Manhunt. Lisa Phillips

SIX

      Jonah said, “You want to do the interview, since it was your lead?”

      Hailey couldn’t believe it. He wanted to give her the credit now?

      Eric shifted and pinched her finger behind his back. “Yes, she does.”

      Jonah walked to his vehicle. Hailey glanced at Eric and mouthed, What is going on? A smile stretched his lips, and he shrugged.

      There must be something in the water, because the two of them were acting crazy. Jonah was giving her actual responsibility, and Eric was insisting he help her, with no strings attached. This whole week had been beyond bizarre. When she woke up tomorrow, maybe they would all be back to their usual prickly selves.

      * * *

      The car sprayed up water the whole way back to the office. Eric couldn’t imagine what Hailey was going through. Once upon a time he’d thought he would end up married with children of his own.

      Sarah’s injury had killed whatever love existed between them when she couldn’t accept that Eric loved her even though she was paralyzed. Now he couldn’t see sharing his life with anyone, or living life as part of a couple instead of as his own man. He was far too set in his ways.

      Eric glanced over at her, his fingers gripping the steering wheel. He had no frame of reference for the fear written on her face. His brother and Mackenzie, his brother’s wife, were his family. But they were capable adults who had seen their share of trouble and pulled through it together.

      Hailey might need someone to partner with her so she could keep her focus, but apparently she didn’t want that person to be him. Eric had already offered to help her twice, and she’d turned him down both times. He wasn’t about to make the offer again, not when the rejection still stung. They could work together as part of the team, but if they were going to be true partners she had to be the one to bring it up next time.

      * * *

      Hailey entered the conference room, her clothes still damp, but with a fresh cup of coffee. Deirdre’s father was in the room, his stern eyes on his daughter. His hair was dyed dark brown, but his eyebrows and the chest hair in his open collar were mostly gray. He had a fake tan and gold rings on both hands. Thomas James Phelps the Third might have been a millionaire, but he was still a car salesman.

      The lawyer looked old money. He seemed completely disinterested in the family drama going on.

      Hailey set her cup on the table and sat. She gave Deirdre a small smile and tried something she’d never had occasion to use yet in her job. She cocked her head to the side. “Mrs. Henley’s English Lit class.” She pointed to the stunned woman across the table and smiled. “Back row, next to Gemma Malone.”

      Deirdre blinked. “Who...?”

      “Hailey Shelder. Front row, closest to the window.”

      “No way!”

      Hailey laughed. “Yeah, it’s not something I enjoy reliving.”

      Deirdre laughed, but hesitantly, as if she wasn’t sure she was supposed to. “I’m sure. I remember the hair.”

      Hailey had learned with time to tame her big red hair. “It was definitely memorable.” They shared a laugh. When the moment died down, Hailey said, “I don’t remember Farrell, though.”

      Deirdre’s smile dropped. “He didn’t go to school with us. He was older.”

      “And you stayed friends all these years?”

      “I wouldn’t say friends.” Deirdre swallowed, like there was a bad taste in her mouth. There was also an indecipherable look in her eyes Hailey couldn’t figure out. “He takes what he wants. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”

      Hailey nodded. “How long has he been staying at your house?”

      The lawyer raised his hand. He leaned in and spoke in Deirdre’s ear.

      The woman nodded. “I just want to help you find him, to do my part as a concerned citizen.”

      “Very well.” There wasn’t much else Hailey could say, not when Deirdre was here of her own volition. “Where can we find him?”

      Deirdre squeezed her fingers together on the table. “He said something about getting his own. I figured he was talking nonsense, but it was like he really believed he was onto something.”

      “Is he waiting for something? Or looking?”

      “I think he’s still looking, which is why he said he couldn’t split town, because he’s not ready. Like he’s not sure where it’s at, whatever it is.” Deirdre ran a shaky hand through her hair, which was as perfect as it had been in high school. “But whatever it is, it’s the reason he escaped.”

      “Did you give him anything, or do anything, or go anywhere because he asked you to?”

      “No, he just asked a bunch of questions about going online and searching old newspapers and such. I told him to go to the library. I don’t know how to do that stuff.”

      “What about the files in your house?” Hailey studied her. “What can you tell me about that?”

      Deirdre shook her head. “I had no idea that was even there. He kept that door locked and didn’t tell me anything about it. I just want to forget all this happened. Please, catch him. You don’t know what he’s like.”

      “Who helped him escape?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “You didn’t help them?”

      The lawyer shifted in his seat. Deirdre glanced at him and then said, “Steve just called me last weekend. I didn’t even know what was going on until I saw it on the news.”

      “So you don’t know why Farrell had files on US marshals in your house? Private information.”

      “No!”

      “You realize this makes you an accomplice, right?”

      Deirdre’s eyes widened. “I’m trying to help you.”

      “So tell me what Farrell wants.”

      “It’s nothing. He’s just looking for some jewelry or something. Stolen stuff from years ago. I don’t know anything else.”

       Stolen jewelry?

      Everything Hailey knew about unsolved thefts flipped through her mind like entries in a rolodex.

      She grabbed her coffee and stood. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Phelps.”

      * * *

      Eric ran his hands down his face. Deirdre’s phone records were a lesson in too much money, too little responsibility. Her credit card statements were nauseating.

      “Anything?”

      Eric looked up. Jonah was beside his desk with the assessing look he got when he was testing you.

      Eric said, “Phone records were a bust. I can’t help wondering about this stash Farrell is after, and what he wants from Kerry. If he had a hand in the original theft, then it could be an old score he never claimed. That would mean it’s been sitting for years, which is unlikely, but not impossible.”

      Hailey was on the far side of the office at the coffee pot, pouring herself a cup. She had her thinking face on. He hoped she didn’t burn herself by accident.

      Eric continued, “That also means we now have more accomplices to identify. Known associates, family and extended family members he might still have contact with.”

      “Course of action?”

      “Go back further. Look into possible associates and any heists they might have done. Scores which could’ve pulled in a haul