The Morning After (12 page)

Nikki didn’t even start her hatchback’s engine until his big car passed and turned the corner two blocks down. Then she followed. As she wheeled around the turn she saw his car make a left a quarter of a mile up the street. She felt a moment’s satisfaction. He was headed to his favorite morning haunt, a deli not far from the I-16 entrance.

She’d give him time to sit down and order, then show up while he was trapped waiting for his meal. If he didn’t want to be interrupted he’d let her know.

Pulling into the lot of a nearby bank, she gave him five minutes. That should be plenty. With her notepad and recorder tucked into her purse, she dashed across the wet pavement and thought she saw something move in the thicket of live oaks near the back door. She paused, looked again, but saw nothing. Yet the smell of cigarette smoke lingered in the air. Her gaze searched the shadows, then she told herself she was being silly. So a cook from the diner stepped outside for a smoke. So what? She hurried toward the entrance. Two men already leaving held the door for her and she slipped quietly inside.

The diner was warm. At six in the morning, a gaggle of locals were already huddled around the counter that surrounded the kitchen. Farmers, delivery men, truckers and the like swapped stories and jokes, sipped java and plowed into massive breakfasts of ham, grits, fried eggs and toast. Paddle fans pushed the smoke-laden air around while bacon sizzled on a grill, and pies, freshly baked and already on display, rotated slowly in a refrigerated case.

She glanced around the tables.

Reed was in a back booth, nursing a cup of coffee and eyeing a newspaper.

It’s now or never,
she thought, girding herself for the inevitable brush-off. Anytime she had tried to get information out of him, he’d become an impenetrable granite wall, offering little, his responses oftentimes bordering on rude. Well, at least, tough.

She
had
to write this story. Especially now that Tom Fink had given her his blessing. Who knew when that would change?

Ignoring the
Please Wait To Be Seated
sign, she walked up to Reed’s booth and slid across from him. He didn’t even look up. “Detective Reed?”

His gaze climbed from the open newspaper to her face. His expression didn’t change. Light brown eyes assessed her. “I don’t remember asking you to sit down.”

“I know. I tried to reach you at the station and you didn’t call me back.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Of course. But I just want to ask you some questions.” She was reaching into her purse, fumbling for her recorder and notepad. She pushed the record button half expecting him to reach across the table and click the machine off.

He raised a dark eyebrow. “You always want to ask questions.”

She ignored the remark and plowed on. “You went up to Dahlonega.”

“So did you.”

So, he’d seen her. She’d thought so. “Yes, I’m working on the story.”

“Is that so?” He voice was steady, without a trace of amusement.

“Yes, and—”

The waitress, a tall, slim twenty-some-year-old with Nicole Kidman curls and a name tag that read Jo came by to take their orders. “Have you decided?” she asked, smiling widely as she held a steaming carafe in each hand.

Quickly, Nikki grabbed a menu from its hiding spot between a plastic ketchup container and a metal syrup carousel.

“Regular or decaf?”

“Regular,” Nikki said automatically.

Jo turned over a cup on the table and filled it.

“The usual,” Reed said, lines of irritation etching his forehead. “Number Four. Ham, eggs over easy, wheat toast and grits. Hot sauce.”

“Got it. You?” Jo turned doe-brown eyes on Nikki.

“Just coffee, oh, and a slice of pie. Pecan.”

“That’s all?”

“Right.”

“Ice cream? It comes with it.”

“None, thanks. Just the pie.” Nikki wasn’t really hungry, didn’t want anything but high-octane coffee, but she needed a reason to stick around. Otherwise she was certain Reed would give her the boot. Fast. That he hadn’t rebuffed her in the first thirty seconds of their conversation was a record.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” Jo promised without jotting anything down, then bustled off to the next table.

“So.” Nikki set her recorder on the table.

Reed glanced at it derisively. “I’m not going to tell you anything about the case in Lumpkin County or any other ongoing investigation, for that matter.” He picked up his cup and stared at her over the rim. “You may as well get your pie for the road.”

“I just want some background information.”

“Don’t have any.”

“But—”

“The department issues statements to the press. So does the Lumpkin County Sheriff’s Department and the FBI. You can wait for them like everyone else.”

“The FBI has been called in?” she asked, her pulse jumping. If that were the case—

“Not yet.” He drank a long swallow of coffee.

“But they will be.”

“I was just giving you an example.”

She wasn’t convinced. “Maybe you were trying to give me a tip.”

He laughed and the corners of his eyes crinkled sarcastically, not softening his harsh features in the least. “Oh, yeah,
that’s
what I was trying to do.” He stared straight at her. “But not just one. I think I want to be the leak in the department, you know, give you every bit of evidence that comes down the pipe. That way it’ll be in the papers and the murderer will know exactly what we’ve got on him. And so will every nutcase who wants to make his own splash and take credit for a crime he didn’t commit. You’d be surprised how many yahoos want that kind of attention. Sifting through them all would cost the department a lot of time and money. It’s a waste of manpower and really muddies the water, which allows the real killer to go about his business.” He took another sip of coffee, then set his near-empty cup on the table. “Just call me Deep Throat.” Mockery flared in his eyes as he added, “Maybe you’re too young to recall the Watergate insider who confided to Woodward and Bernstein.”

“My dad’s a judge. I grew up hearing about that Deep Throat as well as about the X-rated movie he was named for.”

“Really?” Reed reached inside his jacket pocket for his wallet. “The way I heard it, your old man wasn’t talking to you, either. Not since you compromised his case.”

Her throat tightened. Heat washed up the back of her neck. But she stared him down. “That was a long time ago, Reed. He got over it.”

“I wouldn’t. Not if you crucified me the way you did your own father. Believe me, I’d never forgive you,” he said as the waitress returned carrying a variety of platters. Reed pulled his gaze from Nikki’s and offered Jo a humorless smile. “I think Miss Gillette neglected to tell you she wanted her pie ‘to go.’”

“Oh.” The girl was suddenly flustered. No doubt she’d heard the tail end of the conversation. “I’m sorry, let me wrap your order up.” Quickly, as if she couldn’t make tracks fast enough, she slid Reed’s platters onto the table and swept the slice of pie back to the kitchen.

Reed turned his attention to Nikki again. “Now, listen to me, Miss Gillette. The only tip I’m giving today is to Jo, for serving me this.” He jabbed a fork at his grits. “I have nothing to say to you but ‘no comment,’ and no matter how many E-mails or voice mails or any kind of messages you leave me, I won’t have anything to say until the department issues a statement, and probably not then. You’ll have to live with what the rest of the reporters in town get.”

She felt her back going up. “You know, Reed,” she said, “I never figured you for sticking to the company line. I thought you had more guts. More class. That you’d form your own opinions.”

“And tell them to you?” he asked, jaw sliding to one side.

“I always heard you were a rogue cop, someone who bent the rules to get to the truth.”

“You heard wrong.”

“Did I?” she challenged. “Why did you go up to Lumpkin County? A detective from Savannah. Were you called in to give your expertise? Or did you have some connection to the place? To the killing? Why you?”

He didn’t answer but there was the tiniest of flickers in his eyes, a shadow slipping quickly through them. “I don’t know.”

“Of course you do.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “Leave it alone, Nikki. This is police business.”

“What the hell happened up on Blood Mountain?”

His lips tightened. “Since you’re here, I have some advice for you.”

“Good. I’m listening.” She flicked a glance at her recorder silently taping the entire conversation.

“The next time you stake out someone’s apartment and tail them, you might be a little more discreet.”

“I guess I should take a lesson on stakeouts from you, right?” she shot back and immediately regretted the dig.

His jaw clamped. His eyes narrowed and he slowly set his fork down with such precision that she knew he was holding back his rage. “This interview is over.”

“It never began.”

“That’s right.” He reached over and pressed a button on the recorder. The tape player clicked off. Reed glared her down.

Jo picked that moment to return with a Styrofoam box. “Here ya go, hon.”

Nikki reached for her purse, but Reed’s hand shot across the table, catching her wrist. Strong fingers tightened. “It’s on me.” As quickly as he’d grabbed her, he let go. Turning to the waitress he managed a needle-thin smile. “Add Miss Gillette’s order to my bill.”

“Will do,” Jo said, her eyes moving quickly to Nikki, then back to Reed. She dropped the receipt onto the table, then turned on her heel and headed for a nearby table where a group of men in hunting coats and hats were settling in.

Nikki tried to backtrack, to salvage some kind of relationship with the man. “Look, Detective Reed, I’m sorry if we got started on the wrong foot.”

“We didn’t get started at all.”

“What is it you dislike about me so?”

“It’s not personal.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“It’s your profession. I really don’t like any reporters. Any of ’em. They just get in the way.”

“Sometimes we help. You need the public to be informed.”

“Rarely. What you really do is rile people up, start making assumptions, scare the hell out of the public, print stories that aren’t always double-checked…it’s a real pain in the ass. But don’t quote me. That’s ‘off the record.’”

“You just don’t like having watchdogs. The media keeps you honest.”

“The media is a pain in the ass.” He glanced down at his uneaten meal, frowned, and reached for his wallet. “I changed my mind. You can stay. I’m not hungry anymore.” He slapped a twenty onto the table and slid out of the booth.
“Bon appétit!”

“Hey! Wait a minute.” She took off after him, flying out the door as he strode to his El Dorado. Cold air slapped her in the face as she dashed across the parking lot. He had already unlocked the car when she reached him. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry about the dig about the stakeout,” she apologized. “I blew it. I shouldn’t have brought up what happened in San Francisco. And I know I went too far defending my profession. I know there are reporters that would…sensationalize a story just to make a big splash, okay? I blew it. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I just want this story. I don’t expect you to compromise the investigation. I wouldn’t ask for that. And I don’t expect special consideration, but I want a new angle. I mean, here we are in Savannah and you went all the way upstate to another jurisdiction.”

“So?”

“Why? What’s it to you? What’s going on?” He didn’t respond, just stood there. “Look, I want to work with you, not against you,” she tried again, but he just stared at her. It was still dark, rain was collecting on his dark hair and his expression in the bluish glow from the diner’s neon sign was hard. Uncompromising. Damn near pissed off.

“You people,” he said in a voice so low she barely heard it. “You just never know when to give up, do you?”

“No more than you do. If you gave up, no cases would ever be solved.”

“It’s not the same.”

“We both have jobs to do.”

“That’s right. And I need to get to mine.” He climbed into the huge car, jabbed the keys at the ignition and fired up the engine.

Furious with herself, Nikki stepped back and watched as he wheeled out of the lot.

“Great,” she muttered under her breath. “Just damned wonderful. Some kind of investigative reporter you are, Gillette.” Hiking her collar against the rain, she walked back to the bank’s parking lot and slid behind the wheel of her car. So much for getting closer to Reed. That had backfired. Big time. So it was back to square one. Again. But there was a reason Reed was called up to Lumpkin County. Something important. His expertise? His connections? The fact that he’d been born up there? What? She’d checked and double-checked, couldn’t find any reason other than he’d spent a few years there as a child and that lead had fizzled into nothing.

Fuming, she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and told herself she wasn’t going to figure it out here in the damned empty parking lot. She had some serious digging to do. She pumped the gas and twisted the ignition. As the engine sparked, she looked over her shoulder to back out of her spot when she noticed something move near the hedge surrounding the parking lot, a shadow duck away from the glow of the street lamp.

Her heart clutched.

She glanced in the rearview mirror. Nothing.

Another look over her shoulder showed the hedge undisturbed.

“It’s nothing,” she told herself just as she caught a glimpse of a man standing on the other side of the hedge, still out of the glow of the street lamp. She couldn’t distinguish his features but knew he was staring at her. Watching her.

Had he been waiting?

The same man she’d seen before her meeting with Reed?

Her throat went dry as she threw the car into reverse. So what if a man had been lingering near the diner? Big deal. It wasn’t a crime and it was damned near rush hour. Dawn was already casting gray light into the city. Maybe the guy was waiting for a ride, looking for a bus, on his way to work…

Or maybe not.

There was something about the way he stood, just out of the light, that made him seem different. She’d sensed his eyes upon her. Observing. Her skin crawled instinctively. “Pervert,” she muttered, glancing again at her rearview mirror.