“Is your sister your alibi again?” Emerson asked.
“Yeah.” He clicked on his phone. “I also have emails confirming my interviews and the thank you emails I sent after. Would those work as an alibi?”
“I’ll need to speak with someone who can verify you were there,” Emerson replied.
“If they think I’m in trouble, they won’t hire me.”
“I’ll be discreet,” Emerson explained. “Text me their contact info when you get home. I’ll cancel the BOLO, so you won’t get arrested, but do not leave town without telling me. If you hear back from a prospective employer, let me know.”
“No problem,” Parker replied.
“How long are you in town?” Emerson asked Debbie.
“I’m driving home tomorrow morning.”
She smiled at Debbie. “Congratulations on your new life. It takes a lot of courage to start over. I wish you the best.”
“Thank you,” Debbie replied. “I’m happy to be free.”
Emerson dropped cash on the table before sliding out of the booth.
Parker had alibis for Gloria Stanton and Claire-Marie. All three vics were the mark of the same killer. Emerson would call to verify his alibi, but her gut told her he wasn’t the killer.
One step forward, ten back.
Rather than leave, she took the stairs to L1. As she made her way through the crowd, she scanned for Casey Quinn. Even though it wasn’t his regular night, she was hoping for a break. With Parker no longer on her watch list, the photographer had become her primary suspect.
He wasn’t at the bar, or on the dance floor, so she decided to leave. She made her way to the back door, stepped outside, and stopped short. Stryker and three other men were exiting a black SUV. All four were dressed in tactical gear, night vision goggles in their hands.
What the hell?
In silence, they made their way toward the fire escape stairs. She followed. For large men, they were stealth. One by one, they started climbing. Stryker must have sensed someone watching. As he put his foot on the first metal step, he turned in her direction. He paused for a split-second, while surprise flashed in his eyes. Rather than come over to her, he climbed.
She watched in silent shock as they made their way to the third floor. At the top, Stryker must have said something because all four men looked in her direction. She didn’t wave, didn’t smile. She couldn’t make her legs move. Then, they disappeared inside. A few seconds later, her phone buzzed. She read his text.
“We need to talk.”
No shit.
Fire burned in her belly as she strode to her car. She did not know him, at all. Who was he, really? What was he doing? That sure as fuck didn’t look like he’d come from a game of laser tag or paint ball. Those men looked like they’d been on a SWAT mission.
His words, “I’m ruthless and vengeful”, crept back into her consciousness.
Her drive home was filled with questions, but no answers. Once at home, she opened a bottle of wine and poured herself a healthy glass. Sitting on her living room couch, she sipped while Pima batted around his silver tinfoil ball. When he dropped it on the sofa, she threw it. He flew off, ran after it, and pawed it around before capturing it in his mouth like prey, and returning it to her.
She had no idea how long she sat there, sipping her wine and throwing that tinfoil toy. Had Doug been around, she could have confided in him. He had kept all her secrets. But he was gone. She thought of Danielle and wondered how much she knew about her boss.
She trusted her best friend enough to tell her what she’d seen, but Danielle was consumed by grief and Emerson would never burden her.
Her phone rang. It was Stryker. Her heart did its normal flippy thing, but she was too angry to care. “Yes,” she answered.
“I’m out front. Can you let me in?”
Needing answers, she opened the front door. His hair was damp. She glared at him for a long second, turned on her heel, and walked into the kitchen. He shut the door and followed. As she refilled her wine glass, she asked, “Do you want a glass or something stronger?”
“Wine is fine.”
Pima came tearing into the room and over to Stryker. “He wouldn’t be that thrilled to see you if he’d seen what I saw.”
