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After ensuring Amelia locked her door, I met Cruz downstairs to debrief. She brought me my go bag and laptop and I gave her the phone to double check. She then wasted no time telling me what she thought of my plan and reiterating that I’m making a huge mistake by protecting Amelia. Maybe I would agree with her if I hadn’t seen the fear on Amelia’s face, the terror in her eyes when I ran into her apartment five hours ago.
But that doesn’t prove what’s going on doesn’t involve her. In fact, that's the only thing I’m certain of. None of this is a coincidence. There’s a reason for it all.
If only I could figure out what it is.
I listen at Amelia’s door until I’ve heard enough movement to prove she's alive. Now I’m on my bed, on top of the covers, listening. She’s got the TV on so loud I’ll never be able to sleep. But I didn’t plan on sleeping anyway. Not with someone out there intent on harming the woman who has weaseled her way into my heart with no plans to vacate any time soon.
I open my laptop, forcing myself to dive into work until my eyes burn.
I have to find Liam, and Justin’s killer, because I’m sure they’re connected. But how? The killer left no breadcrumbs to follow. They took Amelia’s laptop and a team is currently trying to track it down.
I think back over Liam’s past crimes. The art museum earlier today was more confusing than anything.
It was hit in the middle of the day. The fire alarm was pulled, everyone evacuated, and when they returned, only a single painting was missing. I pull up the photos on my laptop, carefully scouring the images for a clue to confirm Liam did this. But the security cameras were hijacked during the heist and not even traffic surveillance picked up a man of his description. And the painting was…well, I’ll never understand art in general, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t it. The thing was horrendous. The best way to describe it was abstract.
Granted, I know as little about art as Amelia knows about police work.
It doesn’t make any sense. Was Liam’s sole purpose in coming to the States to rip off a small, unknown museum in Phoenix for a terrible painting? The cost of which was a measly thousand dollars. Not enough to cover his flight from Turks and Caicos where he’s been hiding out for the last four and a half years under the name Levi Henry. That intel was the one positive from Amelia’s date with him.
So why is he here?
And why did he date Amelia?
A message comes through from Cruz, forwarded from the police medical examiner.
Cruz: Time of death estimated to be around 6:20 p.m.
The museum was hit at noon. That would have given Liam plenty of time to get over to Amelia’s apartment and kill Justin. If he killed Justin.
I have to find him. Then maybe I’ll find some answers. If only I would have questioned him directly sooner. Maybe we could have avoided this whole thing.
I scrub a hand down my face. Why did I let Amelia get caught up in this mess? Something tells me she would have ended up here on her own, but what if it had been worse? What if she had been killed?
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to block out the assaulting image of her lying in that tub. But it only becomes a nightmare.
I fall out of bed, shirtless and drenched in sweat.
I fell asleep. I can’t fall asleep. I splash cold water on my face, five, six times. I have to keep Amelia safe. Because I’m terrified that nightmare is waiting to become a reality.
I fell asleep again. For two hours. And I’m so upset I force myself off the bed and straight to the floor to do a hundred pushups as punishment. But then I hear Amelia singing, in the shower, I believe, and I force myself to do another hundred to get my mind off of her.
Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t work. She’s become my favorite obsession. The home screen for all my thoughts.
After a quick shower, I change into the spare outfit in my go bag. Then I perch on the edge of my bed, closest to her door, listening to the rhythmic thumps and shouts coming from her room every few seconds. What on earth is she doing?
There’s a soft knock on the door and I open it. “Cruz.”
“It wasn’t bugged.” She says in greeting. She shoves Amelia’s phone into my chest and walks into the room, making her perusal of the room evident. “Except for the tracker you left in it.”
“I didn’t—”
“I saw the indentation on the back of the case. Those are government trackers, Harris.”
“Clearly the woman needs to be tracked.” I cross my arms, refusing to back down.
“If that’s what you need to tell yourself.” Cruz plops down at the desk. “But she doesn’t need to be kissed, remember that.”
The back of my neck burns. Can she read my mind, because that seems to be all I can think about lately?