Page 61 of Blake

Lincoln pulled out a chair, his gaze landing on Devon’s. “Emmett gave me the basics. Said you think someone tried to kill you last night.”

Blake corrected him. “Someone entered her apartment with what we assume was the intent to kill. But we don’t know that for sure, and we have no idea who sent him.”

The other man opened his folder and blew out a breath. “Billy Crawford is still unaccounted for.”

Devon went still.

Emmett spoke next. “That’s why you’re here.”

Lincoln looked at Blake. “Tell me about the intruder.”

The other man went through it all again. When he was finished describing the man he’d fought, the detective sat back in his chair.

“I can help coordinate with the St. Louis detectives handling Carol Jenkins’ death,” Lincoln offered. “If there’s anything suspicious about the hit-and-run, I’ll find out.”

“Appreciate it.” Blake dipped hic chin.

The detective rose, then paused to look at Devon. “One thing.” When she glanced up, he told her, “If Billy contacts you, or you see anything that makes you think he’s nearby, call me immediately.” To Blake, he added, “Don’t wait.”

“Trust me, I won’t,” Devon promised.

They all had their own reasons for wanting to see Billy Crawford behind bars. Detective Boone included.

When the group finally dispersed from the room minutes later, Blake and Devon went to his office and got back to work.

“You were right.” She checked out his high-end set-up. “This is a much cooler room.”

“Told you.” He sent her a grin. “We can work from here.” He brought a second chair over to the long table that was arranged much like the one in his apartment. “But first, I have a very serious question to ask, and I need you to tell me the absolute truth.”

Devon froze, a guarded look instantly appearing on her gorgeous face. “Okay. What?”

Blake paused for dramatic effect. And then, with a smile, he asked, “What sounds good to you for lunch?”

The man behind the mahogany desk studied the person standing across from him. “Explain how a freelance computer technician has managed to become such a problem for us.”

“She’s better than we anticipated. Her program triggered the safeguard, but apparently, she’d already seen enough to start asking questions.”

“And the contractor?”

“He failed. The Brighton woman wasn’t alone when he got to her apartment.”

His jaw tightened. “Who was with her?”

“A man who’s proficient in hand-to-hand. That’s all we know. But we’re working on it.”

“Work faster.”

He leaned back in his chair, fighting the urge to put his fist through something.

He’d spent years building something that was never supposed to attract attention. Every detail had been carefully considered. Every potential weakness accounted for.

Or so he’d thought.

Until Carol Jenkins started asking questions. The old woman should have minded her own damn business.

“And Jenkins?”

“Taken care of. Cops think it was just a hit-and-run.”