designed to make a man’s palms itch to peel it away an inch at a time, to reveal the woman beneath. At least it would tempt a man who allowed himself to be distracted.
“I didn’t what?”
Her question jerked his attention back. Clearing his throat, he looked away. Picked up the coffee, although he’d already drank two of Darrell’s brew. “Nothing. I’m just waiting for the impound lot to get back to me. I left a message asking them to check the VIN of the car we saw get towed on the video last night.”
She turned away and approached her desk, her movements jerky. For the first time he noticed the tension in her muscles, in her stance. And she was gulping from her coffee as if it were a lifeline.
He hadn’t noticed it at first glance because his mind had been observing other things, but it was obvious now that she was armed. Shoulder holster, weak side. And he damned well would have noted if she’d carried before. He seemed to be hyperaware when it came to her.
Aware enough to recognized the woman was as jittery as he’d ever seen her. In which case, the coffee she’d stopped for didn’t seem to be doing a whole lot of good.
Before he could broach the subject, she said, “I called Randolph this morning. Wanted to see if he had had any contact with Emmons since he spoke to us yesterday morning. But he didn’t answer his cell.”
“He’ll probably call back.” His response was made absently. He was still focused more on what she wasn’t saying. And wondering what the hell had brought about such a change.
“Yeah. Probably.” The words lacked conviction. “I’ve also got a call into the courthouse. A clerk agreed to do a search for 1986 tax and property records for Tory’s. While I’m waiting, I thought I’d see if there were any online records of the fire that destroyed it.”
“Already looked. There’s nothing.”
She nodded, sipped again. “Then I’ll comb through the archives of the Inquirer and see what I can dig up. Surely the fire was deserving of a mention, even in that neighborhood.”
Nate’s desk phone jangled. He was still studying her speculatively when he answered it.
“A Mr. Emmons to see you, detective. He’s been escorted to interview four.”
He rose so swiftly he banged his knee on the desk as he dropped the phone back in its cradle simultaneously. Darrell’s call had firmly yanked his mind back to business.
“Showtime.” She’d risen when he had, looking quizzical. “Juicy finally decided he wanted to talk.”
The man in interview four looked to be about the same age as the stranger they’d encountered when leaving Juicy’s apartment yesterday. There the resemblance stopped. Juicy had about a foot on the other man, was tall and lean, and sported two half sleeves of tattoos. His short hair was heavily gelled. The jeans and T-shirt he wore were similar to the attire sported by the group on the stoop.
Emmons was lounging on the chair at the table in a studiedly casual pose. He spoke as soon as they opened the door. “You McGuire?” At Nate’s nod, he said, “I heard you was looking for me.” He spared only a quick appraising glance for Risa before returning his attention to Nate.
“Thanks for coming in.” When he and Risa were seated, he said, “I wanted to talk to you about your whereabouts on May seventeenth.”
The other man studied him. “What you think I did?”
“I have a witness that places you and another man in Wakeshead Park that morning.”
“Naw, I wasn’t there. I don’t like parks. And I don’t like mornings.” He included Risa in his grin. “I sleep all day. Like one of them vampires.”
“The photos of you and your friend were picked from a photo array,” Nate lied without compunction. He’d promised Crowley he’d avoid making Juicy think the other man had given him up. And then vowed to Morales he’d tread lightly so as to not screw up Vice’s plans for the dealer. “The woman seemed pretty certain.”
“There’s all sorts of research out there now saying how eyewitness accounts can’t be trusted. That’s how my last conviction got overturned. Witnesses said one thing at the trial,’nother at the appeal. Maybe you showed her only photos of me to pick from.” He leaned back, hooked an arm over the back of the chair. “I’m a chameleon. The kinda guy looks one way one time, ’nother way the next. That’s probably how your witness got it wrong. I