Mission: Without a Trace - Nicole Edwards Page 0,62

Cori recently. She said no.”

“What about the security cameras?” Reese asked, motioning toward the ceiling. “You have the footage from last night? Early this morning?”

The man’s expression changed. It was subtle.

“I can look.”

Interesting. Usually the answer to that would be yes or no, Reese figured. It was almost as though this guy didn’t expect to find footage. Coincidence?

“We’d appreciate it,” Brantley said, then motioned for Reese to head toward the elevators. “We’ll check with you on our way out.”

“Oh,” the man called out behind them. “There’s a detective up there now. APD, I think he said.”

Once again, Reese glanced at Brantley.

Brantley nodded. “Thanks.”

This time, as they made their way up to Cori’s apartment, Reese took it all in as Brantley led the way. Although they had the key, it wasn’t necessary because the door was unlocked. Out of courtesy, Brantley rapped his knuckles on it as he pushed it open.

“Can I help you?” a man greeted, approaching them slowly.

Interesting look for a detective, Reese thought. He was dressed in a pair of well-worn jeans, equally worn shitkickers, and a T-shirt that looked as though he’d slept in it. Of course, somehow he managed to pull the look off, probably because he was nicely built with the face of a model. Blond hair, midnight blue eyes, chiseled jaw. Despite the laid-back appearance, there was a look in his eyes that said he missed nothing. Perhaps this was a disguise, something meant to throw people off.

Brantley approached, held out his hand. “Brantley Walker. This is my partner, Reese Tavoularis. With the governor’s task force.”

The man’s gaze was steady, assessing. It moved over them both as though attempting to determine if they were telling the truth.

“And you are?” Brantley prompted.

“Sebastian Buchanan.” The man held up his detective shield.

“Came by earlier,” Brantley informed him, “but Reese wanted to have a second look. Mind if we take another look around?”

Detective Buchanan motioned around him. “Be my guest. I just got here. Haven’t started poking around yet.”

Reese left the two men to chat. He moved past them, pausing to take in the living room. A closer look this time. He wanted to view it from Corinne’s perspective, then as a cop might. Brantley and Detective Buchanan continued their conversation in the kitchen while he made his way through each room, peering in drawers, cabinets, looking at the washer and dryer tucked into a closet.

Like earlier, he came up with nothing. No cell phone, no lead as to whether she had come home or not.

He paused to check out the view through the door to the balcony, which they hadn’t bothered with during their earlier visit.

The blinds were encased in a glass frame that fastened to the door. He pushed the handle upward, opening the blinds so he could see out. He’d expected a small space, surprised to find that the outdoor patio was almost as large as the living room. Reese went to unlock the door, found it wasn’t locked, then looked down as he reached for the doorknob. Something flashed on the floor, caught by the light and the angle. He squatted to get a closer look, noticed an earring. Single teardrop diamond dangling from what reminded him of a fish hook.

Rather than pick it up, Reese pulled out his phone. He took a quick picture just to have it, then pulled up his Facebook app. The last thing he’d viewed had been Corinne Greenwood’s profile, which was exactly what he was looking for. Scrolling down her timeline, he found the images taken the night before. Most of them had been by her friends, who had tagged Corinne.

“Find something?” Detective Buchanan asked.

“She was wearin’ this last night,” Reese said, peering up at the man.

Footsteps sounded as Brantley joined him. Reese passed over his phone.

“Here,” the detective offered, handing over a small evidence bag.

Using the bag to pick it up, he sealed the earring inside and passed it back, taking the phone that was traded before opening the door.

“Have you been out here yet?” he asked Detective Buchanan.

“No.”

Reese nodded toward the door handle. “It wasn’t locked.”

Perhaps Corinne didn’t feel the need to lock her balcony door because of the location of her apartment. She was used to living in Coyote Ridge, where it still wasn’t necessary to lock your doors, so it was possible.

When he opened the door, Reese was hit with a gust of wind that made the lightweight curtains hanging from a rod overhead flap. Looked as though Corinne could shield a portion of