Temptation Trails - Page 144

I just hoped Garrett could find a way for us to outrun it.

CHAPTER 37

Garrett

Leaving Harper at the bakery was hard, but I’d see her in a few hours. She wouldn’t be alone at any point and the best thing I could do to keep her safe was figure out once and for all who was after her.

I needed evidence to back up my instincts. Then we could get this guy off the streets.

And away from Harper.

I searched my house thoroughly when I got home, checking every room, every corner. I didn’t think someone would be there, but at that point, I wasn’t taking any chances. Did it make me paranoid? I figured it made me careful.

A prickle of anticipation made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end as I sat down with my laptop and inserted the thumb drive from the florist.

“Come on,” I muttered under my breath. “Show me something.”

She’d given me about a week’s worth of footage. I tried to relax and settle in to the task, but my back and shoulders rippled with tension. After a few deep breaths, my mind cleared and I was able to lean on my training. Compartmentalize. Focus on the task.

The recording was surprisingly clear. That gave me some hope. It wasn’t like a lot of security cams that were so grainy and low-resolution, you could hardly make out what someone was wearing, let alone facial features. The camera they’d used had a tight view of the front counter, including the cash register and both the employee working and any customers.

I skipped forward from customer to customer. The first was a woman who seemed to be placing an order. Margie wrote something down on a notepad and the customer didn’t leave with anything. Next came a guy who picked up a vase filled with colorful flowers. Definitely not white funeral flowers.

A few more people came and went throughout that day, buying various things or placing orders. Some just seemed to come in and talk to whoever was working and then leave. It was tedious, fast-forwarding through long stretches of nothing until someone once again appeared on the screen. Then checking to see what they were buying—if anything—and who they might be.

The first day produced nothing. No one bought a white flower arrangement. I moved on to the next.

Hope started to fade as I worked. I was sleep deprived and not as calm as I wanted to be for this type of work. I kept getting distracted, wondering if Harper was okay. I resisted the urge to text her every five minutes. It wasn’t going to help. She was busy at Angel Cakes. And she wasn’t alone. She’d be fine.

Day two didn’t have anything either. No one buying white flowers.

The third day was the same, as was the fourth. By the time I got to the fifth, I was ready to crawl out of my own skin. My shoulders ached and I was afraid I’d just wasted hours of time I’d never get back.

Meanwhile, Harper was still in danger.

I got up to take a quick break, stretching my back and legs. I figured caffeine might help, so I made a pot of coffee and poured a cup. There were only a few more days of footage to review. If I didn’t find anything, either whoever had bought those flowers had purchased them earlier than I’d estimated, or he’d gotten them from a different shop.

That was fine. I’d hunt down every damn florist in the Cascades if I had to. I was going to find this guy.

I sat down with my hot cup of coffee, took a sip, and started again.

For some reason, the sixth day had been busy. Lots of people coming and going. Maybe it had been a weekend. Or they’d been running a sale to bring in more customers. Whatever the reason, I had to slow the footage down over and over again to check what people were buying.

I went to take another sip of coffee and realized I’d finished the cup. I glanced at the coffee pot. Did I need more?

I let the footage keep going to check the next person and all thoughts of coffee fled.

A man with white flowers.

He’d clearly picked them out of the arrangements on display. It wasn’t something he’d ordered ahead of time. I’d noticed Margie or one of her employees would often go to the back to bring things out—presumably flowers that had been ordered ahead of time. But this guy brought a vase filled with white flowers to the counter.

That tracked. If he didn’t want a record of his purchase, he wouldn’t have special ordered something.

But who was it? It was a man, that was clear. But he was wearing a baseball cap. I couldn’t see his face.

Damn it.

Come on, man, look up.