Page 28 of Ultimate Justice

“The teams are heading out now to reinterview the families,” Brett said. “They’ll call either me or Deck if they get any hot leads. They’ll write up the 302s and email them to you directly.” On cue, the other agents at the table packed up their laptops and headed for the door.

Evan closed the last folder he’d been looking at. “Do you have those lineup photos?”

“Yep.” Deck handed Evan another folder. “I gave all the teams copies of the same lineup, and I made that other copy you asked for.” He held out another folder.

“Thanks, man.” He clapped Deck on the shoulder, thankful for competent friends who would be there for him when the professional or personal shit hit the fan.

Evan’s boss came in. “Evan, let’s talk outside.”

They stepped into the hallway. He had a bad feeling about why his boss wanted to talk privately. If he was yanked off the case, he’d have to quit the Bureau, because no way he was about to stand down. “Before you yank me off the case, you should know that Noah had a visitor at the hospital. We tracked him on camera but couldn’t make an ID. It wasn’t Manello.”

Brian massaged his chin. “What do you recommend? Protective custody?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. I’ll keep a close eye on the kid.”

“Keep me posted on that,” Brian said, nodding. “We need to talk about something else.”

Bend over. Here it comes.

“I heard back from the director. He approved you staying on as case agent. But,” he added with a meaningful tilt of his head, “that’s all pending your ability to remain focused and impartial.” He let the words hang in the air. Their meaning was clearer than vodka: don’t fuck up. “And you need to keep your personal connection to this case quiet. Don’t talk about it to anyone who doesn’t already know, especially the media.”

“Understood, sir. Thank you.” As he watched his boss’s receding back, he let out a heavy breath. When he turned around, Marlie eyed him from the open conference room door. She’d crossed her arms, tapping a finger on one biceps. How much—if any—of that conversation had she heard?

He strode toward her. When he started inside the room, her slim fingers latched onto his forearm, and—hell’s bells—there was that live wire thing again. Warm tingles—and he was so not a tingling kind of guy—shot to his scalp.

“What was that about?” she asked. He looked to where her fingers still curled around his arm. Her nails were unpainted, her fingers ringless. She let go, recrossing her arms. “Well?”

“Nothing important.” Nothing he could discuss, anyway. Even if he could tell her about Gracie, which his boss just unequivocally ordered him not to, telling her the truth would only trash what little trust there was between them. He took a step, but she blocked him. Not that he couldn’t brush past her. She couldn’t weigh more than one-twenty-five.

“It didn’t seem like nothing,” she pressed, tilting her head and looking up at him suspiciously.

“It was. We have work to do.” This time, he did brush past her and sat next to Noah. He’d opened all three packs of cards. “You like those?”

“Yeah,” he said, stacking the cards in what seemed like a specific order. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Evan opened the folder and took out six eight-by-eleven-inch color printouts, lining them up side by side. One was a DMV photo of Frank Manello. The other six were of men of similar appearance, so as not to elicit a response that could be prejudicial to Manello when Evan locked his sorry ass up. “Take a look at these photos for me. Do any of these men look familiar to you? Take your time.”

Marlie stood behind them, also looking at the photos.

Less than five seconds passed before Noah planted his finger on the fourth sheet from the left. “This is Frank.”

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“Positive.” Noah nodded enthusiastically.

“What’s his story?” Marlie asked.

“His name is Francis aka ‘Frank’ Manello.” Evan began stuffing the photos back in the folder. “He owns Mile High Pool Cleaning.” The photo depicted a man wrinkled beyond his years, sagging jowls, and nearly bald. For a man in his early fifties, the guy could have passed for seventy. Could just be genetics working against him, or it could be from working outside all day in Denver’s high-altitude sun.

“Where is he?” Marlie’s brow creased. “Is he someone I need to be worried about?”

“Doubtful. He’s in the wind. Probably knows we’re looking for him.” He left Manello’s photo on top of the stack. He still had to reinterview his own parents, but he already knew they wouldn’t ID Francis Manello. Evan had met the guy who’d been cleaning their pool at the time Gracie had gone missing. It wasn’t Manello.

A vague sense of déjà vu settled around him. Vague and yet, at the same time, disturbing. And he didn’t know why.

“There’s one more photo I’d like you to look at.” He pulled the single sheet from the second folder Brett had given him and set it on the table. “Have you ever seen this woman?”

Without hesitation, Noah shook his head. “Nope.”