Hidden - Laura Griffin Page 0,64
a left into a short driveway that sloped down steeply. A black door rose, and they glided into a dim tunnel.
“Feels like we’re entering the Batcave.”
Seth glanced at her but didn’t comment. They moved slowly through a tunnel and turned into a dim parking garage. Bailey counted only three other cars, all luxury SUVs.
“Is this, like, an executive parking area?” she asked.
“Yes.”
He cut the engine and reached behind the seat to grab a black sweatshirt off the floor.
“Put this on,” he said. “You look a little too . . . noticeable.”
Bailey took the hoodie. It was big and soft and felt like it had been through the wash a thousand times. She shrugged into it and zipped up, covering her bodacious cleavage.
“You planning to tell me what we’re doing here?” she asked.
“I wanted to continue our conversation.” He turned to face her, and she felt a prickle of unease. She was in a dark, subterranean parking garage with a man she didn’t know. She rested her hand on the door handle and tried to make it look casual.
“Which conversation?”
“About Lucinda.” He glanced down at his key fob, and she noticed the silver medallion there. He stroked his thumb over it anxiously, and Bailey waited for him to talk.
“Lucinda is, without a doubt, one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. I’ve known her eight years and”—he shook his head—“she used to be different.”
“Different how?”
“More like the rest of us. There was a mentality here when the company got started. Work hard, play hard. Everyone bought into that, even the people with spouses and kids. We had this shared—I don’t know—energy, I guess you’d say. Everyone was talking about stock options and vesting schedules and an IPO someday if we were lucky enough.”
Bailey just watched him, wishing he’d get to the point. He seemed nervous about this whole thing, and he was making her nervous, too. He’d called her from two different numbers today and had seemed worried about her phoning his office.
He took a deep breath. “When Lucinda lost her daughter Avery, it changed her. What she went through was indescribable. The grief. The weeks and weeks of leads followed by disappointments. The not knowing. I’ve never seen someone lose a child before, and it was agony to watch. She was in agony.”
Bailey could only imagine how horrible that would be. If her sister ever lost Drew, she would be shattered.
Seth cleared his throat. “She went through the cycle they talk about—shock, anger, depression. I didn’t think she’d come back. But then she did, and it seemed like the depression had morphed into an obsession.”
“With finding Avery?”
“With work,” Seth said. “We were on shaky ground by that point—in no small part because our CEO had been checked out for nearly six months. But she came back and made it her mission to turn things around, to keep the company afloat. No matter what the cost.”
Bailey watched him. The car felt stuffy, and a cloud of anxiety seemed to hang between them. She could practically feel the guilt churning inside him. She wasn’t sure precisely what he was talking about, but she sensed he felt deeply conflicted about it.
“You know, Seth . . . there are laws. Whistle-blower laws that offer protection.”
The guilty look vanished. He sighed with disgust. “Whistle-blower laws?”
“Yes.”
“You know, Bailey, for a reporter, you’re pretty fucking naïve.”
He got out and slammed the door. She got out and tucked her purse under her arm as he popped the locks with a chirp. Without a word, he crossed the concrete to an elevator bank and jabbed the call button. She joined him by the elevator and glanced at his face, trying to get a read. The flash of anger or hostility or whatever was gone now, and he simply looked blank.
They stepped onto a wood-paneled elevator that seemed cramped and claustrophobic compared to the one she’d ridden in before. Seth pressed his employee badge against a screen and tapped a button, and they whisked up with dizzying speed. Seth stepped off first, and she followed him into a dim, wood-paneled hallway.
“What floor is this?” she asked.
“Nine. We’re under the executive suites.”
He led her down the hall and used his ID to unlock a plain black door that led to yet another corridor. This one had glass windows along one whole side of it, and Bailey was startled to see row upon row upon row of big black machines.
“Is this a—”
“Data storage,” he said, walking briskly down the hall.
“Like a server