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 calleddickstracted.
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 imagenow. 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 ifthiswas 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.
