Page 91 of SEAL's Promise
She grimaced. “Do we have to? Looking at them turns my stomach, especially the last one.”
Seeing the photos tied his gut into knots. Even though they were fake, he didn’t want his teammates seeing Rachelle that way. “Don’t look at your face in the photos. Look at everything else. If we can’t pinpoint something to prove the photos are fake, we’ll have to turn them over to Fortress for assistance.”
“I don’t want to walk the halls every day and wonder if the people I pass saw the photos and believe I’m a two-timing cheat and liar who doesn’t deserve to be with an honorable man like you.”
“If we have to ask Fortress to help, I’ll request that only Zane and Brent have access to the photos. Come on. We have work to do before we land.” He led her into the main cabin where the others continued to examine the photos on the wall screen.
At the table, Cal seated himself beside Rachelle and threaded his fingers through hers in silent support. “Jon, show one photo at a time, full screen.”
A moment later, the photo of Rachelle with her back pressed against a brick wall appeared on the screen. She flinched at the sight.
No one spoke as they studied the photo. Finally, Rafe said, “Looks like the photo was taken from the street. Enough of the storefront is visible to see the building is old and appears to be in Mexico.”
“Could be photoshopped to look like it’s in Mexico, but I agree with you.” Jon zoomed in on the visible portion of the store window.
Cal frowned. “Enlarge the reflection on the left side.”
Jon’s fingers flew over the keyboard and the picture shifted to focus on the window reflection. A figure stared at Rachelle and Clint Nichols. The figure, a man, held a cell phone in his hands, taking a picture of the couple. “Focus on the man’s face.”
Jackson’s brows knitted. “The cell phone blocks our view of his face.”
“Should be enough for our facial recognition software to obtain a positive ID on him. Don’t you recognize him?” Jon split the screen. One half showed the man with the cell phone. The other half was a clear photo of Clint Nichols.
Rachelle gasped. “It’s Clint Nichols. If Nichols took the photo, he can’t be in the alley.”
“There’s proof the man with Rachelle isn’t Nichols.” Eli inclined his head toward the screen. “Look at the woman against the wall. What do you see besides your face, sugar?”
She studied the screen, frowning. “I don’t have an outfit like that.”
“Someone could say you ditched the clothes,” Rafe pointed out.
“That’s not Rachelle,” Cal said, voice soft. “The woman against the wall is taller than she is. Nichols is six feet two. That woman must be at least five feet ten where Rachelle is at least five inches shorter.”
“Six,” she muttered.
He smiled. “The point is, that can’t be you, Rachelle.”
Eli stared at the screen. “But Nichols isn’t in the alley. We can’t know how tall he is.”
Cal waved his comment aside. “Jon can run the photo through our analysis program to show the woman’s body type is wrong. If you look at the woman’s hand, you’ll see it’s not Rachelle’s.” He ought to know. He’d dreamed about those hands trailing over his chest and shoulders for months.
He glanced at Rachelle who continued to stare at the screen with a puzzled expression on her face. “What did you notice?”
“I saw a woman in Mexico wearing those clothes.”
“Do you know if the outfit is off the rack or designer?” Rafe asked.
“A fashionista, I am not. However, I only saw one woman wearing those clothes.”
Cal squeezed her hand. “Do you remember who?”
“A young woman, I think.”
Jackson frowned. “Jon, change the focus to zoom in on the couple.” When he did, the medic was silent for a long minute, then glanced at Eli. “Rachelle’s right. The girl is young enough to be jailbait.”
A scowl. “Underage?”
“Based on what I’m seeing in the photo, yes.”