“I’ve been researching the woman for days, and it’s weird. No one can even tell me where she’s from. She has no social media presence. She didn’t drive or have a phone until Celeste Camden gave her one. She didn’t talk about her background with her employer or her co-workers—”
“What co-workers?”
“At the museum.”
His eyebrows tipped up.
“She volunteered at Villa Paloma two days a week. You didn’t know?”
“No.”
“She spent an average of eight hours a week there, but even her friends there don’t know much about her, not even where she’s from originally. Don’t you think that’s weird?” Bailey crossed her arms. “And then I was talking to Nico, our tech writer, who was trying to help me run down a social media account or even an email or any kind of digital footprint whatsoever, and Nico said, ‘It’s like she doesn’t exist.’ And I realized he’s right.”
Jacob didn’t say anything. He just stood there, watching her with a guarded expression.
“I think she was on the run from something,” Bailey said. “Or someone. Maybe an abusive husband or boyfriend or—who knows?—but I think she may have come here trying to start over and she was purposely keeping a low profile.”
Jacob just looked at her. “This is what you wanted to talk about?”
“Yeah. I mean, if she was running from something and that’s why she was killed, don’t you think that’s relevant to your investigation?”
“Possibly.”
She watched him, trying to gauge his reaction. Or nonreaction.
“I heard the FBI is taking over the case,” she said. “Is that true?”
Surprise flickered in his eyes. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Is it true?”
“I need to know where you’re getting your information.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” She stepped closer and watched his eyes. “Why are the feds involved?”
“I didn’t say they were.”
She stepped closer again until she was standing right in front of him, close enough to see every little tick of his reaction. “Was she a protected witness?”
His jaw hardened.
Bailey stepped back. “Oh my God, she was, wasn’t she?”
“I didn’t say that.”
This was why she’d wanted him here. She’d wanted to read every nuance of his expression, and she saw that she was right. And this was why he’d been acting weird last night when he’d met her at Eli’s and tried to pump her for information without giving her a damn thing. And why he’d been evasive at the police station this afternoon.
“I’m right,” she said. “I can see it in your face. You just confirmed it.”
“Bailey.” His voice had an edge now. “I’m not confirming anything. And you can’t run that.”
She leaned against the counter as the implications swirled through her head. “So that name is an alias. And her murder—it wasn’t some mugging or some random sex crime. It was a hit.”
“You have no proof of any of that, and you can’t run that in your paper.”
“If I get corroboration, I can.”
His gaze sharpened. “That would be reckless as hell.”
“But would it be accurate? Was she a protected witness? Is that why the FBI took over?”
“Who the hell are you talking to?” he asked.
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“I’m not going to tell you my sources, so you can forget about that,” she said. “And before you get mad, just know that also means I wouldn’t betray you if someone asked me. You can trust me.”
He laughed, and she felt a twinge of hurt.
“You can.”
She watched him, waiting for him to calm down. He took a deep breath and rubbed his hand over his chin. Clearly, he was conflicted about this, and he probably regretted coming here.
She stepped close to him, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. And it was there again—that hot flare of attraction.
“Let’s make a deal,” she said.
“What kind of deal?”
“I’ll hold off on running anything about this, if you’ll answer some of my questions.”
“No.”
She took a deep breath. “Come on. You have to know you can’t control this story, Jacob. It involves a lot of people not connected to you. The information is bound to get out.”
His jaw tightened again, and she could see him weighing his options. She was being pushy. Yes. But she’d made a career out of being pushy. If she weren’t pushy with people, she’d be out of a job.
“One question, off the record,” he said.
“Was Dana Smith a protected witness?”
“Yes.”
Holy hell.
“So, someone found her here?”
“That’s two questions.”
“But that’s what happened, right?” She felt a surge of adrenaline. She’d been right. Up until now it had seemed like a slightly crazy conspiracy theory that had sprung from her vivid imagination. But Jacob was standing here confirming it. Off the record, but still.
“We don’t know what happened for sure,” he said, “but we’re investigating. It’s possible her murder is connected to a federal case she testified in. And if that is what happened, and you let it leak that the FBI is involved, whoever killed her will know we’re onto him, and it will make it much tougher for us to apprehend him.” He stepped closer. “Do you understand? Leaking this publicly could blow the whole case.”
She watched him, heart thrumming. She didn’t want to blow the case. But she couldn’t sit on this forever, either.
Jacob stared down at her, and her heart thumped harder for a different reason. She could feel his tension. See the heat in his eyes. He was frustrated, and it wasn’t just about the case.
“I have to go.” He moved for the door.
“Wait. Wait. We’re not done talking! I want to know more about what’s going on.”
He shook his head. “I’ve told you as much as I can.”
She followed him to the door as he pulled it open and turned to look at her. “And we made a deal, Bailey, so I better not see this in the paper.”
His words stung, but she tried not to let it show.
“You won’t,” she said. “I told you, you can trust me.”
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
KENDRA POKED HER head into the file room. “You’re working down here again?”
“It’s quiet.”
She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. Jacob noted the laptop under her arm.
“I have to show you something,” she said, and he caught the excitement in her voice. He slid his computer aside, and Kendra pulled over the folding chair she’d used last time and opened her laptop.
“I think I may have found it,” she said.
“Found what?”
“Dana Smith’s court case.”
Jacob’s pulse picked up. He’d been looking on and off for days for the case, but he hadn’t come up with anything.
“I found three possibilities in Chicago over the last two years,” she said.
“Why two years?”
“You said her apartment lease started eighteen months ago. I figure she’s been in WITSEC since around then. First two cases were straight-up financial crimes. Looks like the witnesses were all bankers and forensic accountants. I don’t really see Dana fitting into that scene.”
“Okay.”
“But look at this.” She clicked open a window and turned the computer to face him.
The screen showed an article in the Chicago Tribune. STEEL MOGUL’S SON TARGETED IN FEDERAL PROBE. Jacob skimmed the first paragraph. The photo alongside the story sho
wed a young man in a suit surrounded by a throng of reporters in front of a courthouse.
“That’s Will McKinney.” Kendra tapped the picture. “Looks like a GQ model, doesn’t he? Used to be one of the most eligible bachelors in Chicago. Now he’s wearing an orange jumpsuit and cooling his heels at the federal penitentiary in Marion, Illinois.”
“What’d he do?”
“Got busted for embezzling money from his family’s company,” Kendra said. “The family’s old-money Chicago, and they’re rumored to be connected to organized crime. One of his uncles went away on a tax evasion charge fifteen years ago. Now fast-forward a generation, and this guy Will is charged with two counts of bank fraud and one count of witness tampering.”
“Tell me about the witness tampering. Anything physical?”
“McKinney’s stockbroker was beaten to a bloody pulp in his parking garage. We’re talking brass knuckles and steel-toed boots. Guy lost three teeth and had to have his jaw wired back together. Security camera got the license plate of the assailant, and the vehicle traced back to a PI that McKinney had hired. So, it’s clear McKinney doesn’t mind playing it rough. He went to trial and ended up getting eight years. And get this, his girlfriend testified against him in court, along with one of the company’s in-house accountants. A woman, by the way.”
Jacob skimmed the article. “Where’d you get all that? I’m not seeing it.”
“The article is mostly about McKinney, who was being groomed to take over his dad’s company when he started stealing from it. I mean, what a bonehead, right? If he’d just waited, he probably would’ve inherited everything.”
“What kind of money are we talking about?”
“Two million dollars over three years.”
“He didn’t think they’d miss it?”
“Guess not.” She shook her head. “Or if they did, maybe he thought they’d keep the problem in the family? I’m guessing they would have handled it themselves, but his wire transfers caught the attention of the feds, and they opened an investigation. They ended up getting several employees to testify.”
“Employees? I thought you said it was an accountant and a girlfriend.”
“It was.” Kendra pulled out a spiral notebook and flipped a few pages. “But according to the transcript, the girlfriend started out as a temporary receptionist at McKinney Steel’s downtown headquarters in Chicago. That’s where they met.”
“What are the witnesses’ names?” Jacob asked.
“The accountant is . . .” She flipped another page. “Tabitha Walker. Age twenty-eight. I looked, but I haven’t found anything on her yet. And the second one is Robin Nally.”
“Her name’s Robin?” Jacob scooted closer.
“Yeah. Why?”
He grabbed the folder beside his computer and flipped it open to the photograph. “That’s the tattoo Dana Smith had removed.”
She glanced at the picture, then at Jacob. “That’s a robin redbreast.”
“I know.”
“Where the hell did you get that?”
“A day spa next to Dana’s apartment building had a record of her,” Jacob said. “She was in the process of having this ink removed when she was murdered.”
“What do the words say? The calligraphy?”
“‘Love, strength, and happiness.’”
Kendra sat back in her chair and smiled. “Holy crap, Jacob. We found her.”
“Probably.”
“What do you mean, ‘probably’? She had a robin tattooed on her ankle, and she got it removed after she went into WITSEC and changed her name.”
“I’d believe it when I see a picture of Robin Nally.”
“Since when are you such a skeptic?”
“Since always.”
Kendra shook her head. “It’s her, Jacob. Think about the odds. The city, the age, the tattoo, the organized-crime connection—that’s way too many coincidences for this not to be our victim.”
“Let’s get proof,” he said. “But in the meantime, we need to move on this.”
“What do you mean, ‘move’?”
“I mean, someone with inside knowledge and knife skills tracked down Dana Smith. We don’t know how he did it, but what’s to stop him from doing it again?”
“You’re worried about Tabitha Walker?”
“Yes.”
Kendra nodded. “If she testified, too, we need to find her before McKinney’s hit man does.”
“It’s been four days since Dana’s murder,” Jacob said. “He may have already found her.”
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
BAILEY LEFT HER office in a rush, late for her three o’clock appointment at the Sunrise Café on Congress. She crossed against the light, prompting honks from several cars. Stepping into the restaurant, she spotted the man she was meeting at the back in a corner booth.
“You’re late,” he said as she slid into the seat.
“Sorry. Our staff meeting ran long.”
John Colt had a coffee mug in front of him, and it was already half-empty. He leaned back against the booth and draped his long arms over the seat. Colt was tall and muscular, and his black T-shirt fit snugly over his pecs. He had the body of a twenty-five-year-old, but the gray at his temples told Bailey he was closer to forty.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Thanks for taking the time to meet me.”
He didn’t respond. Colt wasn’t into niceties. It was one reason Bailey liked using him as a source. She’d first met Colt when she was doing a story about bail bondsmen near the courthouse. He was said to be the best skip tracer in town. He’d refused to be interviewed, Bailey had convinced him to talk to her on background only, and they’d met for omelets at four in the afternoon, Bailey’s treat. Colt kept weird hours.
“I need help with a story,” she said now.
He just looked at her.
“It involves skip tracing.”
“What about it?”
“Generally speaking, how does it work?”
“Depends. Who are you looking for?”
“No one. But if I were looking for someone—someone who really didn’t want to be found—what’s the first thing I’d do?”
A young waitress stopped by with a steaming platter of eggs and hash browns. She looked at Bailey. “Something for you?”
“Just water, thanks.”
She walked off, and Colt shook Tabasco over his food. He scooped up a bite, and Bailey watched him eat. She wondered, as she always did, what he was thinking. Colt was an enigma. She knew very little about his professional background, except that he’d once been in the Marines, and she suspected he might have been some sort of special-ops badass. She knew zilch about his personal life—not even whether he was married. She couldn’t imagine him with a wife, though. He seemed like too much of a loner.
“Depends on the target,” Colt told her. “Are we talking about an ex-con? An ex-wife? A fugitive? People skip town for a lot of reasons.”
And sometimes Colt refused to find them, even if he could. During the course of her reporting, Bailey had learned that Colt checked out all his clients beforehand. If the client had a history of violence or wanted him to track down a wife or girlfriend who’d left, Colt turned down the job. She had even heard of him helping women skip town to get away from a violent partner. Of course, she’d asked Colt about that, but he wouldn’t discuss it.
“In this case . . . I don’t know,” she said.
“You don’t know?” He sipped his coffee.
“The details are unclear. All I really know is the person was a witness in a trial and doesn’t want to be found.”
Interest sparked in his eyes at that. “A protected witness?”
She nodded.
Colt squinted as he chewed. He swallowed and took another sip of coffee. “
Now, that’s a more interesting challenge. If the target’s in WITSEC, the feds will set him up with a new identity, new place to live, possibly a job. All that stuff would be traceless, too. Program like that, it’d be much harder to locate someone.”
“But not impossible.”
He just looked at her.
“You could do it, right?”
“Maybe.”
“How?”
The corner of his mouth ticked up. “You think I’m going to tell you my methods so you can put them in the paper?”
“This is strictly for background. If I wanted to find someone in the witness protection program, what would I do?”
He watched her without talking, and Bailey tried not to show her impatience. Colt was one of her best sources, but she didn’t use him much because she didn’t want to pester him. In fact, she’d only used him twice before now—which was probably one reason he’d agreed to meet her.
The server stopped by to drop off Bailey’s water. She refilled Colt’s mug, and he watched her walk away. Then he looked at Bailey.
“It would be tough,” he said.
“Hypothetically, where would I start?”
He folded his arms over his chest. “Everyone’s different. Again, it would depend on the target. You research the target and zero in on a potential vulnerability.”
“Say the target is a twenty-five-year-old woman.”
“What else you know about her?”
“Very little.”
“You need to do some more legwork, then. That’s not much to go on.”
“I don’t need all your methods,” she said. “Just give me a direction. What would you do first if someone hired you to track down someone like that?”
“Social media, no question.”
“Really?” That sounded a little basic to Bailey. “Isn’t that the first thing federal agents would warn you to stay away from?”
“Yeah, but people are bad at resisting temptation. Also, there’s the ID. A driver’s license or passport could be a weakness.”
“How?”
“Facial recognition technology. Those pictures go into a database. Now, if it’s a federally protected witness, they probably keep the pictures out, but you never know.”
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