“No, she didn’t.”
“She stuck her neck out and—”
“She never trusted us. She never trusted anyone, from what I’ve heard. Yeah, she testified, but that was it.”
“What do you mean?”
“That was it. She disappeared. Dropped off the radar. Tabitha Walker was never in WITSEC.”
“Was she killed?”
“No.”
“How do you know that?”
Morgan sighed. She walked around the bar and pulled open his fridge. He knew she wouldn’t like the contents, but she stared anyway for a full ten seconds.
“I don’t know why I’m talking to you about any of this,” she said.
“I do.”
She looked at him, and in the light of the refrigerator he saw that she looked tired. The stress of her job was taking its toll on her and had been for a long time. She closed the fridge and leaned back against the counter.
“She testified, as planned,” Morgan said. “Then she disappeared. Evidently, she withdrew money from her bank account in advance and packed, so we know she planned to leave.”
“Or someone wanted it to look like she did.”
“I can’t confirm that one way or another. But I can tell you she’s not under federal protection. We don’t know where the hell she is. So if anyone’s going to warn her it’s not going to be us.”
Her tired gaze settled on Jacob, and he felt a deep uneasiness in his gut. But it wasn’t new. He’d felt it since he first ducked under that crime scene tape and crouched in the mud beside a young jogger with a knife wound in her back. He’d known instantly this wasn’t a typical homicide. He hadn’t realized just how strange and complex it would turn out to be.
But it didn’t matter. It had happened in his backyard. Someone had come into his jurisdiction and carried out a cold-blooded killing, and Jacob planned to figure out who it was and hold him accountable. It was as simple—and as complicated—as that. Jacob wasn’t wired for diplomacy or office politics or interagency chess games. He was a cop. He’d taken an oath to protect and serve, and that was what mattered to him.
Morgan knew it, too, which was why she’d contacted him in the first place and why she continued to drop these nuggets of information on him. She believed in him. And she knew Mullins would be all too happy for this whole case to just disappear, solved or not.
“What will you do now?” she asked.
“Same thing I was doing before. Investigate. Track down a murderer. Hopefully, before he tracks down anyone else.”
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
TABITHA INSERTED THE keycard and let herself into the bungalow. The air was still and silent, and she knew right away that she was alone.
She moved quickly, positioning her cleaning cart in front of the door so she’d have advance warning in case someone came in. The guests were out for the morning, but Frank was a wild card, always lurking around the property and popping up unexpectedly.
She went straight to the bedroom. The dresser was a prime spot for jewelry and cash, but today there was nothing, not even a pile of loose change. Same for the bathroom. She checked the safe in the closet, on the off chance someone had left it open, but it was empty, too.
“Damn it,” she whispered. “Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.”
Tears stung her eyes as she stared at the dresser. She wasn’t a thief. Or she hadn’t been. For months, she’d cleaned these rooms from top to bottom without even thinking of stealing anything, no matter how much cash people left lying around. But now that she really, really needed the money, as a matter of survival, every last guest was suddenly being careful with their stuff.
A bitter lump of disappointment lodged in her throat. But Tabitha ignored it and got to work stripping the sheets off the king-size bed. Next she stripped the pillows—all six of them, different sizes, because reviews ruled the world, and God forbid someone might post a complaint about pillow thickness.
After wrapping the linens in a bundle, she went to the bathroom and doused every surface with disinfecting foam. Then she started scrubbing, working high to low, the way she’d been doing since she was eight years old. The work calmed her ragged nerves, and she imagined her mother looking down at her. She’d approve of the cleaning, sure. Tabitha had become a master at it. But she wouldn’t be happy to see her daughter scrubbing toilets for a living after all the sacrifices she’d made.
Tabitha’s mom had worked two jobs so they could afford an apartment within a good school zone in the suburbs. There hadn’t been money for maids or dance lessons or private tutors, and her mom had set aside every spare dollar so that Tabitha could go to a four-year university instead of a two-year community college like her mother had attended.
Tabitha wiped her nose. She was crying again, damn it. She was going on day four of barely any sleep, and her nerves were frayed.
Never look back. She couldn’t get bogged down in the past. She had to be strategic. She had to make a plan.
She finished the bathroom and stuffed the bundle of sheets into the hamper of her cart. She dragged the vacuum into the living room and collected dirty mugs from the coffee table.
Her gaze fell on a silver corner peeking out from a magazine.
A laptop.
Tabitha’s pulse skittered. She nudged the magazine aside. It was a Lenovo notebook, just like the one she used to schlep home every weekend from her job at McKinney Steel. Before she could think about what she was doing, she flipped open the notebook and powered it up. The familiar whirr and chime made her heart start to pound. It would probably be password protected. Of course it would.
The screen brightened and she was staring at a sunset desktop photo with a tidy row of icons arrayed across it.
No password. How lucky was that? It had to be a sign.
She glanced over her shoulder at the door. Frank was on the property somewhere. And the guest could waltz in here at any moment and get her fired.
But she had to look. She had to know. Not knowing what happened was making her insane. She clicked into a browser and stared at the screen.
Tabitha hadn’t touched a computer in twenty-two months. The withdrawal had been excruciating, worse than giving up coffee for Lent. She’d had no idea how addicted she’d been to her devices. But she’d forced herself to stay away, because she knew the quickest way to blow her cover was to get online and take the teeniest, tiniest step back into her former life.
Now she stared at the screen and pondered what to search.
She had no idea where Robin had been living. They’d only spoken once since the day of their testimony when Robin handed her that burner phone and they’d made a pact only to use it if everything went to shit. But Robin, in typical Robin fashion, had broken the rules, calling Tabitha on her last birthday and leaving a message. Just the sound of her voice had made Tabitha realize how desperately lonely she’d become. Tabitha had always been a bit of a loner, but these last few months she’d felt utterly isolated.
A slamming door made her jump and turn around. It was the neighboring unit, where the guests had slept in.
Focus.
She turned back and stared at the screen, debating what to search. Back when life was normal, Robin had been obsessed with the idea of moving to California. They’d be trudging up Wacker Drive after lunch, with the icy wind off Lake Michigan freezing their noses and making their ears ache, and Robin had talked longingly about beaches and surfers.
Was that where she’d settled?
Tabitha’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. Her hands trembled as she typed in the search terms: CALIFORNIA AND MURDER AND WOMAN.
A list of results appeared. Tabitha held her breath and skimmed them: Elderly woman murdered during home invasion. Long Beach woman killed by stray bullet. Chico woman arrested in husband’s murder.
Tabitha scrolled thro
ugh page after page, but none of the dates fit.
She bit her lip and reconsidered. The Marshals were footing the bill, so California was probably out in terms of relocating a witness. Too expensive. Ditto New York.
She tried broader search terms: MURDER AND WOMAN AND UNIDENTIFIED.
She hit enter and held her breath as a slew of new headings appeared.
Unidentified murder victim exhumed. Boise woman unidentified six years after murder. Police release name of woman murdered on bike trail.
Tabitha’s stomach clenched. The date on the last story was Tuesday and the reporter was Bailey Rhoads of the Austin Herald. Tabitha skimmed the first few lines.
The search continues for suspects in the murder of 25-year-old Dana Smith, who was stabbed to death over the weekend at Lady Bird Lake . . .
Tabitha’s breath caught and she reread the words: stabbed to death. She clicked to read the full article.
The photo that appeared hit her like a sucker punch. The woman in the picture had dark hair and sunglasses, but there was no mistaking that dazzling smile. Robin had a cat in her lap and her arm around someone outside the picture.
Tabitha clutched her stomach. She felt dizzy. She stared at the screen, and all her deepest, darkest fears stared back at her.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
BAILEY DROVE UP the curving driveway, catching glimpses of Granite Tech through the trees. The building perched atop a sheer limestone cliff facing the lake, a shiny glass fortress overlooking the city.
She curved around a giant water fountain at the top of the hill and parked in a visitor’s space near the building’s grand entrance. Tall glass doors silently slid open as she approached. A pair of spherical security cameras peered down at her like eyeballs as she stepped into the building. Taking off her sunglasses, Bailey looked up at the soaring atrium.
“Ms. Rhoads?”
She turned around, and a man fitting the description of Nico’s friend approached her. He had short brown hair and a muscular, compact build like a gymnast. Chunky black glasses added a touch of computer-geek to the look.
“Seth Cole,” he said, giving her a firm handshake. He wore dark jeans and a green polo with the Granite Tech logo on the front.
“Call me Bailey. And thanks for meeting me.”
“Let’s get you checked in.”
He ushered her to a round reception desk, where an auburn-haired woman wearing a headset glanced at Bailey’s ID and handed her a green visitor’s badge that resembled the badges she’d seen at Villa Paloma.
“I thought I’d show you around before we talk.” Seth led her across the atrium to a bank of elevators. “You ever been here before?”
“No.”
“You don’t usually cover tech, do you? I don’t recognize your byline.” He smiled sheepishly. “I mostly read the business section.”
“I’m on the metro desk. Tech is Nico’s domain.”
They stepped into a glass elevator that reminded her of her favorite Roald Dahl book. The doors slid shut and an awkward silence settled over them.
“How’s Nico doing?” Seth asked. “Tell him he owes me a pint.”
“He told me you’d say that. Nico’s good. Busy.”
“Yeah, I haven’t seen him in a while. Probably since the spring.”
“He’s been slammed. We all have.”
The elevator stopped, and they stepped into an open hallway overlooking the atrium. Bailey took a tentative step toward the long glass wall.
“What floor are we on?” she asked.
“Ten. All of our executive suites are up here.”
Music to Bailey’s ears.
“I was hoping to get some time with Lucinda Oberhoff. Do you know if she’s in today?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “She is, but she’s probably booked up.”
“I’d really like to talk to your CEO. Even just a few minutes would be great.”
“This way.” He held his hand out to usher her down a long hallway overlooking the atrium. “I’ll see what I can do. I’m in charge of operations, so I should be able to answer most of your questions.”
They reached an open space with three glass offices facing a seating area. A receptionist sat in the center at a wide glass desk. He had a shaved head and rimless glasses. Instead of a company polo he wore a lavender button-down and black slacks.
“Levon, this is Bailey Rhoads from the Herald.”
Levon’s face brightened in a way she wasn’t accustomed to, and he reached across the desk to shake her hand. “Delighted to meet you. Welcome to Granite Tech.”
“Thank you.”
“Any chance Lucinda has an opening?” Seth asked.
“Doubtful.” Levon lifted a pencil-thin eyebrow. “Board meeting Monday. You know what that means.”
“I would only need a few minutes,” Bailey said.
He winked at her. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Seth led her past the middle office, a huge room with glass on two sides. “That’s Lucinda’s. I’m next door.” He paused beside another spacious office, also with windows facing in and out. Bailey’s workplace had glass offices, too, but they all had cheap mini blinds that could be snapped shut for sensitive meetings. Or, more recently, for Friday afternoon firings.
“Tell you what, we don’t need to sit in there,” Seth said. “Let’s go to the Skydeck. You drink tea?”
“Coffee.”
He led her down a corridor to yet another hallway overlooking an atrium. A coffee bar stood off to one side beside a cluster of high-top tables. The ceiling was all skylights, and people perched on stools beneath the streaming sunlight. Everyone had a laptop in front of them or was scrolling through a phone.
Seth stepped up to the counter and ordered a chai tea. Bailey asked for plain drip coffee and tried to pay, but Seth waved her off.
“It’s free for employees.”
“Really? Wow.”
“Hey, there’s Lucinda. One sec.”
Bailey turned to see a rail-thin woman in a charcoal suit talking on her phone as she collected a frothy green drink from the end of the counter. She wore a pale pink blouse that should have softened the severity of the suit, but didn’t, possibly because of her three-inch black stilettos. She ended her phone call, and Seth approached her.
“Lucinda, this is Bailey Rhoads from the Herald.”
Her gaze narrowed and she turned to Bailey with a tight smile. “Hello.” She stabbed a straw into her drink.
“Bailey’s hoping to sit down with you briefly—”
She turned her tight smile to Seth. “Today’s impossible.”
“I would only need a minute or two,” Bailey said.
Irritation flickered in her eyes as she looked from Bailey to Seth. “Have Levon set something up for next week.” She grabbed her phone off the counter and nodded at Bailey. “Enjoy your visit.”
She strode away with her cup, and Bailey noticed she had the calves of an Olympic athlete. She kept her gaze straight ahead, ignoring people’s nods and greetings as they passed by.
Bailey glanced at Seth. He seemed a bit embarrassed by the brush-off as he led her to a table overlooking the atrium.
“Free coffee is a nice perk,” Bailey said, taking a sip.
“Yeah, it’s good for morale.” He smiled. “Cheaper than stock options.”
Bailey pulled out her notebook. “So, you know Nico from college?”
“Not really. I met him there. We were both CS majors. But I didn’t really know him until he joined our Ultimate team.”
“Ultimate Frisbee.”
“Right. We’ve got about twenty people. Most of them work here or at Dell. We have a few from Google, too. Nico’s the odd man out, working for the paper.” He smiled again. “You play?”
“No.”
&
nbsp; “It’s fun to watch. You should come out sometime.” He nodded at her notebook, where she’d jotted his name and title. “Nico said you’re writing about data security?”
“Sort of. I’m interested in the background checks you do for people. What information you collect and how you keep it private.”
He nodded. “We take privacy very seriously. It’s one of our three bedrocks.”
“Bedrocks?”
“Bedrock tenets. Security, privacy, liberty.”
She jotted down the words.
“Those principles are ingrained. Literally.” He nodded at the atrium, and Bailey followed his gaze. “They’re engraved on the granite floor down there. Bedrock. See?”
She peered over the railing at the granite floor ten stories below where employees streamed back and forth. The design showed a globe surrounded by the words SECURITY * PRIVACY * LIBERTY * GRANITE TECH.
“Interesting. Aren’t those concepts kind of . . . contradictory?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, how does liberty go with privacy?”
He nodded. “Freedom from worry. We keep your life secure, so you don’t have to.” He smiled. “Or something like that. I sound like a commercial, don’t I?”
“A little. Your main business is background checks for clients?”
“And increasingly we’re getting into storage solutions. Cloud storage, that sort of thing. We take extraordinary measures to secure digital data for all our clients. That includes sensitive documents, emails, telecommunications, biometric data.”
“Such as?”
“Fingerprints, faceprints, everything. Also, social security numbers, tax information.”
She flipped a page. “I read about a data breach several years ago.”
He winced. “Yeah, we got some bad press on that one. It was overblown, though.”
“What happened?”
“Your basic phishing scam. Someone posing as one of our executives sent an email to an assistant in HR, asking for a list of social security numbers.”
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