Then the guard closed the door and the street disappeared.
Even though she’d only been outside for seconds, water dripped from her hair into her eyes as she ran up the stairs, her scanner buzzing with fender benders, downed branches, and other rainy-day chaos.
The newsroom was humming with activity.
On a high from having his name on a front-page story that had been picked up by the wire services, DJ ran to intercept her.
“You okay?” he asked, searching her face.
“I’m fine, I promise,” she said.
She wasn’t at all certain it was true, but he took her at her word.
“Baxter wants me to work with you for the rest of the day. She says it’s going to be busy and you’ll need the spare hands.” He was jittery with energy.
“Welcome to the dark side.” Harper set her scanner on her desk.
“Where do I start, boss?”
Picking up the newspaper that lay on her desk, she flipped it over to the Lee Howard story, and thumped it with her finger. “Follow up on this. Find out more about the victim: call the Atlanta FBI office, see if you can get his biography or a photo, doesn’t matter how old. You might be able to get that from the motor vehicles office. Find out about his record, any commendations. And his family. Was he married? Kids?”
It was a job she normally would have done herself, but she couldn’t face it.
“Gotcha,” he said. He spun back to his computer, fumbling with the phone in his haste.
He was getting down to work when Baxter appeared from the back room. Spotting Harper, she strode across the newsroom, blazer flying.
“You’re alive,” she said.
“For now,” Harper replied, grimly. “DJ’s looking into Lee Howard,” she said. “We’ve got to decide how much to report about Dowell.”
“Well, he’s on the loose and he’s a convicted killer evading parole,” Baxter said. “That should do.” She gave Harper a penetrating look. “Are you sure you’re up to this.”
“I can handle it,” Harper said, curtly. “What about the Rayne case? The housemates were at each other’s throats last night at the bar.”
Baxter made a dismissive gesture. “If one of them confesses to murder we’ll find space for it. For now, Dowell’s our big story. Keep your mind on that.”
It wasn’t hard to do. News of Dowell’s escape was getting around. The state police issued a defensively worded statement claiming that Dowell had been working with them on a high-level investigation. They also released a more recent image of him than any Harper had been able to find. It was clearly and without question the man she’d seen on Bay Street the night before.
When Harper called Blazer for an update that afternoon, he was confident they’d find him. “His face is all over the TV news,” he told her. “He can’t hide forever.”
The problem was, he could hide for now.
The Dowell case kept her busy but whenever she had a break, she called Cara’s number. Each time it went straight to voice mail.
She wondered where the actress had gone after leaving the Library Bar the night before. Surely not out to the house at Tybee. Not after those scenes.
There was no point in contacting Hunter or Allegra—the two of them clearly viewed her as untrustworthy now. She’d have to wait until Cara got in touch.
When her phone rang at around three o’clock that afternoon, she snatched it off the desk. But it wasn’t Cara’s name on the screen. It was Paul Dells.
Harper didn’t answer right away. She was sorry, now, that she’d gone on that date.
Maybe she was being foolish. Dells had money, charm, and wit. She liked him. The only problem was, whenever she tried to imagine herself dating him, it just didn’t work. She couldn’t see herself dressing up to go to expensive restaurants with him. Having him always choose the wine. Meeting his friends, with their designer clothes. Talking about anything except murder. It just didn’t work. She’d never fit into his life. There was too much blood on her shoes.
But she knew in her heart that wasn’t the real the problem. The real problem was, Dells wasn’t Luke.
With a sigh, she stood up and headed out of the room for some privacy and hit answer.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey yourself,” Dells said. “I’ve got some leads on furnished apartments downtown. I thought we might go look at them this afternoon if you don’t mind getting wet.”
“I can’t today,” she said. “I’m working on a story. I won’t get out of here until late.”
He wasn’t put off. “Tomorrow then. Before you go to work. Meet me for lunch.”
Harper braced herself. “Look,” she said, slowly, “I have to tell you the truth. I don’t think now is the time for the thing we started the other night.”
There was a pause.
“I see.” His tone cooled. “You’ve had second thoughts.”
“I have.” She drew a breath. “Paul, I like you a lot. And I think this is probably a terrible decision. But I honestly don’t see how it would work. We’re too different. Besides, right now, my life is such a mess—”
“You don’t have to make excuses,” he cut her off, crisply. “I understand how this works. I’ve done it enough times myself. You don’t owe me anything. But, the offer on the apartment stands separately from all of that. For your own safety. I can email you the addresses and arrange for you to go on your own.”
He was being so reasonable, but she didn’t miss the hurt underlying his words, and suddenly she felt guilty, and she wanted nothing more than to get off the phone and back to work.
“Thank you for everything,” she said, hurriedly, “but right now I’m fine.”
“McClain, don’t make rash decisions because of what happened between us,” he insisted. “Nothing matters as much as your safety. Anything you need, call me.”
He’d gone back to using her last name and for some reason it stung.
“Paul, I am sorry about this,” she said. “I warned you from the beginning I wasn’t sure I was ready.”
“Don’t worry about me, McClain. I’m a big boy. Just watch yourself out there. Oh, by the way. This dead FBI agent. Does it have anything to do with Martin Dowell?”
Harper hesitated only briefly. But he was Channel Five now. And that’s all he was.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Ask the detectives.”
* * *
It was a long day on no sleep. By nine o’clock, she sat at her desk with her head resting on her hand, watching the rain pour down the windows, thinking about Lee Howard’s lifelong guilt. And how it had cost his life.
In the mist and the dark, the Savannah River was invisible. She could see no farther than the street directly below. The old stone warehouses had faded into ghosts of themselves. Parts of the city were flooded now, but the highway out to Tybee was still clear. The marshes were good that way—a giant sponge, absorbing the rain. If this kept up, though, even the wetlands could be overwhelmed. The island would be cut off.
Everyone at police headquarters had been running their tails off all day dealing with the weather. But she couldn’t go home without knowing the latest about Martin Dowell.