Bodyguard For Christmas. Carol J. Post
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face in shadow, but this time she was sure. It was the man from the park.
She reached for her phone. “Pick up Liam. I want to take your picture.”
When he’d done as she asked, she turned the phone sideways and touched the screen, focusing on the figure to the right. After snapping three pictures, she scrolled through them.
Colton peered over her shoulder. “Usually it’s better to center the subjects you’re taking a picture of. You got Liam, but you cut me in half. I’m glad you’re a better bodyguard than photographer.”
She ignored his teasing criticism and expanded the picture, moving it to the side until a grainy face occupied the center of the screen.
“Do you recognize this man?”
“No, why?” His eyes lit with understanding, then respect. “Who is he?”
She looked back toward the streetlight. As expected, the man was gone.
“I was hoping you could tell me. I took Liam to the park before meeting you. I noticed him standing some distance away, watching the activity on the playground.”
“And you saw him when we were in the Grind.” It was a statement rather than a question.
“I wasn’t sure. He was across the street, in shadow. But when I saw him this time, I knew it was the same guy. Are you sure you’ve never seen him?”
He looked at the picture again. “It’s hard to tell. His face is dark.”
Yeah, the shadows were even more pronounced than what she’d seen. Maybe the authorities could enhance the photos enough to identify him.
She shrank the picture until the man’s full length displayed on the screen. “Could he be one of the guys who tried to take Liam?”
Colton studied the image. “I didn’t see their faces, but this could be the thinner guy.”
She pocketed the phone. Maybe he was one of the kidnappers. Or maybe he was just a Murphy resident who liked to hang out at the park and attend the town’s activities.
But that wasn’t what her gut told her. She’d gotten icky vibes all three times she’d seen him.
When she looked up at Colton, his jaw was tight and his lips were compressed into a thin line. “Are you dead set on finishing the art walk?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Because if there was one thing she’d learned over the years, it was to always listen to her instincts.
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