Page 5 of A Shot at Love
“No, not really.”
She sliced a finger through the side of her hair and tucked the strands behind her ears. It refused to settle and fell back across her cheeks the moment she removed her hand.
“There’s more to getting the shot you want than merely pressing a button. You have to consider the lighting, the motion, or absence of it. A million different things go into capturing the perfect image. A person’s face changes in a millisecond. You can go from an expression of rapture, to the simple turning up of the lips in the time it takes for a heart to beat just once. I wanted to make sure I got the look I wanted to convey. Taking several shots in a continuum ensures I will.”
Ky nodded. “So the only thing you knew about the older man was you liked the expression on his face?”
“Yes.”
“You had no idea who he was?”
“No. I still don’t. All I know is he and two other men were gunned down on a New York City street. And because of some quirk of nature, I was there when it happened.”
Ky waited a beat. “What made you continue taking pictures after the shooting started? Most people ran for cover, got out of harm’s way. You stayed where you were and continued to photograph what was happening. I have to ask myself why?”
Gemma’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not a news reporter or photojournalist. You don’t work for any national news publications. You own your own business, work for yourself. What were you hoping to gain from continuing to shoot?”
Gemma shot up, the chair falling to the floor behind her with a resounding thwack. “Your implication is insulting. You think I continued filming for some dark ulterior motive, don’t you? Like I wanted to sell the pictures, or in some way benefit from them. That’s not only insulting, it’s disgusting.”
“I don’t think I said anything along those lines.”
“Your veiled wording implies otherwise. For your bigoted information, my brother-in-law is in private security. I’ve assisted him a few times with surveillance photography, even helped his partner in various filming techniques when he’s gone undercover. I’m not a paparazzo looking for my next big photographic score. Agent—,” she flipped her hand in the air in lieu of addressing him by name, “I’m a professional photographer, and I reacted as one today. I kept filming because I could. I didn’t think I was in any danger. The van was speeding away from me, not toward me.”
Ky looked across the table at her, weighing her words. “For the record, again, it’s Pappandreos, and I never assumed you were anything other than what you’ve stated, Miss Laine. I simply need to make sure you had no prior knowledge of the men who were gunned down today.”
“I don’t know them from Adam.” Her voice dropped a notch as her gaze bore into his.
Ky wanted to believe her, but a cautious regard for human nature had always served him well.
“Do you recognize the name Mario Calafano?”
Her eyes narrowed again, her gaze never leaving his. “It sounds familiar, but I’m not sure. Why?”
Instead of answering he asked, “How about Jackson Hunter or Paul Ingersall?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Ky nodded. Rising, he told her, “I think we’re finished here, Miss Laine. We have your contact information. We’ll call when we’re done with the memory card.”
“I can’t have it now?”
The childlike whine in her husky voice reminded him of his nieces and nephews when they didn’t get their way.
“We haven’t finished with it yet. But I assure you, I’ll get it back to you.”
“When?”
“As I’ve said, when we’re finished with it.”
“This blows.” She frowned and crossed her arms in front of her again, this time her hands were fisted.
It wouldn’t have surprised him if she stomped her foot next. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his card. “These are my contact numbers. If you don’t hear from me in a few days, feel free to call.”
“A few days?” she cried. “That’s a lifetime to someone on a publishing deadline. I have a lot of work on that card and it needs to be uploaded and edited.”
