“I’ll make sure you get everything we gather,” Howell promised.

They exchanged business cards and, after thanking the man politely, Tom and Croft walked back to the stairwell.

“I want to see that security footage right now,” Tom said as soon as the door closed.

“I agree. If this is Belmont, we need to know.” She angled him a look. “Miss Barkley does have a damn good eye. What did she do in the military?”

“Army medic,” Tom said.

Croft winced. “She did see a lot worse, I’m afraid. What’s she doing now?”

Tom lifted his brows. “You trying to recruit her?”

Croft shrugged. “You never know.”

“She’s starting on her master’s in nursing in July,” Tom said, “at UC Davis.”

Croft whistled softly as the doors opened. “Good school. She must be smart.”

“She is,” Tom said, and he could hear the pride in his voice. Then he remembered what Molina had said that morning, that Liza might be surprised to learn that he was proud of her.

That had to change, too.

They found the security manager’s office on the first floor near the lobby. A CSU tech wearing white coveralls sat next to a man in a black suit like Tom wore.

“Excuse us,” Croft said after knocking on the open door. “Special Agents Croft and Hunter. Can we have a moment?”

The CSU tech gestured to the monitor he was watching. “My boss just texted that you’d probably be by.” One brow lifted. “Even though he promised to share everything with you.”

Tom’s lips curved. “Busted.” He sobered, crossing the room to stand behind the tech’s chair. “You are?”

“I’m James Gray, head of security for the building.” The man in the suit rose from his chair, offering it to Croft. “Ma’am?”

Croft’s smile was tight. “Thank you, Mr. Gray.” Sitting, she peered at the image on the monitor, then looked over her shoulder at Tom.

The footage was paused, freezing on a man wearing jeans and a gray hoodie on the staircase. They’d found an angle that showed his face clearly. Tall and rangy with shaggy blond hair, the man looked like he could be a cowboy, despite wearing a baseball cap without a logo. He matched the descriptions of DJ Belmont given by Gideon, Mercy, and Amos.

Tom nodded curtly, unwilling to say Belmont’s name aloud. “Can you zoom in on his hands?” he asked.

Gray leaned over Croft to manipulate a mouse, bringing the man’s hands into prominence. “Gloves,” he said, anticipating what he was looking for.

“He had them on when he entered the building,” the CSU tech added.

“Dammit,” Croft cursed softly. “We still want Latent to process prints from the roof on the off chance that he took them off when he was setting up his shot.”

“I’ll let the sergeant know,” the tech said dryly, clearly unimpressed with taking orders from Croft. Tom wasn’t sure if it was a Fed thing or a woman thing, but neither was acceptable.