Another voice cut through the crowd—this one female. “Special Agent Malone, are you new to the FBI?”
The question came from a bleached-blonde reporter positioned near the far edge of the press pack. Her sharp expression told him this wasn’t idle curiosity.
Sean’s pulse ticked up.
Before he could answer, she continued. “I tried to contact you through the Greenville office yesterday and was told you hadn’t officially started working there yet. Are you from another office? Is there a connection to homicides in another state?”
A warning bell rang in his head. He shot a glance toward Matt. The woman had wandered far too close to information he had no intention of confirming. How she’d managed to dig up his transfer status that fast was a question for later.
He faced the microphones again. “No, I’m not new to the FBI. I’ve been assigned to the Jacksonville, Florida, office for over seven years. I’m originally from North Carolina and recently transferred back here for family reasons.”
He let the answer stand. No mention of Philadelphia. No acknowledgment of any out-of-state connection. The longer they kept that piece of the puzzle contained, the better their chances of staying ahead of both the media and the killer.
Matt stepped back to the lectern at that moment, his timing cutting off any chance the questioning could drift further into dangerous territory. “We’ll hold another press conference at the same time tomorrow. But for now, there’s nothing else we’re releasing to the public. Please remind your female viewers to take extra precautions and not go out alone. They should travel in pairs or groups, avoid isolated areas with strangers, lock their doors, and remain vigilant. If any member of the public has information pertaining to this case, they can call our tip line. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.”
The second he stepped away, a barrage of shouted questions followed. Sean and the others ignored them, moving as one through the front doors and into the station lobby. The reporters’ voices echoed off the walls as they crossed the public area, but cut off the moment the electronically locked security door buzzed open and shut behind them, replaced by the familiar hum of fluorescent lights and ringing phones from deeper inside the station.
Only then did Sean ease the tension that had been building since the reporter’s pointed question.
As they made their way toward the conference room, the irritation that had been simmering beneath his calm exterior finally surfaced. “Where are they getting their information, and how did that reporter get my name? Does anyone know who she is and who she works for?”
“Jessica Daly, Channel Four News out of Greenville, though she covers Dare and Currituck Counties.” Brad pushed open the conference room door and motioned for everyone to come inside. “And she’s relentless. Sharp as a tack and always two steps ahead of the other local stations.”
The detective gave a humorless laugh. “I’ve been on the receiving end of one of her so-called investigations. She tried flirting her way into getting information out of me.” He shook his head. “Not a chance. She may be attractive, but she’s way too ambitious for her own good. Even if I wasn’t happily married, she wouldn’t be my type.”
Sean filed that away. A reporter willing to charm information out of law enforcement was exactly the kind of problem they didn’t need right now.
“Be careful around that one,” Brad continued. “She’s going to push too far one of these days and land herself in trouble. I’d sure like to know where she’s getting her information, though.”
Sean shrugged out of his suit jacket, the fabric suddenly feeling heavier than before, and draped it across the back of a chair. “So would I.”
The woman’s question kept replaying in his head. She’d known too much. Not enough to expose the Philadelphia connection, but enough to suggest she had a source somewhere she shouldn’t. And until they figured out who that source was, Sean had a feeling Jessica Daly was going to become one more complication they couldn’t afford.
They gathered around the oblong conference table once more, the scrape of chairs against the floor breaking the quiet as everyone settled in. The tension from the press conference still lingered in the room, but it gave way to business as they began updating one another—and the sheriff—on what they’d uncovered since the morning briefing.
Sean passed around copies of the reports Karen Winslow had emailed over, the stack already marked with his notes from the hour he’d spent combing through them before the press conference. “She’s overnighting the rest of the files.”
Brad flipped through the first few pages, his brow furrowing as he skimmed the details. Then he glanced up. “Hey, what time does your profiler get in? My wife’s friend manages the Days Inn up the street. I can call her and have a room set up for your agent. How many nights will she be here?”
“I haven’t a clue. But it’s… uh… no problem.” He shifted in his seat. “I offered her the spare bedroom at the beach house.”
Across the table, Brian’s mouth curved into the kind of grin that usually signaled trouble. “Oh, really? Getting cozy with the doc, huh? What happened to little Gracie?”
Sean shot him a flat look. “As I said before, idiot, Suki’s a friend. Nothing more. I told her to take the spare bedroom because it’s nicer than staying in a motel.”
The words had barely left his mouth before another thought struck him. It hadn’t occurred to him how the arrangement might look from Grace’s perspective. After the kiss they’d shared the night before, hearing that another woman—an attractive federal agent, no less—was staying with him at the beach house could send the wrong message. He’d have to introduce them soon and make it clear there was nothing between him and Suki beyond friendship and professional respect.
How had a simple offer of hospitality managed to create a problem he now had to explain his way out of? He resisted the urge to scrub a hand over his face. Somewhere between the serial killer, the press conference, and the Philadelphia connection, he’d managed to complicate his personal life without even trying.
And if the amused glint in Brian’s eyes was any indication, his brother had already sensed blood in the water.
Wonderful.
Grace leaned back in her desk chair and released a long breath as the front door of Pro-Care clicked shut behind her final applicant, a few minutes after noon.
Relief washed through her.
For a while, she’d been convinced she would never find the right physical therapist to help her get the business off the ground. The first three interviews had tested every ounce of her patience. By the end of applicant number three, she’d found herself wondering how any of them had managed to graduate high school, much less earn their physical therapy licenses.
