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“I’m sorry, but I wasn’t expect—” He stopped talking and his brow furrowed. His gaze fixed on her badge. “You’re a cop.”
“Detective, to be more precise.”
“Well, we’re busy here, so…” He brushed past her to the end of the trailer and tossed a clipboard he was holding onto the desk next to a nameplate that read, Ross Ford, Foreman.
“Aren’t we all?” She followed, squared her shoulders to appear taller, and solidified her stance. “I need to speak to one of your workers, a Logan Hunter.”
“Mr. Hunter is working right now.” Ford grabbed papers from a bin on his left and hastily snapped them onto another clipboard.
“I need to discuss an important police matter with him.” Not entirely a lie, and she added, “It won’t take long.”
“Can I ask what this is regarding?” He looked up at her, impatience written all over his face.
“You can, but I can’t answer that.”
“Then I can’t help you.” He put his head down, returning to his paperwork, his body language signifying the end of discussion.
How infuriating. She would love to get her alibi sealed up today and over with, but she couldn’t push Ford too hard. She wasn’t there on actual police business and with that article out there… “Can you tell me when his workday ends?” She just wanted to verify that what Barb at the office had told her was correct.
“Six bells,” he said, not bothering to look up again. “But he gets lunch at noon, on the mark.”
Okay, that she could work with much easier. “I’ll be back.”
“Goodie,” Ford mumbled
.
She shook her head and left. What a dick. She returned to her car, looking around, hoping for some small miracle that Logan Hunter would emerge from the site into view. She wasn’t so lucky.
The clock on the dash read just after nine when she got behind the wheel and started her car. She still had the better part of three hours to fill, but it was better than waiting another nine. She really didn’t want to see Malone without her alibi, though she might not have a choice.
Her phone rang, and caller ID on the car’s heads-up display told her it was Becky. She answered, “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to call—”
“No, don’t apologize.”
“You saw the article.” Not a question in Amanda’s mind.
“I did.”
Amanda sat up at the sight of a man in a hard hat walking from the site to the lot but slumped when she determined it wasn’t Logan Hunter.
“How are you doing?” Becky prompted.
“Well, I’m off the case…”
“Probably for the best.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Except for that tiny little thing—Rick Jensen’s threat hanging overhead—that made it necessary to go a bit rogue.
“Don’t tell me you’re working the case anyway?”
Amanda bit her bottom lip. Her friend knew her too well. “Not exactly.” Though it was possible the bracelet and the chip might lead to Palmer’s killer.
“No, I can’t let you,” Becky said.
“I’m a big girl, responsible for my own actions.”
“I just don’t want to see you get into trouble.”
