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Emmett waited a beat. “All the time?”
“Twenty-four-seven.” Blake’s mouth gaped wide with a yawn.
His team leader gave him an assessing glance. “What time did you go to bed last night?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Why?”
“You look like hell.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I’m serious.”
“Around midnight.” When Emmett stared, Blake changed it to, “Okay, one.” He thought back a moment. “Maybe one-thirty.”
The other man crossed his arms. “And what time were you up?”
He didn’t want to say, but he did. “Five-fifteen. But I’ve functioned on less.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Emmett’s dark gaze remained locked with his before sliding to the same monitor as before. His shoulders fell slightly with a deep sigh. “You find anything new?”
“No.” He closed the folder he’d been looking through and tossed it onto his desk. “I widened the search to include more aliases, financial records, and surveillance footage.”
“You lookin’ for anything specific?”
“A pattern.” Blake then clarified. “Or anything that could create one.”
“If you haven’t found a pattern by now, maybe that means he isn’t creating one.”
“Everyone creates a pattern.”
“Not everyone.”
He looked at Emmett. “Everyone. People leave traces wherever they go. They use phones. Credit cards. Wi-Fi. Toll roads and airports. Hell, they walk past someone taking a selfie and end up on social media, having no idea the camera captured them in the background.”
“A man like Billy Crawford would know all that.”
“Exactly.”
Emmett’s head tilted slightly. “This isn’t just about finding Crawford, is it?”
“Don’t.”
Blake knew where the man was headed.
“Devon’s safe.”
And there it is.
“Is she?” He sat up straighter.
“It’s been six months, and nothing more has happened. If Crawford wanted to go after her again, he would have by now.”
“You don’t know that.” Blake gave a slow shake of his head. “Maybe he wants to be sure our guard is down.”
