Hidden - Laura Griffin Page 0,46
was close enough for him to smell her shampoo. “But you want to know what I did learn?” she asked.
“What?”
“The name of the museum’s security company. Granite Tech Enterprises. They’re a local start-up with a headquarters on Lake Austin.”
Jacob frowned. “What does that—”
“They provide IDs to all the museum employees and handle security on the grounds. And I got to thinking, what if that’s how Dana’s name and photo and possibly her fingerprints ended up in some database that may have been compromised and—”
“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. You’re investigating WITSEC now?”
“Yeah,” she said. “What did you think? If someone penetrated the witness protection program, that’s a huge story.”
“I thought we agreed you were dropping this.”
She frowned. “I agreed to no such thing. We agreed I wouldn’t run anything without corroboration, and I agreed not to use you as my source.”
“So, what are you using?”
“I’m investigating. That’s what investigative reporters do. I’ve got an interview lined up at Granite Tech tomorrow so I can learn more about their operation and—”
“Are you serious? You think you might want to slow down?”
“Why?” She looked genuinely confused.
“Because a woman was stabbed to death less than a week ago. And we don’t know who’s responsible. Or have anyone in custody. And now you want to go snooping around, turning over rocks and asking questions all over the place? I guarantee you whoever killed Dana Smith is monitoring this investigation, and that includes the news coverage.”
Her phone chimed and she looked annoyed as she pulled it out. “That’s my boss. I need to get this story in. Chill out, okay? Tomorrow’s just an interview. I haven’t written anything yet that would flag anyone’s attention.”
“You don’t know what might flag someone’s attention. That’s the whole point.”
She looked around, and Jacob realized their conversation was attracting notice from people in the parking lot, including the patrol cop stationed by the door. Jacob didn’t want to be seen getting into it with a reporter, for either of their sakes.
He stepped away from her. “I have to get back to work.”
“You’re overreacting, Jacob.”
“No. I’m reacting to the facts.”
* * *
* * *
BAILEY ROLLED THE windows down and let the wind whip around her as she crossed the bridge. Moonlight shimmered off the inky lake. The cypress trees along the banks looked tall and protective, guarding secrets most people would never know about. But Bailey knew. And Jacob. Covering crime had given her a view of the city’s dark side. She still loved it, but she’d never see it the way she had before her job had taken her into squalid apartment buildings and vomit-scented alleyways.
After the bridge, Bailey passed the shiny restaurants and nightclubs of South Congress. She turned into a neighborhood with tree-lined streets and cars parked along the curbs. Glowing porch lights revealed a hodgepodge of architecture—thirties-era cottages, midcentury bungalows, bloated new construction. She surveyed the street numbers and slowed in front of a modest one-story with a flat roof and a black Chevy pickup in the drive. A light on the porch illuminated a black front door flanked by two large windows, both dark.
Bailey parked and checked her reflection in the mirror. Not great, but not bad, either. She pulled the elastic band from her hair and ran her fingers through it. She had on the same clothes as earlier, minus the press pass.
She got out and glanced up and down the block as she made her way up the concrete walk. The thick lawn needed mowing, but the flower beds beneath the windows were devoid of plants. A thin strip of light outlined a shade covering one of the windows, indicating someone was home, and Bailey felt a surge of nervousness as she approached the door. She hoped he didn’t have company.
She rang the bell and waited, listening to the muffled sound of a television inside.
She rang again. The TV noise ceased. A moment later the peephole went dark briefly, and the door swung open.
Jacob stood there in faded jeans, no shirt. Bailey’s mind went blank. His hair was mussed, and his slick skin was covered in a thin layer of . . . something.
“Hi,” he said, clearly surprised.
“Hey. I hope it’s not too late.”
He stared at her for a second, then stepped back to let her inside.
The spacious room had gleaming wooden floors and no furniture. The air smelled of sawdust.
“You’re working?” She turned and smiled, trying to seem more relaxed than she felt.
“Yeah.” He looked down at her for a long moment, and those