Page 90 of Highball Rush
“I’ve been thinking about that, too. Seems like the first place to look is that forensics lab. Maybe proving the judge was responsible for that false report would be enough to get the right people looking at him. Jayme couldn’t reach the lab tech, but a phone call’s easy to ignore.”
“True. What do you suggest?”
“A little visit.” He shifted, making his broad shoulders and chest flex. “He won’t ignore me.”
“How do we find him? Wait, let me guess. You’ve thought about that, too.”
“You got that right, sweetheart,” he said. “I already got his name from Jayme and put Leah Mae on the case. If he uses social media, she’ll find him. It’s like her fucking superpower. That, and getting my brother to quit being a mute.”
* * *
Gibson had been right—LeahMae’s social media skills did seem on par with a superpower. The lab tech, Darren Covington, lived in upstate New York, not far from where the body had been found. He was currently on medical leave, and his social media accounts had been locked down. No recent posts or photos to be found.
But a couple of days later, she found him, tagged in a photo with a friend. It showed him posing in front of a shiny new black Tesla with a buddy, both giving a thumbs-up sign. And the post had a GPS tag. It had been taken at a hotel a couple of towns over. It wasn’t a guarantee we’d find him there, but it gave us a place to start.
Gibs cleared his schedule for the next day and we left early, before the sun was up. We had a heck of a lot of driving ahead of us, so we took my rental car. It was easier on gas. Shelby and Jonah had happily taken Cash.
It was almost surreal to be on this road with him. Thirteen years ago, his father had driven me along this same route.
Shuddering, I watched the scenery go by. That blank space in my memory was still hazy. Like I was looking through thick mist, not quite able to see what lay beyond, but well aware that something was there.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see.
We located the hotel easily. It was nice, bordering on fancy, with a pool and overpriced room service. I’d been in places like it hundreds of times.
And in the parking lot—a shiny new black Tesla.
We parked in the lot and pulled out our phones, pretending to look at them, as if we were just a couple of people distracted by the screens in our hands.
“I did something like this once,” Gibson said.
“What, a stakeout?”
“That’s a better term for it, I guess. I kinda stalked Abbie Gilbert, trying to find out if she was you.”
“Did you, really?”
“I knew in my gut she wasn’t,” he said. “Her whole story was such bullshit. But that wasn’t why I knew.”
“Then how did you know?”
He glanced at me. “I knew if you were alive and you could come back, you’d come see me. Even if it wasn’t first. I knew you wouldn’t reappear and then never show up in Bootleg, looking for me.”
“You’re right.”
“But I still went looking for her. Needed to see her with my own eyes.”
And now Abbie Gilbert was dead. The thought sent a chill down my spine.
A young guy came out of a side entrance and went straight for the Tesla. It was Darren Covington. A second later, Gibson was out of the car.
I scrambled out and followed Gibson. He intercepted Darren in front of his car.
“You Darren?” Gibson asked, his voice casual.
Darren stopped in his tracks, his forehead tightening. “Who are you?”
Gibson strolled up to him, his easygoing gait somehow more intimidating than an open threat would have been. He put his arm around Darren’s shoulders. “I’m your new best friend. And we’re going to have a little chat.”
