Nikki disagreed. Her work was frustrating, time-consuming, and oftentimes, she felt like she was spinning her wheels, but what she did was seldom boring.
With Arlo on her heels, she stopped by Chloe’s room, where her daughter was fast asleep. Unaware of the dangers of the world. An innocent lamb.
The way it should be, Nikki thought, walking to the window to adjust the shades in her room. Looking outside to the front of the house, she spied a silver SUV drive slowly by.
Her heart stilled.
The same vehicle that she’d seen earlier?
It was big. Possibly American made? Like a Chevy Tahoe? Or Suburban? She caught a glimmer of the distinctive bow-tie shape on the rear and the license plate, which was local, but couldn’t distinguish the lettering.
Don’t freak.
The large vehicle turned at the corner and the edge of the park.
Nerves tight, she stood by the window, staring at the street while her baby slept soundly. Unaware of any danger.
Minutes passed.
Nikki didn’t move.
Several more cars and one pickup drove by.
But no big, silver SUV.
Nothing nefarious.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
You’re making villainous mountains out of innocuous molehills.
Finally, she lowered the shade. For a second, she considered calling Pierce, then thought better of it. He had a lot on his plate with the homicides and Naomi’s disappearance. Nikki didn’t want to add to his stress, nor did she want to come off as a woman jumping at shadows, easily panicked.
With a last glance at her sleeping daughter, she headed to her office and forced her thoughts to the article she needed to submit about Naomi Kittle’s disappearance. Not that she had much to work with. But she wanted to give something to Fink that he could publish.
The room was hot, stuffy with the day’s heat, so she cracked the window and listened to the sounds of the night. The soft rush of a breeze through the leaves of the magnolia and somewhere a frog croaking. So peaceful. So serene. So at odds with the chaos and near-panic that the city was feeling because of the Savannah Slasher.
She also wrote an update on the serial-killer case, but there was little new information that she could divulge. She was certain Fink would balk and demand more. “Too bad,” she muttered under her breath. It wasn’t as if she were holding back on purpose; she’d like nothing more than exposing the serial killer terrorizing the city. So far, she’d kept her agreement with Pierce, though when she saw her husband again, she was going to press him for more details on the homicides, ones she could report.
To date, her “exclusive” end of their bargain hadn’t given her an edge over the new age of media. Even television news was beginning to appear old-school, with all of the podcasts and social media dominating the industry. “Reporters” were everywhere, and information hit the Internet almost before it happened. Print newspapers, including theSentinel, were quickly becoming dinosaurs on the edge of extinction. Every day, Tom Fink was struggling to save the paper. No wonder he was always on edge.
“Adapt or die,” she said and put the finishing touches on her article.
By the time she was finished and on her way to bed, she heard Lily in the hall bath and saw a text from Pierce that he was on his way home.
At last.
She couldn’t help but smile when she heard the garage door rumble up and down, then the familiar jangle of his keys as he dropped them onto the table near the back door. His footsteps were soft against the stairs, and he stopped at Chloe’s room before slipping inside their bedroom.
“Finally,” she said from her pillow and reached to turn on the bedside lamp. “About damned time, Detective.”
“Yeah, it’s been a long one.” He sat on the edge of the bed to take off his shoes.
“Anything new on Naomi?” she asked.
“No.” He shook his head, his shoulders slumping a bit. “Nothing.”
“Has anyone talked to Knox Quinlan?”