Just This Night (20 page)

MAC

I
stared at my camera, which I had already shined to an inch of its life, then rubbed the lens with my cloth just a little bit more, frustration eating away at me, making me feel sick. Three times already I'd risen from my desk, ready to go talk to Richard and three times I'd sat back down instead. Mainly because I had no idea what I was going to say to him that wouldn't make me come off sounding like a complete dick.

Mainly because I totally was.

What had I been thinking? Was I that pathetic—I couldn't even handle a little innocent flirting between Beth and another man? I tried to tell myself I'd only been concerned for her safety, about this douchebag's intentions—as any good friend would be. But I knew, in my heart, that wasn't true. Hell, like she'd said, she could have been batting her eyelashes at the local preacher's son and I'd still have wanted the bastard to rot in hell.

Because that bastard wasn't me.

Come on, Mac,
I scolded myself.
You had your chance. You had her—literally in your arms—and you pushed her away. What did you want her to do, sit around pining for
you until the end of time? She deserves a real man who can dedicate his life to making her happy—not some broke-ass, burnt-out photog with commitment issues.

I pushed back in my chair, rolling away from my desk. I needed to suck it up. Be professional for once in my life. Stop letting my emotions rule me at work. I'd already lost one job back in Boston thanks to my personal drama, and I was lucky I'd gotten a do-over here.

I'd go find Beth and I'd apologize. I'd get the drive from her and I'd upload it into the system. And then I'd edit the best damn story News 9 had ever seen. Make her look like the superstar reporter she was. She deserved that, at least. Hell, she deserved a whole lot more.

I walked down the hall, still lost in my thoughts, still furious at myself for how I'd allowed things to go down. In fact, I was so wrapped up in reliving the horrible day, that I almost didn't hear the scream.

But then it came again. I froze, listening. It was a cry of fear, of pain, of agony—coming from the ladies' locker room.

A cry that sounded like—

“Beth?”

Without pause, I dove through the door, heart in my throat, not bothering to knock. My eyes scanned the room, seeking the source of the sound. At first I saw nothing—no one. Then, my eyes dropped the ground and I let out a gasp of horror.

Beth was crumpled on the floor, completely naked, save bra and panties, her body covered in ugly red welts and her breath coming in pained wheezes. Her fingers were clutching her throat, while small desperate sounds struggled to escape her lips.

“Beth!” I cried. “What happened? What's wrong? Talk to me!”

Her head turned, her eyes locking on to mine, a shred of hope springing to her dilated pupils. With her hand she gestured wildly to one side—to her purse that had toppled over and spilled out onto the floor. For a moment, I didn't know what she was getting at, but my eyes scanned the
contents anyway, until I came across an EpiPen hiding under a packet of tissues. I scooped it up in my hands and plunged it into her arm. Her expression slackened in relief and her hands dropped to her side.

Reaching for my phone I called 911, keeping my eyes on her as I spoke to the dispatcher. Her panic was starting to subside, thank God, and her breathing sounded more regular. By the time I hung up, assured the ambulance was on its way, she'd reached out, placing a weak hand on my arm, looking up at me with huge, frightened eyes.

“What happened?” I whispered. “Why are you so sticky?”

“A-ants,” she said weakly. “Do you see any more ants?”

I stared at her, confused as hell, then looked around the room. It was then that I saw them, crawling up and down her locker like little red soldiers.

“Are you allergic?” I asked. It was a stupid question.

Without waiting for an answer, I swept her into my arms, cradling her like a baby. When I told her I needed to get her out of here, she protested weakly, not wanting anyone to see her in this state. So instead, I brought her into the shower stall, which was thankfully ant free. I set her down, rinsed her off and draped my jacket around her shivering frame as we waited for the EMTs. It was all I could do.

But it wasn't nearly enough.

“Hang in there, sweetheart,” I whispered.

She gave me a grateful smile that pretty much broke my heart. I thought back to earlier in the day; how confident and beautiful she had been, going after the story of the century without hesitation or fear. She had looked like a superhero.

Now she looked like a broken doll.

Anger gripped me as I started to think it all through. There was no way this was just some random act. That ants had accidentally found their way into her locker and her locker alone. My hands tightened into fists. “Do you think Stephanie . . . ?”

She gave a weak shrug, closing her eyes. “I don't know for sure,” she said, her voice still croaky from her throat
being so inflamed. “But I can't think of any other reason my pants would be coated with honey and full of ants.”

I slammed my fist against the shower wall, succeeding in cracking the tile. It was all I could do not to go out there at this moment and strangle the bitch. It wasn't fair. It was so not fair. Here Beth was, about to go on air with the story of her career, and now she would probably be spending the night in the hospital instead.

“You could have died,” I growled. “That's not sabotage. That's attempted murder.”

“She couldn't have known I was allergic . . .”

“I don't care. This stops now. I'm going to Richard and I'm going to tell him everything.” I started to rise to my feet.

“Mac . . .”

I turned back to her, meeting her eyes with my own. The way she looked at me, so pleadingly, so heartbreakingly scared . . .

“The video,” she murmured. “I need you to get the video. Keep it safe.”

I shook my head. Oh, Beth. Even in this state she was still concerned with her job. As if some stupid interview mattered at this point. When she could have lost her life.

“I'll take care of it, sweetheart,” I assured her. “You just worry about you for now.”

I pulled her close. Her whole body was trembling and she clung to me as if her life depended on it. I squeezed her closer, allowing her to burrow her face against my chest. My heart flooded with emotion and I felt like I was going to throw up. At the same time, I'd never felt quite so warm.

“I've got you, baby,” I assured her. “And I promise you, I'm not going to let you go.”

BETH

I
opened my eyes, looking around, at first not sure where I was. A white room, a strange bed, nothing I recognized. Then it all came rushing back to me. I was in the hospital after almost dying from a fire ant attack. I closed my eyes for a moment, wincing as I relived the nightmare of pulling on my pants, of feeling those hot stings on my legs. Of collapsing to the floor, unable to breathe.

Of Mac, appearing out of nowhere, like some kind of knight in shining armor, sweeping in and saving the day. Not to mention my life.

I felt a hand on my own and my eyes fluttered open again, surprised to discover none other than the knight himself, leaning over me, a grave expression on his face. I gave him a weak smile, hating the way my stomach warmed at even this casual touch. I knew I should yank my hand out from under his, breaking the connection between us. But somehow I just couldn't bring myself to do it. It felt too good. Too right. As if his hand belonged there, clasped on top of mine.

“How are you feeling?” he asked gently.

“Like I've been run over by a truck,” I confessed. “How long have I been out?”

“Just the night and most of the morning. They gave you a sedative to help you sleep.”

“You . . . stayed all night?”

His eyes met mine. “You asked me not to leave.”

My heart flooded with emotion and tears sprung to my eyes. I tried to tell myself it was only because of all the drugs I was on, but I knew that wasn't really the case. He'd stayed. He'd stayed by my bedside all night long.

I'm here, baby. And I'm not going to let you go.

“Thank you,” I said weakly. “But what about Ashley?”

“Sadie's taking care of her. In fact the two of them stopped by about an hour ago. Ashley insisted on bringing you some magic pixie dust.” He gave me an embarrassed grin. “At our house magic pixie dust cures all.”

I giggled. “Of course it does. Such a sweet girl. Please tell her thank you for me.”

Mac drew in a breath. “It might be nice if you could tell her yourself.”

I stared at him, my heart thudding against my chest. “Are you sure you want that?” I asked softly. “After all, you said . . .”

He closed his eyes for a moment, his face a mask of pain. Then he opened them, looking directly at me.

“Look, Beth, I owe you an apology,” he said, in a voice that sounded rough and unsteady. “What I said after the shoot yesterday . . . You did nothing wrong. I was projecting the past, and seeing the current situation through those old cracked lenses.” He paused, then added, “I also let my personal feelings get in the way of doing my job, which is something I had vowed to never do again. I'm sorry.”

My heart ached at the pain I saw, clear on his face, and I wondered, not for the first time, what had really happened to him back in Boston.

“It's okay,” I assured him. “I wasn't exactly innocent either. I should have filled you in on the entire plan from the
beginning, not blindsided you and forced you to play catch up. Like you said, we're a team. I'm not your boss.” I gave him a sheepish look. “I guess I was just worried you'd disapprove of my methods. Or at least try to talk me out of them.”

He chuckled softly. “I might have tried. But I bet I wouldn't have succeeded.”

I groaned. “Yeah, I suppose I was pretty determined. It was just—I wanted so badly to prove myself, you know? After all they've put me through? I wanted to prove to them that they couldn't beat me. I guess I kind of also needed to prove it to myself.” I smiled. “Which reminds me, did you tell Richard about our interview yet? Or do I still get to surprise him myself once I'm out of here?”

I watched as a dark shadow crossed Mac's face. My smile faded. “What's wrong?”

He turned away, exchanging his view of me for one of the wall. “When the EMTs arrived I walked out with them to see you safely into the ambulance. That was when they told me I couldn't ride to the hospital with you—that it was family only—so I was going to get my car. But first I went back to the locker room, figuring I'd grab the drive like you asked me to and keep it safe. But when I got there . . . it was gone.”

“Gone?” Fear tripped down my spine. “What do you mean, gone? Maybe you just didn't see it!”

“I thought so at first, too,” he said, giving me a sorry look. “I searched everywhere. I tore that place apart. Then I went to the newsroom and searched there. And then to the stacks of recycled drives. I checked every possible place.”

“And you never found it?”

“Actually I did.”

“What?” My heart beat fast in my chest. “I don't understand.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, sucking in a breath. “It was sitting on a large, industrial-strength magnet.”

“Oh God.” I sank back in my pillow, my head filling in the blanks of the rest of his story. My interview. My big interview that was going to show them all. The one that would put
me on the map and maybe win me an Emmy. It was gone. Erased.

Sabotaged, yet again.

“You know, Stephanie had the nerve to try to talk to me?” I growled. “Right before all of this? She made it seem like she was trying to be friends? And all the while she was planning
this
?” It was all I could do not to throw up.

“Don't panic,” Mac scolded. “We're not going to let her win. We'll just go back as soon as you're out of here and get it reshot. You have Alvarez's number, right? Just tell him we had a camera malfunction—you don't even have to explain the whole story. We can work around his schedule, even if it's after hours. And we can go wherever we need to go. No big deal.”

I shook my head. “It's not going to work.”

“Why not?”

I sighed heavily, feeling as if the weight of the world were resting on my shoulders. “Do you remember when I told you how he called me back to ask me out?”

Mac stiffened a little. “Yeah . . . ?”

“Well, I said no,” I told him.

“You said
no
?”

The look on his face made me want to laugh, despite the bitter circumstances. Like, he knew he was supposed to be upset about this—seeing as it would cost us the interview. But at the same time, he couldn't help but be relieved.

“I said no,” I confirmed. “And let's just say, he wasn't pleased.”

Mac didn't reply at first. Just grabbed me, pulling me into his arms. Squeezed me so tightly against him, I half-struggled to breathe. “Thank God,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my neck in a way that gave me shivers. “Thank God, I'm not too late.”

I pulled away, looking at him questioningly. His cheeks colored.

“You may not be aware of this,” he said, “but all week long I've been killing myself, trying to see you as just a casual coworker—a platonic friend. When that douchebag had his
hands all over you before the shoot—I could barely keep it together. Then you tell me he asked you out.” He snorted. “It was all I could do not to charge back into that warehouse and kick the crap out of him. Or at least put in a valiant attempt before his goons took me out for good.”

I giggled despite myself, my insides flip-flopping madly as I imagined the scene. Mac, rushing in to defend my honor. “I'm glad you managed to restrain yourself. Then we
really
wouldn't be able to score a new interview.”

He nodded, then the laughter faded from his face. “But in the end, I did something worse,” he insisted. “I took it out on you. You, who did nothing wrong.” He shook his head. “I can't even tell you what an asshole I felt like afterwards. I wanted to apologize, but I didn't even know where to start. And then, when I found you, on the floor, unable to breathe . . .” He cringed. “It was as if my life started flashing before my eyes. This empty, long, pointless life without you in it.”

I swallowed hard. “Oh, Mac . . .”

“Look,” he said at last. “I'm not going to lie; I'm damaged goods—with a hell of a lot of baggage—and my life is anything but simple. But if you really do want to take a chance with me—to see where this thing between us could possibly go—well, I'm done being afraid. And I'm ready to give it a try.” He paused, then added. “On one condition.”

I looked at him, my heart melting. “What's that?”

“That you don't give up on that interview. You keep trying. And you don't take no for an answer.” He looked at me, his eyes so blue and piercing. “I don't know about you, but I'm not cool with just letting those bastards win.”

I grinned shyly at him. “Neither am I.”