She was here, a cop killer, and this might be his best chance to catch her.
“We’ll keep looking,” he said.
Damon looked relieved, as if he’d expected Finn to declare the mission impossible and call it off. If this woman killed Peltier, she and Damon could be reunited in death, and maybe a lesser man would want that, but Finn could tell it hadn’t entered Damon’s mind. His life ended early; he’d never wish the same on the woman he loved.
“Wherever Bobby is, she’ll eventually pop out for a look around.”
THEY SEARCHED FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES MORE. Finn called the cell phone twice, with no answer. As they rounded a corn dog stand, Finn reached for Damon’s arm. Two teens turned to gawk at the guy clawing the air.
“You really need to stop doing that,” Damon said. “What’s up?”
“That girl over there.”
Finn started to point, then stopped himself and turned the gesture into an awkward chin-scratch while jerking his thumb toward his target, getting more stares than he had by pointing.
“Man, we need to work on your subtle communication skills,” Damon said. “You mean the girl in the cowboy hat? Yeah, it’s damned ugly.”
Finn lifted his cell phone, pretending to talk into it. “To my left, outside the fence. Light hair, yellow T-shirt . . .”
Damon squinted at the girl, then strode over, through people, through the fence, stood in front of her and yelled back, “This girl?”
Finn nodded. The girl—woman, he supposed he should say—was on the other side of the fence, walking toward the fair, coming out of a field beyond. Her strides were short and choppy, as if she didn’t really want to be heading in this direction, but had no choice. Her scowl seconded that.
Damon strode back. “She doesn’t look like the type to try sneaking in without paying, but if you want to alert security . . .”
“Do you recognize her?”
Damon looked back at the girl, now marching along the fence line. “Should I?”
“From the photo. The one on Robyn’s phone.”
“Uh, no, Finn. Sure, they’re both blond and about the same age, but that is not the girl in the dress—”
“I meant the one behind her. In the photo.”
“There was a girl behind the one in the dress?”
“A couple. An older man and her.” He jerked his chin toward the girl, still marching, still scowling, still searching for a way back in.
“Shit. Guess I’m not quite the sleuth I thought I was. I honestly never noticed anyone else. But if you think that’s her . . .”
He didn’t think; he knew.
“And you think it can’t be a coincidence she’s here,” Damon continued.
Again, Finn knew it. “Look where she is. You said yourself she doesn’t look like the sort to sneak in. And if she is, she’s picked a hell of a spot. Everyone can see her. Besides, she’s wearing an admission band.”
“Wearing . . . ? Damn. Missed that, too. I’m striking out tonight. What’s she doing, then?”
“Or who is she looking for?”
Damon didn’t seem to hear Finn, having already figured it out and started moving toward her, cutting through the crowds the way only a ghost could.
She was maybe twenty, average height and skinny with dark blond hair cut to her shoulders. With her mousy hair, long face and sallow complexion, she was the sort of girl you expected to see at a state college, walking alone, avoiding eye contact, books clutched to her chest.
She wasn’t avoiding eye contact now. Her mouth was set in a hard line. As she found a gap where she could squeeze through the fence, she shot the onlookers a scowl that dared them to comment. At least a dozen people watched her, not one saying a word, all presuming if she was doing it so openly, she was allowed to.
Finn placed a call to dispatch, giving the girl’s description and requesting immediate backup. “Immediate,” though, wasn’t going to be fast enough.
He intercepted her. “Miss?”
That glower swung up at him. He saw a flicker of something blander, as if she was trying to force a more polite expression for him. After a moment, she gave up.
“Yes?”
Finn flashed his badge, too quick for her to read it, hoping for a reaction without pushing her to panic. But her expression didn’t change.
“Security? Fine, I’m not supposed to come in there. But I’ve paid, see?” She waved her wrist.
“This isn’t about whether you’ve paid—” He held up his badge. She made no move to read it, her gaze already moving on, scanning the crowd.
“I’m