worked for – probably because he didn’t want to leave the country while their mother was still so fragile. Whatever Stone’s reasons for remaining local, he was available to write the story of Tala’s murder.
And importantly, Stone was one of the few people Marcus trusted with all of the details. He’d make sure that Stone omitted the facts that Scarlett had requested, but his brother was a hell of an investigator. Marcus had a better chance of finding Tala’s family with Stone’s help.
He picked up his phone and speed-dialed Stone’s cell. Not surprisingly, Stone answered on the first ring. His brother didn’t sleep any more than Marcus did.
‘What’s up?’ Stone asked, the television in the background going mute.
‘I have a story I need you to cover.’
‘Where? When?’
‘Now. Here in the office. On your way, can you stop by my place and pick me up some clean clothes?’ He didn’t want to be seen going into his apartment wearing bloody jeans. ‘And walk BB for me?’ He shifted, the bruise on his back a reminder. ‘And get the Kevlar vest from my bureau drawer. Should be second from the bottom.’
Stone was quiet for a moment. ‘Um . . . why?’
‘I’ll tell you when you get here.’ He brought up the threat list on his computer and sighed. ‘You should wear a vest too. Just to be safe.’
Another pause. ‘Safe from what?’
‘I’ll tell you when you get here,’ he repeated. ‘Thanks,’ he added, and hung up before Stone could ask any more questions.
Marcus skimmed Gayle’s list, his eyes going a little blurry, his lack of sleep starting to catch up with him. Coffee, stat. His brain needed to be alert so that he could catch all the threats he didn’t want Scarlett or Deacon to see. If they saw certain information on this list, the two were smart enough to put two and two together and realize he was doing far more than reporting the news. He didn’t want to leave any breadcrumbs leading back to him or his core staff, the handful of men and women he’d trusted enough to bring into his real business – the real reason he’d kept this newspaper alive for years after it should have died a natural death like most other city dailies across the country.
He had a feeling Scarlett would respect his real business on a conceptual level. She might not agree with his tactics, however, and her disapproval could risk the livelihood – and the freedom – of the people who trusted him as much as he trusted them.
Unfortunately, not one of those trusted people was here to make the damn coffee. He pushed to his feet to make it himself, so that he could focus on keeping his promises.
Cincinnati, Ohio
Tuesday 4 August, 4.45 A.M.
That Marcus had another gun was a given in Scarlett’s mind, and the fact of it had gnawed at her all the way home from the crime scene. He’d handed over his knife and his backup pistol, but not his main gun. What else was he hiding? And why?
He makes his living with the news. That explained it all. The press was made up of a bunch of slippery weasels, lying as easily as they breathed, always angling for the big story. She’d never met a newsman or woman who cared who they hurt. Still, she found herself hoping that Marcus was different. That he was the hero she wanted him to be.
You’re setting yourself up for a major disappointment. More than likely he would run Tala’s story, then go on to the next, never looking back.
Scarlett downshifted as she turned on to the narrow road that ended in front of her house, creating a T with her own street. The downside of living at the top of one of the city’s steepest hills was that skilled driving and a four-wheel-drive vehicle were required to make it to the top during the winter. But snow and ice were months away and her little Audi, while rather elderly, was more than ready to take on the climb.
On those rare blizzardy days, she drove her ancient Land Cruiser. Twenty-five years old and affectionately called
And importantly, Stone was one of the few people Marcus trusted with all of the details. He’d make sure that Stone omitted the facts that Scarlett had requested, but his brother was a hell of an investigator. Marcus had a better chance of finding Tala’s family with Stone’s help.
He picked up his phone and speed-dialed Stone’s cell. Not surprisingly, Stone answered on the first ring. His brother didn’t sleep any more than Marcus did.
‘What’s up?’ Stone asked, the television in the background going mute.
‘I have a story I need you to cover.’
‘Where? When?’
‘Now. Here in the office. On your way, can you stop by my place and pick me up some clean clothes?’ He didn’t want to be seen going into his apartment wearing bloody jeans. ‘And walk BB for me?’ He shifted, the bruise on his back a reminder. ‘And get the Kevlar vest from my bureau drawer. Should be second from the bottom.’
Stone was quiet for a moment. ‘Um . . . why?’
‘I’ll tell you when you get here.’ He brought up the threat list on his computer and sighed. ‘You should wear a vest too. Just to be safe.’
Another pause. ‘Safe from what?’
‘I’ll tell you when you get here,’ he repeated. ‘Thanks,’ he added, and hung up before Stone could ask any more questions.
Marcus skimmed Gayle’s list, his eyes going a little blurry, his lack of sleep starting to catch up with him. Coffee, stat. His brain needed to be alert so that he could catch all the threats he didn’t want Scarlett or Deacon to see. If they saw certain information on this list, the two were smart enough to put two and two together and realize he was doing far more than reporting the news. He didn’t want to leave any breadcrumbs leading back to him or his core staff, the handful of men and women he’d trusted enough to bring into his real business – the real reason he’d kept this newspaper alive for years after it should have died a natural death like most other city dailies across the country.
He had a feeling Scarlett would respect his real business on a conceptual level. She might not agree with his tactics, however, and her disapproval could risk the livelihood – and the freedom – of the people who trusted him as much as he trusted them.
Unfortunately, not one of those trusted people was here to make the damn coffee. He pushed to his feet to make it himself, so that he could focus on keeping his promises.
Cincinnati, Ohio
Tuesday 4 August, 4.45 A.M.
That Marcus had another gun was a given in Scarlett’s mind, and the fact of it had gnawed at her all the way home from the crime scene. He’d handed over his knife and his backup pistol, but not his main gun. What else was he hiding? And why?
He makes his living with the news. That explained it all. The press was made up of a bunch of slippery weasels, lying as easily as they breathed, always angling for the big story. She’d never met a newsman or woman who cared who they hurt. Still, she found herself hoping that Marcus was different. That he was the hero she wanted him to be.
You’re setting yourself up for a major disappointment. More than likely he would run Tala’s story, then go on to the next, never looking back.
Scarlett downshifted as she turned on to the narrow road that ended in front of her house, creating a T with her own street. The downside of living at the top of one of the city’s steepest hills was that skilled driving and a four-wheel-drive vehicle were required to make it to the top during the winter. But snow and ice were months away and her little Audi, while rather elderly, was more than ready to take on the climb.
On those rare blizzardy days, she drove her ancient Land Cruiser. Twenty-five years old and affectionately called
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