Hidden - Laura Griffin Page 0,57
Seth, Ms. Rhoads needs a comprehensive list of our services for her article.”
“Absolutely.”
Lucinda grabbed her phone off the desk and zipped it into the back pocket of her bike shorts. Levon handed her a silver water bottle with the Granite Tech logo on it.
“Nice meeting you, Ms. Rhoads. Seth will show you out.” She gave him a flinty smile. “Make sure you give her the full tour. Don’t miss the Infinity Studio.”
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
JACOB WATCHED THE trail, getting more and more impatient as the minutes rolled by.
“It’s been an hour,” Kendra said. “How long can he go?”
Jacob didn’t answer.
“Figure an eight-minute mile, we’re at seven and a half, at least.” She glanced at him. “That’s some stamina.”
He didn’t bother saying what they were both thinking. The man might have spotted their unmarked police car and wanted to dodge them, for any number of reasons.
“We should have come in your truck,” Kendra muttered.
Jacob downed the last of his lukewarm coffee.
“What, no comment?”
He looked at her. She’d draped her jacket over the seat, and her white button-down shirt already looked wilted. It was barely after seven a.m.
She turned to face him. “Okay, Merritt. Enough. What’s the deal with you?”
“What deal?”
“You’ve been sullen and quiet for two days now. What gives?”
Jacob adjusted the vent. The engine wasn’t on, so the fan was just circulating warm air at this point.
“It’s Bailey, isn’t it? You’re seeing her.”
Jacob looked at her.
“Shit, I knew it.”
“I’m not seeing her.”
“Right.”
Jacob wasn’t seeing her, not the way she meant. And he didn’t know what Bailey was up to right now, but he was pretty sure it involved wading deeper and deeper into the shitswamp that had become this case.
The case he’d been officially removed from.
The case that was no longer his, or Kendra’s, but that they were working anyway against the explicit instructions of their boss.
Kendra laughed and shook her head.
“What?” he asked.
“It’s funny, really. You usually hate reporters.”
“I don’t hate reporters.”
She snorted.
Jacob wasn’t going to argue with her.
“You know, she once dated Skip Shepherd.”
He looked at her. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“This was right before her paper did that big exposé about the vice squad. I’m just saying.”
“Those guys were dirtbags. If the Herald hadn’t exposed them, someone else would have. Good riddance.”
“I agree. I’m just saying, don’t forget she’s a reporter.”
Jacob didn’t comment. It was impossible to forget that about Bailey. She lived and breathed her job. It was part of who she was, and he respected that. He only wished it didn’t make it harder for him to trust her. Whenever their conversation shifted to work—which was often—he always got the sense she was holding information back. He recognized the signs because he did the same to her.
Objectively, it was a bad idea to get involved with Bailey. But he couldn’t get her out of his head. He’d been thinking about her since that first afternoon, and his interest had only ramped up after that kiss in his truck. He should have shut her down. He should have, but he hadn’t. Pushing her away had been the very last thing on his mind.
“Jacob?”
“What?”
“Do you hear what I’m saying?”
“Yes.”
She sighed, not sounding convinced. He wasn’t surprised she’d picked up on his interest in Bailey. Had anyone else?
Jacob fixed his attention on the trail again as a woman plowed up the path, pushing a jogging stroller with one hand while texting on her phone with the other.
A man sprinted up behind her and came to a sudden halt. Six-two, brown hair, medium build.
“Heads up,” Jacob said.
The man bent at the waist, catching his breath. Then he veered off the trail and walked to the drinking fountains, stretching his arms above his head as he went.
“That’s him,” Kendra said, grabbing the scrolled paper she’d stashed in the cup holder. They’d printed out the DPS record for twenty-nine-year-old Christopher Reynolds, who had been caught on a security camera entering the hike-and-bike trail from the parking lot around six a.m. all five days prior to Dana Smith’s murder. Last Saturday, he’d arrived at 6:02 and departed at 7:10 in a black Jeep Renegade with Texas plates. The last call made on Dana’s phone had been at 6:26, and the phone had been dropped—likely by her or her attacker—in the woods behind the juice bar several miles up the trail.
Jacob watched Christopher Reynolds as he made his way across the parking lot.
“He’s big enough,” Kendra said.
True, but it didn’t take much to overpower a 116-pound woman, especially one who was unarmed and taken