Page 555 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

I don’t know how long I’m going to be trapped here, and frankly the last thing I need in my suddenly off-kilter world is to lose Burke’s trust. Still, we’re running out of time. “What if Ramses is on the run? Or worse, planning to hit another coffee shop. Maybe even tomorrow morning?”

I don’tsounddesperate, so that’s good, but I let the question linger in the quiet.

It also occurs to me that if we have Ramses, and he’s our bomber, then the nightmare is over.

“I just got home from a gig.”

Right. Burke is still a jazz drummer, even in my time, but now he’s playing for a band that is making a name in Minneapolis. Someday, Sticks, as he’s called, will have to make a choice between his police work and his music.

You know what he chose. So maybe that’s why he’s not a fan ofmycreative choice. I hadn’t really considered that before.

Still, “Then I’m not interrupting anything. Get up and do me a solid, bro. Just go pick him up. I’ll meet you at the station.”

I am not sure if that is a curse I hear, but he mumbles something and hangs up.

“I did a check on the US distributor of Good Earth coffee. It’s out of Chicago, but their offices are closed.”

“I need a list of coffee shops that use this brand.” I shake my head. “We could use a hacker.”

She laughs. “Right. You and my brother—he’s always trying to ‘hack’ into things. This isn’t the movies, Rem.”

I didn’t know that about Asher. But then again, he died before he could show the world who he was.

Not this time.

My phone buzzes. It’s Burke, texting to tell me that he’s on his way to Ramses’ house.

I glance at the clock. After eleven. We have eight hours, if my sketchy memory is even remotely correct.

Eve stands up. “I’m heading home, but let me know how it goes with Ramses.”

I stop myself from reaching out and tugging on a strand of that twisty red hair, and instead nod. I grab my jacket and am about to start searching the city’s coffee shops when Burke texts me again to meet him at the precinct office.

The parking lot is dark save for the puddle of light from the overhead streetlight. Moths dart through the glow, shadows against the pavement. The air is balmy, seasoned with a hint of freshly mowed grass and the slightest tinge of late night moisture. A breeze lifts my shirt.

I’m leaning against my car when lights stripe the lot and I make out Burke’s Integra. He pulls up behind me, not in a space, and leaves the car running.

His expression is gnarled and edgy when he gets out, and it occurs to me that maybe I did interrupt something.

Naw. Burke is even more of a loner than I am. He works out, reads, and come to think of it, loves time travel books.

Ironic.

“What?” I ask, before he can attack.

“He’s not there.” He shuts the door to his still running car.

“What—?”

“The house was lit up, so I knocked, and Mariana Vega answered the door. Said Ramses had gone out—she didn’t know where.”

I stifle a curse but Burke frowns at me. “So we get him tomorrow?—”

“No, we gotta stake out his house, grab him the second he gets back.”

Burke is giving me a look like he did this morning, or even last night. “What’s going on, Rem?”

Doggone it. “I just think…it’s a?—”

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