Rafe and Brad remained behind with Hansen and the techs while Matt and Brian followed Sean across the sand. As they approached the witness, Sean extended his hand. “Morning, sir. I’m Special Agent Sean Malone with the FBI.”
The older man nodded and accepted the handshake. “I saw you on the news the other day, though I never thought I’d run into you out here. Name’s Jeff Simmons.”
After introducing Brian and the sheriff, Sean got straight to the point. “I know you’ve already told the deputy what happened this morning, Mr. Simmons, but I’d appreciate it if you’d walk us through it again.”
“Sure.” The man glanced toward the body and shook his head. “There’s not much to tell, though. I’m retired, so I come out here to fish for a few hours three or four times a week. Usually get here around five-thirty or six and stay until ten, give or take.”
He tapped his tackle box with the toe of his boot, his features drawn with lingering shock. “It was about five-forty when I got here today. I didn’t notice her right off. I was talking to my daughter on the phone before she headed to work. I set my gear down, ended the call, and that’s when I saw a bunch of gulls circling low.”
His expression tightened. “For a second, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. Then I got close enough to know she was gone and called nine-one-one.” He glanced at Sean. “My son’s a detective up in Columbus, Ohio, so I knew enough not to disturb anything.”
“And we thank you for that—” Sean broke off as one of the uniformed deputies suddenly cursed and bolted toward the dunes. The second deputy was right behind him, and together they intercepted a news crew before it could make its way farther onto the beach.
He stared after them. “How did they hear about this?”
Mr. Simmons shook his head at once, his expression darkening as he looked toward the commotion. “Wasn’t me. Those vultures can stay the hell off this beach.”
Sean believed him. The man looked genuinely disgusted.
Beside him, Griffin’s scowl deepened. “My deputies and dispatch handled this by phone, per my orders. Nothing went out over the radio.”
That narrowed the possibilities in ways Sean didn’t like. Either the leak inside the sheriff’s department still hadn’t been plugged, someone in the medical examiner’s office had loose lips, or there was a third possibility none of them could ignore. The killer himself could have tipped them off.
Sean dragged a hand down his face, his thoughts already moving ahead. “Matt, do you have any judges on speed dial?”
The sheriff frowned. “Yeah. Why?”
“We need a warrant for Daly’s desk and computer before her name gets leaked. One for her house, too, but I want to hit the station before her bosses get there and touch anything.”
Matt was already pulling out his phone. “On it.”
Once Brian finished jotting down Mr. Simmons’s contact information, he and Sean thanked the witness and headed back across the sand toward the body. Rafe was speaking with Dr. Hansen while two assistants carried over a stretcher from the coroner’s van. The crime scene techs were still documenting the area, moving through their process with practiced precision.
Brian glanced toward the dunes, where the deputies had forced the news crew back beyond the crest. “They didn’t get close enough for any shots, and none of us knew it was Daly until we got here. We should still beat everyone to her office.”
Sean gave a distracted nod, already mentally organizing the next several hours. Then Brian clapped a hand on his shoulder. “So how was Grace this morning when you left her bed?”
He stopped and shot his brother a sharp look. “Seriously? Don’t embarrass her, and don’t go running your mouth.”
Two hands were lifted, palms out. “Come on. You know me better than that. Giving you grief is one thing. I’d never do anything to make Grace uncomfortable.” His grin widened. “Besides, you’ve never reacted like this when KC or I teased you about anyone else. You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”
The question landed closer to home than Sean wanted to admit. He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah.” The admission came easier than he expected because denying it would have been pointless. “No other woman has ever had me thinking long-term this fast. It’s only been a little over a week since she showed up at the beach house, and I’m already catching myself wondering what it’d be like if she lived with me.”
Even saying it aloud gave him pause. He’d never once pictured sharing his space with anyone—not until Grace.
Something about the ease between them, the way being with her already felt natural, made the thought less unsettling than it should have.
His brother’s grin spread wider. “And another Malone brother falls.” He gave a mock shiver of his shoulders. “Thank goodness it isn’t me.”
Sitting at Jessica Daly’s desk, Sean sorted through the cluttered stacks of paperwork with gloved hands while a computer forensics tech carefully disconnected her hard drive beside him. Across the cubicle, another tech was emptying files from a locked cabinet into a cardboard evidence box. The warrant had come through before word of the reporter’s death had leaked, giving them a narrow window to search her office before the newsroom erupted into full-blown chaos.
From across the sprawling newsroom, three station executives stood clustered with a uniformed deputy, their dark expressions making it clear they were far more upset about the seizure of company property than the violent death of one of their reporters. Their muttered complaints carried across the rows of cubicles, though none of them were foolish enough to interfere.
While Sean and Brian handled the news station, Brad and Rafe were executing the warrant at Daly’s condo. Matt had headed to the medical examiner’s office. All of them were working with the same hope—that the killer’s break from routine meant he had made a mistake.
Brian approached, carrying another evidence box, and set it beside the desk. Whether the station liked it or not, every scrap of paper in Jessica Daly’s possession was coming with them.
Sean tugged on the top kneehole drawer and found it locked. He raised his voice to be heard over the din of the newsroom. “Anybody have a spare key?”
