Emily moved beside Jake, matching his tone. Not a prosecutor. Someone who cared.
"Did Ryan ever mention where his family was from?" she asked. "Sometimes when people are struggling, they go back to places that meant something to them."
Phil's face shifted, recognition clicking into place. "Actually, yeah. He talked about it once. His dad had this old hunting cabin up near the Ocala Forest. Said it was the only place he ever felt peaceful." His expression warmed. "He was always saying he'd fix it up someday, retire there. Get away from everything."
"Did he mention where exactly?"
"Not the address. But he said it was near some town with a funny name. Umatilla maybe”?
"Thank you for your help, Phil."
"Hope you find him. He seemed like a good guy, you know? Didn't deserve whatever trouble found him."
Phil retreated to his own office. Emily waited until his footsteps faded down the hall. When she turned to Jake, he saw it in her face. The spark. The piece fitting into place.
"I know someone at the Lake County assessor's office," she said. "If there's property in the Costa family name, she can find it."
Jake looked at her. This woman who'd pulled a location out of a conversation that lasted forty-five seconds. Who'd read Phil's body language the instant he mentioned family, heard the opening, and stepped through it with a warmth that felt nothing like cross-examination and everything like genuine care. Who'd done it without being asked, without being coached, because she saw the play and ran it.
"What?" she said.
"Nothing."
"You're looking at me."
"I'm always looking at you." He said it simply. No performance. "Let's go find that cabin."
They gathered the evidence. The ledger, Emily's notes, the case file. Walking back through the lobby, Jake nodded at the receptionist, who waved with the warmth of a woman who felt included in the drama.
Outside, the afternoon heat hit like a wall. Florida in summer, the air thick enough to chew. Jake had the keys in his hand and was halfway to the Range Rover when he realized Emily had stopped walking.
She was standing on the sidewalk, bag over her shoulder, looking at him with an expression he hadn't seen before. Not the professional mask. Not the almost-smile. Not even the unguarded warmth he'd gotten in the car yesterday. This was different. An expression that looked, if he was reading it right, like fear.
"Em?"
"Three days." Her voice was controlled, but the control itself was the tell. The precision of someone holding everything in place by force. "I've known you for three days."
Jake pocketed the keys. Gave her his full attention.
"And in three days, I've ridden around Tampa in your car doing surveillance. I've eaten a sandwich that changed myunderstanding of bread. I've been assessed by a Greek woman who may or may not approve of me. I've found a lead on a missing federal witness by having a friendly conversation with a man who has no idea he was interviewed." She was listing, building a case the way she built every case. "And right now, I'm standing in a parking lot in Westshore, and I'm not thinking about the lead."
