Hidden - Laura Griffin Page 0,5
about age? We’ve got sixty thousand college kids in this town, half of them female, and half of those probably use the lake trail. Was this a sexual assault?”
“They wouldn’t say.”
“Is it related to the string of muggings last month? Maybe a robbery that got out of hand?”
“I asked that, but they said it’s too soon to tell. I put the quote there in the second-to-last paragraph.”
“And she was recovered from the water, right?”
“Correct.”
Bailey grabbed her purse and got out of the car. The rain had let up, and people who had been holed up inside all day looked to be out in full force now.
“Well, was she drowned? Dumped? Thrown off a bridge?” Max sounded frustrated. “Is it a suicide?”
“I don’t know, but I plan to find out.”
She waited for a break in traffic and jogged across the street. A block ahead was the police station. All the metered spaces in front were taken. She passed several cars and spotted a black Chevy Silverado just up the street. According to Bailey’s source in dispatch, Detective Merritt drove a black Chevy pickup.
“We need a follow-up,” Max said, “and it needs to have a lot more in it than what you’ve got here.”
“I’m working on it.”
“I’ve got you budgeted for A-1, but we need some meat on the bone. And get some better quotes. This PR flack is terrible.”
“I will.”
“Check in tomorrow and let me know how it’s going.”
Bailey tucked her phone away as she neared the entrance to the station. A pair of cops emerged and headed to a patrol unit parked along the curb. Bailey watched the double doors as people streamed in and out—civilians, uniforms, plainclothes detectives. By the volume of people, it looked like they were having a shift change. Bailey found a concrete bench near the black pickup and sat down to wait.
Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t been home since Max had sent her out on the gas station story, and she hadn’t eaten in twelve hours. She dug through her purse and came up with a pack of cherry Life Savers. She popped two into her mouth and swished them around.
Jacob Merritt stepped through the door, and Bailey’s senses went on alert. She didn’t move—just watched him from afar. He was tall, with broad shoulders and excellent posture. He moved with the smooth confidence of an athlete, and she wondered what sport he might have played once upon a time. She could see him on a pitcher’s mound, staring down a batter. Or maybe reaching up to pluck a football from the air before sprinting to the end zone.
She stood and walked toward him, catching his notice as he reached the truck. She saw a flicker of surprise in his expression, but then it turned wary.
“Hey,” she said with a smile. “You headed out?”
He tipped his head to the side and regarded her with curiosity. Maybe he wasn’t used to being accosted by disheveled reporters after work.
“Why?” he asked.
“I’m guessing you’ve had a long day. Thought I’d see if I could buy you a beer?”
“I’m not thirsty.”
Ouch.
She tried not to react as he gazed down at her.
“I wouldn’t mind something to eat, though.” He looked over her shoulder. “Ever been to Paco’s?” He nodded at the food truck parked down the street.
“Sounds good.”
He opened his locks with a chirp and tossed a backpack into the back seat of the pickup, watching her as he did it. He had deep brown eyes. Trustworthy eyes. He shut the door and turned to face her, and she felt a flutter of nerves.
“How did you know my car?” he asked.
“I’ve got sources.”
His gaze narrowed, and she thought he might make an issue of it. But instead he locked up and slid the keys into the pocket of his leather jacket. He started walking toward the taco truck, and she fell into step beside him, noticing the bulge under his jacket. She couldn’t imagine carrying a gun all the time.
“You always work this late?” he asked.
“I’m on weekends this month.”
“They do it by month?”
“Sort of. Also has to do with seniority. I’m low in the pecking order, so I work a lot of Saturdays and holidays.”
They neared Paco’s, which occupied the corner of a parking lot. The air smelled of grilling onions, and beside the truck was a picnic area festooned with Christmas lights. It looked like Paco’s business was based on the steady flow of people coming and going from the bar district. A cluster of college-age guys in