by Lisa Harris
“This is getting very interesting.” He clicked again and started skimming through profile information. “Yep, I found one Nadia Bower living here in Seattle, and she’s a friend of Kira Thornton.”
“That’s definitely not a coincidence.”
“No, it’s not. From her posts, it looks like she and her boyfriend just celebrated their six-month anniversary.”
“And her boyfriend is?”
“Bingo.” Jonas enlarged the photo he found on her profile, then turned the computer around so Madison could see it. “Jesse Archer.”
“Despite the graininess of this photo, that’s got to be her.” She held up the security footage photo again. “I’d say we now have a match to our fourth fugitive.”
“I agree, though this gives a new meaning to high-octane dating. Grabbing takeout once a week seems a bit underrated suddenly.”
She glanced up from the photos. “So our weekly dinners were dates?”
Heat rose to his face. “No, I . . .” He tried to find a way to backpedal from what he’d just said. “I just meant if we were to call them dates—”
“Forget it, Jonas.” A smile spread on her face. “Now that we’ve ID’d the other two fugitives, we need to update our BOLO. If they are still in the city, we’ll find them.”
He hoped she was right. His phone rang, and he snatched it up. “It’s the kid I met with last night.”
Jonas set the phone on the desk in front of them, then switched it to speaker. “Matt, is everything okay?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry to be calling so early.”
“That’s fine. I’m already here in the office with my partner. I have you on speakerphone.”
“That’s fine. I might have found something.”
Jonas and Madison shared a look. “Great. What have you got?” he asked.
“Jesse’s not big on social media, but we have some of the same friends, so it wasn’t hard to poke around a bit. I found his girlfriend—”
“Nadia Bower?”
“Yes. She posted something last night on Snapchat.”
“Okay.” Jonas glanced up at Madison, surprised. These guys didn’t exactly seem like the type who were going to end up being hauled in because of a photo on social media. “What was it?”
“It was a photo of Seattle, at night, overlooking Elliott Bay.”
He deflated. “There’s got to be thousands of shots of that scene.”
“I agree. But here’s the interesting thing. I told you that I was a bicycle messenger.”
“Yes?”
“So I know the city pretty well. I’ve made hundreds of deliveries, and I recognized exactly where that photo came from.”
“Where?” Madison asked.
“A high-rise apartment building, not far from Pike Place Market.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“That’s great information,” Jonas said, “but there could be hundreds of people living in those apartments.”
“I agree,” Matt said, “which is why I didn’t stop there. I did a bit more digging. Like I said, Jesse doesn’t have much of a presence on social media, but his girlfriend does. And she has a friend who lives in the building where the photo was taken. Zac Cannon. He moved in about a year ago.”
“Now we might actually have something,” Jonas said, writing down the name and address Matt gave him.
“I just . . .” Matt hesitated. “I’d appreciate your keeping my name off of anything official.”
“I will, and thanks, Matt.”
“You still think they left the city?” Jonas asked Madison after he hung up the call.
“It’s certainly possible they’re still here,” she said, “or the photo could be nothing more than a red herring.”
“While I agree that they’re smart, I still don’t think they planned this far ahead. They’re desperate, and desperate people usually stick to what’s familiar.”
“We need to talk to Zac Cannon.”
SEVENTEEN
Madison ducked out of the light rain beneath an overhang a block away from the downtown high-rise apartment building. While she wasn’t completely convinced that Jonas’s contact was right in his assumptions about the photo, she did agree that it was worth following up on. Plus, she hadn’t missed the fact that Jonas’s mood had lightened with the lead. Finding their fugitives might not bring back Felicia, but it would go a long way in serving justice in a horrible situation.
“I have two confessions,” she said as they walked toward the lobby doors. “When I was looking for a house a few months ago, I took a tour of one of the apartments on the twenty-second floor here. What I didn’t tell them was that the only thing I could afford was a studio on the first floor.”
Jonas let out a low laugh. “And your second confession?”
“I might be slightly jealous of those who can afford the penthouses. Okay, more than slightly jealous.”
“If it gives you any consolation, I think your place is beautiful. Especially with all the changes you’ve made. And it fits you far better than a ritzy apartment building.”
“You’re probably right, but do you know what these places offer?”
“I’ve never had the official tour, but I bet I could make a pretty educated guess.”
She stopped in front of the glass doors to the lobby. “There’s a rooftop space with an outdoor lounge, a fitness center, a yoga studio, and if that isn’t enough, there’s a 24/7 concierge in case you need, I don’t know”—she waved her hand in the air—“an ice cream delivery at 2:00 a.m.”
“How often do you need ice cream delivered at 2:00 a.m.?”
She shrugged. “That’s not the point. I’m just saying that you could, if you wanted to. And on top of that, the views are incredible.”
“I get it, but you chose the wrong career path if you expected to be able to afford that. Or you’re going to have to marry up in the world. Way up.”
“Maybe that’s not a bad idea.” She shot him a smile as he opened the door. “The view might be worth it.”
She stepped inside the well-lit lobby with its tiled floors, rich wood accents, and long reception desk. To the right were two elevators, available only to those with a key card. Madison flashed her badge at the concierge, who looked half-asleep.
“Dylan,” she said, reading his name tag. “I’m Deputy US Marshal Madison James and this is my partner, Deputy US Marshal Jonas Quinn.”
“Okay . . . Is there a problem?”
Jonas showed him a photo of Nadia and Jesse on his phone. “We need to know if you’ve seen this couple come through the lobby.”
“Even during a night shift you’d be surprised at how many people come and go.” He leaned closer, then shook his head. “But I don’t recognize them. Sorry.”
“What about Zac Cannon? He lives on the seventeenth floor.”
“I know who he is. Is he in trouble or something?”
“We just need to ask him some questions.”
The man hesitated as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do. “I guess I could give you access to the elevators.”
“Thank you.”
He opened a drawer in his desk, then handed Madison a plastic card with the apartment logo on it. They stepped into the elevator a moment later, and she punched the button for the seventeenth floor.
“Personally, I would never live in a place like this,” Jonas said, leaning against the mirrored back wall as the doors slid shut.
“Why’s that?” she asked.
“What happens if the place catches on fire, and you’re twenty, twenty-five stories up?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Unless I find myself some rich husband, I guess I won’t have to worry about it.”
He laughed, but she didn’t miss the hollowness in his expression. Humor might be a way to cope with the stress in their line of work, but everything that had happened yesterday was still simmering beneath the surface.
“How are you d
oing?” she asked, as the elevator began to climb.
He blew out a breath. “I’m worried that we’re wasting our time. We’re here because of a photo some bike messenger saw on Facebook and is convinced was taken from this building.”
“You’re worried he might be wrong.” It was a statement. Not a question.
“I’m convinced he probably is wrong. You don’t think it’s a bit far-fetched?”
“I agree he could be wrong, but this is what we do. Follow leads and talk to witnesses until we track our fugitives down. Which we will. I think you’re worrying about something you can’t control.”
“Like a fire in a high-rise building.”
“Exactly.”
The elevator dinged, and they stepped out into a small landing accessing the five apartments on the seventeenth story.
Madison paused in the middle of the tiled floor as the doors shut behind her. “Are you having second thoughts on the legitimacy of your witness?”
“Our witness,” Jonas countered. “I did a background check on him and he seems legit. Volunteers at a food bank, is involved in a bicycle club, and is really into fantasy sports.”
“Looks like you’ve learned to use social media pretty well.”
“Funny. But what keeps nagging at me is that our fugitives all seem like average people who normally stay out of trouble.”
She studied his face, trying to read between the lines. “Jonas.” She touched his arm lightly. “What’s really bothering you?”
He rubbed the back of his neck as if he wanted to avoid her question. “Felicia’s dead, and I’m worried that I’m grasping at anything no matter how unlikely it is.”
“This is personal. You can’t avoid that.”
“Yes, and I know you understand.”
She nodded, wishing he wasn’t having to grapple with so much. “It’s hard when you’re mentally and emotionally drained. Hard when you feel like you’re losing perspective.”
Because she did understand.
After Luke died, it was all she could do to get up in the morning, go to work, then crash when she got home. Anything beyond that was too much. She kept her personal life to herself, but realized in the end, if she didn’t take care of her emotions, she was going to burn out. She was going to have to ensure Jonas didn’t do the same thing.
“I can’t lose my focus,” he said.
Madison caught his gaze. “The first time we worked together in Nashville at the shoot house, I saw you function in some very difficult situations during that murder investigation. And do you know what impressed me?”
“What?”
“You never let emotions get in the way of what you were there to do. And I have no doubt that you will do that exact same thing again with this case. Let’s find out what this guy knows.”
He nodded as she crossed the small foyer in front of him, knocked on the door, then took a step back.
A few seconds later, Zac Cannon, a man Madison recognized from a DMV photo they’d pulled earlier, opened the door, wearing a T-shirt and sweats and holding a mug of coffee. She held up her badge and quickly introduced herself and Jonas.
“US Marshals?” Zac asked as he stared at the badge. “Is something wrong?”
“We need to speak with you for a few minutes. May we come in?” Madison asked.
Zac’s eyes widened. “I need to get ready for work—”
A neighbor stepped out of his apartment, glancing at them as he headed to the elevator.
“Fine.” Zac motioned them through the small entryway and into the kitchen, obviously trying to avoid a confrontation. “But like I said, I’m about to get ready for work and don’t have a lot of time.”
“Where would that be?” Jonas asked.
“My work? I’m . . . uh . . . I’m a computer analyst for a tech company. I’m sorry.” He shut the door behind them. “What’s going on? Am I in some kind of trouble?”
Jonas held up the photo on his phone. “We are looking for Jesse Archer and Nadia Bower. We understand they’re friends of yours.”
“Yeah . . . I know them.” He set his mug down on the kitchen counter. “Why?”
“When’s the last time you saw them?” Jonas asked.
Zac combed his fingers through his thick brown hair. “I don’t know. We’re not super close. I guess it was Jesse’s grandmother’s funeral a few weeks ago.”
Madison leveled her gaze at him. “So you haven’t seen them or spoken to them recently?”
“No. Sorry.”
Without invitation, Madison walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows of the living room that overlooked the city and a section of Elliott Bay. “This is quite a view.”
“Yeah, it is, but—”
“I’ve always wanted to see the view from one of these high-rise apartments.” She paused in front of the window for another couple seconds, then turned back to him, taking in the details of the open living room and kitchen at the same time. There was no sign anyone else had been there. The photo posted on social media very well could have been a red herring.
“I just bought a house,” she said, “and while I love the neighborhood, it can’t compare to this.”
“The view’s what sold me on this place but listen”—he shoved his hands into his pockets—“I wish I could help you, but I really need to get ready.”
“Of course,” Jonas said. “We’re sorry to have bothered you.”
Madison headed to the door with Jonas, trying to figure out what they were missing. She’d noticed how Zac couldn’t stop fidgeting his hands. How his jaw had tensed at the mention of their fugitives. The irritation in his voice. He was hiding something. The question was, what?
She stopped at the end of the kitchen counter. There was a box of hair dye in the garbage can. She reached down and picked it up. “What’s this?”
“I’d like to hear the answer to that question as well,” Jonas said.
“So I colored my hair.” Zac shrugged.
“Golden Copper? I don’t think so.” She looked at him, but he avoided her scrutiny. “There are clippings in here that are definitely not yours. I’m thinking Nadia and Jesse were here, and one of them decided to change their appearance. Is that true?”
Zac pressed his lips together.
“My partner asked you a question.” Jonas crossed his arms. “And next time you try to cover for a couple fugitives, you might want to do a better job.”
“Fugitives?” Zac looked at the gun on Jonas’s hip, then shifted his gaze up to his face. “So you really are US Marshals?”
Madison furrowed her brows. “Yes, and your friends are persons of interest in a string of bank robberies.”
“Bank robberies? You’re kidding, right?” Zac laughed. “That’s a little hard to believe. I know Jesse’s had a few run-ins with the law, but Nadia . . . She works at a hair salon. She’s not exactly the type to rob a bank.”
“Then they lied to you,” Jonas said.
He held up his hands. “Sorry, but I’m lost. I’d believe their story way before I would believe they’d been out robbing banks.”
“Then you don’t know your friends very well,” Madison said. “The charges against them range from bank robbing to murder—”
“Wait a minute. Murder? This has to be a mistake.” Zac’s face paled as he sat down on his leather couch, pressing his palms against his thighs. He seemed to be thinking over her words. He blew out a long puff of air before looking up at them. “About a year ago, Nadia filed a restraining order on her ex after he beat her up. I knew that was true. Knew he was a cop. Jesse called me yesterday while I was at work and asked if they could stay here a couple days off the radar because the ex was acting crazy again. I owed Jesse a favor, so I said yes. When Dylan called up from the front desk and told us the cops were here, we assumed it was him.”
“Who’s her ex?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know his name.”
Irritation wound tighter inside Madison. “Zac—”
/> He looked up at her. “Do you really think I would have covered for them if I knew they were fugitives?”
“I don’t know. Would you have?”
“Of course not.”
“So you never thought something might be off with their story?” Jonas asked.
“Why would I? They were clearly in a panic and needed time and a place to figure out what to do. I just apparently didn’t know the real reason.”
“Why not just tell us that to begin with?” Madison asked, ignoring his question.
“Sorry if I was thrown off by having marshals show up on my doorstep and start drilling me for information. Nadia warned me that her ex might use his badge and connections to find them. But I swear, as far as I knew, they were here because of him. That’s it.”
“When did they leave?” Madison asked.
Zac glanced at his watch. “Not long before you showed up.”
“I’m calling for backup.” Jonas headed for the door. “They can’t be far.”
“Where were they headed?” Madison asked, turning back to Zac.
“I don’t know.”
“We don’t have time for games. We need to know where they were going. And just so you know how serious this is, they’re already connected to two murders. If you have any idea where they might have gone—”
He held up his hands. “I swear, I don’t know.”
“You didn’t overhear any conversations or phone calls?”
“They didn’t say anything to me directly, but I did hear them talking about passports over the phone.”
Jonas was on his cell, still waiting for the elevator, when Madison stepped back into the small foyer. “I’ve requested backup outside the building and the surrounding blocks,” he said, “but the elevator’s not moving fast enough. We’ll have to take the stairs.”
She stifled a groan. “Why do we always have to do things the hard way?”
“It’s only seventeen flights.”
Seventeen flights.
She frowned, then followed him into the stairwell. Their steps echoed as they made their way down. She hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night, but for the moment, that didn’t matter. Knowing their fugitives had been in this building was enough to keep her adrenaline flowing and her energy up. She’d make up for the lack of sleep later.