Damn it!
Moving behind his desk, he opened the center drawer and fished for the business card. Then he pulled out his phone and dialed the number. Luke had been tempted by the dark side, and Sharp was more of a Han Solo than a Luke Skywalker anyway. And Solo was a smuggler. So what the hell.
The line rang twice, then she answered. “Olivia Cruz.”
“Lincoln Sharp here.” He swallowed his pride in one big gulp. “The last time you came to my office, you talked about working together.”
“I did.” Her voice was as smooth and cool as glass. “And you have my attention.”
“I’m looking for information on the Shannon Yates case.”
“Isn’t everyone?”
“Look.” Exhaustion weighted Sharp’s shoulders. He dropped into his chair. Games irritated him. “I don’t have time for banter. Bad things are happening to good people. Do you know anything or not?”
The line went silent. Sharp heard her take a breath. When she spoke again, her voice was serious.
“Actually, not much. I’ve had my head down in my writing project.” She paused. “But I assume your question means there’s a link between the Shannon Yates case and the murder of Noah Carter.”
He knew she’d make the connection. Reporters were naturally nosey creatures. Ms. Cruz shouldn’t be able to resist the lure of a mystery.
Sharp dangled the bait. “Shannon was at Beats the night she went missing.”
“Oh.” Her one-syllable response was loaded with surprise and interest. In the seconds of silence that followed, Sharp could practically hear her synapses firing over the cellular connection.
But Sharp’s patience had worn razor thin. He was tired of waiting for a break. The case had put Lance and Morgan in danger. “I could probably get Shannon’s case details on my own, but I’m short on time. Someone tried to kill my partner.”
“I heard about the fire.” Her voice was grave. “Your investigation has clearly made someone nervous.”
“Only guilty people get nervous as an investigation proceeds.”
“I could make a call.”
“Would you?” Sharp asked.
“Give me an hour. Then you can meet me at this address.” She rattled off a number and street in Scarlet Falls, barely a mile from his place.
“Thank you.” Sharp ended the call feeling disconcerted. That had been too easy. Ms. Cruz had been far too agreeable for a reporter. He didn’t trust her. Not at all. Remember when Han trusted Lando? Look where that had gotten him—frozen in carbonite and shuttled off to Jabba the Hutt.
Sharp drove to the address Ms. Cruz had given him and parked his Prius behind hers. He checked the number on the front of the white bungalow. Was this her house? He took in the picket fence, porch swing, and tidy garden. Except for the solar panels on the roof, the little cottage was small-town traditional. With her fashionable coat and skinny-heeled shoes, Sharp had expected her to live in something swanky, not homey.
He walked to the front door and knocked.
Ms. Cruz answered the door.
Sharp drew back, surprised. Instead of a polished outfit and pointy heels, she wore very worn jeans and a loose sweatshirt. Her feet were bare, and her toes sported candy-pink nail polish. Again, not what he’d expected.
“Are you coming in?” She stepped back. Without her shoes, the top of her head was barely level with his chin.
“Um. Yes.” Sharp was uncomfortably short on words. He was uncomfortable period. Ms. Cruz wasn’t falling into line with his preconceived notions.
She locked the door and led the way down a narrow hall into a bright, recently remodeled kitchen. A fan of all things renewable and sustainable, Sharp approved of the dark bamboo floors and gray recycled-glass kitchen counters. The scent of something spicy filled the air. In the center of the island, a bottle of red wine stood open to breathe next to a laptop computer.
“I like your house.” He removed his jacket and hung it over the back of an island stool.
“So do I.” She moved behind the laptop. “My aunt left me this house when she died. It isn’t what I’d ever imagined I’d want, but I have good memories here, and I’ve made it my own. Now I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Would you like some wine?”
“No, thank you.” Though he did note that it was a very nice organic pinot noir. He did not want to let down his guard. Not around her. “I’m not much of a drinker.”
She poured herself a small glass. “Before we start, I have to ask. Why did you call me today?”
Sharp leaned a hip on the island. After a minute, he decided on honesty. He was, after all, asking for a favor. “I spent all day trying to get details on the Shannon Yates case. But the sheriff is keeping the investigation sealed tighter than a mason jar. I started thinking about leaks and other possible sources. That train of thought led to you.”
She sipped her wine. “I’ve already provided two good pieces of information for free.”
Sharp corrected her. “Only the first one was gratis.” Just like a crack dealer. “You bargained with Morgan for the second.”
She nodded. “But I haven’t received payment.”
“You will.” Sharp pulled his shoulders back. “Morgan is the most ethical, honest person I’ve ever worked with. You do not have to doubt her integrity.”
“I don’t.” She swirled her wine, studying him. “Nor do I doubt yours.”
The statement surprised him. He did not feel the same way about her.
She set down her wineglass. “I do my homework. Your firm and Morgan’s have stellar reputations for pursuing the truth.”
“She’ll make good on her promise.”
Ms. Cruz’s fingers spread over her keyboard. “Do you have anything to offer in this exchange?”
So much for reporters seeking the truth for its own merits.
Frustrated, Sharp rocked on his heels. He had nothing. “No.”
Would she refuse to help?
The smile that spread over her face was Cheshire-pleased. “Then I suppose you’ll owe me a favor.”
Damn. It.
“I’m sorry.” Her lips curved more. She was enjoying this. “I didn’t hear your response.”
Had he said it out loud?
“Yes. I will owe you a favor.” Sharp gritted his teeth. “With the caveat that the favor owed must be commensurate with the usefulness of the information you provide on the Shannon Yates case.”
Laughing, she flexed her fingers. “You’ve been hanging out with a lawyer too long.”
“Do we have a deal?” Sharp extended a hand over the island.
With a grin far too mischievous for Sharp’s own good, Ms. Cruz wagged a finger at him. “I have a condition of my own to impose on this transaction.”
“What is it?” Sharp snapped. Reporters were a giant pain in his—
“You must call me Olivia.”
Sharp froze. “That’s it?” Was she yanking his chain or was she serious?
“That’s it.” She nodded.
“OK, Olivia.” Sharp drew out her name. What the hell? When you’re neck-deep in league with the enemy, you may as well get to know her better.
“I will call you Lincoln.”
“No one calls me Lincoln.”
“I know.” With a too-satisfied curve of her mouth, she scrolled and clicked on her computer. “What do you know about Shannon’s case?”
He recited the basic facts the police hadn’t been able to keep quiet: where she worked, the places her vehicle and body had been found, and the cause of death.
Olivia nodded. “This is what my source says. Shannon worked weekends at the inn and hadn’t made any friends in Grey’s Hollow yet. She was young and frustrated with the smallness of Grey’s Hollow and its microscopic social scene. She was last seen at the nightclub Beats on Saturday, February 24. Surveillance videos of the club entrance and exit show that she arrived alone. The club has only been open for a short time, and they’ve had a few technical glitches.”
Like missing video feeds.
“The night Shannon was there, the fire alarm and sprinklers in the kitchen went off at 11:32 p.m. Patrons were evacuated to the parking lot. Given the late hour, the club closed for the night.”
“Everyone left at once.”
“Yes,” Olivia agreed. “The police have not been able to trace her movements after she left the club. She lives in a studio apartment over a private detached garage. Her landlord was on vacation. No one was there to see if she came home that night.”
“Or if someone followed her home from the club.” Sharp always assumed foul play and hoped to be pleasantly surprised if none had happened.
“Her apartment was clean and exceptionally neat,” Olivia continued. “Her bed was made. There was no sign of a romantic rendezvous or break-in or struggle.”
“If she met someone at the club, she could have gone home with him.” Sharp paced the tiny kitchen.
“She did not show up for work on Monday. Though she’d only been at her job for a few months, her boss said she had proven herself to be very dependable. Shannon’s boss is an older woman and has a reputation as the motherly type. She sent a coworker to Shannon’s apartment to check on her. There was no answer, but her car wasn’t there. The boss thought maybe she’d simply made a mistake. But when she didn’t show up for work a second day, her boss called the police.”