Jacob looked at Bailey. She had that hyper-alert glint in her eyes. She was amped up about this, and he suspected he knew why.
“Why are you telling me this now?” he asked.
“Why do you think? We have every reason to believe Tabitha is on a hit list. Someone needs to tell her.” She leaned back and looked at him. “That’s why I’m going to New Orleans.”
Jacob bit back a curse. “That’s a bad idea.”
“I’m going. I want to find her and warn her.”
“And interview her for your story.”
“That too.” She didn’t deny it at all, which made him think she’d gotten her editor on board with this crazy idea.
“How do you plan to find her in a city with half a million people? You don’t have a name—not even a fake one. You don’t have an address.”
“So, I’ll scope out this location. And ask around. I’m good at getting people to talk to me.”
“Do you know how crowded the French Quarter is? You’re talking about a big waste of time.”
“No, I’m not.” She tapped on her phone. “The time stamps show that she frequents that square at the same time of day, and she’s dressed the same, too, which means she’s probably in her work clothes.”
Jacob hadn’t noticed the clothes, but he did now that she mentioned it.
“Is your paper on board with this?”
She shrugged. “They want the story.”
“Yes, but do they realize what they’re asking you to do? This isn’t a game, Bailey. You’re putting yourself in the middle of something dangerous.” He watched her, sensing she was holding back. “They don’t know, do they?”
“They know I’m working on this story, and that’s enough for now. If I get a chance to interview one of the principals, all the better. This is a huge story. It’s a major privacy breach, but people may not grasp the implications. A woman was murdered because of this. And another woman’s life is in danger. I can’t just sit here and not do anything. I have to find her.”
He handed the phone back, shaking his head.
“I’d like you to come with me.”
The request hit him out of nowhere. But he should have expected it. Maybe she wasn’t quite as oblivious to her safety as he’d thought.
“You want me for protection,” he said.
“Yes and no. I mean, you carry a gun, so that’s helpful and all, but I was thinking more about your badge. I think it might work better than a press pass in terms of getting information.” She paused. “I’ll pick up your expenses.”
He scoffed. “You think I’m worried about expenses?”
“Well, don’t be, because I’ll cover it. Will you come?”
Jacob gritted his teeth. Tabitha Walker was in grave danger, yes. But it wasn’t Bailey’s job to tell her that. It should have been the feds’ job, but they’d basically washed their hands of Tabitha after she testified for them and then refused their protection.
“She might have skipped town already,” he said. “Maybe Robin got an inkling she was being followed and gave her friend a heads-up.”
“Is that what happened?”
Jacob didn’t answer.
“Well, she was there seventy-two hours ago, so if she did hear something from Robin, it wasn’t dire enough to make her pull up stakes and leave.” She crossed her arms. “Anyway, there’re no guarantees, but I have to at least try. Imagine if this woman got murdered and we could have prevented it.”
The frustration was back. Jacob felt pulled in two directions. Part of him wanted to go with her to New Orleans, so he could stay glued to her side and make sure she didn’t get into any trouble. Another part of him wanted to shut this whole thing down.
The second option was definitely better, but he doubted it would work. Bailey had that spark in her eyes and that firm set to her chin. If he turned her down, she’d go without him. And who knew what kind of shit she might get into?
She gazed up at him with those defiant gray eyes, and he knew exactly what she was thinking. She was determined to do this, whether he helped her or not.
She checked her watch. “It’s 11:20. There’s a 1:35 flight to New Orleans, and I plan to be on it. Will you come with me or not?”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
THE MAN WAS painted silver, head to toe, and Bailey watched his stilted movements as he entertained a crowd of tourists. Bailey had seen the show twice now, and he was coming up on the moment when he would pull a handful of lollipops from his top hat and offer them to the kids.
Bailey shifted her attention to the oyster bar across the street. She’d rolled the windows down when she parked, and saxophone music drifted into the car, along with the smell of fried shrimp. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything besides airplane pretzels since last night’s ice cream. And the ice cream didn’t really count because Jacob had carried her off to bed, leaving the pint of double fudge chip to melt on the counter.
Bailey thought of the way he’d looked at her last night. His eyes had been dark and intense and . . . frustrated. There was no getting around it. He wasn’t happy with how all this had played out. He wanted to control what she was doing, or get her to stop, and the fact that he couldn’t bothered him. He was worried about her. And she’d played on that worry by asking him to come with her.
Jacob was used to being in control. But he couldn’t control her, and that made him edgy. She knew he saw getting involved with her as a risk, and she didn’t know whether he believed she was worth it.
Jacob stepped out of the police station and glanced both ways before jogging across the street to Bailey’s rented Kia. That had been another source of friction—my story, my rental car, she’d told him. And she’d insisted on driving while he navigated on his phone.
Jacob had won the next battle, though, and dictated that their first order of business would be a stop at the NOPD’s substation on Royal Street.
He opened the passenger door and slid in.
“Anything?” she asked.
“No.”
Bailey started the car. It was almost five, and she was eager to get moving. She looked over her shoulder before pulling into traffic. “What happened?”
“I showed her picture to a couple patrol cops, in case she’s been working the streets or doing something illegal for money.”
“And?”
“No one’s seen her around.”
“I’m not surprised,” Bailey said. “I mean, she’s an accountant, right? She’s probably a stickler for rules. And she testified for the government, so that indicates she has a sense of civic duty. I figure she’s living in the shadows here but doing it more or less legally.”
Jacob lifted an eyebrow. “Desperate people do desperate things.” He looked at her. “Where are we going?”
“St. Ann Street and Chartres. You said that’s where the surveillance camera is that caught her, right?”
Jacob studied the printout. “According to my expert, yes.”
And his expert was good. The woman—Gabby somebody-or-other from Austin PD—had taken Bailey’s black-and-white photo of Tabitha Walker and improved it immensely. She’d zoomed in on the face, sharpened the features, and colorized everything, and the result was a picture of Tabitha that provided much more information than they’d had previously. They knew, for example, that she’d not only chopped her hair but dyed it a dark red. And they knew that she typically passed through Jackson Square wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, with a blue backpack slung over her shoulder. In the monochromatic photo, the backpack had appeared gray.
“It’s five fifteen,” Bailey said now. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and catch her.” She stopped at a light and waited for a herd of tourists to cross. “I figure she lives north of the square, maybe on Dumaine or somewhere near there, and she has an evening job on
Bourbon Street or St. Peter—one of those streets with all the bars.”
“Maybe we’ve got it backward. She could live on the other side of the square and have a daytime job in a residential area. Maybe she found a nanny gig like Robin did.”
“Could be.”
“Take a right up here at the light.”
Bailey followed his instructions until they reached the intersection they were looking for. She circled the block twice and spotted a car pulling out of a space. She hit the gas and put her blinker on to claim it.
“You realize what a long shot this is, right?”
She checked her mirrors before zipping backward into the space. “What’s your point?”
“I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
She shoved the car into park and glanced at him. He seemed genuinely concerned about her, and that faint spark of hope was back again.
“It can’t be a total long shot, or you wouldn’t have come,” she said.
“You need to be realistic, Bailey. We’re looking for a needle in a haystack.”
“Why don’t you just say what you’re really worried about? That she might already be dead.”
“There’s a definite possibility.”
Bailey studied his face, and his dark eyes looked grim.
“You asked about un-IDed victims, too, didn’t you? Just now at the police station?”
He nodded.
“And?”
“They’ve got a middle-aged female on Burgundy Street who died with a needle in her arm.”
“When?”
“Two days ago.”
“Is it possible—”
“Full sleeve of tattoos and a C-section scar. Don’t think it’s a fit.”
Bailey looked through the windshield, skimming her gaze over the people milling at the edge of Jackson Square. There were food vendors, street musicians, and tourists having their portraits drawn. A bride and her flush-cheeked groom stood beside a park bench, talking to a photographer as they looked around the square, probably searching for a backdrop they could use before the bride’s makeup melted off. It was hot here. And humid. Bailey figured that if Tabitha was still living in New Orleans, she’d have sense enough to be inside somewhere, not walking around in the scorching heat.
“You know, there’s a bus stop at St. Ann and Decatur.”
She looked at Jacob.
“It stops at 3:35,” he added.
“You checked the schedule?”
“Yeah.”
The timing fit with the surveillance images. It was unlikely Tabitha had a car, but Bailey hadn’t considered public transportation.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” she admitted.
“You’re tired.” Jacob studied the map on his phone. “Not to mention hungry. I can hear your stomach growling.” He tucked his phone in the pocket of his leather jacket and looked at her. “Why’s this story so important to you?”
The question surprised her.
She took out a packet of cherry Life Savers and pried one off. She offered it to Jacob, but he shook his head, and she popped it into her mouth.
“Why’s it so important to you?” she countered.
“To me it’s a case, not a story. And it’s directly related to a murder that happened in my jurisdiction.”
“So you can’t just toss it to the feds and forget about it.”
“No, I can’t.”
Bailey gazed out the window and sighed. People milled around the square, and she scanned their faces with a growing sense of hopelessness. If Tabitha Walker was here, she wouldn’t be milling. She’d be walking briskly, with purpose, and probably with a lot more situational awareness than the tourists bumping about like cattle.
Bailey swallowed the candy, but it only made her stomach feel emptier.
“You haven’t answered my question.”
She looked at Jacob. “Because I’m angry.”
“Why?”
“This woman tried to do the right thing and she got killed for it. What does that say about our justice system?”
“Whatever McKinney was doing, she was probably mixed up in it somehow,” Jacob said. “Otherwise, the feds wouldn’t have had much leverage to get her to testify.”
“Still, whatever it was, McKinney’s the mastermind. She was working as a temp, for God’s sake, and she got involved with the wrong man, and she ended up dead. And not only that—” She turned to face him, getting steamed up now in the hot little car. “He didn’t just kill her. No. He killed her to send a message.”
“You really think he had her murdered from behind bars?” Jacob asked.
“Either him or his family. Same thing. And it’s the same message, too. Don’t fuck with us. You fuck with the McKinneys, you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life, until you end up dead. This whole thing is a deterrent, Jacob. A protective maneuver. It’s a freaking business strategy, and it makes me furious.”
“How are they sending a message if the victim’s name hasn’t been in the press?”
“Oh, it will be. Trust me. It’s only a matter of time before someone passes along a carefully placed call to the Tribune or some other media outlet. Then it’ll be splashed everywhere.”
He gave her a long look. “Why haven’t you splashed it everywhere?”
“I told you, I’m focused on something else now.”
“Granite Tech,” he said.
“One of our city’s most successful CEOs may have directed the hacking of multiple government databases. That’s computer fraud. Millions and millions of people’s biometric records were potentially stolen and sold to the highest bidder. And the technology they’re using isn’t regulated enough, so it could happen again. It will happen again, and it affects masses of people—you, me, everyone. People don’t realize how vulnerable they are and how easily this technology can be exploited.”
Jacob smiled. “You’re an idealist.”
“No, I’m not.”
But his smile told her he didn’t buy that at all. And maybe she was an idealist. Well, so what? Too many people had traded their ideals for cynicism.
“Anyway, what’s wrong with being an idealist?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
There was something wistful in his tone, and she knew he used to be the same. Maybe he still was. Maybe underneath the jaded-cop exterior, he still had some faith in people and institutions. It might explain why he was such a dedicated cop.
He looked away, and Bailey studied his profile. She admired him. She admired his integrity and his work ethic and his unwavering sense of duty. She wanted to tell him, but she doubted he’d be comfortable with the compliment. Maybe she’d tell him when all this was over.
He eyed the side mirror and the last trace of his smile disappeared. An SUV glided past them on the street, and Jacob tensed.
“What?” she asked.
“That black SUV has been by here twice now.”
“Maybe it’s looking for a parking space,” she said.
“Could be.”
“What kind was it?”
“A Ford Expedition. He just turned into that alley there. Pull out. Go around the block.” He looked at her. “Think you can pick up their tail without being seen?”
“I can try.”
“You should have let me drive.”
He was probably right, but she didn’t comment as she pulled into traffic.
“Hang a left here up here,” he said. “Next light.”
She turned, but the black SUV wasn’t anywhere.
“There. Up ahead,” he said excitedly. “Don’t stop or brake, just drive right by.”
Bailey spotted a black Expedition. It was parallel parked in a loading zone, no driver.
“Are you sure that’s the same one?” she asked.<
br />
“It is. Hang a right up here and go about a block. Then pull over.”
“Why?” she asked as she made the turn. “What’s the big deal with that SUV?”
“I’m going to check it out.”
“But—”
“Roll up the window.” He pushed open the door. “I’ll meet you back at the square. And if you see anything, text me.”
He got out and slammed the door, and Bailey watched him, fuming.
The driver behind her tapped his horn, and she got moving, watching Jacob in her rearview mirror as he sauntered down the street. There was something cool and casual about his gait, and at a glance he probably looked like someone who lived in the neighborhood. You’d have to look closer to notice the sharp cop eyes and the bulge under that jacket he wore to conceal his gun. Bailey had expected him to bring a backup pistol in an ankle holster, but instead he’d brought his police-issue sidearm. He’d notified the flight crew about it when he boarded the plane and ended up getting a meeting with the pilot and a seat near the cockpit as an honorary air marshal.
Jacob disappeared from view now, and Bailey buzzed up the window and headed back toward her stakeout location.
Why was he hung up on the black Expedition? Annoyance simmered inside her. He was holding back on her. She knew that. He was keeping things to himself, including the reason behind the texts he’d been exchanging with Kendra all afternoon. Something was going on in Austin, and his partner kept pinging him with updates.
Did it have to do with the Robin Nally murder case? Or the case from this morning? Whichever case it was, something was going on, and Jacob was being tight-lipped about it.
Bailey found another parking space—not as good as the last one, but it had a better view of the church. She parked and turned her attention to the square again, where the wedding couple was now mugging for the camera in front of a fountain. Just looking at that poofy white dress made Bailey itchy. It was way too hot for a photo shoot, but maybe with some creative editing the sheen on their skin would look like something besides sweat.
Hidden Page 23
