Just This Night (19 page)

After that little violation of dignity, I set out to set up the lights, trying to be as efficient and quick as possible—so as not to give him time to change his mind—but also professional enough so we wouldn't be embarrassed if the interview ended up playing all over the world, which I knew it would. This was Beth's big break—she'd worked hard for this. I wanted her to look good.

As I worked to set up, Dante and Beth chatted amicably, as if they were old friends. Unlike most old friends, however, Dante kept his eyes locked on her cleavage. While I understood the inclination—I was the first to admit it was very, very nice cleavage—the blatancy of the act only served to enrage me further. As did the sound of Beth's giggles as the hacker spouted off things that were just not that funny.

Finally, we were set up and ready. Once the camera was
rolling, Beth, to her credit, dropped the giggles and went into serious reporter mode. She looked down at her notes, then up at her interviewee.

“There are some people who consider you a patriot,” she said slowly. “There are others—including many in our government—who see you as an information terrorist—and would like to see you brought to justice. Where do you see yourself on this spectrum? Do you think you should be lauded for leaking information from the CIA? Or do you think you should be put in jail for life?”

He shrugged lazily. “I did what I felt needed to be done. It's not my decision on what should be done to me because of it.”

“Sure. Fine. But I'm not asking about what you think
should
be done,” Beth pressed. “I'm asking how you see yourself and your actions. Do you still feel you were justified in leaking those security documents? Publicizing those state secrets for all to see?”

Dante sat up in his chair. His eyes locked on Beth. “Look, there are times when someone needs to stand up to what's going on. To err on the side of right—rather than the side of legal. Like Henry David Thoreau once said about civil disobedience. If injustice is found to be occurring, we as citizens have a duty to rise up and take action. That's what I did. That's what I had to do. And if you're asking me if I'm ashamed to have done it? Hell no. I would do it all over again if need be, and I would do it with a smile on my face.”

And . . . there was our first perfect soundbite. The one that would probably be replayed all over the world once this thing aired. A wide grin spread across my face and it was all I could do not to stop the interview and give Beth a high five right then and there. She had done it. She had actually done it. What no reporters had done before. The famous Alvarez caught on tape.

And she wasn't even close to being done, going through her questions one by one. Smart, insightful questions, especially considering she'd only gotten the assignment mere hours before and couldn't have had much time to prepare.

Dante, in turn, seemed to notice and appreciate this and stopped staring at her tits long enough to give her respectful, thoughtful answers to each and every one. I had to admit, for someone who hated interviews, he was shockingly well-spoken when he wanted to be.

Finally, Beth asked her last question, then gave her interviewee a smile. “I think I've got more than I need,” she told him. “Thank you so much for agreeing to do the interview. And I'm sorry Joy wasn't able to make it.”

He laughed. “Does Joy even know that you're here?” he asked.

Beth gave him a sheepish look, then shook her head. “Not exactly,” she admitted.

“See?” He turned to me. “This girl of yours—she's really got it!” He rose to his feet and Beth did the same, sticking out her hand to shake. But he ignored her, grabbing her and pulling her into a rather close embrace. “I'm more of a hugger,” he informed her, as his hands dangled dangerously close to her ass again.

I had to resist the urge to hurl.

Instead, I forced myself to take down the lights and stow my gear as fast as humanly possible, more than ready to make a beeline for the door. As I worked, I tried to remind myself how good this was all going to look to the folks back at the newsroom. That sometimes the ends justified the means. And that after we walked out of this building, I'd never have to lay eyes on that smug bastard again, except on tape. And then I could just press the mute button.

We had just stepped out the door, on our way to the truck, when Dante called back to her. “Beth? Come here a minute!”

She looked at me. I shook my head impatiently. “We need to go,” I told her. “I have to get the truck back for the night guy.”

“Beth?” he called again.

“Look, I can't just ignore him,” she protested. “Just . . . go put the gear in the truck. I'll be back before you even finish.”

The last thing I wanted was for her to reenter that warehouse—without me to watch over her this time. But I
couldn't for the life of me think of any good reason to walk back in myself. And so, feeling annoyed and grumpy, I dragged my gear back to the truck and began to load it back in. Every few seconds I'd glance over at the warehouse, waiting for Beth to reemerge. Knowing my heart rate wouldn't be able to slow until she did.

Finally, she popped out, stumbling down the steps and over to me, still shaky on those damn heels. I gave her a quick once-over, not able to help but notice how rosy her cheeks looked.

“What did he want?” I asked, despite my better judgment.

She blushed harder. “Oh. It was nothing.”

“He called you back for nothing?”

She laughed. “He just . . . asked if I wanted to grab a drink sometime. That's all.”

I almost dropped my camera. “He asked you out? On a date?”

“I guess.” She shrugged. “I mean, I don't know if it was actually a date, per se . . .”

“Trust me, a guy like that is not looking for a new friend.”

“Okay, fine,” she shot back. “Then he asked me on a date. What does it matter?”

“Guess those pants really paid off for you, huh?” I muttered.

“Excuse me?”

I slammed down the truck's back hatch. “Nothing. We need to go.”

She scowled at me, storming over to the passenger side and yanking open her door. She climbed up, then slammed the door closed behind her. I sighed and made my way to the driver's seat.

“Why are you being an asshole?” she demanded, once I closed the door.

“Why weren't you straight with me about what we were doing?”

She turned to stare out the side window. “I didn't know if it would work.”

“Well, congratulations. It did. Even better than you hoped for, sounds like.”

Her face twisted. “Why can't you just be happy we got the story?”

“Beth, you put us in a dangerous situation and you didn't even bother to warn me first. I'm not your subordinate, I'm your partner. I have a right to know what we're doing. What if things went bad?”

“Well, they didn't.” She narrowed her eyes as she looked over at me. “I thought you said we were in a hurry.”

I sighed, putting the key into the ignition and turning it over. Then I pulled out onto the road. As we drove home, silence fell over the truck. But not the kind of nice, comforting silence from back at my house two weeks ago. Rather the kind that threatened to smother.

“So,” I found myself asking, “what did you say?”

She jerked her head in my direction. “About what?”

“When he asked you out. Did you say yes?”

“How is that any of your business?”

It wasn't. I knew it wasn't. I also knew I should shut the fuck up. But somehow my mouth kept running.

“Beth, we're friends, remember? And friends don't let friends date criminals.”

She looked at me, her eyes flashing fire. “Look, Mac. You made it perfectly clear you didn't have room for me in your life. And that's fine. But you don't get to have it both ways. I am a single woman and if a guy asks me out—whether he's a boy scout or a fucking terrorist—you still don't have a say. And if you can't handle that, well, maybe we need to stop with the whole friends pretense.” She scowled. “'Cause right now, just FYI, you're not acting like a friend.”

“Neither are you, sweetheart. Neither are you.” I gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled fingers. “And if that's how you want to play it, I'm not sure I want to be your coworker either.”

BETH

I
returned to the newsroom, pissed off beyond belief. This should have been my greatest hour, my biggest triumph. And yet instead of thrilled, all I could feel was sick to my stomach.

How dare he judge me for my actions? Sure, I hadn't been a hundred percent truthful. And yes, I'd admittedly dressed up a little to get the guy's fixation off of Joy. But in the end I'd gotten the story. The story that everyone else had tried and failed to get. Couldn't I at least get some cred for that?

At least everyone else would be pleased. I could march into the newsroom a conquering hero, the interview of the century clasped in my hands. All the producers who had once shunned me like the plague would now be begging me to let them put the piece in their shows. And from this day forward, my days of covering R.O.U.T. (Rodents of Unusual Talent) would be over forever.

I imagined Richard calling me into his office, full of congratulations and good cheer. And when I asked him if this meant I could keep my new position as dayside reporter,
he'd laugh, and say only until he could find me a better spot, higher in the ranks.

In fact,
I imagined him saying
, the board is even offering you a hefty bonus, just to make sure you don't abandon us for one of those cushy anchor jobs the network news stations are offering.

I snorted. Okay, maybe that was going a bit
too
far. But still. He was going to be psyched beyond belief.

In any case, this was the day to end all days. The best day ever in my short reporting career. And I wasn't about to let stupid, jealous, petty Mac ruin it for me.

He hadn't said another word the whole way home, after threatening to disband our partnership. And he'd disappeared immediately once we got back to the station, under the pretense of having to go clean his gear. He hadn't even taken the drive with the interview on it with him when he left—to upload it into the system as he was supposed to do, to get it ready for editing. It was as if he thought it was dirty and didn't want to touch it.

Whatever. I'd get someone else to do it. Most people here would be thrilled to upload and edit an exclusive interview with Dante Alvarez himself. Hell, it was pretty much insta-Emmy for anyone who touched it.

But evidently Mac didn't care about things like that.

Just like he didn't care about me.

I sighed, feeling defeat and disappointment weighing over me. Would he really go to Richard, as he'd threatened to do, tell him he didn't want to work with me anymore? Would they assign me a new photographer? I knew they wouldn't fire me, at least, not after getting this interview. But the job would be a lot different without Mac by my side.

It was funny; when I'd first learned I had to work with him, I couldn't think of anything I wanted less. But now that we'd been a team, I couldn't imagine teaming up with anyone else. He was the perfect partner.

But perhaps that was part of the problem.

I sighed. In the end there was nothing I could do. The
ball was in his court. He had to decide how to play it. In the meantime, I needed to get out of this ridiculous outfit before I shared my triumph with Richard and the rest of the newsroom. The leather pants were chafing the insides of my thighs and the blisters on my feet were ready to burst from the one-size-too-small stilettos. I needed to change back into my normal, comfortable, unsexy attire and give this all back to Ana, who somehow knew how to rock this type of thing without breaking a sweat—or an ankle, for that matter.

But as I headed to the locker room to change, I turned a corner too quickly, almost slamming into someone coming around the other direction. Not just any someone, either. But Stephanie.

“Sorry,” I muttered, trying to sidestep her without meeting her eyes.

To my surprise, she stopped, then turned back to me. “So did you get it?”

“What?”

“The interview with the hacker guy. They told me that's why I had to do the squirrel thing. 'Cause you were on some crazy important shoot. Did you get him to talk?”

“What do you care?” I retorted, before I could stop myself.

She bit her lower lip. “Ouch,” she said. “I guess I deserve that, huh?”

I grimaced. I so did not need to be getting into this right now. “Look, I really need to go change.”

I started to turn, but she grabbed my arm. “Wait,” she said.

I looked at her impatiently. “What?”

She sighed. “Beth, I owe you an apology, okay? I know I was an utter bitch when I first found out you were promoted. And what I did to your stuff . . . well, that was beyond unfair. I was just . . . really upset about what they did to me. And I thought . . .” She trailed off. “Look, do you want to meet up sometime? There's some things I want to talk to you about. They're kind of important.”

I frowned, surprised to see what looked like genuine
apology on her face. Was she being serious? Or was this some kind of new game?

Either way, right now I just needed to go. “Sure, okay,” I said. “I'm sure we can figure something out.”

The relief on her face was palpable. “Great,” she said. “Excellent. Okay. I'll let you go now. Congrats again on getting the interview—if you really did get it, I mean. First the whole gas leak conspiracy, then this . . . Sounds like they were right to promote you—even if it was at my expense.”

And with that, she turned, starting to walk away. I watched her go, my stomach twisting in even more knots than before. God, between her and Mac—the drama in this place was seriously going be the death of me if I let it.

But I wouldn't let it, I reminded myself. Instead, I would change my clothes. I would go and show the interview to Richard. I would prove to everyone I was tougher than they gave me credit for. And that I deserved everything that had been given to me . . . and more.

Once inside the locker room, I walked over to my locker, noticing the padlock was still open. I must have forgotten to reattach it when I was changing earlier. Not surprising, I supposed. At the time I'd been more than a little distracted by the whole interview scheme I'd been concocting.

It was crazy how much had happened in only a few short hours. The way my emotions had gone up and down it felt as if I'd been on a roller coaster. After my shift was over, I was so going home to open a bottle of wine. Maybe see if Piper wanted to watch some kind of mindless rom-com. Get my mind off this crazy day.

And hopefully Mac as well.

With some effort, I managed to peel the leather pants from my body, exhaling in relief at the rush of cold air from the air-conditioner hitting my glistening skin. It was like I had been bathing in my own sweat all day and was finally able to dry off. Which, you know, was oh-so-glamorous. Dante may have loved my pants a little bit less if he'd known the nasty just beneath the surface.

Next, I shrugged off the jacket and pulled the camisole
over my head. I wished I had another bra and panties to change into, mine were sweaty as hell, but they would have to wait until I got home. Reaching into my locker, I grabbed the shirt, pants and jacket I'd originally worn to work that morning. Sticking out my legs, I slipped one, then the other, into my pants.

Only to find them . . . sticky?

Confused, I slipped my hand inside one leg of the pants, feeling around. I frowned. There was definitely something odd in there—some kind of slick coating that didn't feel natural. Something that felt a lot like . . . honey?

I swallowed hard. Oh God. Another sabotage? Had Stephanie really—

Ow!

Hot blasts of itchy pain suddenly stung at my legs, causing me to cry out in horror. Heart in my throat, I yanked down the pants. What had she put in there? Some kind of itching powder? Or maybe—

I looked down and screamed.

My legs were covered with ants. Large, ugly, red fire ants. Dozens of them, crawling up and down my skin.

Sweet baby Jesus!

I threw the pants across the room, panic rising inside of me at an alarming rate. Then I set on the ants, trying desperately to brush them off my legs. Unfortunately that was almost impossible to do, thanks to the stickiness of the honey. Instead I was forced to try to pick at each and every one individually and flick them away. But there were so many—way too many and ugly red welts began to spread across my legs as the venom of their tiny bites seeped into my skin.

Oh my God. Oh my God.

Suddenly, my stomach cramped. My chest tightened. My throat seemed to close up and the room started to spin.

Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

I crashed back onto the floor, trying to scream again. But my breath seemed lodged in my throat. I looked down to
see my legs, still crawling with ants, swollen to twice their normal size.

“Someone help me!” I whispered in a voice I knew no one would hear.

And then I succumbed to the blackness.