“You have no idea,” she murmured back, and the arctic in her gaze nearly froze him.
“Do you know,” Dante’s voice with its hint of a southern drawl cut through the room, “why your family was targeted?”
He leaned back in the chair. “Because my stepfather is rich. Pretty easy one to figure.”
“Your stepbrother fit the victim profile,” Samantha said. His gaze slanted toward her. She stepped forward with that chin up. “I told you, he was victim number five.”
“He didn’t fit the profile perfectly. Quinlan wasn’t attending college,” Monica pointed out.
“No.” Max shook his head, aware that Samantha was coming closer. “He dropped out of Georgetown last semester.” Just a year away from getting his degree. Quinlan had said that he’d go back. Now would he have the chance?
“Does your stepfather have any enemies?” Dante asked.
Max laughed. “Yeah, dozens. Every business owner he’s ever screwed.” And there’d been a lot of them. “But for names, you’re going to need to ask him.”
“We are.” Monica tucked a strand of dark hair behind her left ear. Her right shoulder moved in a small shrug. “Do you have enemies, Max?”
A hand came to rest on his uninjured shoulder. Soft and smooth, a light touch. Samantha stood by his side. Enemies? He straightened a bit. “No one who hates me enough to do this.”
Monica opened a folder and pushed a series of photos across the table toward him. “Do you know any of these men?”
His gaze scanned the color photographs. He touched the picture of the blond with the winking grin. He would have recognized the guy even if his picture hadn’t been splashed on the news. “Adam Warrant. He and Quinlan hung out a few years back.”
He felt the sudden tension in the room. “Anyone else?” Dante asked.
Max stared down at the photos. The redhead with the broken nose looked familiar. “I… might have seen him with Quinlan once, but I can’t be sure.”
“Do you know his name?” Dante’s voice was still easy.
“No, no, I’m not even sure I saw him but I think—” He frowned, remembering a rain-soaked day when he’d gone to Quinlan’s dorm room. “I think I saw him when Quinlan was at Georgetown.” His fingers tapped on the photo. “He another vic?” Another one who knew Quinlan? What were the odds…?
“No, he’s not a victim.” Monica pulled the photo away. “He’s the perp we found with his throat slashed in the parking garage.”
His gaze flew up to catch hers.
Monica’s head inclined toward him. “Sam ran his prints and turned up a hit in our system. That’s where we got the picture. His name’s James Hackley. He’s an ex-con, and as far as we can tell, he’s never been a student at Georgetown or any other college.”
Max’s eyes narrowed.
“And this is the other man.” A photo slid toward him, and this time, it was obvious that the guy was dead. Close-cropped black hair. Closed eyes. A bullet’s entrance wound in his forehead. “Do you know him?”
Had to be the guy who’d tried to kill him. “No. Never seen him.” At least, not without a black ski mask.
“He’s not in the system,” Samantha said, “but I’m running a facial recognition program right now. I’m comparing his image to the video we took from the traffic cameras outside the bars. If we can tag his image and link him to a car, I can trace the plate.” She exhaled slowly. “And the plate will give us a name.”
Monica pulled all the photos back. “We’re going to connect all these men, and we will find your brother.”
“Pieces of him?” The question burst out.
And Monica didn’t answer.
“We’ll find him,” Samantha’s soft voice reassured. “Don’t give up hope yet.”
He saw Dante’s gaze jump to her.
“You’ve given us a link,” Monica said. “Two victims knew each other. Maybe they all knew each other.”
“Or maybe they all knew the wrong person.” Samantha said.
James Hackley.
Monica straightened her files. “We start with Hackley and work our way out from there. He’s going to lead us to the others.”
Max’s hands flattened on the table. “You sure about that? My brother is out there, dying.”
Monica’s stare drifted to Samantha. “I understand.” And she actually sounded like she did. “Believe me, we are doing everything that we can. Stay here, okay? We might have some more photos for you to ID soon.” She rose, shoving her chair back.
Max jumped to his feet, too. “That’s it? That’s all I get to do? Look at some damn photos?”
Dante stepped forward. “Easy. We know this is a tense situation—”
“You don’t know what it’s like to have someone you care about in a killer’s hands! You don’t know what it’s like for time to trickle away while you know he’s going to die. You don’t know.”
Silence.
“I know.” Whispered from Samantha. His head whipped to the left, and Max found himself caught in her gaze. “And they know too. Believe me, they do.” Her hand lifted, and her fingertips pressed against his cheek. “We’re working 24–7. Don’t give up on us yet. You can’t give up.”
There was so much pain in her voice. “Samantha?”
“We’re getting out of here,” Samantha told him, and her voice was stronger, firmer. She fired a glance at Monica. “I read the files. I know that you talked to the bartender, Nic, at The Core. He said—he said he saw a woman with Quinlan right after Max and I left.”
“A blonde.” Monica’s gaze slid back and forth between them. “Maybe twenty-one or twenty-two. He said she had long legs and a small knife tattoo on her left shoulder.”
“He remembered her only because he remembered you.” Dante’s head was cocked as he watched them. “He said a redhead came up asking him questions, and some man with her got into a fight.”
“You all left quite an impression on him,” Monica murmured.
“After you left…” From Dante, “the bartender saw a blonde approach Quinlan.”
“We haven’t been able to find her yet, but we’ve got plainclothes officers at The Core looking for her.” Monica eased away from the table. “Thanks to Kim, we know a blonde matching her description was also seen with Adam Warrant right before he vanished.” One dark brow arched. “The same bartender remembered her.”