‘Zat’s under the bed,’ she said, making tsking noises. ‘Come here, sweetie. Come out.’ She sighed and stood up. ‘I think we scared him.’ Then she shrugged. ‘He’ll get used to it.’

Marcus dumped the clean sheets on the bed and helped her put on the fitted one. ‘He got used to the purple,’ he said blandly.

She laughed. ‘Poor Zat. But if you think this is bright, you should see the other rooms. I’ve been working on fixing the outside first. I’ll redo the paint inside later. One task at a time.’

‘You could hire someone to do it.’

She frowned at him. ‘Unlike you, I’m not rich. Plus, it’s more mine if I do it myself.’

‘I could do it for you,’ he offered slyly. ‘I can do all kinds of repairs for you. I don’t need the money, so you’d have to find other ways to pay me.’

She tried to decide if he was serious. ‘Do you know how to repair stuff?’

He tried not to be offended. ‘Who do you think builds the houses we use to relocate the families we told you about tonight? Elves in a hollow tree?’

Her eyes widened. ‘You build houses?’

‘I help. Diesel does, or did before he got busy at the paper. He’s built some low-rent housing in the past. I’m mostly just an investor, but he lets me swing a hammer sometimes.’

She lifted a brow. ‘Seems like Diesel has a number of diverse talents. Building, hacking, gentle coercion, philanthropy. Where did you meet him?’

‘In the army. He saved my life a few times, I saved his. When we got out, we parted ways, but the next thing I knew I’d inherited the paper and needed someone I could trust to help me with my . . . side business. At that point, Stone was working as a freelancer for other papers and was always on assignment out of the country. I knew I could trust Diesel. He hadn’t found a job that interested him yet, so he signed on.’

She’d been changing the pillowcases while he talked and now plumped the pillows invitingly before she sat cross-legged on top of the covers and started braiding her hair. ‘He sounds like a good friend. I’m glad you have him.’

He sat beside her and captured her hands in his. ‘Don’t braid it. Leave it down.’

‘It’s still wet. It’ll be all tangled in the morning.’

‘So I’ll brush it.’ He swept his lips over hers. ‘Leave it down. It’s my fantasy.’

‘Oh,’ she breathed, then swallowed hard. ‘Okay.’

He’d been all set for another round, but right now he just wanted to hold her. He switched off the lights and climbed under the covers, patting the pillow beside him. ‘Come here, Scarlett,’ he said, intentionally pitching his voice low. The deep breath she sucked in told him that he’d tickled her fantasy too.

‘I thought you had ideas.’

‘I do, but they’ll keep for a little while. I never got to hold you before.’

‘Just a minute. Let me check my messages.’ She looked at her phone, her brows furrowing. After a moment’s hesitation, she put it back down on the nightstand and climbed under the covers with him, snuggling against his side, her head on his shoulder.

‘What was that?’

‘What?’ Her fingertips idly brushed across his chest, playing with the hairs. Even though it sidetracked his focus, he couldn’t make himself tell her to stop.

He rubbed her forehead with one finger. ‘The message that made you frown.’

She sighed. ‘It’s about the guard in your condo.’

Fear squeezed his heart. ‘Edgar. What about him? Is he . . . ?’

‘No, no,’ she assured him. ‘Last I heard he was still in recovery. This is about the attack. I saw the security tape while I was in Isenberg’s office earlier. Edgar had a gun and pulled it on the shooter, but he hesitated, probably because he didn’t want to miss and hit Phillip. The shooter was holding a gun on Phillip using his right hand, but in a very smooth move he whipped his right hand around and pushed the gun up under Phillip’s chin, then grabbed the guard’s gun and shot him with it – using his left hand.’

Marcus didn’t want to visualize it, but his mind wasn’t giving him any choice. ‘Ambidextrous, with some martial arts experience.’

‘I thought either martial arts or military. Or both. Bottom line, he was smooth. Amazing reflexes. Almost like he’d practiced it or at least had it planned.’

‘You think he expected Edgar to pull his gun?’

‘I don’t know, but the way he held the gun under Phillip’s chin gave the camera a perfect view of the make and model.’

‘He wanted us to know what he was carrying.’

‘Seems like it. After shooting Edgar, he pocketed Edgar’s gun and forced Phillip into the elevator. It would have been more efficient for him to keep his left arm around Phillip’s throat and use the gun he came in with to shoot the guard rather than the big switch maneuver.’

‘But he didn’t want to leave a bullet behind.’

‘Right. I wasn’t going to tell you about it. Didn’t think you needed the images in your mind, but Isenberg wants you to look at the video and see if you can ID the shooter. She sent me a link. You probably have a message from her asking you to call her or me.’

He sat up and turned on the light. ‘Why did she wait so long to send it to you? They’ve had that video for hours.’

‘In her email she said that they had to clean it up. The video was poor quality. Truthfully, she was probably debating with herself whether or not she wanted you to see it.’ She sat up and found the message on her phone. ‘I’m not supposed to forward this to you because it’s evidence and we can’t let it leak to the press yet. Sorry.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘What do I have to do to get your boss to trust me?’

‘Be a cop and work for her for a couple years. She didn’t trust me right away either.’ Scarlett winced. ‘Sometimes she still doesn’t.’

He sighed. ‘Just play it.’

She cued it up and handed him her phone. He hit PLAY quickly before he could manufacture a reason to put it off. He flinched when the clip started, his attention riveted to the fear on Phillip’s face.

Scarlett rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Start it again,’ she murmured. ‘I know it’s hard, but don’t look at Phillip. Look at the man’s face.’

He watched the clip from beginning to end, focusing on the shooter’s build, his gloved hands, the way he moved, and his eyes, his only visible feature. There was nothing recognizable, so he made himself watch it again and again, his jaw clenching tighter every time the bastard fired at Edgar.

Finally Scarlett pulled the phone from his hands. ‘Enough. Your teeth are about to crack. Did you recognize anything about him?’

He clenched his fists helplessly. ‘No.’

‘Then I’ll tell her that.’ She slid her hand over his fist, holding him while she called her boss. ‘It’s Scarlett,’ she said when Isenberg picked up. ‘Yes, I got it. I showed it to him, but he doesn’t recognize the shooter . . . Yes, ma’am, I turned your request around quickly.’ She listened for a moment, then closed her eyes, her cheeks turning red. ‘Yes, ma’am, he’s with me.’

Oh fuck. His outing them to his team was one thing. Her outing herself to her boss was quite another. Part of him wondered if that wasn’t the reason Isenberg had waited to send the email. She’d known Scarlett wouldn’t delay her response, because a murderer was walking free. What a fucking bitch.

He wanted to grab the phone and tell the lieutenant exactly what he thought about her, but he bit his tongue. This was Scarlett’s world. Her battle.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ she said after listening for a full minute. ‘Your office, nine sharp. I’ll be there.’ She hung up and dropped her chin to her chest. ‘Well that was fun.’

‘What can she do to you?’

‘Give me a lecture or put a note in my file. Worst case is I get suspended.’ He tugged her to his lap, settled her between his thighs and massaged her scalp, making her sigh quietly. ‘But if she really wants to get mean, she’ll tell my dad.’

He blinked. ‘She’s going to tell your father? Why?’