Page 139 of The Morning After (Savannah 2)

“We’re working on it.” He turned to leave and she cleared her throat. “I’m going outside for a smoke.”

“So?”

She looked him dead in the eye. “You’d better get out of here, Reed. I don’t need this kind of trouble.”

He got it then. Understood the unspoken message in Sylvie Morrisette’s determined glare. “Fine. I’ll see ya around.”

“If you’re lucky.”

He hurried out of the building and hunched his shoulders against a rain so cold it stung the back of his neck and chilled his skin. Where the hell was Nikki? What if the Grave Robber were playing with them—twelve jurors and three more people. Him, Nikki and an unknown. There had to be a reason for the killer to keep contacting Reed and Nikki…but who would be the third? The connection was the Chevalier trial, so who besides the jurors…The Judge.

Had to be.

Seventeen. Twelve jurors. The detective who was alive who had made the collar, the reporter who had reported on the trial and the judge.

Except the reporter nearly got the case thrown out. Maybe she was safe.

But she didn’t get it thrown out, did she? She failed Chevalier. As had Reed. As had the jurors. As had the judge.

Judge Ronald Gillette.

More certain than ever, he climbed into his El Dorado. He hadn’t gone two blocks when his cell phone rang. “Reed,” he answered crisply.

“Look, I’m sorry to give you the brush-off, but I’m walkin’ a fine line, here,” Morrisette said. “Okano tore me a new one this morning, okay?”

“Got it.”

“But I thought you should know that the nine-one-one dispatcher called me. Nikki Gillette called in about ten minutes ago, identified herself and then the connection was lost. They called back to the number dialed in, but she didn’t answer. It was her cell phone. I tried her home and office and got no answer and a strange response at the Sentinel. I was just about to call you when you stopped by my desk. You might want to check up on her.”

“I will,” Reed said.

“I’ve already got a unit sent to her apartment and another one to the Sentinel. If she’s located, I’ll let you know. To hell with Okano.”

“Thanks. I think Nikki Gillette’s a target. One of seventeen,” Reed said, his voice devoid of emotion as he told Morrisette his theory.

Morrisette listened. “You sure?” she asked and he heard her making the sounds of lighting up.

“It’s all I’ve got. As I said, it’s not perfect.”

“Shit. Nothing is.”

He didn’t want to believe his theory himself as he watched the wipers slap away the rain. He silently prayed that this was just a mistake, that was all. He ached to think that Nikki was fine. A part of him trusted that she was okay. But the other part, the logical cop, knew better. A darkness settled in his heart and he felt a fear as deep as he’d ever known.

“Mom! Dad!” Nikki yelled, throwing open the garage door of her parents’ house and bursting into the kitchen, but no one answered. Aside from the clock on the wall ticking and the refrigerator droning, there was total silence. Sandra wasn’t in the kitchen cooking, but then, Nikki realized, this was her day off. The TV wasn’t blaring, nor did she hear her mother’s off-key humming.

So, where were they? And why were the lights so dim?

“Mom?”

Had they gone to the hospital?

Both cars were parked in their respective spots in the garage; Nikki had checked on her way inside. So, unless they’d called an ambulance or a friend…Anxiety tensed her muscles. “Mom?” she said again, shaking the rain from her coat.

Again, no response.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

It’s only your case of nerves because of the phone call.

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