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unearthing several new numbers that might be Deke’s.
    “Thanks, Marvin.”
    “You’re welcome. Thank you.”
    Back to business. She made a few notes. Deke had to be a special agent, if those talkative cops had their facts right. That would have been her guess even if she hadn’t heard that stray conversation. RJ was a detective, Linc was a military op, and Deke, most likely federal.
    Kelly took a moment to pull her hair back into a no-nonsense ponytail and kick off her shoes, taking a pair of flats from the closet where she kept some of her own clothes. The station provided her on-air wardrobe, but the stylist was in charge of that.
    The maroon suit was in there, hung up carelessly. It would be taken away for dry cleaning. She suddenly thought of the press pass she’d put into her pocket, and looked for it. Not in either. Shoot. She must have dropped it at the scene. No way was she going back to look for it.
    Kelly slung the jacket back onto the hanger. She opened the can of coke that Gordon had brought for her. The first fizzy sip made her cough. The coke was warm and sour. But she needed the caffeine.
    Kelly finished most of the can, then started in on the short list of numbers.
    The first had been disconnected. The second belonged to someone who didn’t speak English. Evidently Deke believed in changing his contact information frequently. But the third was the charm. There was a hint of a growl in the deep voice on the digital recording. Kelly smiled.
    She was one step closer to Deke Bannon. She hesitated only a second before leaving a message.
    “Hello, Deke. This is Kelly Johns from WBRX. We—ah—just met. I’d like to thank you personally.” She gave her cell number and not the station’s, and saved his contact information to her phone.
    Done.
    But would he call back? No way of knowing that. He had no reason to want a news crew following him around if he’d been working undercover.
    Gordon had kept a tight focus on her during the filming of the intro. Deke might have seized that opportunity to get a bit closer, listen in.
    He had to have spotted her from somewhere above and then inside the building as she walked through the ground floor. If he hadn’t recognized her face, he would’ve heard her say her name.
    Whatever. The encounter at the abandoned building could be their little secret for, oh, another twenty-four hours, max.
    Monroe Capp didn’t have to be filled in immediately. The police—that was different. Kelly figured the three of them had time to do the right thing. But until she got a chance to pump Deke Bannon for information and find out more, she wasn’t going to let the news director assign what could be a killer feature to a low-level reporter.
    In her experience, the response to the shootings said it all. Cops and feds didn’t work a case together unless it was major, as in crimes that crossed state or international borders. Big, fat, juicy crimes.
    She had nothing to lose by going after this story.
    Her contract was coming up for review. WBRX Atlanta ranked near the top in the metropolitan market, but they weren’t first. Last time she’d been casually summoned to Monroe’s office, he’d been halfway through a stack of DVD auditions sent in by her potential competition. He’d had the nerve to ask for her opinion of the latest faces right out of journalism school and their résumés.
    They both knew that a degree in communications didn’t mean much compared to on-air personality. You had it or you didn’t.
    Kelly knew damn well that she needed to watch her back. New hires were always cheaper and new talent was always hungriest. Whatever had happened at the building could become a career-making feature, one that grabbed millions of viewers. High ratings and awards—she could use both.
    If only she had a handle on this. Kelly bit her lip, telling herself not to get carried away. First things first. What did Deke Bannon know that she didn’t, and why had he been prowling around