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They were my people. It might have been because they too had lost someone. Or maybe they had been victims themselves, unable to speak up in the moment or even now. Or they could simply be empathetic humans who wanted the world to be better than it was.
gaze away from his rugged face and toward the back of the bar. “Whiskey. You don’t happen to have any Ransom, do you? The Emerald?” The man was already moving. Without even looking, he plucked up a familiar bottle. “Rocks or neat?” “Now why would I want to dilute that beautiful flavor?” He chuckled, the action making the thick, dark-blond scruff around his mouth twitch. “A woman who knows what she likes.” I slid off my leather jacket, letting it fall to the back of the stool, and set my phone on the bar. “That a good thing?” “Always.” The bartender grabbed a glass and gave me a healthy pour.
didn’t matter that Trey had sent a text telling me my con woman was at the bar. My eyes would have gone to her instantly in a crowd. Those acres of blond hair tumbling down her back and over the back of the stool. The way her sun-kissed shoulders peeked out from some sort of tank top with too many colors to count. She oozed an effortless sort of beauty. But more than that, a light. From her golden hair to the fire in those blue eyes.
I knew in my gut it was because the anniversary was approaching. Every year, I checked in on the case. Went over every piece of evidence in lockup. Forced myself to read Emerson’s statements at least three times.

