It was past ten when she took Cooper on his final walk, crated him, and fell into bed. As much as she needed sleep, she couldn’t erase the DVD images from her mind. Quietly, she got up and shoved the DVD into her computer. With earbuds jammed in her ears, she watched the images again.
The man shooting the video was also the one who’d held her face and tipped it up to the camera. He murmured something softly in the background, but it wasn’t loud enough for her to understand, even after she cranked up the volume. In the background she detected the sound of a guitar playing softly. Behind her image, the cream-colored curtains opened onto a clear night sky, and if she wasn’t mistaken, she could see the view from the big casino that overlooked New Orleans. By the fourth time through the images, she didn’t flinch when the man took her face in his hands and tipped her head back. She knew he wouldn’t do anything more to her. She knew the recording would run out and there’d be no video image of what had happened next.
By one in the morning, she shut off the computer. Four hours of sleep last night was manageable, but compound that with another short night and it would all soon catch up with her. She needed to stay sharp. Especially now that the Shark was coming for her.
She thought of taking this DVD to Agent Sharp, but it was one thing to give him five playing cards and another to hand over video evidence of a helpless Riley. God only knew how many investigators would gawk at it. But she couldn’t just sit on this evidence.
Thoughts skittered to Bowman and Shield, who’d been linked to this case for as long as she had. All she knew about Shield Security was what Bowman had told her, and that wasn’t saying much.
However, both men would do whatever it took to catch the Shark.
Bowman had also traced the dress found in Vicky Gilbert’s backpack to the posh Richmond hotel. Calling in a few favors, he soon found himself standing in the security office viewing twenty-plus monitors of the marble lobby.
“What days of footage do you want?” the young man asked.
“Pull last week.”
“You want the cameras in the lobby?”
“I’m interested in the cameras covering the dress shop.”
“We had a cop in here today asking the same question. What’s with the shop?”
He checked his own surprise. “Pull up the footage of the cop.”
A tap of several keys and he was watching Riley entering the dress shop, her hair loose around her shoulders. She moved with a straight-backed posture that telegraphed purpose. She’d barely spoken to the counter clerk when a thick-necked guy wearing a security jacket entered the store. Her tight expression was directed toward the security guard and conveyed annoyance. No doubt the guard had been dispatched to keep her on a short leash.
Bowman watched the security guard move to the front desk, where he stood staring at her ass as she left. He’d done some of that himself. But as he watched this guy ogle Riley, annoyance flared. “Send me copies of the last three weeks.”
Tapping keys clicked behind him and when he heard, “Mr. Bowman,” he turned to find the young guy holding out a flash drive for him. “I can’t send it to you without leaving a trail. No one is likely to notice this copy.”
Bowman pocketed the drive. “Thanks.”
The guy slid nervous hands into his pockets, chewing on his lip as he glanced toward the door. “This makes me even with Shield?”
“Yes, it does.”
Relief relaxed his shoulders. “Thanks.”
Bowman left the security office and made his way out the back service exit. In his SUV he started the engine, knowing full damn well that this video would not be admissible in a court of law. But he wasn’t worried about the court system anymore. He didn’t care about paperwork, or the right channels or procedure. This was about seeing justice done. No more playing by the rules.
Bowman drove back to his house, on the eastern edge of King George County. Away from the congestion near I-95, the strip malls, and the subdivisions, the rolling land was lush and green. The two-story white antebellum house had been built over 150 years ago at the dawn of the Civil War. There was a lone rocking chair on the wide front porch supported by thick round columns. Tall windows, flanking the wide front door, stretched from the porch floor to the ceiling. There was a huge oak tree towering to the right with long-reaching branches covering the roofline. The realtor who’d sold him the property said Union soldiers had been hung from that tree and their ghosts now haunted the house. The idea of a few ghosts appealed to him.
The last major renovation had been in the seventies, and now he was tackling the job of bringing it into the twenty-first century. During the long stakeouts when there had been a sleeping bag for a bed and MREs, he said when he finally settled he’d remodel an old house. Well, now he was about to put his money where his mouth was.
Tugging off his tie, he flipped on lights. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair in the kitchen. From the counter he grabbed a glass and a bottle of scotch. Filling three fingers’ worth, he sipped as he opened the laptop on the table.
A full moon hung over the fields, casting a soft glow. The night was always his favorite time, when the clatter of the day was silent and he could think uninterrupted. His wife had been a night owl, and she would often wait up for him. They’d laugh. Talk. Make love. This had been their time. He closed his eyes and tried to picture Karen. He was able to capture the soft outline of her face and the way her blond hair skimmed her shoulders, but he couldn’t see the smaller details of her features anymore. Time was stealing them bit by bit. He tried to concentrate on his late wife’s smile, but instead of seeing Karen, he saw Riley. No soft lines on her. No easy smiles. She was all gristle and grit. Karen had been easy to love. But not Riley. She would make any man in her life fight for every bit of ground.
The first time with Riley hadn’t been polite or tentative. In his motel room, he had turned her toward a bureau and shoved her hips toward him. He remembered how she glanced up, surprise flickering in her eyes as she stared back at him in the mirror. Then she smiled and unfastened the snap on her pants. He ran his hands over her smooth hips. A dozen sensations he’d thought dead forever had fired to life. He kissed her on the back of her neck, inhaling her scent as his hand cupped her breast and teased her nipple to a hard peak. She hissed in a breath and dropped her head back toward him, her long soft hair brushing his cheek. Hard and ready, he unzipped his pants, positioned himself at her moist entrance, and rubbed against her. She moaned. Unable to hold back anymore, he pushed into her.
She was tense, so tight, and for a moment didn’t move.
He raised his gaze to the mirror and met hers. “Are you okay?”
“It’s been a while.”