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He blew out a shuddering breath. “No, there was a tattoo artist there. Couple months ago. Name’s Charlee.”

“Who am I speaking with?”

“Jay. Jay Mayard.”

“How are you affiliated with Kilroy Tattoo, Mr. Mayard?”

“I’m a customer of Charlee’s. Is she okay? Where is she?”

“One moment. I’m connecting you with Mr. Winslow.”

Click. A long pause.

He was vibrating out of his skin. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Easy, man.” Laz flanked him, almost touching him. Definitely hovering too goddamned close. Jay paced away to the far end of the bar.

Click.

“Jay Mayard?” The voice was deep, hushed.

“Yeah. Is this Nathan Winslow?”

“Speaking.”

“I’m looking for Charlee. There was a double homicide at her shop?”

“Where did you hear that name?”

Strange fucking question. “She gave it to me. I came in for some ink—”

“When was this?”

“Couple months ago. Where—”

“What day?”

“Uh…night after Independence Day.” He palmed his nape, tried to slow his breathing. “July fifth.” The line went deadly quiet. “Hello? Mr. Winslow?”

“Yeah…hang on a minute. I’m stepping onto an elevator. If we get disconnected, I’ll call you right back.”

A series of dings echoed down the line, followed by silence.

He wore a path on the hardwoods in front of the bar, sweat beading on his forehead.

Revving motors and car horns barreled through the phone, breaking the silence. “Jay? You still there?”

“Yeah. Where is Charlee?” The fever in his cheeks paled and flushed, and his chest tightened. He was not going to pass out.

“So you came into the shop on July fifth, and she told you her name was Charlee. Describe her.”

He ground his teeth. “White-blonde hair. Slender frame. Mouthy. Strangely perceptive. And eyes so blue you’d never fucking forget them. Now tell me, dammit. Tell me she wasn’t one of the victims.” His voice was raw.

“Your description matches that of Sarah Teves. She and her boyfriend were murdered in Kilroy around two in the morning on July sixth. I’m sorry. I’m transferring you back to Crane to take down your information…”

Anything else he said was lost to the pounding in his ears. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. His phone hit the counter he didn’t realize he was leaning on.

He sought out Laz’s eyes, anchored himself there. “She’s gone.”