Nightshade (Discarded Heroes) (29 page)

Holden Crane chuckled. “First broadcast rights.”

What was she missing? “I’m not getting it. Why don’t you just take my story and run? Isn’t that the way things work in this dog-eat-dog industry?”

A red hue tinged his face. Holden rubbed his eyes then let out a big sigh. “There is information here that I need, and it’s going to work against both of us if we don’t cut to the chase.” He gestured with his hand and smiled. “Look, I’m not here to screw you out of a story. I’ve seen what you’ve worked up, and I believe you’re on to something big. Very big.”

Speechless, she stared at the man’s business card. Holden Crane, correspondent with CougarNews, the largest conservative syndicated news agency in the civilized world. “You didn’t return my calls.” Yet here he stood.

“I know,” he said. “I had to take time to do some research on you and on this supposed story. When I heard about the response you got from the Pentagon, I knew you’d hit a hot spot.”

She licked her lips and came out of her chair, heart and mind thundering. “Would you do me a favor?” Sydney wrapped her jacket a bit tighter around her. “Tell that to my boss. He’s been less than pleased with what my stories have unleashed.”

He held up his hand. “Buck and I have already spoken.”

Disbelief doused her. “And he agreed?” Her gaze shot out the window and across the cubicle maze to Buck’s office. To her surprise, he stood there with his typical unlit cigar, staring back. He scratched and shook his head then returned to his desk.

“Well, he wasn’t happy about it, but he said you could have one week.” Holden leaned against the table, crossing his legs at the ankles. “Think about it, Sydney. Do you really think you would’ve gotten the reaction you did from the government if the story had no validity or value? They want this kept quiet. And like you, I want to know why.”

He wasn’t really telling her anything new, yet her mind reeled. She marveled at how things had come full circle in just a matter of days. After Lane delivered the brutal news about being yanked off the story, she’d been ordered to take a week off and get herself together. About the only thing she’d accomplished was a quick trip to the supercenter for a pint of Chocolate Delirium ice cream then that journey through the baby section.

Baby. Safety. Her mind worried the details of the trip. But she shrugged the concern aside. A week in London meeting a source would be fine. After all, it wasn’t like going into a firefight in the middle of a jungle. They would investigate events that had already taken place in locations already quieted.

Holden folded his arms over his chest, looking completely comfortable and in his element as he explained all the details. “Do you have your passport?”

“Yes.”

Holden’s blue eyes twinkled. “Good, good. Mr. Kramer insisted you take someone with you and suggested Lane Bowen.”

“Oh.” Why that bothered her, she didn’t know. Not only had Lane helped her get the For Human Sake column, but he’d been thrilled. Maybe it was his growing attachment and attentiveness that wore on her, his feelings more obvious with each day.

Holden tilted his head, considering her. “Is that a problem?”

“No, he’s a friend. Good guy.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

She faked a smile. “It’ll be fine. Lane’s a good reporter.”

He quietly looked at her then to her stomach. “And what about your con—”

“Syd!” Lane burst into the room and rushed to her. “Isn’t it great? You’re going to get your story.” Grasping her shoulders, he gave her a quick hug.

Gulping back the threat of being discovered—did Holden really know she was pregnant?—she smiled and eased herself from Lane, noting Holden quirked an eyebrow at the embrace. She could almost hear his unvoiced question,
Just a friend?

“It’s wonderful. I’m still shocked.” Before Holden had the opportunity to repeat his question, she stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jacket, effectively covering her belly. She drew in a breath and let it out. “When do we leave?”

“I’ve secured three seats on the next flight out. It leaves at six.” He handed them each a piece of paper. “We’ll fly out of Reagan National, catch a red-eye out of JFK International, and land at London-Heathrow shortly after four tomorrow.”

Sydney stared at the paper, the word
ITINERARY
stamped in bold letters under the CougarNews header, and felt a zip of giddiness rush through her. She was officially working with
the
Holden Crane from CougarNews.

But the thrill faded, realizing she would essentially lose an entire day traveling, what with the flight time and the actual time difference. They’d arrive in London tomorrow, meet with one of Holden’s contacts for dinner. But their return flight to the States wasn’t for another six days after that. “Why the delay in coming back?”

“Always allow for contingencies, for following up on leads that might surface. The man we’re meeting is an intermediary. If he decides we can be trusted, he will arrange an introduction to his source, who will give you what you are looking for.”

“Or won’t.” They both looked at Lane, who seemed defensive and irritated. “Sorry, it’s a long trip, and I’m just a little peeved that we’re heading there with no guarantee that Syd will get anything but a backache.”

Sydney rolled her eyes. “I’ll be fine.” She didn’t want him using her as an excuse not to go. “It’s worth it, even if we come back empty-handed. If they don’t talk, that in and of itself is a story that I can capitalize on.”

Pushing off the table, Holden stood closer to her, grinning. “You have the right attitude to make it in this business, Sydney. When this is over, if you want a job in broadcast, let me know.”

Wow. The thought sped through her, tingling. “I’ve never really considered that.”

“Well, you should. You’re intelligent, attractive, and you know how to nose out the story.” Back at the conference table, he snapped shut his briefcase and lifted it. “It’s getting late, and I imagine you both have some packing to do. So I’ll see you in a few hours at the airport. If you need anything, you have my card. Give me a ring.”

Sydney walked him to the elevator, still soaring from his praise. “You really think I can make it?”
Attractive and intelligent
.

Why did she feel starved for the attention? Then again, how long had it been since someone had complimented her so openly? Or just on the fact that she had value outside of being a warm body filling a chair?

“Absolutely,” Mr. Crane said, holding the elevator door open. “I’ve already spoken to my supervisor about you.”

Sydney gaped. “You’re kidding.”

“Of course he did,” Lane snapped. “He had to get approval for this trip.”

Holden snickered. “No, actually, that’s not true. CougarNews trusts me. I don’t need to be babysat.” He dragged his attention back to Sydney. “No, I told them Sydney Jacobs was a reporter to watch, one who could be an asset to CougarNews.” With that, he stepped back and let the steel doors sever the conversation.

“I don’t like him.”

Sydney flinched. “What don’t you like about him? He’s paying our way to London for a story that I unearthed, and he’s footing the bill for the hotel and everything.” She returned to her cubicle and slung her purse over her shoulder. “And beyond that, he carried enough clout to force Buck Kramer to give me back the story.”

“That’s not what bothers me.”

“Yeah, what is?”

“He was too slick, too sweet-talking.”

Defenses, strong and resilient, slammed up. “Why? Because he complimented me?”

“It wasn’t just that he complimented you, but how he complimented you.”

She rolled her eyes again. “Is it too hard to believe that someone besides you sees my work as professional and worthwhile?” She walked from her desk. He was starting to sound just like Max. Overprotective and overbearing. “I have to jet and get packed. I’ll meet you at the airport.”

Jetlag had nothing on the nausea swirling through her though once they’d landed. Sydney asked—no, begged—God to calm down her stomach. She hadn’t experienced morning sickness, but the flight over unseated all her nerves. Armed with a package of stem ginger biscuits and a bottle of water, she followed Holden and Lane through Heathrow, navigating the tangled mob. Dragging her overnight bag behind her proved challenging, but no way could she let go of the cookies. They’d been the only thing that seemed to quell the acidic taste rising in her throat, and the only palatable thing she’d spotted after landing and clearing customs.

In the somber haze of the late afternoon sun, they piled their luggage into the trunk of Holden’s rental car. Lane took the backseat of the sedan, affording her the front passenger seat. She’d never been so grateful for his consideration and gentlemanly manners, because sitting in the rear would jostle the contents of her stomach right onto the fine leather.

As she folded herself into the car, she thanked God neither of the men had noticed how sick she felt. Besides, this nausea wasn’t anything serious, just the upheaval of taking off and landing then doing it again. Now that her body was out of sync, Baby Jacobs protested.

Glancing at his watch, Holden grunted as they hit a red light. “We’re cutting it close. Let’s hope we don’t run into any traffic.”

“Why?” Lane pulled on Sydney’s seat as he leaned forward.

“The contact, a man by the name of Jerome, will take that as a sign that we’re unreliable and untrustworthy.”

With another cookie in hand, Sydney gripped the dash, momentarily disoriented with the wrong-side-of-the-road driving. She glanced at the driver, still harboring a tremor of disbelief she was with Holden Crane. “Meaning we’re one point behind before we even get there?”

“No, meaning he won’t wait.”

After the nearly seven-hour flight from New York and less-than-stellar first-class airline food, she wasn’t coming all this way to go back empty-handed because they were late. Sydney whispered a prayer for mercy and protection as they whipped through the clogged London streets, winding around one turnabout after another. Mentally, she applied pressure to Holden’s foot on the gas pedal.
Hurry!
Something brilliant waited at the end of this story, she was certain.

A song pelted the stale interior of the sedan. Sydney rummaged through her purse for the smart phone. She checked the screen. “It was Buck. He must’ve called while we were in flight.” A
bleep-bleep
signaled a voice mail.

“He told me he wanted hourly updates,” Lane said.

Sydney pushed the voice mail autodial button, but nothing happened.

“Your cell phone won’t work here,” Holden said, handing over his phone. “Use mine. It’s a world phone.”

She dialed her cell phone voice box and retrieved the message—only to hear Buck ranting about wanting an update just as the car slowed rapidly. Jerking her gaze to the road, she groaned. Stretching for miles ahead, a steady stream of traffic pointed to the horizon. “No no no!”

Holden checked his watch again, tapping the wheel. “Okay, we need to find a way out of this mess.” He reached behind his seat and rifled through his portfolio. A second later, he lifted out a square device and mounted it on the dash. After punching a few buttons, a map came up. “We’ll take the next—”

The car veered right sharply.

A horn blasted behind them.

Sydney white-knuckled the roll bar, willing her stomach not to heave at the maniac driving, the way-too-narrow lanes, and the whole left-side driving thing. Bumbling down the skinny alley, the car careened toward what looked like a dead end. Sydney leaned away from the door, afraid she’d scrape her shoulder against the wall that seemed hungry enough to slice off a piece of them for dinner.

Bobbing around and through more alleys, Holden delivered them to an unclogged street and barreled down it. “We’re almost there.” He whipped the car around and stopped at the curb in front of a sidewalk café. Several patrons gasped and yelped then glared at them.

Holden reached across the compact sedan and flung open her door. “I can’t park here. Go in and meet the contact. Third table on the right, in front of the window. You’re the one he’s expecting. Watch what you say. Don’t let him manipulate you. Above all else, do not agree to go anywhere with him.”