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His gaze held hers for a beat longer, then shifted away. “You said you were trying to catch the Q. You live in Brooklyn?”
Star nodded. “Ditmas Park.”
His eyebrows rose. “Nice area.”
She mustered a faint smile. “My great-uncle left me an old Victorian. I’m trying to fix it up.”
The younger detective returned and handed her phone back. “That guy’s pretty thorough,” he said, nodding toward the screen.
Star took the phone and glanced at it. Ethan had sent three texts in rapid succession:
>>>Where are you exactly?
>>> Stay with the cops. I’m coming.
>>> I'm bringing clothes.
She exhaled in relief.“He works in computer security,” she explained. “He's pretty smart.”
“Computer security?” The older detective huffed a dry laugh. “So, a computer geek.”
Star snorted despite herself. “Yeah, he’s got his own business.”
A uniformed officer approached. “Detectives, the ME and the crime scene unit are here. Patrol’s securing the perimeter. Ready to transport the witness?”
“Yeah. Got any paper towels in the trunk?”
The officer frowned and followed the detective's gaze to his shoes. “Oh.” He winced. “Yeah, I'll grab some.”
The officer walked away, shaking his head, while the older detective looked down at his vomit-splattered shoes and then at Star.
“I'm really sorry about that.” Her face flamed with embarrassment.
He waved it off. “Don't worry, miss. If you hadn't puked after seeing that”—he gestured toward the trash can—“I'd be more worried about you.”
Star managed a shaky nod and hugged her grocery bags tighter.
She’d never seen a dead body before. Her parents’ caskets had been closed. She’d been spared the agony of identifying them at the morgue after the accident; the police had handled it.
But this? This was different. The mangled limbs. The dismembered torso. The head—eyes wide and mouth slack in an eternal, silent scream. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the image was burned into her mind.
No matter how many times she tried, she would never be able to unsee it.
CHAPTER10
Ethan’s fingers flew over the keyboard as he hung up the phone. His mind raced to process the call as he accessed Manhattan’s camera system, zeroing in on the street where Star was. The live feed revealed flashing police lights, crime scene tape, and a swarm of activity.
Tracing the system to the mainframe, he hacked in within seconds, pulling video footage of the incident. The angle was poor, offering little insight, so he expanded his search, tapping into storefront security, street cams, and even doorbell feeds. Within minutes, he’d pieced together a patchwork reel of what had happened. Downloading it to a jump drive, he pocketed it.
“Thor, come.”
The dog’s ears perked, and they headed upstairs. Ethan secured his office, grabbed the key Star had entrusted him with, and crossed to her place to fetch her some clothes. Entering her bedroom, he paused, momentarily taken aback. Crisp white walls and carefully matched curtains and carpet greeted him, giving the room a clean, airy feel. The drywall patches peeking through the fresh paint told their story—Star’s DIY charm in action.
At the dresser, he selected jeans, a T-shirt, and—hesitating—a pair of lacy white underwear. Practicality ruled; she'd want something clean if her clothes were ruined. He chuckled softly, his brow lifting. “Commando’s fine for me, but you? Probably not.”
He spotted a small gym bag and, finding tennis shoes inside, remembered socks. A quick return to the dresser produced athletic socks, which he tucked into the bag alongside the clothes.
With a flick, he turned off the light, locked up, and headed to his garage with Thor. The Guardian-issued Suburban roared to life—a rare outing since Ditmas Park was a walkable haven, but the event called for horsepower.