20. Ridley

20

RIDLEY

My eyes burned as the wind hit them, but it wasn’t the wind’s fault. It was Colt’s. After he’d left, I’d run things through with Sully, who was pushing for me to get Baker involved. I understood why. As much as Baker could be an ass, he was protective of his talent. He’d sic lawyers on Colt so fast his head would spin.

But I didn’t want Baker meddling. And I didn’t want any additional pressure to leave this case behind. It was too important.

And that importance was also why I’d struggled to find sleep last night. My mind spun round and round, trying to put the pieces together, to see how everything was connected.

I knew one thing: someone didn’t want me getting access to those case files. Or they at least wanted to see what the sheriff’s department had. To me that said whoever had abducted Emerson was still here. I was close. And I wasn’t giving up.

I slowed my bike as I approached the sign for Cowboy Coffee. It was time to brave the café again, to test Ezra’s waters about talking. Hopping off my bike, I locked it up and headed inside.

The sounds of a coffee machine and the scent of freshly roasted beans greeted me. The shop wasn’t overly crowded this morning, but it was still early, just past six. That was before the normal work crowd likely hit and certainly before teens on summer vacation were out and about.

I headed in the direction of the counter just as Ezra looked up from his phone. His eyes widened for the briefest second, and then he schooled his features. Shoving his cell into his back pocket, he gave me a tentative smile. “Iced hazelnut latte?”

“That and the cowboy hash, please,” I said, fishing my tiny wallet out of my bag as relief swept through me.

Ezra tapped a few buttons on the tablet register. “That’ll be sixteen-fifty.”

I tapped my card to the reader, then selected a twenty-five-percent tip. I wasn’t above bribery. As I slid my card back into my wallet, I looked up at him. “Not barring me from service?”

Ezra sighed. “I thought about it.”

“What changed your mind?”

“A friend reminded me that it should be Emerson’s choice if she wants you here or not.”

That buzz was back. “And what did she say?”

Ezra tapped his fingers along the counter in a slow beat. “That she’s glad you’re looking into things.” His eyes moved to mine. “She’s not sure if she’s going to talk to you, but she doesn’t want you to stop.”

My heart squeezed. God, she was brave. Selfless.

“Does that mean you’d be willing to talk to me?” I asked Ezra.

He was quiet for a long moment and then finally nodded. “I’ll talk to you. I don’t know what help I’ll be though.”

“Just giving me an idea of Emerson’s life at that time would help. Who she was friends with, what she loved doing.”

“Tennis,” Ezra muttered with a soft smile. “That girl lived and breathed tennis. There were times I’d catch her daydreaming, and she’d apologize and say she was playing a match in her head.”

“That’s exactly the sort of thing I’d love to hear about. Listeners need to connect with the victim. It’s what makes them care. What makes them want to help. Someone out there saw something that will help. They had to.”

Ezra shook his head. “Don’t you think they would’ve come forward by now?”

I slid my wallet back into my bag and hoisted it over my shoulder. “People don’t always know that what they saw had meaning. That’s why it’s important for me to talk to as many people as possible.”

“I guess,” he muttered. “I’ll get your coffee and breakfast out to you as soon as possible.”

I knew a brush-off when I heard one, and I didn’t blame Ezra. People didn’t want to think that it was possible they lived beside a kidnapper, someone who could terrorize a young girl and not give a damn. And when I came out with all of it, they’d know it was worse. That this person had raped and killed.

Nausea swept through me as Avery’s face flashed in my mind. I didn’t want it to be true, not for her or Emerson or any of the others. But just because I wanted it one way didn’t mean I got it. And I couldn’t be afraid to face the truth.

I wound my way through the tables to grab the empty one I’d sat at before. The one that had the perfect view of both the sidewalk and the restaurant. As I passed the two older men playing chess, one looked up. “You’re that reporter, aren’t you?”

I did my best to give him a warm smile, even though I didn’t feel it. “The podcaster.” I didn’t always like the term reporter . It felt stuffy and removed.

The man shook his head. “You need to keep on moving. No one wants you here. Let sleeping dogs lie.”

His words hit. They wouldn’t normally, but I was already feeling raw from the night before.

“Aw, Norm, quit it. You need your daily dose of prune juice because your bullshit’s backing up,” the second man said.

My gaze moved to him as a hint of my earlier smile returned. He wore a button-down shirt and suspenders that were decorated with chess piece doodles. He extended a hand. “I’m Sam, and this ornery bastard is Norman, but you can call him Norm.”

“Hi, Sam. I’m Ridley.”

“You keep talking to her, and she’s probably going to name you the kidnapper,” Norm snapped.

“I got nothing to hide, you idiot,” Sam shot back.

Norm let out a huff. “That’s what you think. Just wait till your name is all over everyone’s genius phones and those TV pads.”

Sam stared at his friend for a long moment. “You mean smartphones and tablets?”

“I can’t keep up with the terms,” Norm groused.

“Get with the times or be left behind, you Neanderthal.”

They kept up their bickering as I backed away to my table. But I put Sam on my list of folks to approach for an interview. I’d just have to do it when his buddy Norm wasn’t around. I had a feeling Norm would tackle me to the ground before letting me pull out my microphones.

I got settled at the small table, setting up my laptop and notebook. While I kept all my files and notes digitally, I loved the feel of paper and pen. Something about it was satisfying.

“Here you go,” Ezra said, sliding my plate and coffee onto the table.

The scent was heavenly, and my stomach growled. I realized I’d skipped dinner last night, never a smart move for me. Maybe that’s part of what had caused me to slam the door in Colt’s face.

Just thinking his name conjured an image of the man in my mind. Those fathomless eyes darkening to black. The anger pulsing off him in waves.

“You okay?”

My gaze snapped up to Ezra. “Sorry. I think this hash put me in a trance. It smells amazing.”

He chuckled. “I’ll be sure to tell the chef.”

As Ezra walked away, I dug in and nearly moaned. The hash had bacon, cheddar, peppers, onions, potatoes, and eggs over easy. And as much as I’d learned to master the kitchen over the past few years, this dish gave me a run for my money.

A shadow fell over my table. One large enough that I resisted looking up. Or maybe it was the tiniest scent of bergamot and cloves. It cut through the air and the more overwhelming smells of coffee and breakfast foods. And it was one that my subconscious recognized before I did.

“Ridley.”

The deep rasp skated over my skin in a way that had all my nerve endings standing at attention. Even the ones in my traitorous nipples.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I swallowed my bite of cowboy hash and looked up. Colt looked like shit but somehow still managed to be gorgeous. The dark circles under his eyes only made the deep brown look more alluring and hypnotic. The thicker scruff covering his jaw only made him look more rugged. And the sheriff’s uniform he wore clung to those damned broad shoulders like usual.

And worse? I missed him calling me Chaos. Missed that sort of shit-talking banter we’d developed. I was an idiot.

“Sheriff,” I greeted.

Colt’s jaw clenched, making a dimple pop in his cheek, as if he were annoyed by the formal moniker. “I wanted to apologize?—”

“Don’t,” I snapped.

His eyes flared, a little amber flashing amidst the brown. “Don’t apologize?”

“No,” I clipped. “Because words don’t mean a damned thing if they aren’t followed up by actions. And you’ve proven that your words are pure bullshit. So just save us both the time, and don’t bother.”

I shoved another bite of hash into my mouth and turned back to my computer. But Colt didn’t move. His shadow stayed cast over my table, and his damned scent kept finding its way to my nose.

“I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions,” he gritted out.

“No shit, Sherlock,” I mumbled without looking up.

“You have to admit that you were the most likely suspect,” Colt said, defending himself.

I slammed my laptop closed and stood, making quick work of shoving my belongings into my bag. “No. I don’t. And even if I were, there’s a polite way to ask for someone’s whereabouts, and then there’s you .” It shouldn’t have gotten to me this much. I’d had countless other law enforcement officials question my motives and shut me out of a case. I hadn’t ever been accused of assault before, but something told me it wasn’t so much the accusation but the man making it that bothered me.

A strangled laugh-slash-cough sounded from the chess table, and Norm thumped Sam on the back.

Colt sent a glare in their direction before turning back to me. “I went about it the wrong way. I’m sor?—”

“Don’t you dare, Colter Brooks,” I snapped, pulling my bag over my shoulder and grabbing my coffee.

“She full-named you, Colt. I’d watch out,” Sam said. “When my wife does that, it means Couch City.”

“You’re not helping,” Colt ground out and then turned back to me. “Ridley?—”

“No. N. O . Seems like you haven’t heard that word a lot in your life, but I’ll be happy to educate you. It means this is an anti-Colt zone. You don’t get in my space, and I won’t get in yours. You don’t stream bullshit at me, and I won’t make you scowl on a daily basis. And right now, it means get the hell out of my way.”