Michael Prescott: Last Breath

Rawls nodded. “The server’s geographical location isn’t in the database. But it’s on a local net. Anyway, the server has to be in Baltimore.”

“Why? If the video is real time, it would mean the victim is out west-either Mountain or Pacific time zone.”

“The victim, yes. Not the site manager. He’s here in town. Has to be.” Rawls saw Brand’s blank look and added in explanation, “The tipster contacted me. He went to some trouble to get hold of my personal e-mail address. He clearly wants Baltimore on the case.”

“Which implies it’s in our jurisdiction,” Brand said. “I get it. Still, we can’t follow up. Miller will never give us the green light.” Frank Miller was the Baltimore field office’s Special Agent in Charge.

“Miller,” Rawls said slowly, “can’t control what we do in our spare time.”

“Spare time? You mean tonight?”

“Why not?”

“No way, buddy. I put in enough hours as it is, and unpaid overtime ain’t my idea of fun.”

Rawls knew this was only bluster. “Come on, Ned, you have anything better to do on a Wednesday night?”

“Sure I do.”

“Like what?” Rawls knew Brand was divorced, not seeing anybody, and all he had to go home to was a microwavable dinner and CNN.

Brand hesitated, then confirmed the obvious with a weary nod. “Good grief, as Charlie Brown used to say. I guess you got me.”

“I’m glad because I need you.”

“Great. How’s Felicia gonna feel about you missing another meal?”

“She’ll be fine,” Rawls said, hoping this was true.

“Well, damn it, if you’re on the case, so am L Have you e-mailed the sysadmin?”

“Yes, but he never returned the message. I’ll have to call him.” The phone number and e-mail address of the network system administrator were included in the data supplied by the trace route program.

“If he has any sense, he’s probably gone home for the day.”

Rawls picked up the phone. “Then I’ll track him down at home.”

“You really got a bug up your ass about this.”

“Colorfully expressed.” Rawls started dialing. “The sysadmin will give us the name and street address of the site manager. Then I say we drive over and pay the gentleman a visit.”

“And shut him down.”

Rawls nodded, thinking of Miss January and the two women before her-women whose lives, whose bodies, had been put on public display.

“Damn straight,” he said. “We shut him down.”

C.J. found Adam Nolan in the lobby, just as Tanner had said. He was deep in conversation with Delano, the desk officer, and C.J. glimpsed the easy smile that had first caught her attention across a Westside bar when she was new to the city, nearly four years ago.

“Hey, Adam,” she said.

He looked up from the desk, and the smile flashed again, then faltered. “C.J.”

There was an awkward moment when they didn’t know how to greet each other-with a hug or a handshake. The hug won. They embraced briefly, and she had time to notice that he had lost some weight and gained some muscle. He wasn’t quite as scrawny as Tanner thought.

“Working out?” she asked when they separated.

He shrugged. “Joined a gym. Nothing serious. You look good.”

“Thanks. You too.”

More awkwardness. She had no idea what he was doing here.

Glancing around the lobby, she saw Delano eyeing them with a smirk.

“Show’s over, Fred,” she said coolly. “Nothing more to see here.”

Delano merely chuckled.

Yeah, it was definitely good for a laugh when Officer Osborn’s ex-husband showed up unexpectedly at the end of her watch. Just another installment in the ongoing soap opera that was Newton Station.

“So,” Adam said, shifting his weight self-consciously. He was outfitted entirely in blue-dark blue suit, tie and shirt of a lighter shade. A lawyer suit, as Tanner had observed. The tones brought out the blue in his eyes. “You taking care of yourself?”

“Always do.” She didn’t tell him she’d nearly gotten shot a couple of hours ago. “How’s Brigham and Garner treating you?”

“Like the genius I am. I’ve brought in three new clients already.”

“You’re a rainmaker.”

“Pulling my weight anyway. Not too shabby for a junior associate counsel.”

“Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be at work now?”

He shrugged. “I’m taking a late lunch.”

She glanced at her watch. Nearly four o’clock. “Very late. I guess you just happened to find yourself in the neighborhood…”

“Not likely.”

“I didn’t think so. This isn’t exactly your territory.” Adam lived in Brentwood and worked out of law offices in Century City.

He gave in, admitting the obvious. “I came over to see you. Timed my break so I’d catch you when you were getting off work. Although as it turned out, I had to cool my heels awhile.”

“Why?”

“You tell me. I assumed you were putting in a little overtime.”

“No, I mean, why’d you come over?”

He swept a stray hair off his high, tanned forehead. His hair looked blonder than she remembered it. He must be spending time outdoors, maybe at the beach. “I thought maybe we could grab some coffee before you go home and I head back to be a lawyer.”

“Coffee?”

“Is that so strange?”

“Frankly, yeah. I haven’t seen you in what, two months?”

“I’ve been busy. They work you ragged when you first sign on. I’ve called you,” he added defensively.

“True.”

“I’ve tried to stay in touch.”

She turned away briefly, thinking of what Tanner had said. He wants you, Killer. “I guess that’s what I’m wondering about. Why you would do that.” She looked at him. “We’re not a couple anymore, Adam.”

He straightened his shoulders. “I think I’m aware of that. The divorce proceedings made it reasonably obvious.”

“Right. I know. I’m sorry.” She asked herself why she was apologizing to him.

He reached out and touched her arm. “Just because it’s over, does that mean we can’t get together sometimes and, you know, talk?” He smiled, and once again she glimpsed his insouciant charm. “I mean, is that so nuts, to still want to be friends?”

“No,” she said softly, “it’s not so nuts.” You dumped him, Tanner’s voice reminded her, and he hasn’t gotten over it. “Except I’m not sure where you think it might lead.”

“It doesn’t have to lead anywhere.”

“As long as we’re clear on that.”

“We’re clear. So… coffee?”

She had no desire for coffee. All she wanted was to go home and step into a hot shower. But she couldn’t disappoint him when he’d come all the way over here.

“Coffee it is,” C.J. said brightly.

“Man,” Tanner said, “she is really a hard case.”

Deputy Leonard Chang glanced at him from the passenger seat of the Chevrolet Caprice. The slums of Walnut Park blurred past in the slanting light of late afternoon. It was only four o’clock, but in January the days ended early.

“I take it,” Chang said, “you’re talking about Osborn again?”

Tanner saw the look on his partner’s face-a blend of irritation and boredom. He tried to justify himself. “She gets to me,” he managed.

“I noticed.”

“Okay, so I’m hot for her. I mean, come on, she’s got the whole package.”

“With that kind of sweet talk, you can sweep her right off her feet.”

“I didn’t mean… When I say ‘the whole package,’ I’m talking brains, guts, attitude.”

“And looks.”

“Well, yeah. But not just looks. I’m not that shallow.”

“You’re not?”