Hidden - Laura Griffin Page 0,87
door. A witness had seen her. But where the hell was she?
The alley was hot and smelled of rotting garbage. Bailey checked doorways and looked behind dumpsters. Music drifted from a gate up ahead, and Bailey jogged over.
She tried the gate. Locked. Peering between the iron bars, she saw a cobblestone courtyard and a cat lounging lazily on a table beside a fern. Could Tabitha have climbed the gate? Or maybe run through here and locked it behind her?
Sirens sounded faintly on a nearby street. They grew closer. Frustration filled her as she looked up and down the empty alley.
A dull clink made her turn around.
Her pulse quickened.
Cautiously, she approached the nearest dumpster. Shards of glass crunched under her shoes and she held her breath against the stench.
“Tabitha?”
Nothing.
Bailey’s heart thudded. Sweat streamed down her temples. The rusty brown container was about five feet tall. Discarded wooden platforms were piled beside it, almost like a stepladder.
Bailey moved closer. “Tabitha?”
Nothing.
“I’m unarmed. I’m here to help you.”
She stepped closer again, resting her hand on the hot metal lid. She took a deep breath and lifted it several inches.
No sound.
The lid squeaked as she lifted it all the way and rested it against the brick wall behind the dumpster. She tested the wooden platform with her shoe, then stepped on it and looked inside.
Tabitha blinked up at her. Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated. The black Saints cap was gone, and her red hair was plastered to her head with sweat.
“I’m not here to hurt you. My name’s Bailey Rhoads. I’m a journalist.”
Tabitha’s mouth fell open.
“You’re . . .” She swallowed. “You wrote the news story. In Austin.”
“Yes.”
Bailey’s pulse pounded. She couldn’t believe they were face to face after all this time.
“How . . . how did you find me?”
“I’ll explain later. Right now, I’d like to help you out of here.”
“I won’t go to the police.” Her voice trembled. “You can’t force me.”
“I understand,” Bailey said. “I won’t force you to do anything. I can give you a ride, okay? My car is nearby. Just a block away.”
A second siren joined the first one, and Tabitha’s eyes widened.
“If you don’t want to talk to police, we need to go now.” Bailey held her hand out. Trust me, she tried to tell her with her eyes. I promise, you can trust me.
She waited a heartbeat. Two. Three.
Tabitha’s hand closed around hers.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
THE NEON SIGN flickered, casting an irregular red glow over the rain-slicked parking lot.
“Okay, I’m sending it now,” Kendra said over the phone.
Jacob stared through the windshield at room 112. He’d been staring at it for fifteen minutes now as the rain drummed on the little Kia.
Jacob’s phone vibrated, and he checked the text.
“You get it?” she asked.
“Yeah.” The man in the photo was lean. Tan. Close-cropped hair and hazel eyes with thick dark eyebrows. “That’s him.”
Kendra let out a whoop.
“I knew it! His name is David Langham, thirty-six. Last known address is Algonquin, Illinois, which is north of Chicago.”
“He looks military,” Jacob said.
“He is. You were right about that, too. Former Navy. Some kind of special crew.”
“A SEAL?”
“No, something else. Anyway, he was dishonorably discharged eight years ago.”
“Why?”
“I’m still looking. Mullins knows, but he’s hoarding information again, big surprise. You’re sure he’s the shooter?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay, good.” She sounded genuinely relieved. “Now that that’s out of the way, I’ve got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”
“Good.”
“The crime scene was just like you thought. That bathroom lit up like a Christmas tree. Blood trails everywhere, and someone had cleaned up with bleach. We’re still running the droplet on the faucet, but I bet it comes back to either the perp or one of the two victims. He’d wiped down his prints, too. The whole place was clean except for one spot. The CSIs recovered a fingerprint from the toilet seat, and we got a match.”
“Damn.”
“I know, right? Screwed himself taking a leak. You gotta love it.”
Jacob stared through the rain-soaked windshield at room 112. He checked his watch, then adjusted the vent and tried to defog the windshield.
“What’s with the silence?” Kendra asked. “I thought you’d be happy we got an ID.”
“An ID’s not the same as an arrest.”
“Don’t be a pessimist,” she said. “We’ll get there. Soon. The feds have a warrant out, and it’s only a matter of time before he turns up at some airport or border checkpoint.”
“He’s too smart for that.”
Bitterness welled up in Jacob’s throat as he looked at the photo. He’d been so fucking