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As I looked at Craig, I felt a heated flush take over me. He went over my head and called my captain to con his way down here. I was pissed, and I was sure the three men standing in front of me could see it. “You… you called my captain?”

“Now, calm down, baby,” Craig said calmly. “I know I agreed to stay home and out of the way, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized you could use my help. I know Oliver’s look, height, the way he walks, and his voice.” He stepped toward me and placed his good hand on my chest. “And you should know that of all people, I’d want that son of a bitch taken down, especially for what he did to Wynn and his parents.”

My shoulders eased slightly with his last words. I knew how upset he was when Oliver disappeared years ago, and he needed closure. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and tipped my head back. Deep down, I knew he was right. He knew a lot about Oliver Callahan. When I looked back down at him, the pleading in his eyes carried my anger away. I placed both hands on his shoulders. “Okay. I get it. But you need to keep out of sight. He knows what you look like, too. He may even think you’re dead.”

“Hey, that might be helpful if he sees me. The dead coming back to life to haunt the shit out of him,” he said with a smile. “I can only imagine the look on his face.” Anderson hummed in agreement.

Davis addressed me. “Let’s do this. Craig can be in the joint SFPD and FBI command post, out of the way. We have eyes and cameras everywhere, even more than the hotel’s security system. He can monitor the feeds and, if he sees these guys, he can point them out.” I nodded in agreement, which made Craig smile even wider.

“By the way, we have an FBI detail on Miss Orange County right now. They’re observing from a safe distance so as not to scare anyone off,” Anderson said.

“Thank you,” I replied. I turned to Craig. “Just be careful… and be safe. At least for me.”

“Aww,” Anderson said, giving me a wink.

“Shut it, Anderson,” I said with little weight behind it.

“We’ll take Craig to the command post. You should get back to your makeup stuff,” Davis said.

Before they walked away, I pulled Craig into my arms and gave him a kiss for luck, not caring what my captain or Anderson thought.

40

CRAIG

Captain Davis and Lieutenant Anderson accompanied me to the joint command post, where I was given a security badge and an entry keycard to the secured conference room.

I was told they had six agents on duty, with continued rotation. That was in addition to the SFPD special events unit, which had over forty police officers assigned to contestant escorting, venue foot patrols, and other duties in strategic areas of the hotel.

Before Davis left, I asked whether they planned additional officers on the night of the coronation. He said that because of the venue's size and the sold-out crowd that night; they planned to have almost one hundred extra officers on site.

The command post was impressive. It was stationed in a large conference room with a wall housing two dozen monitors. They could tap into the CCTV feeds from the hotel’s cameras as well as the police and FBI cameras. They provided me with a place to sit and a pair of headphones so I could hear the different audio channels. When I first put on the headset, I heard Sean’s voice, asking a unit where they were headed. He wasn’t in the command post, and I wondered where he was stationed.

“Uh, excuse me,” I said to the agent sitting in front of me. He turned and raised his brow as if to say, ‘Yes?’ “Where would Detective Sean Lopez be? I hear his voice, but he’s not in here.”

“Detective Lopez is in an SFPD surveillance van behind the hotel. The police wanted quick access to the hotel’s ballroom, where the pageant is taking place. They’re in communication with us in here.”

“Can I talk over this headset?”

“Unfortunately, no, because you’re a civilian and not part of the official security team. If you see something and need to tell someone, let us know, and we can relay it, or you can talk to them directly using this desk mic.” He pointed to the mounted wand mic a few feet over.

Disappointment washed over me, but I understood. I knew my role was to identify Oliver if he were unrecognizable. I thanked the agent and put the headset back on.

Two hours passed, and I was fighting to stay awake. Surveillance wasn’t the most exciting of tasks, but I’d done my share of stakeouts, and they could be just as monotonous. The images from the CCTV cameras rotated through the feed. They covered the guestroom hallways, the elevators, and the hotel entrances—at least the ones I was focused on. There was intermittent chatter on the comms, mainly for check-ins or shifts in rotation.

My attention was drawn to the larger monitor on the wall, which was zeroed in on the Ralston Ballroom’s stage. I recognized the pageant coach from Lake Tahoe, who was working with a redhead in athletic wear. Goosebumps ran up my arms, knowing he was one of the suspects.

After two and a half hours in the command post, drinking bottled water, my bladder screamed for attention. I asked one of the agents where the nearest men’s room was and was directed down the hall on the left, across from the conference rooms. I was careful to look out the doors and check the hallway before heading there. The only other person in the hallway was a hotel staffer vacuuming the ornate carpeting.

Looking around at the historic hotel’s architecture, I was impressed by how well maintained it was. I’d never been there before, but I knew some of its history. The original hotel was destroyed in the San Francisco fire, but it was rebuilt and opened in the early 1900s. Not only was it one of the city’s notable landmarks, but it was also listed in the National Register of Historic Places. A beauty of a hotel to host California’s most beautiful women.

Once I’d gotten to the men’s room and found it empty, I’d sidled up to the farthest urinal. Just as I was finishing, I heard the door open, and the clicking of leather-soled shoes echoed through the room. I kept my head down as I zipped up. Most men kept to themselves in public restrooms, never making eye contact with other occupants. The man who walked in stopped at the first urinal, and I heard him unzip. I was happy there were large dividers between the urinals.

I took a quick glance at the man, and thankfully, he didn’t meet my gaze. Suddenly, my heart pounded with anxiety. Standing there, taking care of business, was Sheriff Chet Landon in full uniform, staring straight ahead. No way was I going to linger, so I hurried past him and out the door, hoping he never got a look at me. I’d always been a stickler for hand-washing, but with only one good hand, the sanitizing station in the hall would have to suffice. Hell, if I was going to stand there and wash my hands with him in that restroom. I rushed back to the command post, swiped the keycard at the door, and immediately got an agent’s attention.

“I-I just saw Sheriff Landon in the men’s room. I need to talk to Detective Jones,” I said, almost panicking. My mind spun, and Jonesy was the only one that came to mind.

“The men’s room down the hall?” the agent asked.