He shook his head and moved on, but Emily Lang’s name popped up again—another five-thousand-dollar transfer. Lanier had made no notes with the transfer. It could be anything, but why the same amount and why two...no, three payments to this Emily Lang?
Webb had delved deeper than a cursory look at finances ever could. Nobody would be able to track these transfers, not the IRS, not Lanier’s wife.
Maybe Emily Lang was a high-priced escort.
Nash closed the file and turned to other work, but a persistent feeling of unease had him by the back of the neck.
Why had Emily been looking through his private emails? Why had she turned up in the grocery store parking lot at precisely the moment he needed her? Why would a woman on vacation be willing to work for a few days for a stranger?
Nash dragged his work computer keyboard toward him. With his fingertips buzzing, he launched a search engine and entered Emily Lang.
Emilys from around the country popped up—Realtors, city council members. He couldn’t go through them all.
He went back to the top of the page and entered Emily Lang Chicago. That didn’t help. The same amount of Emilys filled his screen.
With his heart thudding, Nash switched gears and accessed the National Crime Information Center database. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and entered Emily Lang.
He held his breath as several Emily Langs populated the display. He looked into each one, but none of them matched the pretty redhead currently at his house.
Okay, she wasn’t a felon. That was because she wasn’t Emily Lang.
Nash swirled his coffee in the mug and stared into the brown whirlpool. He placed it carefully on the blotter and wiped his hands together. Then he entered Homicide Detective Lang.
Several articles popped up and Nash opened the first one. He read aloud, “‘Chicago homicide detective Joseph Lang was shot and killed while chasing a suspect in the East Side Strangler investigation.’”
He perused a few more articles on the murder of Detective Lang. The SOB who’d killed him had been shot later in another shoot-out. Good riddance.
Nash clicked to the next page of search results and hovered over another article. Apparently, Lang’s daughter had gone into police work, too, and had gotten herself fired. Nash clicked on the article, and his mouth dropped open.
The red hair was shorter and the green eyes sadder, but he’d found Emily Lang, and the disgraced police officer was in his house under false pretenses...alone with Jaycee’s baby.
Chapter Seven
Were they watching the house? Emily peeked out the front curtains for the hundredth time that morning. The man last night had seemed so sure she’d be meeting him with Wyatt in hand after lunch. What would they do if she didn’t show?
They didn’t want to come to Nash’s house. If they did, they would’ve made an attempt already. They wanted to stay off Nash’s radar.
If they weren’t watching the house, how would they know if she left early this morning with Wyatt? They must be tracking her. If she didn’t make the meeting, they’d know where and how to find her.
How had they tracked her to the motel last night? She knew she hadn’t been followed from Nash’s place to the liquor store. They must be keeping tabs on her the same way they’d followed Jaycee down here and the same way she’d followed Jaycee down here—GPS device on her car.
She’d have to get it off and then make her move. She’d leave a note for Nash so he wouldn’t think she was a straight-up kidnapper. She’d keep it vague enough and then contact him when she got Wyatt safely into Marcus’s hands.
Not that Nash would believe her or let the abduction of Wyatt stand. He’d come after her for sure. He’d put an APB on her car, which she would ditch. He’d call in the police.
She’d have to evade law enforcement, the thug from last night and Nash Dillon—all with a baby in tow. Hell, she’d been a cop herself for all of three years. She could handle them all.
With Nash keeping an eye on her via those cameras, she’d have to make her movements look natural. She should’ve told Nash that she’d planned to take Wyatt to the park today. Leaving with him in his car seat would be the most natural thing ever.
She could always disable those cameras, but he’d probably freak out. He’d taken his personal laptop to work with him today. Either he knew she’d been looking through his stuff or he didn’t quite trust her.
She patted Wyatt’s back as he slept in the bassinet that she’d had Nash take down from his room upstairs. She’d been gradually loading up Wyatt’s toys in her bag throughout the morning.
With her purse over her shoulder and her hand hovering near the weapon zipped inside, she slipped through the front door and sauntered to her car. She ducked down on the side of the car away from the cameras stationed at the front of the house. On her knees, she swept her phone across the undercarriage of the rental.
She got a hit. She reached beneath the car and felt along the wheel well, her fingers dancing along the greasy surface. They stumbled over a round disc, and she peeled it off the car.
She couldn’t throw it away or even move it and give away the fact that she’d found the device. She dropped it on the ground and shoved it to the center of the car so she wouldn’t roll over it and crush it on her way out.
They had to think she was still here waiting for the afternoon appointment.
Squatting on the gravel driveway, she brushed her fingers together and popped up. She hustled back into the house and opened the sliding door to the back, emitting a high-pitched whistle. “Denali!”
She heard the dog bark in the distance and hung on the door, waiting for
