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Last Seen Alone by Laura Griffin (Spotlight, excerpt, review, and GIVEAWAY)

 

 

Last Seen Alone

by

Laura Griffin

 

 

 When they face the most baffling missing person's case of their careers, a fiercely ambitious lawyer and a homicide detective have no one to turn to for help except each other, from New York Times bestselling author Laura Griffin.

Up-and-coming attorney Leigh Larson fights for victims of sexual extortion, harassment, and online abuse. She is not afraid to go after the sleaziest targets to get payback for her clients. Leigh is laser-focused on her career—to the exclusion of everything else—until a seemingly routine case and a determined cop turn her world upside down.

Austin homicide detective Brandon Reynolds is no stranger to midnight callouts. But when he gets summoned to an abandoned car on a desolate road, he quickly realizes he's dealing with an unusual crime scene. A pool of blood in the nearby woods suggests a brutal homicide. But where is the victim? The vehicle is registered to twenty-six-year-old Vanessa Adams. Searching the car, all Brandon finds is a smear of blood and a business card for Leigh Larson, attorney-at-law.

Vanessa had hired Leigh just before her disappearance, but Leigh has no leads on who could have wanted her dead. Faced with bewildering evidence and shocking twists, Leigh and Brandon must work against the clock to chase down a ruthless criminal who is out for vengeance.

 

 

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Excerpt:

 

 

Chapter One

            He was late, and she shouldn’t have been surprised.

            Vanessa buzzed down the window a few inches and cut the engine. Crisp, piney air seeped into the car, along with the faint scent of someone’s campfire. She checked her phone. Nothing. She settled back in her seat to wait.

            Her headlights illuminated a clump of trees—spindly fresh ones, along with the pointed gray spires that had burned years ago. She looked at the stars beyond the treetops. Once upon a time, she’d stretched out on a patch of grass not far from here with Cooper, gazing up at the sky and trying to pick out constellations. Orion. Leo. The Big Dipper. The memory seemed strange. Fanciful. Everything like that was gone now, replaced by a dull ache that never went away. Her emotions felt like tar, thick and heavy in her veins, and swinging her legs out of bed required effort.

            Yet here she was.

            She was sick of the dread in her stomach. She was sick of being a silent bystander in her own life.

            Vanessa eyed the bottle of Jim Beam peeking out from beneath the passenger seat. She reached for it and checked her phone again before twisting off the top.

            Late, late, late.

            She took a swig. The bourbon burned the back of her throat, but then she felt a warm rush of courage. She could do this.

            Headlights flashed into her rearview mirror, high and bright. Her shoulders tensed as she listened to the throaty sound of the approaching truck. It pulled up behind her and the lights went dark.

            Vanessa stashed the bottle on the floor and wiped her damp palms on her jeans. Her stomach flip-flopped as he slid from the pickup and walked over. She couldn’t believe she was doing this.

            He stopped by the car, and she pushed the door open. He watched her from beneath the brim of his ratty baseball cap, and she could smell the smoke on his clothes. Marlboro Reds.

            “Long time,” he said.

            “Do you have it?”

             He held up a bag.

            It was lunch sack, like her mom used to pack for her. PBJ and a pudding cup. Vanessa took the bag, and the paper felt soft and greasy. She looked inside.

            “That’s four hundred.”

            Her head snapped up. “You said three-fifty!”

            He pulled the bag away. “I need four.”

            “I don’t have it.”

            His gaze dropped to her breasts, and she knew that look. Her gut clenched. The thought of sex right now made her want to throw up.

            Twisting in her seat, she grabbed her leather tote from the back. She pulled the stack of bills from her wallet and counted twenty twenties. She turned and held them out.

            Tucking the sack under his arm, he took the cash and thumbed through it.

            “You look different,” he said, and she caught the disapproval.

            Vanessa gritted her teeth and waited. His attention fell on the bottle on the floor, and his brow furrowed as he leaned on the door.

            “You all right, Van?”

            “Yeah.”

            Something flickered across his face. Pity? Tenderness? She had to be imagining it.

            He passed her the bag. “That’s not really for your sister, is it?”

            Vanessa didn’t respond. It was none of his damn business. He stepped away, and she yanked the door shut.

            For a moment he didn’t move. But then he turned and walked back to his truck, stuffing her money in his back pocket.

            The lights flashed on. Wincing, she watched in her rearview mirror as he backed up and made a three-point turn. When he was gone, she rested her hand on her stomach and let out a breath.

            Vanessa started her car. She retraced her route over the pitted road until she reached the two-lane highway. When her tires hit smooth pavement, she pressed the gas and a wave of dizziness washed over her—probably the whiskey. She buzzed the window all the way down and sighed with relief as the Austin skyline came into view.

            Done.

            She looked at the houses scattered on either side of the highway, some with lights on, some without. Through a gap in the pines she caught a glimpse of the lake glimmering under the half moon.

            Eying the brown bag beside her, she felt a pang of yearning. She checked the mirror, then pulled onto the shoulder and parked. She grabbed the bag and reached inside.

            Seventeen ounces.

            It felt heavier than she’d imaged. She held the pistol in her palm and ran her thumb over the textured grip. For the first time in months, the knot of fear in her stomach loosened. She’d never been brave, never in her life. But people could change.

            Headlights winked into the mirror, and she glanced up. High and bright again, probably a pickup truck. Squinting, she watched them get closer and closer.

            Vanessa’s nerves skittered. Was it slowing down?

            Had someone followed her here? But she’d been careful. Not just careful—vigilant. She’d taken every precaution.

            The truck started to slow, and an icy claw of fear closed around her heart. 

            Vanessa scooted across the seat and reached for the passenger door, jerking back as her sweater snagged on something. She yanked it free, then grabbed the bag and pushed open the door.      

            The truck rolled to a halt. Vanessa scrambled from the car, tripping as she glanced back at headlights. Adrenaline shot through her, and she sprinted for the trees. The ground sloped down, and she ran faster, faster, losing control as she hurtled toward the woods.

            Her toe caught and she crashed to her knees and elbows but managed to hold the bag. She pushed herself up and raced toward the line of trees.

            Then the headlights switched off, and everything went black. She ran blindly through the knee-high weeds, huffing and gasping and clutching the bag to her chest like a football. A car door slammed, sending a jolt of terror through her. She pictured him running after her, closing the distance, grabbing her by her hair.

            Thorns stabbed at her as she reached the thicket. She swiped at the branches, desperate for cover as she imagined him behind her. She couldn’t see anything, not even her hand in front of her face as she groped through the razor-sharp bushes.

            The thorns disappeared as she stumbled into a clearing. Panting, she stopped and glanced up at the moon. Her heart thundered as she looked around and tried to orient herself. An arc of pines surrounded her. She could hide. Take cover. Defend herself if she had to. With trembling hands, she fumbled through the bag and pulled out the gun. Dear God, was it loaded? She hadn’t thought to ask.

            He’s coming.

            On a burst of panic, she raced for the trees.

 

# # #

 

            Brandon almost made it home.

            Almost.

            His stomach grumbled, and he eyed the pizza box riding shotgun in his truck. Mushroom-pepperoni, thin crust. It wasn’t nearly as good cold, but he wasn’t picky.

            His cell phone buzzed in the holder, and he tapped it.

            “Almost there,” he told his partner.

            “Where are you exactly?” Antonio asked.

            “About two minutes out.”

            “Okay, take it easy on the curve. You’ll see a black-and-white on the eastbound shoulder near my car. That’s the best place to park.”

            “Got it.”

            Brandon drove another mile down the highway and slowed. He spotted the whirring yellow lights of a tow truck blocking the eastbound lane as it dragged a pickup from the ditch. Brandon passed them, making note of the disabled vehicle—a black Chevy Silverado.

            He tapped the brakes before the curve and saw the reason for Antonio’s warning. A silver car occupied the shoulder, just barely out of the roadway. Traffic flares flickered on the pavement. Directly across the street, Antonio and a uniform stood talking with a man. Tall, goatee, green camo jacket and a baseball cap turned backward on his head.

            Brandon pulled a U-turn and parked behind Antonio’s personal vehicle, a black Mazda. Grabbing his phone, he gave his pizza a last wistful look and slid from the warmth of his truck.

            A cool October breeze blew off the lake as Antonio trudged over. He wore dark slacks and a white button-down, same as Brandon, but his sleeves were rolled up. Looked like he hadn’t made it home yet either. Their workday had begun at five-thirty a.m. with a gas station holdup on the south side of town, and it was almost eleven.

            “How’s it look?” Brandon asked.

            “Weird.”

            Antonio stopped in front of him and ran a hand through his black buzzcut. His partner was short but powerfully built, like an MMA fighter.

            “When did you get here?”

            Antonio sighed. “’Bout ten minutes ago.”

            Brandon turned to look at the man still being interviewed by the patrol officer.

            “Guy’s name is Tom Murray,” Antonio said. “He called it in. Says he was driving westbound when a deer ran in front of him. He slammed on the brakes and swerved. Nearly hit the silver car there, then overcorrected and skidded off the road.”

            Brandon turned back toward the tow truck. The orange flares illuminated twin skid marks leading to the ditch.

            “Tire marks corroborate his story,” Antonio said. He’d spent five years on highway patrol, so he should know.

            “And the driver of the car?” Brandon asked.

            “Nowhere. But all her stuff’s in the vehicle. Wallet, keys, phone, everything.”

            “Her?”

            “Yeah, Murray said he walked over to see if anyone was inside and found a purse. Vanessa Adams, twenty-six. He checked the wallet.”

            Brandon muttered a curse.

            “I know, right? Now his prints are everywhere.”

            Shaking his head, Brandon turned back toward the car. “What do you make of the guy?”

            “Seems credible. Passed a breathalyzer.” Antonio shrugged. “We ran the name from the wallet. No wants or warrants. Vehicle’s registered to her, too.” Antonio looked at him, his brow furrowed. “I gave the car a once-over.”

            “Did you—”

            “Didn’t touch anything. There’s a smear on the door. Looks to me like blood.”

            Hence, the reason why he and Antonio had been called out to an otherwise routine abandoned vehicle.

            Brandon scanned the area. The highway was hemmed in by trees. North of the road, the forest was thick and healthy. South, not so much. Years ago, the highway had acted as a firebreak, but several hundred acres to the south had burned, and now it was a mix of jagged black points and fresh saplings. The terrain sloped down to an area dense with scrub trees. Beyond the brush was an abandoned quarry that had been made into a lake. East of the lake was a public park.

            Brandon opened his truck and reached into the back. “You have time to look around yet?”

            “Not yet.” Antonio gave a sheepish smile. “I don’t have a flashlight.”

            Rookie mistake. But Brandon didn’t state the obvious, even though he was Antonio’s training officer.

            Brandon reached into his truck and grabbed his high-powered Mag-Lite, then tucked it into the back of his pants and handed his spare to Antonio. Opening the tacklebox that lived in the back of his cab, he dug out two pairs of latex gloves and handed one to his partner.

            “You want to talk to the driver?” Antonio asked.

            “I’ll take a look at the car first.” Brandon pulled on the gloves. “Tell him to hang out, then go get started in the woods.”

            “Roger that.”

            Antonio headed off, and Brandon took a last look around before approaching the vehicle.

            It was a silver Toyota, ten years old, give or take, with a purple “namaste” sticker on the back bumper. The tires were bald, but no sign of a flat. A thin layer of grime covered the paint, except for streaks along the back, where someone had opened and closed the trunk a bunch of times. Brandon switched his beam to high and checked the back seat. Empty. He stepped to the driver’s side. The door was closed, but the passenger door was wide open. He didn’t like that.

            No interior light on, no ding-ding-ding warning sound. Brandon circled the vehicle, making note of the license plate and the dented side panel. The damage looked old. Taking care not to mar any footprints in the dirt, he approached the open door and leaned in.

            The smell hit him immediately. Pina colada. He swept the flashlight over the seat and spotted the pineapple-shaped air-freshener tucked inside the door pocket.

            Brandon crouched beside the car. On the floor was a half-empty bottle of bourbon and a big leather bag. It seemed more like a tote bag than a purse. A red leather wallet sat on the passenger seat. He shined the light on the Texas driver’s license peeking through the plastic window and studied the smiling picture. Vanessa Adams had long auburn hair. She wore red lipstick, and her eyes were accented with gray eyeshadow. Smokey eyes. That was how his ex described it when she did her eyes that way before they went out to clubs. Yet another thing he definitely hadn’t missed over the past six months.

            Brandon swept the flashlight over the door again found the smear. It wasn’t big—just a swipe near the handle. But it looked to him like blood.

            In the cupholder was an old-model iPhone with a glittery white case that had a pink heart on the back. The heart seemed young for a twenty-six-year-old.

            Brandon stood and examined the exterior again. No sign that she’d hit an animal in the road or anything else. So, what was the deal here? Was it a simple case of car trouble, and she’d hiked out for help?

            Brandon could see her leaving her stuff behind, maybe even the tote bag and wallet if she were inebriated enough not to be thinking clearly. But her phone?

            He looked over his shoulder toward the dark woods where a white light bobbed behind the trees. He called Antonio, and the light went still.

            “Anyone check nearby gas stations?” Brandon asked. “There’s an Exxon half a mile east of here where Old Quarry Road meets the highway.”

            “I’ll get patrol on it.”

            “Thanks.”

            Brandon turned back to look at the car. The iPhone bothered him. Even shitfaced, he couldn’t see someone leaving it behind. For most twenty-somethings, a phone was like an appendage. Plus, it was late. He couldn’t picture a woman leaving here without her phone if she’d gone somewhere by choice.

            He swept the light over the dashboard. The ashtray was open slightly and a white business card poked out. Brandon took a pen from his pocket and used the end to tug the tray open enough to read the card.

            Leigh Larson. Attorney-at-Law.

            Beneath the name was a Tenth Street address and an Austin phone number. So, was Leigh a man? A woman? What kind of lawyer? The generic white card didn’t offer a clue. Brandon took out his cell and snapped a picture, then slid the ashtray shut.

            His phone buzzed as he stood up. “Yeah?”

            “Hey, I’m in the woods about fifty yards south of you.” Antonio sounded out of breath, and Brandon caught the excitement in his voice. He turned and spotted the distant white glow through the row trees.

            “What is it?” Brandon asked.

            “Man, you need to come see this.”

 

 Amazon link (print)

Amazon link (e-book)

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GIVEAWAY

Laura Griffin is generously offering a print paperback of this title and a bookmark to one lucky commenter. Please leave a comment stating whether you have read other titles by this author or what you enjoy most about romantic suspense. A winner will be chosen using random.org after October 15, 2021. Please leave a comment with your e-adddress ( **** at ****** dot com   format) to enter. Thank you and good luck!

 

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My review:

4.5 out of 5 stars

 

 

Last Seen Alone by Laura Griffin centers around a missing-person who serves as the focal point that brings together lawyer Leigh Larson and detective Brandon Reynolds, who start out at odds on their respective goals. Brandon is trying to determine if a homicide has occurred, and Leigh is trying to understand why the missing woman contacted her in the first place. Leigh is determined to do the right thing, no matter how much it frustrates the attractive detective, but never expects her past or her investigation to complicate their already convoluted relationship, let alone endanger Leigh herself.

 

This spellbinding romantic suspense novel reinforces why I am such a fan of this talented author. It’s a great combination of mystery and romance, with the added bonus of equally intriguing lead characters. Ms. Grifffin consistently has strong female characters, and this story is no exception, and the heartbreaking and thorny experiences that are an integral part of the tale both enrich it and provide thought-provoking scenarios.

 

This is a story that I was reluctant to start, since I knew I would be enmeshed in the action until the exciting ending, and, as usual, I was compelled to stay up way too late reading, lol. I really enjoyed the twists of the journey and I look forward to reading even more stories by this talented and prolific author.

 

 

A copy of this title was provided for review

Hidden by Laura Griffin (Spotlight, excerpt, review, and GIVEAWAY)

Hidden

The Texas Murder Files, Book 1

by 

Laura Griffin

Description:

An ambitious female reporter tracks a deadly threat in Austin, Texas, in the newest riveting thriller by New York Times bestselling author Laura Griffin.
When a woman is found brutally murdered on Austin’s lakeside hike-and-bike trail, investigative reporter Bailey Rhoads turns up on the scene demanding access and answers. She tries to pry information out of the lead detective, Jacob Merritt. But this case is unlike any he’s ever seen, and nothing adds up. With the pressure building, Jacob knows the last thing he needs is a romantic entanglement, but he can’t convince himself to stay away from Bailey.

Bailey has a hunch that the victim wasn’t who she claimed to be and believes this mugging-turned-murder could have been a targeted hit. When she digs deeper, the trail leads her to a high-tech fortress on the outskirts of Austin, where researchers are pushing the boundaries of a cutting-edge technology that could be deadly in the wrong hands.

As a ruthless hit man’s mission becomes clear, Bailey and Jacob join together in a desperate search to locate the next target before the clock ticks down in this lethal game of hide-and-seek.




*************************

Excerpt:

Chapter One

            Dana was in love with a complete stranger. She could admit it. Or she could have admitted it, if she’d had anyone to admit it to.

            She eyed him in the parking lot as she leaned against the lamppost and stretched her quads. Tall, wide shoulders, strong runner’s legs. He had shaggy brown hair that Dana would have once considered sloppy, but now seemed sexy beyond belief. She imagined combing her fingers through it, imaged it would feel thick and silky.

The main attraction wasn’t his looks, though. It was his commitment. He was here every day at six a.m. sharp. You could set a watch by it.

            He closed the door of his dusty black Jeep—one of the old ones that clearly had lots of miles on it. Not a fancy car, and he probably didn’t have a fancy job, either, but Dana didn’t care about that. She’d dated men with money before. They’d burned her life beyond recognition, and she’d made a vow to herself: never again.

            It was one of the many vows she’d made over the last year.

            He set off on the hike-and-bike trail, and Dana waited a moment to give him a head start. She zipped her phone into the pouch clipped around her waist and then stepped onto the path, taking a deep breath as the soles of her shoes hit gravel. Setting a brisk pace, she felt her muscles start to loosen and warm.

She looked ahead at Blue. That was the name she’d given him the day he glanced up from the drinking fountain and his turquoise eyes hit her like a sucker punch. She’d been so mesmerized she’d hardly noticed the water’s rusty taste as she gulped down a sip and watched him walk away.

Blue was way ahead of her now, and he would stay way ahead of her for the entire six-mile loop. If she was lucky, she’d pass him beside the fountains, and they’d trade nods before she set off on the rest of her morning.

Or maybe not. Maybe this would be the day she summoned the courage to strike up a conversation.

            The morning air was already thick with humidity as the sky went from indigo to lavender over the treetops. The trail was almost empty, which was how she liked it. Just the die-hard runners and some power walkers. Dana settled into her rhythm as she passed the boat docks where long red kayaks still were racked and chained. She smelled fresh dew on the reeds by the lake, along with the faint scent of rotting vegetation, which would grow more pungent as the sun climbed higher in the sky. It would hit triple digits today. Again. Dana still wasn’t accustomed to the Texas heat or the way the weather here could turn on a dime.

            “On your left,” a voice growled.

            Dana’s heart lurched as a cyclist whisked past her. She muttered a curse at him. The guy swerved, barely missing a jogging stroller coming around the bend, pushed by a flushed-cheeked woman in yoga pants.

            Of everyone on the trail, the manic stroller moms bugged Dana the most, especially at this hour. She couldn’t imagine rousting a child from sleep and driving to the lakefront, then shoving a sippy cup into pudgy little hands to serve as a distraction while Mom squeezed in a workout. Passing the stroller, Dana caught a glimpse of a cherubic toddler with brown curls, not much older than Jillian. 

Just thinking of Jillian made Dana’s heart swell. It was something she’d never expected when she’d first taken the nanny job. How could you truly love someone else’s kid? But it turned out, you could. Dana would have jumped in front of a bus for that child. Maybe it was human instinct. Protect the innocent. Or maybe it was something else, some deep-rooted impulse that hinted at future motherhood. When Dana had first identified the feeling, she’d felt relieved. It told her she was okay. Mostly. It told her that despite the ugly things she’d seen and done, her moral compass was still intact.

            The trail narrowed and wended through the cypress trees. Most people hung a left onto the pedestrian bridge at this point, but not Blue. He did the full loop and crossed the lake at the dam, predictable as clockwork. At first when Dana began shadowing him it had been a struggle, and she’d ended each workout feeling dizzy and depleted. But now she was stronger. Her thighs still ached, and her lungs still burned, but she pushed through, and the heady rush at the end of each run was her reward.

            The trail narrowed again, and the woods became thicker. Dana heard the faint crunch of gravel. Her senses perked up, and she glanced over her shoulder.

            Her blood chilled.

A man jogged behind her, maybe twenty yards back, and she’d seen him before. Dana focused on the path ahead, listening to the rhythm of his footsteps. Her pulse started to thrum. Where had she seen him? Her brain kicked into gear, retracing her steps over the past twenty-four hours. She’d been to work, the grocery store, home. She tried to recall the faces in the checkout line, or anyone she’d passed in the lobby of her apartment building. She pictured the man without looking back: tall, buzz cut, heavy eyebrows. Where had she seen him before?

            You’re being paranoid.

            You’re being paranoid.

            You’re being paranoid.

            The words echoed through her mind as she pounded down the trail. She peered ahead, searching for Blue on the path, but she couldn’t see him anymore, couldn’t see anyone. This section was practically deserted.

            The footfalls came faster, and panic spurted through her. Why had he changed his pace?

            Dana changed hers, too, trying to catch up to Blue—or anyone, at this point. The slap of shoes behind her sounded closer now.

            Sweat streamed down her back. She visualized where she was on the trail. About a quarter mile ahead was a nature center. To her right, through a patch of trees and bushes, was a parking lot. Would someone be there now? It wasn’t even six thirty.

Dana’s breath grew ragged. Her skin prickled, and her blood turned icy. With every footfall she knew that the years and the miles and the lies had finally caught up to her. There would be no more running.

And there would be no mercy.

With a trembling hand, she unzipped her pouch and took out her phone. She thumbed in the passcode. Should she really do this? Maybe she was overreacting.

            But no. She wasn’t.

            She darted another glance over her shoulder.

            Eye contact. And Dana knew.

            She bolted into the woods, plowing through bushes and darting around trees. Behind her, she heard the distant but unmistakable swish-swish of her pursuer moving through the brush. Dana’s heart thundered as she pressed the contact number. Every swish-swish ratcheted up her terror. Finally, the call connected.

            “Tabby, it’s me. It’s happening!” Just saying the words made her stomach clench. “It’s happening!”

            Dana hurled the phone into the bushes and cast a frantic glance behind her. She couldn’t see him anymore, but she knew he was back there, felt it in her core. Every nerve ending burned with the certainty of being chased.

Where was the damn parking lot? Through the trees, she glimpsed a patch of asphalt and the red hood of a car. She ran faster, swiping at the branches. Thorns snagged her clothes and sliced her arms, but she clawed through the bushes as fast as she could, sprinting for the red.

            A tall figure stepped into her path. Dana gave a squeak and stopped short.

            The man moved closer. His eyes bored into hers, and she knew she’d been right. Not paranoid at all, but right.

            He took another step forward, and Dana’s gaze landed on the knife in his hand. A silent weapon. Of course.

            Terror pierced her heart as he stepped nearer. Tears stung her eyes.

            “Please,” she rasped. “I’ll do anything.”

            Another step, and she could smell the sweat on his skin now. He was that close. Her heart jackhammered and she knew this was it. Fight-or-flight time.

            “Please.”

            She let the tears leak out. Let him think he’d won.

            “Please….”

            The man smiled slightly.

Dana turned and ran.

                         

##

Bailey Rhoads watched the parking lot through the veil of rain. It poured off the overhang, splashing the sidewalk in front of her and soaking the cuffs of her jeans. She pressed her phone to her ear as a police car pulled into the lot and slid into the handicapped space beside the door.

“Metro desk.”

“Hey, it’s me,” Bailey said as the officer got out. Skip Shepherd. That figured. He pretended not to see her as he ducked through the sheet of water and jerked open the door to the convenience store, letting out a waft of cold air.

“Tell me something good, Rhoads.”

“Sorry, can’t do it.”

“Crap.”

“This is a bust,” she said. “A couple teens boosted some beer from the stock room, ran out the back. Clerk chased them and a patrol car pulled up.”

Her editor muttered something either to himself or someone else in the newsroom.

“I’ll write up a brief, but I’d give it two grafs, max,” she said.

“They minors?”

“Yeah.”

“Then don’t bother. Listen, where are you?”

“In my car,” Bailey said, pulling the hood of her sweatshirt over her head before ducking through the water. She jogged across the lot to her white Toyota that had been in desperate need of a bath until this afternoon. “Why? What’s up?”

“I don’t know.”

But something in Max’s voice made her pulse quicken. She slid into her car, dripping water all over the seats as she kicked off her flip flops.

“Some chatter on the scanner,” Max said. “Lance heard something about a code thirty-seven.”

“What’s Lance doing in on a Saturday?”

“Some drama with one of the councilmen. Long story. Listen, you know what a thirty-seven is?”

“A shooting,” she said, starting up her car. “Where is this?”

“The lake, I think.”

“Lady Bird Lake?”

“Yeah. But this could be nothing. Scanner’s been quiet since.”

“I’ll check it out.”

“Text me if it’s anything,” Max said. “And do it soon. I’m trying to get out of here.”

“Got it.”

She dropped her phone onto the seat beside her, along with the damp spiral notebook where she’d jotted the details of the convenience store holdup that wasn’t. Would this be another dud? Probably, given her pattern lately. For the last three weeks she’d been chasing down court filings and scanner chatter and only netted a few short briefs.

Saturday traffic was light, but the afternoon downpour had thrown everyone for a loop, and she passed two fender-benders before reaching Barton Springs Road, which took her straight into Austin’s biggest park. On a typical sunny weekend, the place was busy. Several weeks a year it wasn’t just busy, but packed, with traffic choking the streets and the soccer fields crammed with festivalgoers. Today, the fields were empty except for a few clusters of people sheltering from the drizzle under sprawling oak trees. Bailey parked in the lot near the pedestrian bridge, noting the conspicuous lack of police vehicles. This was probably another non-event.

It was time for Bailey to get creative. It had been a slow month, and rumor had it the newsroom was in for another round of layoffs. She should spend her Sunday brainstorming feature ideas. Something about local law enforcement that wouldn’t be interchangeable with a story pulled off the wire. Maybe an innovative new forensic technique. Or budget overruns. Or official corruption. She had to dig up something. For months she’d been hanging onto this job by her fingernails. Her industry was shrinking, and she was in a constant battle to prove her worth relative to more seasoned reporters who fed at a bottomless trough of news tips.

Bailey shed her wet hoodie and grabbed a blue zip-up jacket from the back seat. She stuffed her notebook into the pocket and looked around. It was unusually empty for a Saturday evening—just a few wet dog-walkers and a guy strapping a paddleboard to the roof of his Volkswagen. She zipped her jacket and ran her fingers through her wet brown curls. With this weather, she probably looked like Medusa, but it was pointless to fight her hair. It did what it wanted.

Bailey hurried across the parking lot, hopscotching around potholes as she made her way to the pedestrian bridge. The six-lane highway overhead provided cover, along with a roar of traffic noise as she crossed the lake, which was narrow here.

She reached the trail marker on the opposite side and glanced around. Normally, this area was bustling with cyclists and pedestrians, but this evening it was empty except for a pair of shirtless runners in burnt-orange shorts. UT track and field, if she had to guess. They didn’t spare her a glance as they blew past her.

Looking up the trail, Bailey noticed the orange barricade positioned in the center of the path, along with a sign: CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE. Bailey had been here three mornings this week and that sign was new. She walked up the path, skirting around the barrier. The trail curved into some leafy trees, and Bailey’s pulse picked up as she noticed the swag of yellow crime scene tape.

“Area’s closed, ma’am.”

She turned around to see a bulky young cop striding toward her. He had ruddy cheeks and acne, and Bailey didn’t recognize him.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Trail’s closed off.” He stopped beside her and wiped his brow with the back of his arm. His dark uniform was soaked from what looked like a combination of rain and sweat.

“I’m with the Herald.” She unzipped her jacket and held up the press pass on a lanyard around her neck. “We got word about a possible shooting here?”

He frowned and shook his head. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Leave?”

He gestured toward the sign. “This is a restricted area. You’re going to have to step back.”

“But—”

“Step back, ma’am.”

“Okay, but do you know what this is about?” She took her time moving toward the barricade.

“No, ma’am.”

What a liar. “Can you confirm it was a shooting?” she asked.

“You’ll need to talk to our public information officer.”

He corralled her toward the barrier. She sidestepped it and turned around, and the cop was watching her suspiciously, as though she might sprint right past him if he turned his back.

            At last, he did. He proceeded up the trail, tapping the radio attached to his shoulder and murmuring something as he went. Probably giving people a heads up that the media had arrived on the scene—whatever the scene was.

            The cop reached the yellow swag of tape blocking the path. He walked around a tree and darted a look of warning at her before disappearing into the woods.

            Bailey dialed her editor. Max picked up on the first ring.

            “I’m here at the hike-and-bike trail,” she told him. “Something’s definitely up.”

            “Who’s there?”

            “I’ve only seen one cop, but they’ve got the trail barricaded, and there’s a scene taped off.”

            “One cop?” Max sounded skeptical.

            “So far, yeah.” Bailey walked away from the barrier, looking for any other sign of law enforcement. The nearest parking lot on this side of the lake would be behind the juice bar. Maybe the cops had parked there.

            “What about a crime scene unit?” Max asked. “Or the ME’s van?”

            “Haven’t seen either,” she said, scanning the area as she walked. She spied several cars parked along the street, but no police vehicles.

            “Keep asking around,” Max said. “The scanner’s been quiet, so maybe this isn’t out yet.”

            Bailey would definitely ask around, but she didn’t see anyone to ask.

            “Where are you exactly?”

            “The trailhead near the nature center,” she said, “but it’s pretty deserted.”

The rain started again. It streamed down her neck and into her shirt, and Bailey moved faster. Up the street that paralleled the lake was Jay’s Juice Bar. She spotted a patrol car in the parking lot. Bingo.

As she hurried closer, she saw not just one but four police cars in the lot behind the place, along with an unmarked unit with a spotlight mounted on the windshield—probably a detective’s car. How had this stayed off the scanner? Someone must be trying to keep a lid on the story.

            Bailey surveyed the juice bar. Typically, Jay’s had a line of sweaty customers at the window waiting to order smoothies. But today the window was closed. A guy in a green apron stood beside the door, talking to a tall man with a badge clipped to his belt.

            “Rhoads? You there?”

            “I see a detective,” she told Max. “Let me go talk to him.”

            “Who is it?”

            “I don’t know. I’ll call you back.”

            “Do it soon. I need to know if this is going to blow up the front page.”

            Bailey tucked her phone into her pocket and watched the detective interview the juice bar guy, who clearly was agitated. He kept wiping his brow with his hand and gesturing toward the trail. Was the man a witness? Had he heard the gunshot? The detective towered over him, watching intently as the man talked and shook his head.

            Bailey started to pull out her notebook, but then thought better of it. The detective dug a business card from his pocket and handed it to the man. Perfect timing. They were wrapping up the interview.

            Bailey crossed the street, and the detective glanced at her. His gaze narrowed when he spotted the press pass around her neck. Bailey felt his guard go up as she strode toward him. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

She was about to get stonewalled.

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Author's bio and links

Laura Griffin is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than twenty-five books and novellas. Her books have been translated into fourteen languages. Laura is a two-time RITA® Award winner (for Scorched and Whisper of Warning) as well as the recipient of the Daphne du Maurier Award (for Untraceable). Her book Desperate Girls was named one of the Best Books of 2018 by Publishers Weekly. Laura lives in Austin, Texas, where she is working on her next novel.






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laura@lauragriffin.com

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GIVEAWAY


 Laura Griffin is giving away a print copy of Hidden to one lucky person in the United States.

Please leave a comment (please don't forget your e-address) about what intrigues you most about romantic suspense and whether you have read other books by this prolific and talented author?


A winner will be randomly chosen after September 4, 2020.




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My review: 

4 stars

Hidden by Laura Griffin is the first book in the ‘Texas Murder Files’ series and features reporter Bailey Rhoads, whose investigation into a woman’s murder pits her against the detective assigned to the case, Jacob Merritt. Their uneasy alliance puts them in a race against time to prevent the murderer from striking again, but Bailey’s research may put her right in the crosshairs.

This suspenseful and romantic thriller features a determined and tenacious heroine, characteristic of this talented author’s stories. I love heroines who are resourceful and intelligent, and it was great to watch the women in this story demonstrate ingenuity and an ability to think on their feet. It was a little disconcerting to shift to a new point of view later in the book, but understandable.

The tension ramps up and the clues are sprinkled in with unexpected twists and turns as the mystery gets more and more intense. Some of the developments are chilling, especially to a paranoid person like me, and very pertinent to today’s society. This was a wonderful introduction to a new series, and I can’t wait to read more of these stories!