Page 64 of Breathe Me In

“Holy shit.” I looked at Bree. “Look.” She moved around the desk and leaned down to see the screen better.

“Is that his . . . ?”

“Face.” I nodded excitedly. “He might know all the camera angles, but he sure didn’t account for his reflection on the coatroom door.”

“Okay.” She squared her shoulders and grinned at me. Her slight wince let me know she was still dealing with some tenderness from the accident. “Let’s get this son of a bitch.”

Chapter Twelve

Bree

“Timothy James Ford Jr.”—Cap read the results generated from the facial-recognition software over Brad’s shoulder—“age forty-two, originally from Florida. He also had two priors for stalking.”

“Last known address”—Brad pointed at the screen—“was three years ago. Waco, Texas.”

“Great.” I sank into the chair and rubbed the spot where the headache wouldn’t let up. “Maybe we need to bait him?”

Brad cracked his knuckles, and I peered over at him. “You’re kidding, right?” He sounded shocked. Both guys looked at me like I was crazy.

“Jeez.” I dropped my hand from my head. “It was just a suggestion.”

“All right.” Brad closed his eyes as he thought. “I’ll have the guys dig up as much as they can on this guy. Bree, you and I can start digging into the poison and where it’s being sold.”

“Payne, you and Adam search through any names that cross-reference with this asshole and tell me if anything comes up. We can’t assume that Ford is working alone.”

“Bree.” Cap held up a hand to get my attention. “How about we get you into the shooting range this week?”

No way. I took a moment to readjust my bag on the back of the chair as I considered my answer. I had my reasons for not liking guns, not the least of them was having my own turned on me. “I’m good, Cap.” I didn’t have to explain myself.

“In this line of work—”

“I know, but I’m all good.” I refused to make eye contact with Brad.

I gathered my things and spotted two empty coffee cups in the trash bin next to his desk.

“You were late,” Brad said, reading my thoughts, “and it turns out I actually do like your drink order.”

“You drank my coffee?” I pressed a hand to my chest.

“Yup, actually, I did. Better than tossing it down the sink.” He grinned evilly at me.

“You’re a monster,” I teased as I checked the time and saw it was just after 1 p.m. “No worries—we can always stop by and grab a replacement.”

Brad shook his head as he held the door open. “You have a problem, Bree. You know that, right?” We walked together toward bookings. It was the noisiest part of the station.

“Bradley,” a voice called, and we turned around. “This just came in.”

“Thanks, Hank.” Brad’s brows went up as he happily took the box from him. “You remember Bree Jaminson?”

“I sure do. Nice to see you again, Bree.” He clicked his scanner at the bar code on the package. “Well, I got a busy day. You enjoy that.” He gave a quick retreat and headed for the front door.

“All right”—I turned to Brad—“what’s in the box that’s got you so excited?” He looked like the Cheshire cat.

“Something to feed your addiction.”

“You bought a coffee maker?” I raised a brow. I was touched that he’d thought of me. Of course I had to give him a little shit for it. “You know it’s not just about the brew. It’s about the kind of coffee, the creamer, the sugar treat that goes with it.”

“Oh, trust me, I didn’t think it was that easy,” he joked and waved at me to follow. We headed for the lunchroom, and he put the box on the counter. “Okay, we’d better go. I’ll set this baby up later.”