She smiled up at him. “What?”
“How’d it go over there?”
She tipped her head to the side. “Okay. Not great, but okay.”
“Sure she doesn’t want a sandwich?”
“I asked her twice. She’s stocked up on junk from the vending machine.”
Jacob leaned against the dresser. “How is she?”
“Freaked out. Like you would expect. But she calmed down some as we talked.” She stepped to the end of the dresser, where she had two Cokes chilling in a plastic ice bucket. Jacob wished he’d stopped for some Jack Daniel’s when he’d gone out for food. He looked at the rip in the knee of Bailey’s jeans. She’d torn them on the pavement when she dived out of the way of that bullet. The palms of her hands were torn up, too.
“Coke?” she asked.
“I’m fine. Did you convince her to talk to the FBI?”
“Maybe.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means maybe. She isn’t sure she wants to. She cooperated once already, and it didn’t work out too well.”
“She needs to talk to them,” he said. “Her statement is critical for making the charges stick when we get an arrest.”
“That’s law enforcement’s objective. Her objective is to stay alive. She’s worried about her safety.”
He bristled. “Don’t you think law enforcement is, too?”
“If they were, they would have gotten to her before a hit man did.” She twisted the top off her drink and took a swig. “From what I can see, the government has one main priority, and it’s to sweep this case under the rug before they get any bad publicity over it. She doesn’t trust them, Jacob. She doesn’t trust anyone right now.”
“She trusts you.”
Bailey’s brow furrowed. “Actually, that worries me, too.”
“I thought you wanted her to trust you? Aren’t you hoping to interview her for your story?”
“I already did. We established a good rapport and had a long talk. She gave me a boatload of information about what she’s been doing the last twenty-two months since she testified in that trial. It’s been a nightmare. Imagine trying to start your whole life over on six hundred dollars and no identification.”
“I thought she cleaned out her bank account on the way out of Chicago?”
“Only the checking account. She left everything else in the bank because she didn’t want to tip off the agents that she was leaving town. She’s been moving from place to place, job to job, with no car, no ID, no support. It’s been rough. I offered to do what I can to help her.”
“Which is what?”
She shrugged. “You know. Put her in touch with the Marshals Office.”
Jacob studied Bailey’s face. He had the distinct impression he wasn’t getting the full story.
“I thought she didn’t want to involve the feds,” he said.
“She doesn’t. That’s why I said it’s a ‘maybe.’ But what option does she have? She agreed to go to the FBI office at nine tomorrow morning.”
“Which one?”
“Here. Baton Rouge. I said I’d set up the meeting for her.” Bailey took a deep breath and blew it out. “But something tells me she’s going to change her mind. The idea that that hit man’s still out there is freaking her out.”
Jacob felt a stab of guilt.
“It’s not your fault,” she said. “Don’t get that look on your face.”
“I don’t have a look.”
“Yeah, you do. There was nothing you could have done.”
He didn’t argue. No point in it.
“We got a name,” he told her.
“You did? How?”
“A fingerprint from a homicide scene in Austin.”
“That thing near the airport?” She stepped closer. “I knew there was something up with that! Kendra’s been texting you all day, hasn’t she?”
He nodded.
“So, the two murders are related?”
He nodded again. He wasn’t telling her anything that wouldn’t come out soon anyway.
She tipped her head to the side. “You’re not going to tell me the name, are you?”
“Sorry. Not my case.”
“Is it Kendra’s?”
“Nope. Special Agent Richard Mullins in Austin has taken it over. Hit him up if you want info.”
She watched him, and he could tell she didn’t like him holding out on her. That shit worked both ways. He knew for a fact she was holding out on him, too. It was becoming a pattern, and now they were well on their way to a dysfunctional relationship.
Relationship.
He hadn’t been in one—or even thought about being in one—since Morgan. The difference now was that Jacob had seen all the red flags, clear as day, from the very beginning. Even his partner had seen them and warned him. But he didn’t care.
Bailey stepped closer and gazed up at him. “Come on, Jacob. You can tell me.”
“Save the puppy-dog eyes. It’s the feds’ investigation now. Talk to Mullins.”
“Fine, I will. But how come you’re not happier? You’ve solved your case.”
He scoffed. “No, I haven’t. The killer is still at large.”
“But you’ve IDed him, at least. And you’ve got the FBI looking for him now, too, so it’s only a matter of time.”
“An ID isn’t the same as an arrest,” he said. “I’ll be happy when we get an arrest.”
She moved closer, and he could smell the rain on her skin, her hair. Her soaking-wet clothes got to him. To hell with the food he’d just bought. He wanted to drag her onto that bed with him and do all the things he’d been thinking about doing since that first afternoon.
What he needed to do was avoid getting more deeply involved with her. It was a bad idea, and anyone could see it. They couldn’t even have a normal conversation about work without getting tangled in a web of half-truths. Their professions put them on a collision course with each other. She wanted inside information, and he couldn’t give it to her. If he did, he’d be putting his job on the line. Even the mere perception that he was leaking info to a reporter would mess with his reputation among cops.
But the simple fact was he liked her. She was evasive, and determined, and stubborn to the point of recklessness when she got her mind set on something, and Jacob still didn’t care because all the things that ticked him off about her were the same things that had attracted him in the first place. Bailey had his number, and she knew it.
She slid her hand into his, and Jacob’s heart gave a kick. She gazed up at him with those gray-blue eyes, and a little line appeared between her brows.
“You’re thinking,” she said. “What is it?”
Instead of answering, he turned her hand over. Her palm was scraped raw, and his stomach clenched as he thought of how close she’d come to taking a bullet today.
“I need to get back to my room and clean up,” he said.
“Don’t go.” She rested his hand on her hip. “Clean up here, with me. Or don’t.” She smiled up at him, and he felt his resolve slipping.
She reached up and traced her finger over his stubble.
“Don’t go. Please?”
It was the please that did it. Again. When she looked at him that way, he couldn’t say no.
He pulled her close and kissed her.
* * *
* * *
BAILEY LAY CURLED against Jacob’s back, breathing in the scent of his warm skin as she drifted in and out of sleep. A band of gray seeped through the gap in the curtains. Traffic gradually began to pick up on the highway outside.
Jacob’s phone buzzed on the dresser. The mattress shifted, and she pretended to be asleep as he crossed the room.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
His tone told her it was his partn
er.
“Yeah.” Pause. “Roger that.”
She lay still, waiting for more. He rested the phone on the dresser, and she realized the call was over. She opened her eyes as Jacob stepped into the bathroom and shut the door.
The shower went on, and Bailey smiled. He’d showered last night, too, but they’d gotten distracted a few minutes in.
She pulled Jacob’s pillow against her and sighed. She needed to get up. She needed to get dressed. She had things to check on and messages to send, and she couldn’t afford to let the morning get away from her. And then there was the problem of Jacob and what to tell him.
Her stomach knotted, and she hugged the pillow closer. She’d promised Tabitha that she could trust her. But Jacob trusted her, too. Bailey was caught in the middle.
A low grumble in the parking lot caught her attention. The engine noise neared the door of the motel room. Then it cut off.
Bailey bolted upright. She glanced at the clock and grabbed a T-shirt off the floor as she rushed to the window. Parting the curtains, she spotted a charcoal-gray pickup with black-tinted windows. Bugs and dirt on the windshield hinted at a long road trip.
“Crap,” she murmured, pulling the shirt over her head. It was Jacob’s, and it hit her midthigh. She rushed to the door, quietly undid the security latch, and stepped out, keeping the door ajar with the heel of her foot. It wasn’t even light out yet, and the motel’s red neon sign looked blurry in the predawn mist.
John Colt stepped onto the sidewalk. Gray shirt, black jeans, shit-kicker boots. He hadn’t shaved, but he looked alert, despite the drive from Austin. Bailey had called the skip tracer last night to enlist his help. Colt had a unique set of skills, and Bailey was in over her head.
“You’re early,” she said.
“That a problem?”
“Just . . . give me a minute.”
She slipped back into the room and cast a glance at the bathroom, where the shower was still running. She took off Jacob’s shirt and yanked on her own clothes, then shoved her feet into flip-flops. She cast another look at the bathroom as she grabbed her phone and slipped out again.
Colt leaned against the hood of his truck, surveying the motel.
“This way,” she said, leading him down the sidewalk.
“Nice place.”
“It’s inconspicuous.”
He lifted an eyebrow at her as they stopped in front of 112.
“She might be still asleep.” Bailey knocked quietly on the door.
It swung open. Tabitha was fully dressed, right down to her worn sneakers. Her newly blond hair was damp. Evidently, she’d been up a while. Or maybe she’d never gone to sleep.
Tabitha’s gaze darted past Bailey, and the fear in her eyes was unmistakable. Colt had that effect on people.
Bailey cleared her throat. “Tabby, this is the friend I was telling you about.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY
THE SIZE, SHE’D expected.
John Colt was tall and bulky, and clearly spent a lot of time in a weight room. But the swagger was missing. So was the confident, know-it-all tone that had grated on Tabitha’s nerves throughout the trial.
Of course, he’d only been here five minutes. He could turn out to be an arrogant prick.
Bailey shot another look at the door, and Tabitha could tell she was antsy to leave. Maybe she wanted to get back to her cop.
“So, unless you need me for anything . . . ?” Bailey looked at Colt.
“We don’t.”
She looked at Tabitha. “Text me before you leave. Use his phone.”
“I will.”
Bailey surprised her then by stepping over and giving her a hug. Tabitha froze. She hadn’t been hugged in ages, and it felt oddly comforting. Then Bailey’s arms loosened and she gave her a smile. Tears flooded Tabitha’s eyes as she watched Bailey slip out the door.
And then she felt ridiculous. Why was she getting weepy over a hug from a woman she barely knew?
John Colt was watching her silently from across the room. He leaned against the ugly dresser, palms resting beside him, the heel of his boot propped against the bottom drawer. The stance appeared casual but wasn’t. Tabitha had become an expert at body language over the past two years.
“You have a gun on you?”
Surprise flickered across his face. He nodded.
“Put it on the nightstand. Then sit in the chair by the window.”
He looked amused, but he did as she asked, slowly sinking into a crouch and hiking up the cuff of his jeans. He pulled a black pistol from an ankle holster and stepped over to place it on the nightstand. Then he pulled out the chair and sat.
Facing the door, she noticed. He didn’t like his back to the door any more than he liked being unarmed, even for a short period of time. Two points in his favor.
He rested his ankle on his knee and leaned back. Again, it was a posture designed to look casual. He was trying to put her at ease. It wasn’t going to work, but she appreciated the effort.
“You want coffee?” she asked. “I made some.”
“No, thanks.”
She picked up her paper coffee cup and took it to the side of the bed near the nightstand and sat down. She didn’t know how to use his gun or if it was even loaded, and he could probably get it out of her hands in a heartbeat if he wanted to, but it was the principle of the thing.
She smiled nervously. “I couldn’t sleep last night.” Or any night since she’d listened to Robin’s message. “I feel like a walking zombie.” She took a sip. The coffee was weak and lukewarm, and just the taste made her stomach twist, but she forced herself to swallow.
“How much did Bailey tell you?” she asked.
“Some. Not a lot. You can tell me more.”
“Is that really necessary?”
He nodded.
She took a deep breath and blew out a sigh. “Okay.”
“I need to know everything from your childhood on. Names, dates, schools, cities, all of it.”
“Why?”
“So we don’t make stupid mistakes.”
“Such as . . . what? I’ve been very careful.”
“Not saying you haven’t.”
She sounded defensive, but she couldn’t help it. Her whole life had become one long defensive maneuver.
“How’s this going to work, exactly?” she asked.
“How do you mean?”
“To start with, who’s paying you?”
“Someone you don’t know.”
She drew back. She’d thought maybe Bailey was paying him since she’d arranged this meeting. The thought of someone she didn’t know paying him put her instantly on guard.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“Someone who works for the tech company that outed you and Robin. He wants to make things right.”
“He’s too late,” she said bitterly.
“He wants to try.” Colt looked at her for a long moment. “If you’re worried about confidentiality, don’t be. I’m like a black box.”
Tabitha studied his expression, trying to figure him out. She didn’t know if she should trust him. Would someone she’d never met really pay to help her simply because he felt guilty over what his company had done? And would helping her now, after Robin had already lost her life, really clear his conscience? How could it? Tabitha didn’t know, and she couldn’t afford to care. She didn’t have a lot of options at this point.
It was John Colt or the feds. Or strike out on her own again, and given what she knew now, the last two options were definitely out.
“And you’re comfortable with this arrangement, this third-party payment?” she asked. “Because I don’t know if Bailey told you but I’m practically broke. I have, like, three hundred dollars to my name.”
“I know.”
She took a deep breath. “I guess we have a deal then.”
“Good.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “First things first. You listening?”
She nodded.
“No more coffee.”
She blinked at him. She’d expected something serious, like she was going to have to shave her head. Or move to Mexico.
She smiled, but he didn’t look amused.
“Are you joking?”
“No.”
“What does—”
“Caffeine messes with your sleep,” he said. “If you can’t sleep, you can’t think. You can’t think, you make careless mistakes. You make careless mistakes, you die.”
She bit her lip.
He was right. She’d been bumbling around all week, out of her mind with stress, dropping things, bumping into things.
Stumbling in front of cars.
Staggering in front of that car had landed her in the hospital, which had somehow led to her identity being discovered, and soon there had been people coming out of the woodwork looking for her.
She didn’t know if it was the hospital, or the faceprints Bailey Rhoads kept talking about, or a corrupt federal agent that had blown her cover. Bailey said that the hospital might have fingerprinted her and retrieved her ID through an old DMV record. Evidently, hospitals were using biometric technology now, too.
However it had happened, Tabitha’s luck had run out. Permanently. McKinney’s hit man was still out there, and even if they arrested him, there would be a line of others willing to take his place. She had to be vigilant going forward, zero mistakes.
“All right,” she told Colt, setting the coffee on the nightstand beside his pistol.
“You ever used a handgun?” he asked.
“No.”
“I can teach you.”
“Okay.” The idea would have once been repugnant to her. She was an accountant, for heaven’s sake. The tools of her trade were spreadsheets and Post-it notes. But a gun sounded tempting. Up to now, she’d only had a tube of pepper spray, and that was back at the hospital with her tattered underwear and the cash they’d confiscated. Learning to use a gun would be good for her.
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