“Tyson Brown. He was a bull rider until five months ago. Rumor has it he was having marital issues and disappeared. He matches the description given by the witness who was questioned about the murdered barrel racer. I’m staring at his picture on my computer. Eve and I are both convinced it’s the same man who attacked her.”
“And how did you come across this information? Deputy Hill and I spoke with the witness. She didn’t know the name of the man she saw. Claimed Dana never told her.”
“Eve and I walked around the rodeo a bit, and she noticed one of the vendors selling whittled pieces of wood.” He stopped to shoot her a small smile. Stumbling upon such an important piece of the puzzle was all because of her keen eye. “Some of the flowers he sold were similar to the ones left at her house, so we asked him a few questions. He gave us some information, and we traced it back to our man.”
“I’ll run this right away and see what pops,” Deputy Silver said. “I’ll be in touch,” she said before disconnecting.
Eve let out a long breath. “A part of me thought she’d be pissed for some reason. Like we were stepping on her toes.”
“She’s good at her job, which means she listens and acts when needed. She’ll let us know if the name leads them anywhere.”
“Until then…” Eve leaned over him and brought up another tab on his internet browser. “We keep digging.”
The slight touch of her skin against his arm set his nerve endings on fire. He stilled, his body tight and eager to have her so damn close. Lust clogged his throat, and he coughed to clear it. “And how do you propose we do that?”
She shot him a quick grin then returned her focus to the computer. “Social media. People tend to share way too much about themselves on there. We can hope Tyson Brown is one of them.”
Her fingers flew across the keyboard, and a list of people littered the screen.
“Popular name,” he said, scanning the photos for the right man. “There. That looks like him.”
She moved the cursor to the small picture and clicked, taking them to Tyson Brown’s profile page. “Says here he’s from Denver. He must have been back home when he ran into Dana.”
“Bring up his ‘about’ information,” Reid said. She did as he asked, and he scanned the data, shoving bits and pieces into his brain. “Doesn’t mention a wife. Either she carried through on her threats and left him or he never posted about his marriage.”
“My money’s on the former. Anyone who has no problem telling the world he was the beer pong champion of his graduating class as well as giving way too many details about where he shops isn’t going to shy away from talking about his life.”
Returning to the main profile page, she sat back in her seat but scooched forward just enough to keep her in his personal space.
He gritted his teeth against his automatic reaction to her nearness. This was ridiculous. He’d been in much more intimate situations with other women and he’d remained in control of his body and his emotions. The outpouring of need and longing pulsing through his veins made his head spin—gave him conflicting impulses to both jump in with two feet and stay far away from Eve.
“Nothing on here says anything about being in Cloud Valley,” she said, snapping him back to reality. “I hoped he’d have pictures or something so we could figure out where he’s spending his time or, hell, even where’s he’s staying.”
Reid leaned back in his chair. “That’s a good point.”
“What is?”
“He has to be sleeping somewhere. There aren’t many options for lodging in town, and most of the people working the rodeo are camping at the fairgrounds.”
“Now that the police have his name, I’m sure they’ll poke around for a credit card trail.”
He bobbed his head along with her words. “True, but that’s only if he’s actually paying for a hotel room.”
She frowned, her brow rippling with confusion. “What do you mean? We just said he has to be staying somewhere.”
“True,” he said. “But people are creatures of habit who tend to stick with what they know. What does Tyson Brown know?”
“The rodeo.”
“And where do they tend to sleep?”
“In trailers at the fairgrounds.” She swished her lips back and forth as if giving it considerable thought. “You think he has a trailer?”
He nodded. “Either that or camping gear. Something in the woods or tucked away where nobody sees him. Maybe he’s friends with the other rodeo workers—hell, my money is that he stuck close to keep an eye on Dana. Stalking. Planning. Executing. And now that she’s dead, he’d move on to where his attention is fixed.”
“He’s sticking close to me.”
She spoke with certainty, a statement rather than a question. Because like him, she was starting to understand who Tyson Brown was.
