“I agree,” Nick said. The bastard’s face was clear in his mind. But little else. “Becca, what about tattoos? Any chance you remember any of the guy’s tats?”
“He had a lot of them on his arms and neck.” She closed her eyes for a long moment. That little frown took up residence between her brows. When her eyes opened again, she shook her head. “I first noticed him when he crossed the room. I saw the tattoos, but I wasn’t really paying attention, you know?”
“Anything at all could be useful,” Rixey said. “Don’t worry about remembering everything.”
“Okay.” She fingered the pale blue shirt over her left bicep. “He had a scar or a brand here, but most of it was hidden beneath his sleeve. Um . . . Oh, on the back of his left hand he had a solid black square. This isn’t very helpful, is it?”
“It’s a start, Becca, and it’s more than we had. What about when he was holding you? Did you get a closer look at his ink then?”
Her gaze went unfocused, and he hated that she was putting herself back in that place again, even if only mentally. She gasped. “He had a cross on his right arm, from inside his elbow down. The ends were pointed like arrowheads, and in the background there was a circle or a halo made of tiny circles, like a chain.”
The artist started sketching and asking for any other details she might’ve noticed.
The image took form on the paper, and Becca nodded. “Yeah, that’s it. As far as I can remember, that’s pretty close.”
“That was great, Becca,” the man said. He quickly drew a square. “I’ll include this image, too. Looking at this much of it might jog your memory.”
When the artist departed, Miguel congregated them around his desk and pulled up the online crime identification database he’d mentioned the night before. For a frustrating hour he flipped through pages on known Maryland criminal outfits and gangs—mafia families of various ethnicities, street gangs, prison gangs, outlaw motorcycle gangs, gangs native to Baltimore and those that had spread their influence from other cities.
They came to the end of the data. “Nothing here connects this cross tattoo to any of these groups.” She sagged back in her chair.
“Maybe not,” Miguel said. “But between the sketch and the tats you remembered, at least you have a few things to show around and see if people recognize.” He nailed Rixey with a serious stare. “Just remember, whoever he is and whoever he works for, asking questions could stir up a bee’s nest.”
“Yeah.” Precisely why Nick felt like they were dealing with the tip of an iceberg, with a hulking mountain of killer ice hidden beneath the surface.
“Should we put both Charlie’s picture and this man’s sketch on the reward poster?” she asked. “I’m so mad at myself for not making one sooner.”
“Couldn’t hurt,” Miguel said. “And, listen, don’t do that to yourself. Way I understand it, you didn’t have confirmation there was any foul play to Charlie’s person until last night. Rewards offerings like this can be useful, but they also bring in a lot of false leads. You have the manpower to work through that now, but you didn’t have it a few days ago.”
Seeing an opening to rebuild a bridge, Nick grasped her hand. “I agree. You’re doing great, Becca. Charlie’s lucky to have you fighting for him.”
Her eyes went glassy, but she managed a small smile. “Thank you.” She nodded. “I needed that.”
Guilt squeezed tight bands around Nick’s heart. What she didn’t need was him screwing with her emotions the way he had this morning.
Miguel turned to his computer, clearly giving them the privacy he could in his small office. After a moment he said, “All right, kids. Just tell me what you want on the flyer.”
“What amount do you think would be effective?” she asked, her expression serious.
“Depends what you can afford,” Miguel said. “Not unusual to see rewards for a hundred dollars on up.”
“Five hundred? A thousand? Given what you found in my house, Charlie may not have a lot of time.” She glanced between them. “Make it a thousand.”
Thirty minutes later, they had half a ream of MISSING PERSON: REWARD FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO DISCOVERY OR ARREST flyers listing the number of a prepaid phone Miguel had given them for this purpose. Becca was chomping at the bit to start posting them.
“Before we do that,” Nick said, “let’s go back to Hard Ink and catch up with Derek. He should be here by now. Before we start inviting calls, I want his input on how to track the numbers the calls are coming from.”
Her shoulders drooped, but she nodded. “Okay.”
On the way back, Nick called the others and informed them of the rendezvous, but he and Becca were the first ones to return to the building, even after stopping to pick up some pizza. They ducked in the back of Hard Ink, Becca wanting to make sure the puppy wasn’t causing any problems for Jeremy.
Both Jer and Jess were with clients, but Jeremy heard the door and popped out of his room, mask and gloves still on. “I rescheduled for eight o’clock tonight,” he said, referring to the appointment Nick had had to move from this morning.
He’d felt bad about pushing it back, but he could hardly sit around and do tattoos while the rest of the team and Becca got to work. “Okay, thanks. And sorry.”
Jeremy nodded.
“How’s the puppy doing? Is she in your way?” Becca asked, bending down to pet her. Rixey had to admit the mutt was kinda cute with those monster ears and paws.
“No, she’s awesome. She slept most of the morning directly between our doors like she didn’t want to play favorites. Needs a name though.”
“I know,” Becca said. “What about Shiloh?”
Above his mask, Jeremy’s eyebrows cranked down. “Like the Civil War battle?”
She laughed, and Nick was so drawn to the sound. He wished he’d been the one to cause it. “Just try it out for now. See how she likes it.”
He winked. “I’ll have a full report waiting for you. Hey, so, what do you think?” He gestured to the front of his shirt. “Told you I’d wear one for you.”
“What’s it say?” She walked closer, and it was crystal clear the moment she read his Big Johnson Tattoo Parlor shirt, with its iconic cartoon character tattooing a naked woman’s back. Her mouth dropped open on a gasp. “I can’t believe you wear that.”
“Well”—he waggled his eyebrows over the mask—“it’s only fair to warn people.” The shirt read, “You’re gonna feel more than a Little Prick.”
She pressed her lips together like she was trying to hold back her laughter, but humor absolutely danced in those blue eyes. “I think you might be a bad influence on my baby.” Becca leaned down and covered the dog’s ears. The puppy tried to gnaw on her hand.
Jeremy scoffed. “You wound me. I may never recover.” He retreated toward his room and pointed at Nick. “I gotta get back to it. Eight p.m. Don’t forget.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Rixey said. It’s on the list.
Becca ran Shiloh-for-now outside for a quick business trip, then they left the dog to nap and play in the shop while they went upstairs to wait for the others. Nick placed the pizza boxes, paper plates, and canned sodas on the bar.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, retreating down the hall without waiting for him to respond.
Bracing his hands on the counter, he watched her walk away, that boulder making its presence known on his chest again. Pissed at himself as he was, he didn’t want her hurting. Before they had an audience, he followed her back to the room.
Not thinking, he pushed through the mostly closed office door and inhaled to speak her name, but the word died on his throat.
She stood in the bathroom doorway naked from the waist up, except for a pale yellow and white lace bra. The yellow looked so pretty against her skin, and the lace curving over the swells of her breasts tempted his fingers, his tongue.