50

The meeting room would have been drab under the best circumstances given its tiny putty-gray tables and folding chairs with chipped brown paint.

The walls were decorated with a poster reporting some Vegas crime statistics, a picture of a missing kid, and several other memos. All taped to the wall. They reminded Jim of Lynette and her articles. It was downright depressing.

Ava looked ten years older than she had the day before. Yep, he was thinking of her as Ava all the time now. It didn’t really matter. What mattered now was getting Sophie. But Ava looked beat. Her neat hair was in a ponytail and mussed a little on one side. She’d not bothered to fix her makeup from the tears.

But then again, Miller looked like he was in need of a good stiff drink, and a clean pressed jacket. The one he wore looked like it had been tossed in the back of the car more than once that day.

“We got a hit on Maria Callas.” Ava tossed a sheet of paper on the table. “No address other than the PO box in Bakersfield, but we found an employer. Medical software. High-end stuff. I have the address.”

California. Miller was stuck. Out of his jurisdiction.

“Our office has the address and a supervisor’s name. I’m flying out in an hour.”

“I’m coming.” Jim figured that was going to be a no-go. Not that it mattered. At this point he’d find a way to get there on his own. He wanted Sophie himself and if he had to admit it, he didn’t want Ava facing this freak on her own. Of course she was FBI, she wouldn’t be on her own. But Jim didn’t want her facing Sophie Ryan Evers without him.

She almost smiled. “There’s an FBI flight scheduled. I managed to get you on as my witness. In reality, you are the only one who has seen her in person. My director wants a confirmation on her ID since this is such a high-profile case now.”

No shit? He’d expected to be left on the tarmac as she flew off like the heroine in an old romance flick.

Miller looked pissed. Jim knew the drill. Las Vegas police had a dead Cynthia Hodge, a dead neighbor, a dead cop, and Sandy was still missing and all Miller could do was sit on his hands while the Feds chased down the out-of-state leads.

Jim felt for him but was once again happy that he could play by the seat of his pants.

Miller was stuck. He might not even get to prosecute Sophie for any of his warrants. Feds would choose the charges that would be the easiest to make stick. Probably not even in Vegas courts.

“When do we leave?”

She glanced at her phone. “Thirty minutes.”

“That’s barely enough time to get to the airport.”

“Then we should go.”