“Hi.”
“Where are you?” she asked. “I just went by your office.”
“I’ve got to drive up to Round Rock to interview a suspect’s girlfriend.”
“A suspect? You mean—”
“Different case.”
“Oh.”
He heard the disappointment in her voice.
“I can meet later,” he said. “Want to have dinner?”
“I’ve got this damn gala thing I have to go to.”
“Why?”
“One of our feature writers is sick today, so they tossed it to me. It’s for the lifestyle section. What about afterward? I have to file a story but it can be short.”
He battled the urge to invite her to his house. He wanted to pick up right where they’d left off the other night, but he’d told himself he wasn’t going to go there. At least not while she was still writing about his case. Bailey was a determined reporter in pursuit of a story, and he still didn’t totally trust her motives.
“How about we meet at Eli’s,” she suggested. “Nine o’clock?”
It wasn’t any better than his place. If he met her there, they’d probably end up at her apartment.
He wanted to see her. He’d been thinking about her all day, and just hearing her voice was turning him on.
“Jacob? It’s not a marriage proposal. I’m talking about beer and pizza.”
“I’ll be there at nine.”
“Good.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
BAILEY STEPPED INTO the courtyard, careful not to catch a heel on the cobblestones and fall flat on her face as she entered the party. A week ago, she’d never even seen Villa Paloma, and now this was her third visit to the museum in four days.
The marble Greek goddess presided over the sculpture garden, which had been transformed into a luxe party venue with cocktail tables, votive candles, and vases brimming with pink and yellow roses. Swags of delicate white lights created a festive glow, and misters offered relief from the heat as guests mingled and sipped cocktails, accompanied by classical music from a string quartet.
Tonight’s party was a fund-raiser for Austin Hands, an umbrella charity that benefited children’s causes across town. The purpose of the event was—ostensibly—to raise money for backpacks filled with school supplies for needy kids. It was also a chance for Austin’s elite to rub elbows and compare notes about their summer excursions to cooler climes.
Bailey slipped in among the thin, Botoxed women in gauzy summer cocktail dresses. At Max’s direction, Bailey was appropriately attired in her one passable outfit—a short black sheath dress she’d worn to her sister’s wedding rehearsal five years ago. When her editor had dropped this story on her, Bailey had made an SOS call to Hannah, needing advice on what to wear, and her sister had convinced her that the little black dress was “sexy” instead of boring and “classic” instead of dated. Bailey tugged at the scooped neckline. The dress was a wee bit tighter than the last time she’d worn it, and her boobs seemed to be overflowing.
She passed a long table, where a waiter stood beside rows of champagne flutes and a silver ice bucket with a bottle of Cristal. She did a double take at the label. Another waiter stopped to fill a tray with flutes, and Bailey wondered how many backpacks of school supplies could have been funded by all that champagne.
“You made it.”
She turned to see Mick, the newspaper’s veteran features photographer. Mick was in his typical jeans and cowboy boots, along with the khaki vest he always wore, as though he might have just blown in from an African photo safari. He had a Nikon around his neck and a highball glass in his hand.
“I’m jealous,” Bailey told him. “I see you missed Max’s cocktail-party-attire dictate.”
Mick grinned and slurped his drink.
“Do you know who’s in charge here?” she asked. “I need to get a quote.” Bailey surveyed the crowd, looking for someone who seemed to be a nexus of attention.
“Iva May Boone.” Mick lifted his drink and gestured toward the main villa. “She’s right over there near the sculpture of the Three Fates.”
“White dress?”
“That’s her.”
“She looks young for that name.”
“Think she’s in her forties.” He stepped closer, and Bailey caught a whiff of gin. “She’s married to Grayson Boone, who runs the Rainbow Kids Foundation and happens to be on the Board of Regents at UT.”
“Think I’ve heard his name before.”
“You have. He’s a dick. He won’t talk to you, so don’t waste your time,” Mick added. “But his wife wants publicity, so she should be good for a quote.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
“No problem.” Mick tossed back the rest of his drink and put the glass on a nearby table. He looked Bailey over, and his gaze lingered on her cleavage, letting her know that it wasn’t her imagination—she really was busting out of this dress.
“Who else should I know here?” Bailey asked.
“Also, you want to talk to the gal in green over there.” He turned and nodded at a mousy-looking woman with a gray braid and a dark green dress that made her blend in with the hedges. She seemed to be hiding behind a palmetto tree as she watched the party with an anxious expression. “Dora Miller. Or maybe it’s Millner. She runs Austin Hands.”
“She looks a little shy,” Bailey said.
“She is. She wouldn’t let me take her picture, but get her going about the fund-raiser and she’ll talk to you.”
“Thanks for the tips. You seem to know everyone.”
“I’ve been to about a million of these things.”
“How long do you plan to stay?”
“Until they pass 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 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 farm?”
“Oh, no. That’s off-site. And it’s five acres.”
A man’s head was sticking up from behind one of the rows of servers. Seth quickened his pace. Was he worried about someone seeing them? They reached a door at the end of the corridor and Seth quickly unlocked it with another swipe of his card. They entered a concrete stairwell, and he led her up a flight. At the top he paused next to the door.
“Walk alongside me, but don’t talk.”
“Okay.”
Another swipe of his card, and he pushed open the door. Together, they stepped into a huge room with high ceilings. Bailey blinked at the brightness as they walked into a maze of cubicles. She looked up to see blue sky and wispy white clouds. It was a digital image projected onto the ceiling.
She hazarded a glance around. There had to be at least fifty cubicles here, but every one of them was empty with the exception of a workstation in the far corner, near the door. A man with a long brown ponytail sat in front of a screen. He wore bulky earphones and acknowledged Seth with a nod as they passed through the room. Seth headed for a smaller computer room, this one behind a panel of glass. Bailey followed him into it, and he closed the door behind them.
This room had only a dozen workstations. Seth walked to the end of a row and pulled over an extra swivel chair before sitting down. Bailey sat beside him.
“This is the inner sanctum,” he said. “A lab within a lab, you could say.”
“This is the area I saw yesterday? With the iris scans?”
“Correct. We came the back way.” He glanced at his watch, reminding her that they were on a clock here. He tapped the mouse, and the screen came to life. His hands flew over the keyboard as he filled in four separate blanks to log in.
A green screen appeared with the Granite Tech logo on it, along with an hourglass.
“He’s thinking,” Seth said.
“He?”
He smiled. “I call this one Hubert.”
Bailey set her purse on the desk, itching for her cell phone. She wanted to record this interview and take a picture of the room they’d just walked through.
“What’s with the fake sky?” she asked.
“Studies show working near a window is good for productivity. We can’t have windows in here due to security, so this is the next best thing.”
“The twenty-four-hour blue sky doesn’t get a little . . . grating after a while?”
“We have dusk around eleven. Then it goes into night mode for several hours, complete with constellations.”
“Why?”
“Something about the circadian rhythms.”
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