Page 45 of Deep Tide

“Look, I’m still not clear on what exactly you want,” she said to him.

“Isn’t it obvious? I want to help you. I just gave you a major lead.”

“Why?” she asked, then immediately regretted the question. She didn’t want him to think she was confirming or denying any of the details he’d shared with her. She didn’t want her name, or sensitive info about her case, turning up in some news article. And the blue cordage detail certainly qualified as sensitive. Aside from investigators, only someone involved in the murder should know about that. Nicole herself hadn’t even known until she’d read the preliminary autopsy report, which mentioned tiny blue splinters in the abrasions on the victim’s wrists.

She looked Miguel Vidales over, taking in the longish hair, the scruffy clothes. He definitely had the casual attire of a print reporter, versus a television personality. But that didn’t put her at ease. In Nicole’s experience, print journalists tended to dig deeper and be more tenacious. The TV ones often just wanted some dramatic video footage and a pithy sound bite, and then they moved on to the next story.

He still hadn’t answered her question about why he’d come here to tip her off.

“Didn’t you just tell me you’re not covering the Amelia Albright case?” Nicole asked.

He nodded. “Like I said, not yet. If it turns out to be related to what I’m working on, that could change.”

“And what is it you’re working on, exactly? You never specified. Are you on the crime beat or—”

“Bigger than that. I’m on a team investigation. We’re working on a series about the Saledo family.”

She drew back. The Saledos had their hands in everything from drugs and prostitution to gun running. Like several other organizations south of the border, they’d been making inroads here lately as the population grew. Nicole had heard talk that the Saledos were buying off border agents here and there as they expanded their reach.

A ball of dread filled her stomach. The last thing she wanted was a newspaper running a string of stories about organized crime taking root in her idyllic little beach town.

She cleared her throat. “Why did you drive all the way down here to tell me this?”

“I wanted to talk face-to-face.”

“Why else? You don’t expect me to believe you came all this way just to help me out, do you? I mean, you obviously want something in return.”

He nodded. “You’re right, I do.”

“I already told you I can’t—”

“I don’t need a comment right now.”

She watched him warily.

“If and when your department makes an arrest—”

“We will.”

“—I’d like a heads-up before it’s announced. That’s it.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep. That’s all I’m asking for.”

She highly doubted that.

“You have your phone on you?” he asked. “I’ll give you my number.”

“Why don’t you give me your business card?”

“I don’t use business cards.”

She waited a beat and then pulled out her phone. He rattled off a number with a San Antonio area code.

“Just so we’re clear, I’m not making any promises here,” she said. “I’m not agreeing to give you some scoop on a story just because you show up and drop a supposed ‘tip’ in my lap. How do I even know it’s legit?”

“It is,” he said, watching her enter his number. “Text me later and I’ll send you a link to an encryption site. We’ll get you set up so you can message me when you have something.”

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