Jacob rubbed his hand over his bristly jaw. “It probably is. But we don’t know that for sure.” He leaned forward on his elbow and looked at her, and she noticed the deep lines around his eyes.
“I want to be straight with you, Bailey. No more word games.” He picked up her hand. “You almost died last night, and I need some honesty now.”
Bailey just looked at him. His eyes were tired, and there was a vulnerability there she’d never seen before.
She nodded.
“Unless one of us has an ethical obligation not to share something because of our job,” he said, “I want us to be straight with each other from now on. Okay?”
She nodded again.
“Here’s the situation: David Langham has a federal warrant out for him. He’s probably focused on evading capture, and it’s unlikely he’ll come looking for you. But I don’t know that for sure. Okay? There’s also a chance he’s still trying to finish a job, and he may be looking for Tabitha. He might think you know where she is.”
“I don’t.”
“He might think you do anyway. I won’t rest easy until we have him in custody.”
Bailey bit her lip.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “Thank you for the honesty.”
He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against her hand. “Yesterday scared the shit out of me. I was racing over to your place, and all I could think of was . . .” He shook his head.
“What?”
He shook his head again.
“I hear what you’re saying, but you aren’t obligated to offer me a place to stay.”
“I want you to stay with me.” He looked at her. The tenderness in those deep brown eyes made her heart squeeze. “I want to be near you. You’re going to need some help for a while. I know your sister could do it, and she’s probably better equipped. But I want to do it.”
She watched him, at a loss for words. Emotions swirled inside her, and she felt dizzy. She wanted to stay with him, but the implications felt daunting. More damn tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked them back. She hated crying. It had to be the drugs.
“The logical thing is probably for me to go to Hannah’s,” she said.
He sighed deeply and kissed her knuckles. “It’s your decision. I won’t pressure you.”
She laughed through her tears. “You already did.”
“Just think about it.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
Three weeks later
JACOB WATCHED THE narrow storefront through the dusty windshield. People streamed back and forth on the sun-baked sidewalk in front of the building, but no one stopped to go in.
His cell buzzed. Jacob lowered the binoculars and grabbed the phone from the cup holder.
“Merritt.”
“Hey, where are you?” Kendra asked. “I came back from my court appearance and you were gone.”
“I’m following up on something.”
“Well, did you hear about McKinney?”
“No.” Jacob put the call on speaker and lifted the binoculars again. “Which one?”
“Senior. The dad. I just got off the phone with my FBI friend in New Orleans. He told me there’s been a breakthrough. McKinney senior now admits to hiring Langham—as a PI, he’s claiming. His story is that he only intended for him to locate Robin and Tabitha and write up a report.”
“A report? That’s it?”
“That’s what he’s saying.”
“So, Langham threw in the hits for free?”
“I didn’t say it was a good story. But at least they’ve got him on record with it,” Kendra said. “Looks like they’re looking to cut a deal with prosecutors. I think they must have proof of their communication, or McKinney wouldn’t be copping to anything.”
“Hmm.”
“You don’t sound too excited.”
“I am,” he said. “Did you hear we’ve got a lead on Langham?”
“Damn, when it rains, it pours. What happened?”
“The feds have been watching several of his contacts. This morning one of his military buddies wired some money to a Western Union office. It’s waiting there for him under a fake name.”
“And they’ve got the place staked out?”
“Yep.”
“That’s awesome,” Kendra said. “Did you tell Bailey?”
“No.”
“Are you going to?”
“If they take him down, yeah.”
Jacob lowered the binoculars and checked out the street from his elevated vantage point. From the second floor of the corner parking garage, he had a 270-degree view of both vehicular traffic and foot traffic.
“How’d the feds get this lead?” she asked.
“The buddy’s name is Ryan Penning. I interviewed him three weeks ago when I was researching Langham.”
“You gave them this?”
“Yeah. I got a weird vibe from this guy. He was tight-lipped about Langham and he lied about something minor, which raised a red flag. So, I passed his name along to Mullins as someone to watch.”
“Ha. You know if they do arrest him, he’ll give you exactly zero credit. Guarantee it. Just watch the press conference. Mullins is a publicity hound.”
Jacob didn’t care. He just wanted Langham behind bars or dead. He wanted Bailey to be able to get through a night without waking up in a cold sweat. He didn’t know if it was Lucinda or David Langham or both that were messing with her head. But Jacob felt like shit every time it happened. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do, and he hated it. He’d never felt so helpless.
“So, where’s this Western Union located?” Kendra asked.
“Corpus Christi. The theory is he’s on his way to Mexico and he needs funds.”
“Corpus.”
“Yeah.”
The phone went silent.
“Don’t even tell me you drove down there.”
“Yeah.”
“What the hell, Jacob? They’re not actually going to let you in on the arrest, are they?”
“I’m here to watch.”
“You drove three hours just to watch?”
Jacob didn’t respond.
“Don’t you think that’s overkill?”
“No.”
“Geez. And I thought I was obsessed with this thing. When’s he supposed to show up?”
“The money went through at noon,” he said, “so could be any time.”
A man turned the corner, and Jacob’s pulse kicked up. Tall, bulky. He wore jeans, a baseball cap, and sunglasses. Jacob watched through the binocs as he approached the Western Union office from the opposite side of the street.
“Jacob?”
“I have to go.”
“Oh my God, is he there?”
It was Langham. Jacob knew it with every cell in his body. Where was the takedown team?
“Call me back,” Kendra said.
“I will.”
Jacob watched him, clenching his teeth. The man waited for a break in traffic and then jogged across. It was only half a block to the office, and now Jacob could only see his back.
But it was him. He knew it.
Jacob thought about Robin Nally in the mud by the lake. He thought about Scott Rydell with his neck cut open, decomposing in the summer heat. He thought about Bailey bolting upright in bed with the sheets tangled around her. Jacob had been doing this job twelve years, and he’d never wanted an arrest like he wanted this one.
The man glanced over his shoulder as he neared the office. He reached for the door.
Two SWAT teams rounded the corners and were on him like a pack of wolves. The black-clad officers had him on the ground and handcuffed in under three seconds.
Jacob held his breath as they patte
d him down. The man’s face was turned away and pressed flat against the pavement. His baseball cap had come off, revealing a dark buzz cut like the runner on the lake had described to Jacob and Kendra.
Sirens filled the air. Vehicles converged on the scene. Soon the entire block was swarming with SWAT jocks and special agents with flak vests strapped over their clothes. Jacob set the binoculars aside and watched everything unfold.
The knot of tension in his chest loosened. He tipped his head back against the seat and thought of Bailey at that juice bar, striding up to him with a press pass around her neck and a determined gleam in her eye. She’d had no idea what she was in for.
Neither had Jacob.
He took a deep breath. Then he picked up his phone and texted his partner.
IT’S DONE.
* * *
* * *
BAILEY LAY ON the lounge chair gazing up at the stars. Loose guitar chords drifted over the trees, and she closed her eyes to relax.
Maybe she’d sleep tonight.
Maybe she wouldn’t.
She hated the bouts of panic and the cold sweats. But Jacob’s special brand of physical therapy made up for it.
A chorus of cicadas surrounded her, adding to the guitar music. And then she heard the familiar rumble of a truck pulling into the driveway. Bailey’s pulse picked up as the engine cut off.
She closed her eyes and waited. The front door opened and closed. Then the back-porch light came on. The back door creaked, and she heard footsteps on the deck.
“Hi, honey, I’m home.”
She smiled without opening her eyes. “Hi, honey, you’re late.”
They’d been doing the honey-I’m-home thing for weeks now. It helped gloss over the uncertainty about their new living arrangement.
“I stopped to get your mail. And while I was in your neighborhood, I stopped at Eli’s for veggie supreme, extra jalapeño.”
She opened her eyes. “God, that sounds awesome. Thanks.” She lifted her hand to her forehead to block the glare of the porch light.
Jacob gazed down at her with his hands on his hips. His sleeves were rolled up, his shirt was wrinkled, and his thick, dark hair was oddly windblown.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. Why?”
“You look . . . whipped.”
He smiled. “I’m completely, utterly whipped.”
“What happened?”
“And I’m starving. Come on.” He held out a hand and helped her to her feet. Then he picked up her crutches and waited patiently as she snugged them under her arms.
“How was work?” he asked as he opened the door for her.
“Boring as hell.” She loped into the kitchen and balanced on one crutch as she took a bottle of wine from the fridge. “They’ve got me fact-checking football stats now. I swear, all this desk work is driving me batty. If Max doesn’t give me back my beat soon, I’m going to lose it.”
Jacob got down a pair of glasses and took over the wine pouring.
“They’ll give it back as soon as you’re walking again.” He handed her a glass and poured one for himself.
“I thought you didn’t like pinot grigio?”
“I don’t.” He smiled and clinked his glass against hers. “Cheers.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “What’s going on?”
He set his glass down on the counter and leaned back against it, watching her.
Bailey’s stomach knotted. “What? You’re making me nervous.”
“Langham’s in custody.”
She stared at him.
“We arrested him in Corpus Christi this afternoon.”
“We?”
“The Marshals arrested him. I observed.”
“You drove all the way down—”
“Yes.” He stepped over and rested his hands on her hips. “I needed to be there.”
Bailey’s heart was racing. She didn’t know why. She felt cold all over.
“Hey.” He frowned. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. I’m just . . . are you sure he’s in custody?”
“He’s in custody.”
She blinked up at him, not sure why she felt dizzy all of a sudden.
Jacob held her steady with one hand while he moved her crutches aside. Then he slid his arms around her and eased her against him.
“Take a deep breath.”
She did.
“I didn’t mean to spring that on you. I should have called you.”
“No, it’s fine.” She pulled back and looked up at him. “I’m just glad it happened. All the waiting and wondering has been making me crazy.”
And the anxiety attacks. And the insomnia. She’d been a wreck for three weeks, and it had been getting worse. She knew that it wasn’t only her mobility issues that had prompted Max to put her on desk duty for a while. She’d been distracted at work and making careless mistakes.
She leaned back against the counter and looked at Jacob. He cupped his palm against her face and stroked her cheek with his thumb.
“How’d they track him down?” she asked.
He just looked at her, and she knew what that meant. He couldn’t talk about the details yet. Or maybe ever. And they’d agreed to respect each other’s work boundaries.
“Tell me this,” she said. “Do they have enough to keep him?”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes and sighed.
“You okay?”
“I didn’t realize how relieved I’d feel. It’s like there were these sandbags on my shoulders and you lifted them off.”
He smiled down at her, but his eyes looked concerned. She’d been trying not to let him know how stressed she’d been, but she hadn’t done a very good job of it. During the day was one thing, but nighttime was harder.
“Why don’t you go sit down and I’ll make us some plates?” He kissed her. “I’m starved.”
“Me too.”
She crutched into the living room and lowered herself onto the sofa. Boba Fett rubbed up against her leg. She scratched him behind the ears, and he let out a mew.
“Should I feed him?” Jacob asked from the kitchen.
“I already did. Don’t be fooled by his pitiful sound effects.”
She rested her crutches by the sofa and stared at her cast. She’d learned to get around pretty well on it. She was taking an Uber to work every day, and her editor had carved out plenty of phone assignments for her until she was able to drive again. The limitations were frustrating, but whenever she felt exasperated, she thought of Seth, and a deep sorrow overtook her self-pity.
The desk work was temporary. Bailey knew that. The series she’d written with Nico had garnered national interest and praise for the Herald. Practically overnight, Bailey had established a name for herself as a formidable investigative reporter. For the first time in months, she could go to work in the morning without the nagging fear that she would be summoned into a conference room and handed a cardboard box.
But her feelings of relief alternated with intense guilt over the human cost of what had happened. Tabitha’s life had been saved, but Seth’s was gone. Would one have happened without the other? Bailey would never know. But Seth had been determined to help Tabitha disappear, determined to give her back the anonymity that his company had stolen.
Would it work? Would Tabitha be able to create a new life for herself? Bailey had no idea where she was, and John Colt would never tell. Maybe she was in Barbados or Baja California or Nova Scotia. Bailey figured he’d helped her slip away to someplace remote where there weren’t surveillance cameras on every street corner. The world was running out of places like that.
Jacob set two plates of pizza on the table, along with their drinks. Then he sat down next to her.
“Come here.” He pulled her
against him, and she rested her head on his chest.
“I thought you were starving.”
He sighed. “I need this first.”
She slid her arms around him, breathing in his familiar scent. Having his arms around her had become the highlight of her day.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“If it weren’t for you—” A hard lump clogged her throat. She swallowed it down. “I keep thinking about Seth.”
“Me too.”
“And Robin, and Scott Rydell,” she said.
“Same.”
“I feel so . . . grateful. For everything. You. My health. My job. My life. I never realized how good I had it, just day-to-day good, you know?” She tipped her head back to look at him. “I feel lucky.”
He sifted his fingers through her hair, and the expression in his deep brown eyes made her heart ache. He had a sensitive side that he never showed in public. It was like he took all those detective traits—the observation skills, the intensity, the attention to detail—and focused them on her, anticipating exactly what she needed before she even knew herself. She’d never felt such intimacy with anyone, ever.
He brushed a curl away from her face. “I’m the lucky one.” He kissed her forehead.
She tightened her arms around him. “Jacob?”
“Hmm?”
Her heart was beating double-time now. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
She pulled away and looked at him. “Really?”
He smiled. “You look shocked.”
“I just . . . I didn’t expect you to say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because. I don’t know. Everything seems fast.”
“It is. That’s why I’ve been waiting to bring it up. I didn’t want to throw too much at you at once.”
“Too much, as in what?”
“Telling you I love you, asking you to move in with me. For real, not just until your cast comes off.”
She stared at him, at a loss for words. His tone was light, but his eyes were solemn.
“You want me to—”
“Yes.” He reached over and stroked her cheek. “Does that scare you?”
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