Page 75 of Ace of Spades

“His name is Wade Tillman. That’s all I know. I need to tell Rand I’m leaving.”

He dropped his arm from her shoulder. “I already sent him home.”

“Oh, okay. I need a quick shower.”

“No problem. I’m here to take you to the police department. The sketch artist is meeting us there in about forty minutes.”

“I’ll make it fast.” She handed him the leather bag. “Hold on to my gun for me.”

“Can I use it to shoot your Mr.Tillman?”

“Play nice.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Me? I don’t know how to do nice.”

“True.” She headed for the showers. So far, she was doing okay with pretending the last few days had never happened. It was hard, though, because just looking at him in his bad-boy clothes made her want to climb right up him. And he always smelled so yummy.

Yep, it was going to be hard to stop loving him, but she could do it. She hoped.

Nate sat off to the side, listening to Taylor—her voice only a little shaky—describe her mother’s killer. He hated that she had to go through this, but she was holding up better than expected.

The woman was confusing him, though. She’d been as chatty as a magpie on the way to the police station, an about-face from the cold shoulder she’d given him ever since he’d made that stupid comment. He didn’t know what to make of it, and he didn’t like it. She should be miserable, because he sure as hell was.

“His lips were a little thinner than that,” Taylor said.

Janie Moore, the police department’s sketch artist, nodded. “Better?” she said after a moment.

“Yes, that’s him.” Taylor took the clipboard with the drawing on it from Janie, holding it up for Nate to see. “There’s something about his face that’s nagging me.”

He reached for the drawing. “Let me see that.” The picture was of a blond, brown-eyed man wearing wire-rimmed glasses, maybe in his early twenties. But the lips, the jaw line, and the eyebrows—he was sure he’d seen this man not two hours ago.

“Can you do a second one?” he said, handing the sketch back to Janie. “Same face, but age him about fifteen years with brown hair, hazel eyes, and no glasses.”

“Sure.” She clipped the page to the board, next to a fresh sheet of paper.

Taylor tilted her head, her brows furrowed as she studied the drawing. “Oh, my God. He could be Wade Tillman’s son, or maybe his younger brother.”

“That’s possible, but I think Wade Tillman and the young man in that drawing are one and the same.”

Her cheeks paled. “You’re saying my mother’s killer has been under my nose all this time? But their eyes are a different color.”

“Contacts.” He resisted the urge to move his chair next to Taylor’s so he could touch her.

“And he dyed his hair brown. I should have seen the resemblance.”

“Why?” he said. “He’s older, his hair and eye color are wrong, and he doesn’t wear glasses now. And he’s going by a different name.”

She chewed on her bottom lip. “Wade Tillman is Wayne Tompkins, and the man who killed my mother had the gall to ask me out for coffee? I’m going to shoot him in the balls.”

Janie chuckled.

“We’re not positive yet, but I’m feeling the buzz.” The bastard had asked her out?

“Yeah, me, too.”

“Here’s your second sketch.” Janie held up the page for them to see.

“That’s him all right,” Taylor said. She stood and began to pace. “Okay, we need to go to the gym and get an address for him. I want that son of a bitch today.”