Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 78647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“Would you mind sending me that picture?” Shane said.
“Of course.”
Shane quickly supplied his phone number so that she could text it over to him.
“Did Mrs. Spring send that picture to you via text or email?” Quinn suddenly asked. His voice caused both of them to snap their heads up, reminding them he was still close by.
“Umm…email actually. She had it taken with her camera rather than her phone. She emailed it to me a few days later.”
“Would you mind giving me her old email address?” Shane asked.
“I…guess not…” Rose hesitated.
“I specialize in Internet security. I just want to make sure that it has been properly shut down for her husband,” Quinn said.
“Oh, that makes sense.” Rose nodded and texted Shane the email address after sending over the picture.
Shane had to fight back the urge to kiss Quinn for that quick excuse. He didn’t believe it to be the truth for a second, but it was enough to settle Rose’s concerns.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Rose asked.
“No, your information helps me a great deal.” Shane smoothly rose and extended his hand to the older woman, assisting her back to her feet. “If you can think of anything that you might wish to share, you have my card and my phone number. Please feel free to contact me.”
Rose wished them a good day and left the exhibit hall. Shane watched through the open doorway as she walked back toward the Tropical House on the opposite side of the Conservatory.
“Exactly how helpful was she?” Quinn asked as he came to stand next to Shane.
“No fucking clue,” he muttered. His shoulders slumped under the growing weight of his case. “We need to go back to the office, where I can make some notes and think. Between that new threat and Rose’s comments, maybe we can brainstorm some ideas. What about the email address?”
Quinn’s grin was hopeful. “It’s not the same one that I got from her husband, which is a good sign. That one had been shut down and wiped after her death. This one…maybe this one he didn’t know about. I need a little time to see if I can get into it.”
“Sounds like we’ve both got some work to get done.”
Quinn’s lips twisted. “And then maybe a little fun…?”
“Oh, so much dirty fun,” Shane agreed, his voice nearly a growl.
Chuckling, Quinn led the way back to the atrium. He paused in the center of the room and slowly turned around, taking in the massive overhead windows, the thick green forest in the Palm House, and the warm buttery tan marble floors.
Shane bumped Quinn’s shoulder with his arm. “Do you want to wander around for a bit?”
“Nah,” Quinn said, quickly shaking his head. “I’ll come back some other time. I want to get started on the new leads we’ve got.”
Shane wanted to say that it could wait a few minutes, but Quinn was already walking toward the front door. With a shrug, he pulled on his jacket and followed.
When they got outside and were walking back to his car, his stomach growled. Maybe heading out then was a good idea. They could snag some food on the way back to the office, eat, chat, and then dive back into work for a little while.
“You wanna grab—” Shane stopped midsentence as his eye caught on a small, slender figure standing at the top of the stairs leading down to Krohn on the opposite side of the street.
“What’s up?”
Shane gave a small jerk of his head toward the person. “Up there. He looks familiar.”
Quinn looked across the street, squinting slightly against the sun. “You sure it’s a guy?”
The person was wearing baggy pants and a bulky navy sweatshirt. A dark ball cap was pulled low and dark sunglasses blocked a large chunk of the person’s face. The person could just as easily be a man or a woman.
“No clue. The sweatshirt and ball cap just look familiar. You got your pictures of the protestors at Taft Theater on you?”
“Yeah.” Quinn reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. But before he could even bring up his photo gallery, the person darted away, running straight into the woods.
“Fuck!” Shane snarled.
He ran across the street, offering a wave to the car that just managed to slam on its brakes and slide to a tire-squealing stop just inches from him. He didn’t even look back at the driver or Quinn before he charged up the stone steps.
“Hey!” he shouted after the running figure. “I just want to talk!”
Of course, that didn’t slow the runner in the slightest, not that he really expected it to. It would have been nice. He’d worn his favorite pair of boots that day. Fuck, these things were not meant for running. The somewhat slick soles gave him zero traction on the grass. He was one slip from a broken leg or at least a total face-plant.