Hidden - Laura Griffin Page 0,63
out the first wave of shrimp toast. Then I’m out.”
“Good plan.”
Mick adjusted his camera. “Well, I’m off to snap some photos. Don’t get too crazy.”
He walked away, and Bailey scanned the crowd. Iva May was immersed in a conversation with a woman who had big blond hair and a diamond ring the size of an ice cube. Bailey looked back at the palmetto, but Dora had disappeared.
Bailey made her way across the courtyard to the little white building where she had interviewed the art teacher on Tuesday. The green ceramic frog was gone, and now the door was propped open with an easel holding a sign that invited guests to step inside and participate in the silent auction. The grand prize was a five-night stay at a villa in Cabo San Lucas, probably donated by one of the evening’s benefactors.
A tuxedo-clad waiter stepped over with a tray. “Care for champagne?”
Bailey eyed the slender flutes, feeling tempted. She was working, but what the hell. Her feet hurt.
“Thank you.” She picked up a glass and sipped. It was tart and fizzy and felt wonderfully cool on her throat.
Bailey drifted over to a stone wall, where she had a view of the sunset over the water. The lake looked shimmery and gold, like the champagne, and Bailey tried to imagine living in one of the hillside mansions with this view. She couldn’t. And she couldn’t imagine a life of parties and shopping and spa appointments, either.
Bailey’s phone chimed, and she dug it from her black leather clutch. She suspected it was Jacob canceling, and she felt a stab of disappointment as she pulled out the phone. But it wasn’t Jacob. She didn’t recognize the number.
“Bailey Rhoads.”
“Bailey, it’s Seth.”
She checked the number again with a frown.
“Seth Cole.”
“Hi.”
“Am I catching you at a bad time?”
“Not really. What’s up?”
“You asked the other day about a tour of our lab. I can get you in, if you’re still interested.”
Bailey’s pulse picked up as she stared out at the lake. “That would be great, yeah. I’m very interested.”
“I can meet you at the base of the driveway at eight thirty.”
“What, you mean tonight?”
“It’s the only window.”
Something in his voice caught her attention. Nervousness. As though this were some covert operation he was running. She didn’t know what he meant by “window” but thought it was better not to ask.
Bailey checked her watch. To make it in time, she’d have to ditch the party and completely wing it with her story.
“Yes or no? I need to leave now,” Seth said.
“Yes. Definitely. I’ll meet you there.”
* * *
* * *
BAILEY PARKED HER car in the hillside neighborhood beside a giant oak tree. She darted a glance at the two-story house set back on the lot. The front windows were dark, and Bailey hoped no one noticed her parked here.
A pair of headlights winked into her rearview mirror. Bailey watched as a sleek black BMW rolled to a stop beside her, and the black-tinted window went down. Bailey lowered her window as Seth leaned over the seat.
“Get in,” he said.
“Why?”
“My car has a tag.”
Bailey gathered her purse and phone, then closed her window and got out.
“Leave your cell,” Seth said.
Bailey ducked down to look at him through the passenger window. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
Besides being her tape recorder and her camera, Bailey’s phone was her primary means of communication. She felt naked without it.
“No electronics,” he said. “Deal or no deal?”
“Fine.”
She stashed the phone in her console and locked the car, then slid into the little black coupe. It smelled like new leather and had a ridiculously elaborate dashboard.
Seth was watching her, his hand resting on the gearshift. He made no move to put the car in gear.
“Looks like you were out when I called,” he said.
“On assignment.”
He seemed to accept this explanation and started moving. He turned onto Granite Tech’s private driveway and stopped in front of a closed gate that had been open when Bailey visited yesterday. The two sides of the gate slid apart and Seth glided through.
“What did you mean by ‘window’?” Bailey asked.
“Our system is down for scheduled maintenance, which only happens about twice a year.”
She looked him over. He wore jeans, sneakers, and a faded black T-shirt that seemed at odds with the fifty-thousand-dollar car. And he’d just told her he was basically sneaking her into the building.
They reached the top of the long driveway. Instead of curving left at the fountain, he veered right and drove around the building. Then he hooked