Maybe you got close to someone, they misunderstood. Nothing to be embarrassed about, but you need to come clean so I can find this man.”
“I have been honest. And Agent Ronson had better be good, because I don’t think you’ll find him at all.” Emilie imagined choking Avery with his designer tie. He glared back at her, nostrils wide enough to jam a large black olive in.
“Everything okay?” Ronson stood in the doorway.
“Perfect,” Avery said. “Emilie was just answering a few more questions.”
Emilie’s skin was hot with anger. “Detective Avery is a pompous ass.” She brushed by Ronson and stomped out of the office. “Where’s the sketch artist?”
Agent Ronson led her past a row of closed doors. “What did Avery say to you?”
“He accused me of deliberately holding back information. I’ve got no reason to do that.”
“I’ll talk to him about it.”
“Don’t bother. Just find the bastard who tried to kidnap me.”
The young sketch artist waited in a conference room. Emilie sat down across from her. Ronson took the seat to Emilie’s left.
“I can’t tell you much,” Emilie said. “All I saw were Creepy’s eyes.”
“That’s fine.” The artist brushed her wavy, brown hair out of her face and slipped on a pair of glasses. “What did his eyes look like?”
“His brows were kind of thick, but feminine. They had a nice arch. Dark eyes, but they had another color in the light. Green, maybe. I couldn’t see his nose. His skin had some color to it, but I couldn’t tell his ethnicity.”
She looked at the half-finished sketch. “No, his eyes were more oval-shaped, and his eyelids were a bit darker than the rest of his skin. No, no, that makes him look lazy-eyed. He was the opposite. His eyes were wide and alert at all times. He saw everything.”
The artist erased and began again, leaning over her work with intense concentration. “Like this?”
Gooseflesh erupted on Emilie’s arms. Creepy’s strange eyes stared back at her from the white sketch paper. “Yes, that’s good.”
“Get copies out immediately,” Ronson said.
The sketch artist nodded and hurried out of the room.
“We’re bringing in all current and former bank employees today,” Ronson said. “Anyone who worked in the new building and could have possible knowledge of the door.”
“I doubt any of them knew. Jeremy and I didn’t even know about it.”
“Last night you immediately thought of Lisa Craig.” Avery snapped as he entered the conference room. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at Emilie. “You listed all the issues you’ve had with her and explained why she’s a viable suspect. Have you changed your mind? You realize that wastes our time, right?”
“I said you should start with her.” Emilie wanted to punch Avery in the neck. “I also told you I didn’t know if she was capable of such a thing.”
“And you sound even less sure this morning.”
“Well you see, Detective Avery, there’s this thing called shock. It happens when people have had a traumatic experience. I have to admit that while Lisa is a grade-A, first-class bitch, I’m not sure she would do such a thing. Make sense?”
“That’s great. Now we start from scratch—again.”
“Lisa is still a viable suspect.” Ronson stared fiercely at Avery. “I can finish with Ms. Davis. Would you make sure the sketch artist gets the composite distributed? We need it out there now.” Her tone left no room for argument.
Avery hesitated and then nodded. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Ronson watched him leave. Her jaw was clenched, her mouth pressed into a straight line.
Emilie was grateful to see the agent’s anger. At least she had someone on her side. “Thanks for getting rid of him. Now what?”
“We’re also looking at people who worked at the Wildwood Hotel and would have knowledge of the bank foundation,” Ronson said. “But those interviews are going to take time. You’re sure you won’t stay
“I have been honest. And Agent Ronson had better be good, because I don’t think you’ll find him at all.” Emilie imagined choking Avery with his designer tie. He glared back at her, nostrils wide enough to jam a large black olive in.
“Everything okay?” Ronson stood in the doorway.
“Perfect,” Avery said. “Emilie was just answering a few more questions.”
Emilie’s skin was hot with anger. “Detective Avery is a pompous ass.” She brushed by Ronson and stomped out of the office. “Where’s the sketch artist?”
Agent Ronson led her past a row of closed doors. “What did Avery say to you?”
“He accused me of deliberately holding back information. I’ve got no reason to do that.”
“I’ll talk to him about it.”
“Don’t bother. Just find the bastard who tried to kidnap me.”
The young sketch artist waited in a conference room. Emilie sat down across from her. Ronson took the seat to Emilie’s left.
“I can’t tell you much,” Emilie said. “All I saw were Creepy’s eyes.”
“That’s fine.” The artist brushed her wavy, brown hair out of her face and slipped on a pair of glasses. “What did his eyes look like?”
“His brows were kind of thick, but feminine. They had a nice arch. Dark eyes, but they had another color in the light. Green, maybe. I couldn’t see his nose. His skin had some color to it, but I couldn’t tell his ethnicity.”
She looked at the half-finished sketch. “No, his eyes were more oval-shaped, and his eyelids were a bit darker than the rest of his skin. No, no, that makes him look lazy-eyed. He was the opposite. His eyes were wide and alert at all times. He saw everything.”
The artist erased and began again, leaning over her work with intense concentration. “Like this?”
Gooseflesh erupted on Emilie’s arms. Creepy’s strange eyes stared back at her from the white sketch paper. “Yes, that’s good.”
“Get copies out immediately,” Ronson said.
The sketch artist nodded and hurried out of the room.
“We’re bringing in all current and former bank employees today,” Ronson said. “Anyone who worked in the new building and could have possible knowledge of the door.”
“I doubt any of them knew. Jeremy and I didn’t even know about it.”
“Last night you immediately thought of Lisa Craig.” Avery snapped as he entered the conference room. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at Emilie. “You listed all the issues you’ve had with her and explained why she’s a viable suspect. Have you changed your mind? You realize that wastes our time, right?”
“I said you should start with her.” Emilie wanted to punch Avery in the neck. “I also told you I didn’t know if she was capable of such a thing.”
“And you sound even less sure this morning.”
“Well you see, Detective Avery, there’s this thing called shock. It happens when people have had a traumatic experience. I have to admit that while Lisa is a grade-A, first-class bitch, I’m not sure she would do such a thing. Make sense?”
“That’s great. Now we start from scratch—again.”
“Lisa is still a viable suspect.” Ronson stared fiercely at Avery. “I can finish with Ms. Davis. Would you make sure the sketch artist gets the composite distributed? We need it out there now.” Her tone left no room for argument.
Avery hesitated and then nodded. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Ronson watched him leave. Her jaw was clenched, her mouth pressed into a straight line.
Emilie was grateful to see the agent’s anger. At least she had someone on her side. “Thanks for getting rid of him. Now what?”
“We’re also looking at people who worked at the Wildwood Hotel and would have knowledge of the bank foundation,” Ronson said. “But those interviews are going to take time. You’re sure you won’t stay
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