I’ve almost located the source of the rolling sound when voices reach my ears.
A man and a woman are talking. I can’t make out any of the words. I’m too close to the noise now and it’s mostly drowning the conversation out. But when there is a break in the mechanical whir of the printer, I hear the woman’s voice and recognize it immediately.
Karina?
I thought she was working in the field today.
Did she come in personally to prevent my piece from running?
If so, I will worship her forever.
I start to take a step around the server blocking me from view, but before my foot touches the floor, the man’s voice responds to Karina—and my blood becomes ice.
Deputy Mayor Alexander.
My heart starts pounding like a jackrabbit. That shout in the back of my head is more urgent now. It’s telling me to get out of there. Now. There is no reason Alexander and Karina should be talking in hushed tones in the basement of the Times, is there?
“You said printing her little bullshit article would be a distraction from the real story,” Alexander says. “You guaranteed me this would cause her to back off. That all she wanted was something of hers to be published. So why is it being yanked?”
“I don’t know. I can’t ask too many questions without her getting suspicious. She didn’t respond when I asked her where she was staying. I’m a journalist. I know when to push and when my subject is getting jumpy.”
Heavy footsteps tell me Alexander is starting to pace. “When you came to me with her suspicions, I told you to suppress the article. In exchange, I was going to give you inside information, as soon as I took over as mayor. That deal is very close to being off the table. I’m quite happy with our arrangement with the Post.”
“Listen to me, Elise isn’t even a reporter. She isn’t employed by the Times—”
“That makes her more of a liability. Not less. She could take it to another paper.”
Karina sighs. “I said, I’ve got her under control.”
I’m already backing up as slowly as possible, but it’s hard to focus on my steps when my mind has turned into a wind funnel. “Me Plus Three” wasn’t good enough to be printed. It was all about placating me. So I would drop the mole story. And worst of all, I’ve been played by Karina. That’s what I’ve been missing.
I can’t believe I didn’t see it.
Karina tried to find out where I was staying. Why? So Alexander could…come get me?
Thank goodness he didn’t recognize me from the gala. If he’d known who I was, he could have connected me to Gabe. I would have been putting my men in danger simply by hiding out at Gabe’s house. My God. My pulse is going so fast, it’s making me dizzy. I’m in danger of tripping over my own feet. I need to get out of here now— My back runs into something soft. Soft on top of hard.
I turn around and find a suited man smirking down at me.
It’s Jameson Crouch.
“Excuse me,” I whisper, trying to go around him.
He grabs my arm. Holds on tight when I try to pull it free. “Not so fast, girly.”
My temples pound. Mouth goes dry. “Let me go. Please, let me go.”
“Hey, Alexander,” Crouch shouts. “I found what we’re looking for.”
Karina and the deputy mayor step into view on the other side of the server. Alexander looks nonplussed, but it slowly gives way to amusement. Karina is stunned, but she can only look me in the eye for a moment, before horror takes over and she looks away.
The suited man starts to drag me toward the back of the basement. Where are they taking me? Is there a rear exit?
“Karina, please,” I say in a strangled scream, my vocal cords pinched shut from fear.
“I couldn’t let the Post continue to scoop us. My job was at stake.” Eyes closed, she shakes her head. “I told you to stick to delivering sandwiches, Elise.”
Banks
* * *
To put it mildly, I’m losing my shit.
Elise is not answering her phone. We know she is enroute to the Times. We are most likely going to find her there safe and probably a little closed off—and frankly, I can’t blame her. The four of us are mere days into this relationship and her faith is already being shaken. Believe me, I would love nothing more than to blame Tobias. It is very difficult to be angry with him, however, when he is continuously banging his head off the passenger side window.
“I’ve never understood those macho Americans who ask people to punch them in the stomach as hard as they can, but I completely get it now. They are emotional shite piles like me and they just want to relocate the suffering.”