Page 57

Two days.

It was now two damn days since I’d left Roman that early morning at his secret apartment. I’d had no messages. No missed calls. Not a word from him.

I couldn’t sleep the last two nights. I kept tossing and turning, staring past my open curtains, willing that his familiar figure would darken my window.

He never came.

My stomach was so twisted in knots I couldn’t eat. I just kept thinking that something…something terrible had happened. I could feel it in my twisted gut.

Why wasn’t he answering his phone? Was he hurt? Was he…dead? Wouldn’t I feel it if he’d been ripped away from this earth?

“What’s up, girl?”

I shook myself out of my thoughts. “Huh?”

Lacey stared at me, her thick eyelashes blinking, the fluorescent lights of the morgue causing shadows in the creases of her frown. “Have you even heard a word I said?”

I gave her a sheepish look. “Sorry. Just things on my mind.”

“You don’t say.” She gave me a once-over. “Care to share?”

I shook my head. “It’s nothing. Just tell me what you’ve found out about Eddie.”

Lacey stared at me for a moment longer, lips pressed together. She seemed to be debating whether to push me.

“It’s just personal stuff. Family stuff,” I said quietly.

Lacey nodded, then turned to the body lying on the slab, a large Y-incision stitched up with thick thread making him look like Frankenstein’s monster. I could have hugged her for letting it go so easily.

“See all this bruising?” She pointed to his ribs and cheek. I could almost see Roman’s fists as he made those bruises. “Somebody worked him over pretty good. But the bruising was done hours before death.”

“So it’s possible that whoever beat him up, didn’t kill him,” I said, my heart skipping a little.

Lacey lifted a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Sure. It’s possible.”

My head was already whirring. I bolted out of the morgue calling thanks over my shoulder.

I glanced around me as I sat at my desk. Espo had up and ran off somewhere a few minutes ago after he’d gotten a phone call. No one was paying any attention to me. I opened the phone number tracing software on my computer. It was a risk I was taking. Every search created a history log. But I was desperate.

I typed in Roman’s burner phone number and hit search, my eyes glancing around me as the results triangulated.

The software made a small noise indicating it was done. My eyes slid to the screen. Nothing. The satellite couldn’t locate the phone number. His burner phone was either off or there was no reception wherever he was. Dammit, Roman, where are you? I made a vow to head to his secret apartment tonight after work if I still hadn’t heard from him. If he wasn’t there, I’d go to the Tyrell apartment.

“Capi!” Espo yelled from behind me.

I jolted, closed the trace down on my computer and spun in my seat.

Espo jogged up to me, waving a piece of paper, his face flushed, his eyes bright. He didn’t seem to notice my nervousness nor did he stare at me with suspicion. That was a relief. I pushed away my thoughts over Roman and forced a smile. “You look like you just won the lottery.”

“You know that witness at the gas station?”

I frowned. We’d canvassed the gas stations and convenience stores around the area where Eddie’s body was found. One of the gas stations had turned up a witness who’d claimed he’d seen a car and two men stopping there just before time of death. The security cameras at this gas station were fakes, so no tape. “Yeah?”

“Just got his artist’s sketch.” Espo slammed the paper down on my desk and stabbed at it with a thick finger. “Who does this look like to you?”

My stomach turned over itself, the pencil lines on the artist’s sketch blurring before me. This could not be happening. “Who?” I asked, even though I knew.

Espo leaned in, his eyes glittering with excitement. “Roman Tyrell.”