just got a call from Shel,” Bruce said. “He’s coming in to take a look at your story. So get your notes together ASAP.”
Bruce loved to talk in acronyms.
“Why is Shel involved?” Kate asked. The editor in chief never showed his face on weekends unless something major was going on.
“You must have been right about your hit-and-run theory,” he said. “Something’s weird, and suddenly the FBI’s calling.”
“The FBI?”
McAllister strolled over with her coffee cup and several doughnuts hooked to his long pinky.
“Yeah,” Bruce said, “apparently the victim’s someone important, but they won’t tell us who. You checked out the vic’s car with the DMV, right?”
“Thanks,” Kate said as McAllister passed her her mug. She reread her notes. “Just got a call back. Vehicle is registered to a Cecelia Wells, but—”
“Wait, what ?” McAllister seized her arm, sloshing coffee all over her desk. “ Who? ”
Whoa. Kate double-checked the name. “I said Cecelia Wells. Owner of a blue Ford Explorer. Why? You know her?”
The color drained from McAllister’s face. It was remarkable. Two seconds, and he was white as chalk. “She was the victim ? You mean she’s…?”
“Victim was a guy,” Kate clarified. “Looked like maybe a college student out joyriding in her car.”
“You know this girl?” Bruce asked McAllister.
“Yeah.” He closed his eyes briefly. “She lives in my hometown. Mayfield.”
“Not anymore.” Kate scanned her notes. “Looks like she’s here in Austin. Three-thirteen Grand View Drive.”
McAllister snatched the notepad away. “Fuckin’ A,” he muttered. “She didn’t tell me she’d moved here.”
Kate rolled her eyes. What an ego. She looked him over as he read through her notes. Okay, so he came by it honestly. He was gorgeous— People ’s Sexiest Man Alive gorgeous. Kate watched his wavy, blondish-brown hair fall over his eyes as he stroked his stubbled jaw.
“We need a follow-up on this,” Bruce was telling her. “We need to find out what the deal is with her car. Was it stolen? Did she lend it to somebody? We got some FBI hotshot calling Shel about this, and he wants to know why. Get your butt down to police headquarters and find out what they know about this victim.”
“I’m on it,” Kate said.
Bruce turned to McAllister. “You want to lend a hand here? Is this woman married?”
McAllister looked up. “Huh?”
“Is she married? Any chance her husband was behind the wheel? Maybe she’s got a teenager?”
“Uh…she’s divorced,” he said. “No kids.”
“Well, call her up and see why someone else was driving her car last night.”
“That’s not necessary,” Kate said. “I can cover this.”
If this story turned into something big, Kate didn’t want McAllister stealing it out from under her. He had a competitive streak.
“No, this is important,” Bruce said. “I want both of you on it. Shel wants answers, pronto.”
Kate picked up her keys.
“And hey, Kepler,” Bruce said, “before you go, I’ve got a number for some FBI agent who wants to talk to you. Tell him what he needs to know, but don’t make any promises about what we will or won’t print. Remember who you work for.”
Kate froze. “Couldn’t you talk to him?” There were few things Kate would enjoy less than talking to an FBI agent.
“Sorry, Kepler. He wants you.”
Cecelia Wells was hiding something. Special Agent Mike Rowe had a gut feeling about it; he just hadn’t figured out what the something was.
“And you’re sure about the timeline, ma’am?” his partner asked. Nick Stevenski was young, charming, and nice to look at, and consequently their standard operating procedure was for him to interview any female witnesses. Stevenski had been sitting across from sweet little Ms. Wells for nearly an hour now, and she’d been extremely cooperative.
But something was off. She was holding back. Rowe knew it as sure as he knew that her