Triumph (4 page)

“Before this conversation goes any farther, are we off the record?” He looked down at the mini-gizmo.

“Absolutely,” she said quickly. “This wasn’t on.” Kelly picked it up and slid out the NiCad battery, setting the gutted recorder in front of him.

“Thanks,” he said. “How about that laptop?”

“On standby, but I’ll shut it down.” She tapped a few keys. The screen flickered to life and then went black. “Trust me yet?”

He laughed. Low and soft. “You’re a reporter.”

“I used to be. Now I’m an anchor. Great pay, less work, but nowhere near as interesting as actual reporting.”

“So what were you doing at the construction site?”

“Ah—I persuaded my boss to let me out of the gilded cage.” She laughed. “I’ve been developing a special feature on kickbacks, corruption, that kind of thing. We were taping an intro. Totally routine. We went in, you showed up, and suddenly all hell broke loose.” She waited for him to do a little sharing. When he didn’t, she prodded. “What was that about? Why were you there?”

“I’m not authorized to comment on an ongoing investigation.”

“Even if you did, a journalist doesn’t have to reveal sources,” she reminded him. Kelly gave him an encouraging nod, secure in her ability to direct the conversation. He might let something slip eventually. “You were in the building before we arrived, right?”

Deke nodded. He settled his length against the chair back and rested his hands on his thighs. She saw the hatched scrapes and cuts over his knuckles for the first time.

“I saw you before you saw me,” he began. “I was on the scaffolding when you were reciting that little speech and the first car drove up. Then you went in and it was too late to stop you by the time the cameraman and that girl—”

“That would be Laura,” Kelly interrupted him. “She’s the segment producer.”

“Sounds important,” he said in a flat voice. “But if you’re in charge, you might want to put the feature on hold.”

That was advice she’d expected and would ignore.

“I’m hard to scare, Deke. But feel free to tell me why I should be.” He shot her a look that was hard to read. “I wish I could.” She waited for a beat. Kelly believed in trying again. And again. “What was going on at that building? Who were those people in the expensive cars?”

“Criminals.”

Kelly sat up even straighter, frustrated and trying not to show it. “Deke, you’re not telling me anything that I couldn’t figure out for myself.”

There was a grim set to his jaw, although his voice was pleasant. “That’s right. But you probably know about as much as I do at this point.”

Kelly sincerely doubted that. She let his reply go without comment. In her experience as an interviewer, people started to talk just when you thought they had shut up permanently.

“I don’t think so. But—oh, I’m forgetting my manners. Would you like coffee? It comes in five awful flavors. Take your pick.” She waved at a one-cup machine on a tray with mugs and creamer. “Sugar helps.”

“No thanks.” He looked around her office again, studying framed photos of her covering breaking news. “Impressive. How long have you been doing this?”

“Since college.” Let him figure out how long ago that was if he wanted to. “I’ve been with WBRX for about a year.”

Maddeningly, he offered no biographical information.

“I like that wind-whipped shot. But why would they send you out in a hurricane?”

Kelly knew the photo he meant without turning around. She was drenched, her hair blowing every which way, and clutching a mic with the station logo, reporting live from the scene.

“I sent myself out. It was only a category two. But fun while it lasted.”

“I bet.” The dark brown eyes flashed with amusement.

Deke adjusted his position in the chair. He didn’t seem to be the kind of guy who talked just to hear himself talk.

His brows drew down for a moment, and his expression changed to thoughtfulness.

She could guess which photo Deke was looking at now: the faded color snapshot of a little girl on a pony pinned to the bulletin board behind her.

His gaze moved from the photo to her face. The child’s shy, gap-toothed smile didn’t look much like Kelly’s now.

“Is that you on the pony?” Deke asked, making conversation or just making sure. But the golden braids were a giveaway.

“Yes. At my grandmother’s ranch.”

Her answer seemed to surprise him. “How about that.” Deke studied the old photo again. “Where was it?”

“Forty miles west of Mercy, Texas. The middle of nowhere.”

“Texas? What happened to your accent?”

“I had it professionally removed. But you can still hear it if you buy me a drink.”

The offhand remark was meant to be a joke, but Kelly felt a flash of pique when he didn’t take her up on it. Still, she kept her professional face on. “Getting back to today—”

He shook his head. “Glad it’s over.”

“Can you tell me something about the people I saw?”

“No.”

She was getting nowhere fast. He wasn’t on his own turf. He already suspected her of secretly recording him. Kelly put extra warmth in her voice as she tried again.

“Maybe my office isn’t the right place to have this conversation. We could go somewhere else. You pick.”

“I’m fine with talking to you here.” He gave her a level look. “Within limits.”

That was a start. “I almost don’t know where to begin. Oh—I remember now. There was a woman in one of the cars. What happened to her?”

“That’s an interesting question,” Deke said slowly. “I really don’t know.”

Kelly reminded herself that he had to have come here for a reason, had to have some kind of agenda. Her invitation to talk had been accepted with obvious reluctance, but even so . . . Here he was. Chatty as a clam.

Frustrated, she switched to a somewhat cooler tone. “That’s not really an answer, is it?”

“It’s the truth.”

Kelly took off her glasses and rubbed her temples. “I feel a headache coming on.” She opened a drawer and found a two-tablet packet of pain reliever, ripping it open and downing both with the last swig of warm coke.

“Hope that works.” Kelly turned slightly to face Deke’s steady gaze. “So. Is there anything we here at WBRX can do for you? Quid pro quo. We all know how the game is played.”

He hesitated, shifting his long frame in the chair. “Did your cameraman get anything?”

“Nope. It’s all a blur,” Kelly said with genuine regret. “We couldn’t make out the voices. There was absolutely nothing we could use on the air. But Gordon is a wizard at digital enhancement. So who knows. Tune in tomorrow.”

It wasn’t much of an ace, but she had to play it. No doubt a federal op had access to the software Gordon mentioned.

“Wrong move. Kelly, you can guess what we’re up against.” He sat up straight, his injured hands clasped loosely, and leaned in. “I’m in deep on this case, and it’s a big one. Right now the body count stands at three. It could go up if that tape is broadcast and someone on it is identifiable.”

Things like that happened. Kelly nodded. He’d given her an opener.

“Who do you think is going to get whacked next?”

Deke’s thick brows drew together when he frowned. “Anyone on the scene or with knowledge of the scene,” he said with some heat. “I wish I could trust you, but right now that’s impossible.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Look, it’s best if you go through the usual channels. Right now the shooting falls under the jurisdiction of the Atlanta PD. The cops are handling it from here on in.”

“Right now. Let me fill in the blanks. That could change.”

He said nothing.

“I know you aren’t a cop,” she mused. “So what are you? State? Federal? I ought to ask to see your ID.”

“Which one?”

Kelly made a clucking sound of disapproval. “And you don’t trust me? I don’t think I should trust you.”

The sharp sound of a knock made her swivel around.

A balding man in a pin-striped suit opened the door without waiting for permission to enter. “Working late, Kelly?” His curious stare took in Deke, then her. “Oh. Didn’t know you had company.”

“This is our news director, Monroe Capp,” she said, turning to Deke with a forced smile. He could introduce himself however he liked.

Deke stood, towering over the other man. “Hello there,” he said quickly. “I’m Russ Thorn, from Dixiecon.”

“Okay,” Monroe replied after a moment of thought. “I think I’ve heard of it.”

“Kelly contacted me for background information on her latest report. I was happy to help—she’s a good friend. I’m a construction manager.”

Monroe pumped the hand Deke extended and flashed a flawless smile. “Any friend of Kelly’s is a friend of WBRX.”

“Only station I ever watch,” Deke said.

“That’s because we’re the best,” Monroe boasted. “Was that the corruption report, Kelly? How’s it going?”

Blatantly insincere. “Let me fill you in later, Monroe. Now is just not a good time,” she replied.

“All right. We won’t be able to chat at the club, though.”

Kelly drew a blank. “What are you talking about?”

“Club Kiss Kiss. The opening is tonight,” Monroe chided her.

“How could you forget? Red carpet, everyone who’s anyone in Atlanta, and WBRX. You’re cutting the ribbon.”

What with running for her life and sitting too close for comfort to Deke Bannon, she had completely forgotten about the event. She pulled up the calendar on her smartphone with a couple of taps. There was the reminder. Scheduled for midnight. She’d even added an icon of tiny scissors.

“You’re right.”

There was no getting out of it. The news director expected on-air talent to make personal appearances all over Atlanta. Viewer interest went up when the anchors got cheek to cheek with celebrities. There were bound to be many at Club Kiss Kiss. The owner was a music mogul with a harem of models.

She looked down at her conservative suit. Beige wool crepe with a brown boatneck shell underneath wasn’t going to cut it. “Good-bye for now, guys. I have to dash home and glam up.”

“Think you can make it in time?” Monroe grinned.

“It doesn’t take me long to get gorgeous.”

“That’s our Kelly.” Her boss winked at Deke, who made no comment.

“Is there info on this club?” Kelly asked. “Who’s going to be there?”

“Movers and shakers. Rich rappers. Country stars. Movie people. The filthy rich and those who would like to be. That about covers it.” Monroe pointed to an unopened file folder she hadn’t noticed on her desk. “From the publicist. Guess you didn’t get a chance to review it. You were out this afternoon, I heard.”

Kelly wondered who’d told him that.

“She was with me.” Deke winged it with ease. “I was giving Kelly a tour of a new office building under construction. She wanted to know what’s under the steel and glass.”

Monroe chuckled and slapped him on the back. “Let me guess. Termites?”

“They only eat wood,” Kelly pointed out, flipping through the folder without really looking at the material. “Just ask Russ. He likes to answer questions. Very helpful guy.”

She beamed at him. Deke didn’t smile back. Her temples gave a warning throb. The tablets weren’t the fast-acting kind.

“Say, want to come with us, jump the velvet rope?” Monroe asked. “There’s a VIP room and complimentary bottle service.”

“Thanks. I can’t. Sorry. Other plans.”

“I understand. Well, very nice to meet you, Russ.” Her boss turned to head down the hall again. “Stay tuned to WBRX.”

Kelly waited a minute to make sure Monroe was gone, then got up to close the door again. She shot Deke a look. “Nice fakeout, but why bother?”

“He’s never going to see me again. And I didn’t get the impression you wanted him to know where you were.”

She acknowledged that fact with a nod. “Dixiecon?”

“Doesn’t exist.”

“Russ Thorn?”

“Nobody I know. I was just trying to save your bacon with your boss, that’s all.”

“I appreciate it,” Kelly said tightly. “Now, where were we?”

Deke watched her settle back into her chair. She knew her easy, you-can-talk-to-me pose was useless and that her body language expressed only tension. He straightened where he stood, jamming his hands into the pockets of his dusty jeans.

“I need you to step back and keep quiet.”

She raised a finely shaped eyebrow. “I don’t know how to do either of those things. And you haven’t told me why you need me to cooperate.”

“I just do.”

“I think we’re done talking,” Kelly said briskly. “For today, anyway.”

“Okay, but I didn’t come here only to talk. I found something that belongs to you.”

Kelly looked at him with surprise. She hadn’t noticed anything missing after the mad dash to the van and back to the station. “What?”

“Your press pass.” Deke handed over a flat plastic bag. “Someone stuck it into the chain-link fence and used it for target practice.”

Kelly took that in, uncharacteristically silent for a moment.

“The cops missed it,” he added.

“Do they know you have it?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” Kelly examined the pass inside without taking it out. As a reporter, she’d had to get used to occasionally dealing with aggressive, fixated freaks. They either shouted at her in public or when she was on assignment, or fired off a blizzard of e-mails. This was different. A single bullet hole pierced the laminated surface of the pass. Her face had been obliterated.

“Good aim. That wasn’t a lucky shot,” she said in a quiet voice.

“How do you know that?”

“When I was a teenager I used to shoot playing cards for fun,” she answered. “Back at the ranch, I mean.”

He glanced at the old photo, then took her in from blond hair to sleek heels, shaking his head. “And to think I had you pegged for a city girl. You still shoot?”