One cop. No partner. Johan frowned. Unusual, but not impossible. Maybe the department was shorthanded—and the cop only came by to ask a few questions, not make an arrest.

It was an HD feed, no sound, but a clear picture. Johan looked at the detective. Blond hair. Chiseled jawline. He looked familiar. Maybe they’d crossed paths at some other time. Johan zoomed in on the ID. The shield and photo were unobstructed, but the cop’s index finger partially blocked out his name.

Stone. Something Stone. Anton? Barton?

Johan studied the freeze-frame a moment longer, then shut off his computer and returned to bed. The cop’s face accompanied him like some odd balloon, bopping insistently against the inside of his skull.

Sleep came, finally, sweet while it lasted, which was all of four hours. At 7:42 a.m., Johan snapped awake and sat upright in his bed. “Jesus Christ,” he hissed, throwing the sheets off his body. He flew from his bedroom, down the hallway, to the TV room. He had a cabinet packed with old DVDs, mainly westerns, pulp horror, and low-budget action flicks. Johan rarely watched them, but he had a vested interest in might-have-been celebrities.

He ran his finger along the DVD spines until he found the movie he was looking for.

Johan ate breakfast, then called Xander and told him to get his ass over ASAP. Xander showed an hour later, muttering about the traffic while brushing donut sugar off the front of his T-shirt.

Johan growled from deep in his chest, then curled his finger in a “come with me” gesture. They passed through the foyer, into the hallway, then down to the TV room. A paused shot of Colton Stone—standing like a cowboy, one thumb hooked into the back of his jeans—adorned the eighty-two-inch screen. Johan had placed his MacBook on the snack table in front of the TV, its much smaller display frozen on another shot of Detective Stone, this time showing his ID at the front gate.

Xander looked from one screen to the other, his eyes darkening with confusion.

“Take all the time you need,” Johan said.

Xander frowned, shook his head. He also had donut sugar around his mouth.

“What the fuck?” he said.

Johan picked up the DVD remote and fast-forwarded through a few scenes, pausing again on an action shot of Colton popping some crackhead in the jaw. His hair was slightly different—longer and blonder—than it was in the security cam footage, but it was the same person. No doubt about it.

It took a few seconds, but Xander finally got there.

“That fucking cocksucker,” he said.