Page 28 of The Morning After (Savannah 2)

“So did you.”

So, he’d seen her. She’d thought so. “Yes, I’m working on the story.”

“Is that so?” He voice was steady, without a trace of amusement.

“Yes, and—”

The waitress, a tall, slim twenty-some-year-old with Nicole Kidman curls and a name tag that read Jo came by to take their orders. “Have you decided?” she asked, smiling widely as she held a steaming carafe in each hand.

Quickly, Nikki grabbed a menu from its hiding spot between a plastic ketchup container and a metal syrup carousel.

“Regular or decaf?”

“Regular,” Nikki said automatically.

Jo turned over a cup on the table and filled it.

“The usual,” Reed said, lines of irritation etching his forehead. “Number Four. Ham, eggs over easy, wheat toast and grits. Hot sauce.”

“Got it. You?” Jo turned doe-brown eyes on Nikki.

“Just coffee, oh, and a slice of pie. Pecan.”

“That’s all?”

“Right.”

“Ice cream? It comes with it.”

“None, thanks. Just the pie.” Nikki wasn’t really hungry, didn’t want anything but high-octane coffee, but she needed a reason to stick around. Otherwise she was certain Reed would give her the boot. Fast. That he hadn’t rebuffed her in the first thirty seconds of their conversation was a record.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” Jo promised without jotting anything down, then bustled off to the next table.

“So.” Nikki set her recorder on the table.

Reed glanced at it derisively. “I’m not going to tell you anything about the case in Lumpkin County or any other ongoing investigation, for that matter.” He picked up his cup and stared at her over the rim. “You may as well get your pie for the road.”

“I just want some background information.”

“Don’t have any.”

“But—”

“The department issues statements to the press. So does the Lumpkin County Sheriff’s Department and the FBI. You can wait for them like everyone else.”

“The FBI has been called in?” she asked, her pulse jumping. If that were the case—

“Not yet.” He drank a long swallow of coffee.

“But they will be.”

“I was just giving you an example.”

She wasn’t convinced. “Maybe you were trying to give me a tip.”

He laughed and the corners of his eyes crinkled sarcastically, not softening his harsh features in the least. “Oh, yeah, that’s what I was trying to do.” He stared straight at her. “But not just one. I think I want to be the leak in the department, you know, give you every bit of evidence that comes down the pipe. That way it’ll be in the papers and the murderer will know exactly what we’ve got on him. And so will every nutcase who wants to make his own splash and take credit for a crime he didn’t commit. You’d be surprised how many yahoos want that kind of attention. Sifting through them all would cost the department a lot of time and money. It’s a waste of manpower and really muddies the water, which allows the real killer to go about his business.” He took another sip of coffee, then set his near-empty cup on the table. “Just call me Deep Throat.” Mockery flared in his eyes as he added, “Maybe you’re too young to recall the Watergate insider who confided to Woodward and Bernstein.”

“My dad’s a judge. I grew up hearing about that Deep Throat as well as about the X-rated movie he was named for.”

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