outfielders picks up the ball, then your team scores a run.”
Lynch nodded with approval. “Cool.”
“It’s been around since the ’seventies. It’s a lot of fun. I watch the championship games on ESPN sometimes.”
“Next time invite me over. We’ll make popcorn and I’ll watch with you.”
She was gazing speculatively at him as they continued to walk. What would it be like to hang out with Lynch in ordinary circumstances, away from the murder cases and life-or-death stakes that so frequently brought them together? Would they find themselves as drawn to each other in the course of a mundane, everyday life? Watching a ball game or a Netflix movie in front of her TV on a Saturday night?
It was difficult to imagine. But at this point in her life, it was difficult to imagine that with anyone. She might shy away from the ugliness that was an integral part of dealing with the cases the FBI brought to her, but she wasn’t certain if she could exist without the accompanying rush and sense of living on the edge.
Maybe she needed these cases more than she cared to admit, even to herself.
That was a depressing thought, and she dismissed it. Of course she could live without her FBI work. It was only a question of making the adjustment and a different mind-set. Which would probably not happen as long as she was around Lynch.
They walked through the empty club level until they found the field access ramp. A few yards later, they were on the grass field, gazing up at the empty stadium surrounding them.
“Kind of takes your breath away,” Lynch said.
Kendra heard the cracking of the bat even before she saw the two lines of players waiting their turn. The team was in the middle of batting practice drills in front of half a dozen people whom Kendra assumed to be journalists. A small camera crew was near the dugout interviewing the team’s star player, whom Kendra recognized only from his television deodorant commercials.
“Can I help you?”
Kendra and Lynch turned to see a stocky man with a distinctly annoyed expression. He’d probably dealt with one too many gate-crashing fans, Kendra thought.
Lynch flashed his ID. “We’re assisting the FBI in a murder investigation and we believe someone here can help us identify a suspect. I’m Adam Lynch, this is Kendra Michaels.”
If Lynch thought this would soften the guy’s attitude, he was wrong. If anything, the man looked even more pissed. “I’m Joe Beacham, bullpen coach. And we’re trying to get ready for a game.”
“Understood,” Kendra said. “We’ll try not to take too much of your time.” She pulled the Justin Hayes photo printout from her jacket. “Do you recognize him?”
The coach hardly glanced at it. “No. Are we done?”
“Look again,” Lynch said crisply; it was more an order than a request. “You go on the road with this team, don’t you?”
The coach nodded.
“Then you should recognize this man. Look at him.”
The coach took a few seconds to study the photo. “Okay. Maybe he looks familiar.”
“That’s progress,” Kendra said. “But we’ll need to run this by each and every one of your players until we get an ID. I’d recommend we start with your smartest and most observant guy or else it’s going to be a long morning.”
The coach whistled and crooked his finger at one of the players waiting for his turn at bat. “Ganz, get over here!”
“Oliver Ganz,” Lynch whispered to Kendra. “Damn good catcher.”
Ganz ran over and looked at Lynch and Kendra with a slight bit of wary trepidation, obviously wondering if he might be in trouble.
“Don’t worry,” the coach said. “This isn’t about one of your road groupies. They just got a picture they’re flashing around to see if any of us recognize the guy. You were celebrating a little less than the other guys here last night, so I thought I’d let you take a look first. Capiche?”
Ganz smiled. He was a handsome man, part Latino but with striking blue eyes. Kendra imagined he had quite a few road groupies trailing after him. “Sure, no prob. But you’re wrong about the celebrating, boss. I just did it in a different way.”
Kendra showed him the photo, and his face immediately lit up in recognition. “That’s Davey!”
“Davey,” Kendra repeated. “And you know him from where?”
“He was one of our road bodyguards last season.”
The coach cursed. “He’s right. That’s why he looked so familiar to me.”
Ganz shrugged. “I always liked those guys, especially Davey.”
The coach rolled his eyes. “That’s because he helped