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his brother. No fucking way. He snapped out the next questions. “Has she been identified? Is there a picture of her car—a license plate?”
    “No. Again, the pics aren’t very sharp, taken at night.”
    He expelled a short breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, thanks, man.”
    “Sure. This will have to go through internal mail,” Alex said.
    “That’s fine. Oh, one more thing—can you find a picture of her online?” Although Alex could send him a copy of her formal picture, VCI tracked all internal activity and that action could raise a flag.
    “Give me a sec.”
    The sound of rapid keyboard clicks came through the line.
    “Okay, she’s got a LinkedIn account under her full name.”
    “Perfect, thanks again.”
    “No prob,”Alex replied and disconnected.
    He had to act fast, had to see this woman. He wrestled with his professional sensibility for a bit, questioning her possible involvement in her brother’s bounty raid. Was she helping out or trying to jeopardize it? But for the most part, his actions derived from primal impulse. He didn’t care what her involvement was, if any, with the bounty operation. He just needed her safe and willing. He glanced at his watch. It was nearing four. There were two cases on his desk, which he’d just started studying. They’d have to wait.
    After taking the necessary steps, he put a Level III access limit on the Polasky/blood party case, preventing the brothers from viewing the evidence file. As a senior agent, he had the authority to do that on the basis of cross-investigation. Of course, there was a possibility they’d already seen the photos. Once he received the photos from Alex, he printed them out, pulled on his uniform bomber jacket, and headed out of the office.
    In his car, he called Victor and asked him to find the online photo of Stephanie Dubois and send it to him via text message. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel while he waited. Once the message came through with a ping, he opened the attachment. The tattoo artist hadn’t exaggerated. The definition of her features was striking. Wide-set brown eyes, high cheekbones, and a lush mouth, all framed by straight, long dark hair. There was a delicate, yet feral quality about her that registered in his groin. He cleared his throat and shifted in the seat.
    He compared it with the forensics photos. Whoever took those night shots had used a standard digital camera. The images were a bit washed out, and she wore a hat, but Dex picked up the similarities between the online picture and these, particularly the wide curve of her lower lip. He was almost positive she’d been at the site of the raid and talked to someone there.
    In a flash of clarity, he realized that this was the sign Victor had referred to. More than a sign. It was significant leverage. He started the engine and accelerated into the moving traffic. Stephanie Dubois lived in an apartment building just ten minutes’ drive from VCI headquarters. He slowed once he turned onto her street and found a parking spot with a good view of the entrance. He assumed she’d be coming home from work soon. He’d wait all night if he had to.
    A little past six, he reached for the large insulated mug in the center console and took a swig. The cow’s blood instantly eased the onset of hunger pangs. He was just finishing dinner when he spotted Stephanie Dubois walking along the sidewalk toward her home, a sports bag hanging from her shoulder. Her hair was up in a ponytail, the ends bouncing at the midpoint of her back.
    His pulse jumped with anticipation and something else he chose to ignore. Finally, Ms. Dubois. He put the mug down and wiped his mouth with a napkin. Assuming she’d recently had a workout, he’d give her a bit of time to settle into her home, but not enough to jump into the shower. His patience was running thin.
    Five minutes later, he crossed the street and rang her apartment via the intercom system.
    “Yes?” the