She hopped up the steps to Walt’s door and knocked. Just as she raised her hand to knock again, someone released the locks from the inside and pulled it open.
“Miss Becca?” he said, his light brown eyes flying from her to the two men behind her. His brow furrowed as his gaze settled on the bruise on her forehead. At least the goose egg had gone down. Now she was just a walking dull ache.
“Hi, Walt. I’m sorry to drop in on you without calling, but I wondered if we could come in for a few minutes and talk. About Charlie.” He eyeballed the guys again. “They’re my friends.”
“Yeah, okay. For you, Miss Becca. Come on in.”
She smiled and stepped into the foyer. “How are you doing?”
He shrugged and sighed, watching Nick and Beckett like a hawk as they filed into the outdated-but-neat living room. “I’m getting by. You find your brother yet?”
“No, but Nick and Beckett are helping me.” She made introductions and Walt shook their hands, still a little wary of them. “I’m going to hang these around,” she said, handing him a flyer. “We have to figure out where he went when he left here.”
“You cops?” he said, looking between the guys.
“No, sir,” Beckett said.
“They fought wi—”
“Becca,” Nick said sharply, cutting her off. She frowned at him, and he shook his head. “Sir, do you happen to know which cab company Charlie used? Was there one? Several?”
“Usually Yellow Cab,” Walt said, frowning. “Had ’em pick him up down the block at the convenience store. Never here.”
Becca’s heart leapt. Maybe a store clerk knew Charlie and would remember when they’d seen him. “That could be really helpful. Thank you. Would you be willing to look at a drawing for me?”
“I suppose. Of what?”
She handed him the sketch. “A man who tried to kidnap me yesterday.”
“What?” His eyes flew wide. This time, when he looked at Nick and Beckett, his expression was different, more open, like he was putting the pieces of a puzzle together and deciding he liked the picture they made. “That what happened to your forehead?”
“Yeah. Luckily, I got away.” Well, luck and the incredible, sexy guy standing behind her. Becca had no idea how she’d repay him when this was all over, but she knew she’d owe him big. “But between that incident and the fact that someone did to my house what they did to Charlie’s, I’m being extra careful. And we’re trying to figure out who this man might be.”
Walt held the picture some distance in front of him and looked down his nose studying it. “I don’t know him. I’m sorry.” He passed it back and pointed to the next sheet on her stack. “What’s that?”
“A tattoo he had on his arm. Mean anything to you?”
“No.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth, contemplation clear in his expression. “You got copies of these you could leave with me? I could show them to my son. He knows a lot of people. Maybe . . .” He shrugged.
She didn’t know his son, but she wasn’t going to refuse help. “That would be great. I’d appreciate any help.”
Nick stepped closer. “Walt, have you seen anyone snooping around Charlie’s place? Any cars sitting and watching it? Anyone on the block not usually here?”
“No, and after what happened the other day, I’ve been keeping an eye out. But if y’all leave me your number, I’ll call if I see something. And when I hear from my son, too.”
“Just use that number,” Becca said, pointing to the reward flyer in his hands. “Right now, another friend named Derek is manning that phone. I’ll let him know to get in touch with me right away if you call.”
“All right,” Walt said.
“One last thing. Would you let us into Charlie’s apartment again?”
A few minutes later, they were down in Charlie’s dungeonlike space. Everything still looked just as it had the other day. She hung with Walt at the door while the guys did a methodical sweep through the place, checking for bugs, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Nick called Marz and told him about the Yellow Cab lead and what kind of equipment was left in Charlie’s office, but apparently nothing useful remained that Marz could investigate. The visit was a bust. Nick and Beckett met her back at the door, and they left.
“I’m sorry I can’t do more to help,” Walt said out on the sidewalk.
“You’re doing plenty. And I appreciate it.” Despite the whole near-miss-with-a-baseball-bat situation, she felt an affection for the man ever since he’d insisted on charging into Charlie’s when they’d seen it’d been ransacked.
After Walt went back inside after promising he’d call later, Becca turned on Nick, wondering what she’d done wrong. “Hey, why did you cut me off before?”
“Sorry. I should’ve said something earlier. At this point, Becca, you have to assume you can’t trust anyone outside our circle. Information equals advantage. We don’t want to give away either if we don’t have to.”
“Oh. Okay. That makes sense. I guess I’m not used to thinking that way.” She dug into her purse and grabbed the stapler she’d brought, then stepped to the nearest phone pole to tack up a flyer. The spring breeze made her wrestle to keep the paper flat.
“No reason you should. Normal people don’t.” Expression serious, his gaze did a constant scan over the street. The sunlight made his green eyes brighter than usual. It was such a striking contrast to his dark brown hair.
She glanced at him. “You’re not normal?”
He smirked. “Not even a little. Come on, let’s head toward the convenience store.” He pulled his cell from his pocket.
“How many times do you think a Yellow Cab has picked someone up from that Handi-Mart in the past few weeks?” she asked.
“Good question. Hopefully not many.”
Becca paused at another pole, where she struggled to get the staple in.
“Here,” Beckett said. “Gonna hurt your hand.” He took the stapler and pounded a little metal hook into each corner like he was cutting soft butter, revealing a mountain range of purple bruises across his knuckles from punching the fridge.
“Thanks. How’s your hand doing?”
He frowned, then held up his righty and flexed his fingers. “I’ll live,” he said. Even though the words were abrupt, the expression on his face softened just a little.
She slid a flyer under the windshield wipers of each of the cars they passed. Maybe these wouldn’t make any difference in the end, but it felt good to be doing something. At the intersection, Beckett walked the four corners, hanging a flyer on the poles all the way around. The man was hard as heck to engage in conversation, but his actions proved he was a good guy. She’d just remember not to take his gruffness personally.
Nick stayed close to her side, his muscles braced and his gaze doing a constant circuit. His nearness resurrected uninvited memories of their morning activities in his bed. God, he’d felt so good.
“Marz is a really cool guy,” she said, not wanting to think about how amazing Nick had made her feel. Those orgasms had been so good they deserved to have a party thrown in their honor. Complete with confetti and noisemakers. Nor did she want to think about how he’d withdrawn and screwed it all up. “Not everyone would remain so positive after losing a leg.”