Turning off the SUV, I grabbed my purse, and we headed for the deli. My footsteps slowed as two familiar figures approached, sandwiches in hand.
Bryan Daniels sent a warm smile in our direction. “Hey, Hallie. Luke.”
“Hi,” I greeted.
“You picking up sandwiches for lunch, too?” he asked.
“That’s what we were thinking. Any recommendations?” I could feel Reed’s eyes on me as he stood next to his partner, and I fought the urge to squirm.
“I’m a sucker for the club,” Daniels said. “Reed usually goes for pastrami.”
“It’s the best,” Reed said, his gaze still roaming. “You doing anything this weekend, Hallie?”
Luke moved closer to my side, ever the protector.
“We’ve got Drew’s birthday party, actually.” I’d never been happier for a busy excuse.
Daniels nodded. “All of us who are off duty will be there.” He gave me a sheepish smile. “Any gift ideas? I still haven’t gotten him anything.”
“I think anything video game or lacrosse related will be a winner.”
Daniels glanced at Luke. “What’s his favorite team?”
“University of Maryland. He’s ride or die for them,” Luke informed him.
Daniels grinned. “Maryland gear coming up. Thanks, guys. Enjoy your lunch.”
As we moved around them to get to the deli, Reed moved into my space, brushing his shoulder against mine. A shiver ran through me that I hurried to cover.
“That guy’s a tool,” Luke muttered.
I bit my bottom lip, not exactly disagreeing. “Is tool a curse?”
Luke laughed. “Not according to Merriam-Webster.”
I just shook my head. “Pays to be creative.”
It took over thirty minutes for us to work our way through the deli line—the downside of stopping during the lunch rush—but the sandwiches looked amazing, and we splurged on chips and brownies on top of it.
“I swear I could eat this in two minutes,” Luke groaned.
“I’m not far behind you,” I admitted.
I paused beside the SUV as a fluttering piece of paper caught my eye. Plucking it from beneath my windshield, everything in me froze. It was a detailed drawing. Not of a person or a landscape but an intricate gemstone. The same one that had been branded onto my hip.
40
LAWSON
Nashand I took in the wall littered with photos. Over fifteen women had gone missing in the last nine months. Twenty in the past five years. Twenty women who all resembled Hallie and the past victims in some respects. There was no way to know if the women were still alive or not. No way to know for sure if they were connected. But there were too many coincidences to ignore.
Nash shifted so he faced me, his gaze boring in. “Say something.”
“I don’t have anything constructive.”
“It doesn’t have to be constructive, Law. But you need to let it out. You bottle things up so tightly; I’m worried you’ll have a stroke.”
That muscle beneath my eye began to flutter. “They all look like Hallie.”
