Baxter was sitting at her old desk underneath the three wall-mounted televisions. All the screens were blank, and she was staring at her computer, a silver pen held absently in one hand.
“Did Miles call you?” she asked.
“Press conference at five.” Harper perched on top of a nearby desk, feet dangling. Baxter looked up inquiringly.
“I talked to the next-door neighbor,” Harper said. “She told me Xavier and Cara ‘fought like cats.’ And that’s a quote.”
Baxter’s nose wrinkled. “If we use that I’ll have the chief of police on my doorstep on Sunday morning screaming at me.”
“Yeah, but then I talked to Hunter and Cara.” Harper prepared to drop the bombshell. “They verified that Xavier and Cara broke up the night he died. Cara said she broke up with him because he cheated on her. She was going to fly back to LA in the morning and never come back to Savannah again. Except someone murdered him before she got that chance.”
Baxter looked astounded. “They told you this on the record?”
“Oh yes.”
“My God. Haven’t they got any sense at all?” The editor threw the pen down. “You need to talk to your detectives. Tell them what the girlfriend told you. Get a comment. Then we can go with, ‘Police are looking into reports of a domestic disturbance at Rayne’s house the night he was killed.’”
“You got it,” Harper said. “I’ll grab someone after the press conference.”
The phone in her pocket began to ring. She answered it without getting off the desk.
“McClain.”
“Ah, Harper,” a male voice drawled. “I’ve missed the dulcet tone of your gracious hellos.”
She knew that sardonic, amused tone, but for a second she couldn’t place it.
“That’s sweet but I’m busy,” she said. “Get to the point.”
He chuckled. “There was a time, Harper, when you were more deferential to me.”
The second he laughed she knew who she was talking to. “Hang on,” she said into the phone. Jumping down, she hurried down the hallway, beyond the break room with its smell of scorched coffee, and out onto the back staircase. Only when the door closed behind her did she speak again.
“Dells?” Her voice echoed off the scuffed white walls. “Is that you?”
“The very same. I’ve got to say it’s nice to hear your voice again, even when you’re snarling at me.”
Paul Dells had been managing editor until six months ago, when he was fired for refusing to lay off staff. Rumor had it he’d left town—gone up to Charlotte to run a business magazine. Harper had assumed he was out of her life forever.
“Yours too.” She found herself smiling. “Are you in town?”
“I am—that’s why I’m calling. I have something I’d like to talk with you about. But not on the phone. I have a … proposition to make.”
His choice of words sent heat to Harper’s face. On the night Dells was fired, after a long drinking session, they’d kissed. It hadn’t gone any further but that was bad enough.
It was the last time she ever saw him.
“How about we meet for lunch on Monday?” he suggested, before she could think of anything to say. “Do you know The Public?”
“Yes,” she said. “I know it.”
“Great. Let’s meet there at, say, one thirty. I’ll explain everything when I see you.” He paused before adding, “It’s good to talk to you, McClain. It’s been too long.”
The phone went dead. Harper stayed where she was, thinking.
The two of them had worked well together—too well, some might say. He was driven: a talented editor with an eye for detail. On the last story they’d done together—a complicated murder involving the district attorney’s son—they’d taken a lot of chances. He’d pushed her hard, and she’d responded in kind.
It had been a good partnership, and she’d been sorry to see him go.
The kiss had been a fluke—she was certain of that. Ever since, she’d nurtured the faint hope that maybe he’d been too drunk that night to remember it.
I wonder if he’s still single. The thought came to her, unbidden. As quickly as it arrived, she batted it away. She wouldn’t have even thought it, she told herself, if she hadn’t seen Luke the previous night. And if he didn’t have a girlfriend.
Besides, it didn’t matter whether Dells was single. She wasn’t his type. The women he’d brought to the office Christmas parties were always tall, thin, and rich. She didn’t match that description.
Turning her wrist, she glanced at her watch and swore under her breath. It was twenty to five. She’d have to run if she was going to make the press conference.
* * *
Harper counted nine TV vans in the overflow parking lot as she got out of the Camaro and sprinted through the door of the police headquarters.
From the front desk, Dwayne Josephs gave her an amused look. “I was wondering when you’d get here,” he said. “Got half the reporters in Atlanta here today. Got to have Harper McClain, too.”
“Has it started?” she asked, breathless.
“No, they’re running late as usual. Should be any second now, though.” He pointed to the security door, reaching for the button that would release the lock as she ran across the linoleum floor. “Meeting Room Four,” he called after her.
She raced down the hallway, only slowing when she heard the rumble of the crowd and saw a technician struggling to get a tripod through a door. She followed him into the crowded room. She stood at the edge looking for familiar faces. Josh Leonard and Natalie Swanson were in the front row. Miles stood a few feet away, his Canon in one hand.
She waved to get his attention, and he sidestepped over. “Right on time,” he teased.
“Any rumors about what’s happening?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No one’s talking.”
Someone waved and she turned to see Jon Graff sitting across the room, watching her with an oily smile. Her lip curled.
A door across the room opened. Blazer walked in first, followed by the deputy chief, then Julie Daltrey and Luke. The lieutenant strode to the microphones. The others arrayed themselves around him. Harper pulled her notepad from her pocket and flipped to a clean page.
“Thank you all for coming today for an update on the investigation into the death of Xavier Rayne.” Blazer looked across the room with cold blue eyes. “As most of you know, the body was recovered yesterday evening by a fishing boat, a few miles offshore. It was taken directly to the Chatham County coroner’s office. An autopsy is now complete and the initial findings have been made available to us.”
Miles crouched in front of him, getting a shot.
Blazer kept his eyes on the back of the room, showing off his sharp jawline at its best angle. “The coroner’s investigation found no water in the victim’s lungs, indicating that Mr. Rayne died from gunshots or loss of blood before being placed in the ocean.”
The crowd murmured.
“The coroner’s early estimates are that Mr. Rayne died at some point between midnight and five A.M. on the night he disappeared.” He looked straight into the camera for Channel 5 News, which was the closest to him. “At this time, we’re appealing to the residents of Tybee Island. If you saw or heard anything on the night in question, please contact the Savannah police or the Tybee Island police immediately. We know there were reports of gunshots that night. Anything you saw or heard could be helpful in catching the killers and bringing them to justice.” He shifted his gaze to the audience. “I’ll take your questions now.”