Jazz stared at the empty bedroom. The cops were gone and they’d said it was okay to go back inside. She stood at the doorway and wondered about going to the spare bedroom. But it wasn’t likely to improve the issue. The cops had searched but hadn’t found any other electronic device to invade her privacy. Not that it made her feel much better.
Who knew what this asshole could do? That the person had botched the job made her feel better. The camera was now long gone, and she had to find some semblance of peace for the upcoming night.
She couldn’t help herself. She walked over and stripped the bed clear of all the bedding and changed the sheets. There’d been enough strangers in here. The last thing she wanted was to have another one in her space. She quickly replaced the large duvet cover and remade the bed.
“Feel better?” Morgan asked from the doorway.
“Not much,” she said quickly, turning to stare at him, “but I’ll take the little bits I can get right now.”
He opened his arms and she ran to him. “Would you like to go to a hotel for a few nights?” he murmured against her forehead.
“No. I’m fine. This is probably the best place for us now that the cops have swept it. If your friend can set up a security system, that would be that much better.”
“He’s coming by in an hour or so.”
“Oh good.”
“He’ll need at least a day or so, but he can rig something up in the short term.”
“Even that is a help. How good are the locks in the house?”
“Normal, but I am seriously rethinking that now.” He squeezed her tight. “The thing is, this has been a distant hands-off type of action on his part. There were opportunities where he could have come and made it personal, but he didn’t. Shootings via drive-bys leaves him in control but detached. He broke into the house when it was empty. He avoided a confrontation.”
“So what? He’s afraid he won’t win in a one-on-one scenario,” she asked, looking up at him.
“That’s quite possible. Getting the shit kicked out of you or being stabbed – those are personal and close up.”
“So this person doesn’t want a confrontation but they want to punish us.”
“Maybe. His behavior might get more aggressive.”
She shivered. “He’s been aggressive enough for me already,” she muttered.
“Exactly, but there is that newness to his actions, as if he doesn’t do this on a regular basis – likely never before, and he is learning as he goes.”
“That’s…” she had no words. It was too horrible to contemplate. Just to think of someone getting more aggressive in her personal life scared the crap out of her. She was not confrontational to begin with, but to think the shooter was getting that way was way worse. And how the hell was she supposed to protect herself from that? If he wanted to find her and kill her, then he would and there’d be damned little she could do about it.
“Nothing has changed. We take precautions. You’re never alone and we let the cops do their thing.”
His tone was harder than she expected to hear. As if something was working away in the background. She leaned back so she could see his face. “What are you planning?”
His gaze slanted down at her. And narrowed.
“Oh no. No secrets,” she snapped. “Tell me.”
“I don’t have any plans. But I know lots of riders. They are a lot of eyes to keep a lookout for us.”
She gasped. “That would be perfect.” Her face fell. “Unless they can’t identify the bike.”
“They will. I can give them a lot of detail. And let them know who to text when and if they see it.”
She marveled at his foresight. “It’s brilliant,” she admitted. “I wish I’d thought of something proactive to do.”
“There’s something that I wondered about but…”
She frowned. “What?”
“Have you considered contacting other tattoo artists and seeing if anyone can recognize the artist?”
“I’d considered it but thought that was something the police would be doing.”
“And they are, but consider your connections versus theirs.”
*
He loved watching the expressions cross her face. Her features came alive as her thoughts shifted from topic to topic.
“I could. I do belong to several groups. I could post the image. Or maybe email them privately.”
“Whichever is likely to get you answers faster?”
“The thing is the work is more amateur than professional. More garish than elegant. I’m not sure that they wouldn’t get pissed off at me for posting.”
“Would you rather be pissed off or know that you’d done everything you could to help out.” He waited a beat. “Besides which, wouldn’t they understand if you explained?”
She mulled that over. He loved the idea, but neither did he want her to get further into danger. “My only concern is that this image might go fall in the wrong hands.”
“Ugh.” She pondered that. “I don’t think they’d be in this group. I do know them fairly well and have seen a lot of their work over the years. None are at this level. They are all superior artists.”
“Then do it,” he urged. “Anything that can help solve Billy’s murder and possibly nab our shooter is huge. If you get any information, we’ll take it to the police and they can follow it up.”
At her nod, he smiled. He figured she’d feel compelled to help if she could. Besides, she really did have connections the police didn’t have.
Taking his suggestion to heart, she got up and walked over to her bag and pulled out her small laptop. She turned it on and signed into her group of tattoo artists. She quickly posted a short terse note of explanation then posted the second tattoo image.
“Done,” she said. “I have another group I can post it to. Let me do that one.”
He waited and watched as she brought up the second group and quickly repeated her message. Before she was done, there were a few responses already on the first page. She flicked through them and called out two names, “Mark Sanders and Hemi Colfax.”
“Who are they?”
“Suggested artists so far.”
“Do you know either of them?”
She shook her head. “No.” Then she caught herself. “Maybe.”