Page 28 of Justice Delayed

“That sounds cryptic.” Her dashboard navigational screen dissolved from the outside temperature reading—a sultry ninety-one degrees—to the time. 4:53.

Brogan laughed. “I didn’t mean to be. Are you working tonight?”

“Yes, seven to seven.”

“That’s a long shift.”

“Just on Wednesdays. I work Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays nine to five. The extra hours on Wednesdays means twice a month, I have an extra day off.” Melender rolled her eyes at her babbling. The man hadn’t asked for her work schedule, for goodness’ sake.

“How do you feel about breakfast?”

“Breakfast?” She wished she hadn’t parroted him.

“Bacon, eggs, pancakes. Breakfast.”

“You had me at bacon.” Was he asking her out?Brogan’s only interested in you as a story.Repeating that phrase in her mind a few times calmed her racing heart.

He chuckled. “A woman after my own heart.” The faint sound of a keyboard clacking captured her attention. “Would you be available to meet me tomorrow morning at seven-thirty at the 29 Diner on Fairfax Boulevard?”

Since her social calendar had no engagements whatsoever, it was an easy answer. Whether this was solely for a story or because he wanted to see her personally, she didn’t care. Meeting a man for a meal would be a novel experience either way. “Sure.”

“Great, see you then.”

Melender said goodbye. As she disconnected the call, her stomach fluttered. This was most certainly not a date, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t make sure she looked her best.

ChapterTwelve

When his intercom buzzed, Quentin swore under his breath. He’d given Anna explicit instructions not to disturb him as he marked up a proposal from his chief lobbyist to pitch to a Virginia congresswoman. Gilmore’s visit earlier had disrupted his morning, and this interruption only fueled his foul mood. The intercom buzzed again. Quentin hit the talk button with more force than necessary. “Anna, this better be a true emergency.”

Anna ignored his clipped tone. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but Mr. Raines is on line two.”

His irritation grew. Raines knew better than to contact him at the office. Quentin disconnected without a word to his admin, then punched line two. “Make it quick.”

“There’s been a slight complication.”

Quentin tightened his grip on the receiver. In his experience, that meant something he wasn’t going to like. “And what might that be?” His voice took on the harshness that usually sent associates scrambling out of his way.

Raines didn’t miss a beat. “The FBI is handing over copies of the original kidnapping investigation.”

An oath escaped his lips before Quentin could gain control of his emotions. “How is that even possible? The case was solved nearly two decades ago.”

“That reporter submitted a Freedom of Information Act for the file.”

“What are our options?” Quentin learned over the years that there was always a way around bureaucracy.

“The request has already been rubber-stamped.”

“I don’t want that nosy reporter reading those files.”

“I understand. However, the new FBI director has initiated a policy of quickly complying with FOIA requests. If the case is solved, is more than ten years old, and the perpetrator is either deceased, has been sentenced, or has served—or is serving—his or her time, it’s expedited. This case ticks all of those boxes.” Raines drew in a breath. “I discreetly inquired as to what could be done to slow or halt the process in this particular case, and my source emphatically told me not a thing. The director is, and I quote, ‘not going to make the same mistakes as her predecessor did by antagonizing the press,’ end quote.”

Quentin digested the information as if it had been a sour apple.

“As for the FBI files, anything we do to try to prevent Gilmore from acquiring that information will likely trigger bureau interest, which I know you do not want.”

He most certainly did not want the FBI nosing around again in the disappearance of his son. The first time had been bad enough.

“Do you want me to put someone on the reporter?” Raines asked.

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