Into the Devil's Underground by Stacy Green

her face and slipped on a pair of glasses. “What did his eyes look like?”
    Remembering was easy. The man’s eyes haunted her dreams all night. “His brows were kind of thick but feminine. They had a nice arch. Dark eyes, but they had another color in the light. Green, maybe. I couldn’t see his nose. His skin had some color to it, but I couldn’t tell his ethnicity.”
    She looked at the half-finished sketch. “No, his eyes were more oval-shaped, and his eyelids were a bit darker than the rest of his skin. No, no, that makes him look lazy-eyed. He was the opposite. His eyes were wide and alert at all times. He saw everything.”
    The artist erased and began again, leaning over her work with intense concentration. “Like this?”
    Gooseflesh erupted on Emilie’s arms. Creepy’s strange eyes stared back at her. Part of her wanted to vomit into the trash can, but the stronger side, the one that crawled out of the black hole of depression, wanted to put her fist through the wall. “Yes, that’s good.”
    “Let’s pass this around to known informants, have uniforms get into the tunnels with it,” Ronson said. “We might get lucky.”
    The sketch artist nodded and hurried out of the room.
    “We’re bringing in all current and former bank employees today,” Ronson said. “Anyone who worked in the new building and could have possible knowledge of the door.”
    “I doubt any of them knew,” Emilie said. “Jeremy and I didn’t even know about it.”
    “Last night you immediately thought of Lisa Craig.” Avery snapped as he entered the conference room. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at Emilie. “You listed all the issues you’ve had with her and explained why she’s a viable suspect. Have you changed your mind? You realize that wastes our time, right?”
    “I said you should start with her.” Emilie wanted to punch Avery in the neck. “I also told you I didn’t know if she was capable of such a thing.”
    “And you sound even less sure this morning.”
    “Well you see, Detective Avery, there’s this thing called shock.” Emilie reached the end of her frayed rope. “It happens when people have had a traumatic experience. I have to admit that while Lisa is a grade-A, first-class bitch, I’m not sure she would do such a thing. Make sense?”
    “That’s great. Now we start from scratch—again.”
    “Lisa is still a viable suspect.” Ronson stared fiercely at Avery. “I can finish with Ms. Davis. Would you make sure the sketch artist gets the composite distributed? We need it out there now.” Her tone left no room for argument.
    Avery hesitated and then nodded. “I’ll leave you to it.”
    Ronson watched him leave. Her jaw was clenched, her mouth pressed into a straight line.
    Emilie was grateful to see the agent’s anger. At least she had someone on her side. “Thanks for getting rid of him. Now what?”
    “We’re also looking at people who worked at the Wildwood Hotel and would have knowledge of the bank foundation,” Ronson said. “But those interviews are going to take time. You’re sure you won’t stay with a friend?”
    Emilie felt like she needed to be alone, even if it scared her. Involving anyone else meant possibly putting that person in danger. “I’m sure.”
    Ronson walked to the door and shut it. “Have you ever read a blog called Hunter’s Happenings?”
    The hairs on the back of Emilie’s neck bristled. “No.”
    The agent pulled a rumpled paper from her leather bag. “It’s run by a former reporter for the Sun . She likes to troll the high rollers at the casinos and publish dirty details of their lives. And when a big name celebrity comes to town, she’s all over it.”
    “So she’s a gossip blogger?” She stared at the copy, suddenly feeling as if it might bite her.
    “Yep. She interviewed your parents and ex-husband.”
    Her stomach dropped faster than a roller coaster and then jammed her throat. No. Not Evan, and definitely not Claire.