“I seem to remember someone saying something about cooing,” Bailey said.
I had to laugh.
“Seriously though, you guys are doing pretty well, right?” Bailey asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“Because I think you should consider letting Graden check out those reports Lilah mentioned in her last text.”
Lilah Bayer, née Rossmoyne, was a sociopath responsible for three murders that I knew of, not to mention the near demise of myself and Bailey. We’d set a trap for her majordomo, Chase Erling, that nearly cost us our lives. But the trap had worked. We got Erling. Unfortunately, we didn’t get Lilah. She’d managed to hop a private plane to parts unknown. But on her way out of town, she texted me, claiming to have found two reports filed one month and six months after Romy’s abduction, reports that might prove my sister was still alive. The text was an implicit threat and message: if I backed off and didn’t pursue her, she’d get me more on Romy’s whereabouts-if I didn’t…you can fill in the blank with just about anything, including a biochemical attack, because for Lilah there was no such thing as overkill.
Bailey, taking my hesitation as resistance to the idea of drafting Graden to help with Lilah’s leads on Romy, added, “Graden has the resources, and the time-which you don’t. And take it from me, he doesn’t get out in the field as much as he likes.” She gave me a long-suffering look. “It’s driving some-who shall remain nameless-crazy.”
Bailey knew that since the DA investigators had their hands full chasing down leads on Lilah herself, I’d been doing the legwork to track down the alleged reports on Romy. So far, I’d come up empty. I’d thought more than once about asking for Graden’s help, but after our fight, I hadn’t been sure how he’d react. Hearing Bailey suggest it now, though, I couldn’t imagine him being anything but happy to help. “I think it’s a great idea, actually.”
“Oh.” Bailey looked surprised. Whether it was because I’d responded rationally, or given her props, I’d never know.
“Yeah, I’ll ask him about it tomorrow.”
“Speaking of tomorrow,” Bailey said. We talked about our plans for the next day as we ate. Tired from too many hours chasing down too few leads, Bailey and I were both ready to collapse by the time we finished dinner.
“You should probably crash with me,” I said. “It’s too late and you’re too wiped to drive home.”
Bailey yawned. “I am thrashed. Okay. And I’m never saying no to room service for breakfast.” Drew was at the other end of the bar filling a drink order for a waiter, so Bailey blew him a kiss and we headed for the elevator.
