Page 526 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

“Which we don’t have. I think the bomber was in the crowd today.”

She put the coffee down. “What makes you say that?”

“Just…a hunch. But I also think this isn’t the last bomb.”

His words put a fist in her. “What are you saying?”

“I think he’s going to do it again. And soon. Very soon.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know…” He looked away, then back to her. “It’s just…a gut feeling. I think he’s trying to make a point, and it’s not quite made yet.” His lips tightened into a grim line.

Layer number three. The guy really cared.

Unfortunately, “I don’t know how I can help you.”

“The shots you took today—are they developed yet?”

She’d filled up three rolls of her 35mm film taking shots of the crowd, then the scene. She’d handed off her camera to one of the techs and they’d continued shooting every piece of evidence. “I think we have about fifteen rolls of film.”

“I just need the crowd shots.”

“Because you think you can spot him—or her, although bombers tend to be male—in the photos? How will you know who you’re looking for?”

He lifted a shoulder.

“Wait, please don’t say it’s a gut feeling.”

He smiled. “Okay.”

She sighed, glancing over at Silas and the crew. He was watching her, his pale green eyes not missing a thing.

She turned back to Rembrandt. “This isn’t the order we do things in, Inspector. You don’t even know what you’re looking for.”

“I know. And I know I’m jumping ahead, but…please?”

It was thepleasethat did it. So different from the weird, almost invasive man she’d met earlier today, this man had a sweet humility about him.

Shoot, she liked him. And then there was the coffee.

“Okay. But we’ll have to go to the Forensic Photography services at the lab downtown.”

Rembrandt gave a slight nod. “Burke will drive.”

She grabbed the camera, the rolls of film, her bag, and followed him out to the lot. Andrew Burke was leaning against his car, waiting, handsome to the bone.

“Hi again, Detective Burke,” she said.

He glanced at Rembrandt. “Apparently he can’t stop harassing you today. Just Burke is fine.”

She slid into the backseat of his Integra. “We’re going to the photo lab.”

“Have you come up with any theories so far?” Burke asked as he pulled out. Rembrandt sat in the other seat, in front.

“Just that we think the blast came from one of the coffee canisters, given the pattern. It’s concentrated on one side of the building, although everyone sitting in the eating area was killed. Terrible.”

Rembrandt stared out the window, his hand rubbing his watch, his thumb moving over the face. A nervous habit, probably.

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