Page 549 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

“That he ran down a possible suspect?”

She hadn’t just heard about it, she’d watched as he tore past her, lean and quick and fierce, the expression on his face sending a spark through her she couldn’t identify.

Not fear, really, but perhaps, well, warning.

The kind that said she might have glimpsed a layer of Rembrandt that accompanied Silas’s accusation.

“Heattackedthe guy. John’s thinking he might file police brutality charges.”

She sighed and ran a hand behind her neck. Squeezed a muscle there. “The scene was awful, Dad. I’ve seen burned bodies before, but…it’s a terrible way to die. It’s different, you know, to be there. To see it. Again. And to know…well,” She caught her bottom lip in her teeth.

“To know?”

“It’s just…Stone had this hunch that it was going to happen again.” She didn’t want to betray him, but maybe they should all pay a bit more attention to his instincts.

Her father gave a quick frown, just a flicker. “What kind of hunch?”

“He made me print off all the pictures from the crowd yesterday and was studying them. That’s why—well,probablythat’s why he went after this guy. Burke said the guy was at the bombing yesterday.”

Her father’s frown returned.

“And Inspector Stone just ran after him?”

She lifted a shoulder.

“Rembrandt Stone is a hot-head, who’s impulsive decisions are going to get other people killed.”

She opened her mouth, not sure what to say. Closed it. Then, “I blew up the pictures from today, too.”

Gesturing him to follow her, she walked over to a whiteboard where she’d pinned up the pictures. Today’s on one board, yesterday’s on the one beside it.

Her dad studied the pictures. “You think that the bomber stayed to watch.”

“Yes, I do.” The voice came from behind them; a quiet, deep tenor that made her turn.

Rembrandt might have had a worse day than both of them. His cheek boasted a purpling bruise, his eyes tired, reddened. And he must have been wrestling a hand through his hair, one side of it rucked up. He dumped his jacket on her worktable and unbuttoned the sleeves of his grass-stained shirt, rolling one sleeve, then the other, up past his elbows. No tie today, and his suit pants hung low on his hips, also stained.

“Ramses was at the first scene. He said he was getting coffee, but why would a guy get coffee from a different location if his mother ran a coffee shop?” He came right up to the boards, crossed his arms over his chest.

He had nice shoulders, powerful forearms, and she sort of wished she’d seen that fight, especially after the rumors of how he’d tackled the suspect and kept him down.

Apparently the sluice of warning hadn’t taken hold.

Or perhaps her own instincts simply detected a different kind of danger.

“These are the shots from today?”

She nodded. “We spent the day looking for similarities.”

“Why don’t you run them through a facial recognition program, see if the computer can find a match?”

She stared at him. “I’ve heard about that. The Bochum system, out of Germany. I think they’ve developed a similar program at USC. I’d love to get my hands on it.”

He glanced over at her, gave a quick frown, blinking. “Yeah. Maybe someday.” Then, “I’m going to need copies of these.”

“I already made them.”

She didn’t miss the glance from her father before she walked across the room, to her makeshift desk, to grab the manila envelope.

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