Read Online Shoot from the Lip by Leann Sweeney - Free Book Online Page B

business and possible lost revenue. Maybe Emma could free herself from them after all.
    “What’s this about, Mr. Crowell?” Emma asked.
    “Just do what he says,” Stu said. “It’s now or later, and believe me, now is your better option.”
    “What are you talking about?” I asked.
    “I know the man,” he said. “The longer he stews, the nastier he’ll get.”
    “You got that right,” Chelsea said with an accompanying eye roll.
    The Navigator started toward us before making a screeching U turn to travel the block to the trailer.
    “Go,” Stu said.
    I took Emma’s arm and we started walking.
    Stu Crowell stayed back, camera again on his shoulder as he filmed the coroner van’s retreat. Chelsea lagged behind on our trek to the trailer. The girl was limping. Seemed those pink-and-blue boots weren’t meant for walking.
    When we arrived at the trailer, the lot had been emptied of cars aside from the Navigator. The crew had either been sent to their hotel or taken to the police station on Travis. I reached up and gave a cursory knock on the trailer door. Then we ascended the two small steps and entered. Mayo was in the living area sitting on one of two leather couches that flanked a long table. Typed papers, scribbled notes and empty soda cans littered the surface in front of him.
    The scent of new leather filled the small area, and Mayo gestured at the sofa across from him. “Sit.”
    I heard the door squeak open again, and Mayo yelled, “Chelsea, bring me the contract. Now.”
    I sat and slid over to give Emma room.
    She said, “You’re ready to let me out of the deal? Is that what this is about?”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He grabbed the contract from Chelsea, who had come hurrying in with the document in hand. “Get all this crap off the table so we can work here.”
    Chelsea gathered the papers and cans and took them to the kitchenette.
    Mayo had changed back into his Ralph Lauren overpriced shirt, and I thought, Work here? What’s this jerk got up his designer sleeve?
    Mayo flipped pages in the document, and while he did this, Chelsea returned from trash duty and sat next to him. This was not the perky young woman I’d met yesterday. She was tired. We were all tired. And it was only four in the afternoon.
    “Ah, here it is.” Mayo folded the document to the page he wanted, pushed it across the table and pointed to several lines midway down the page. “Cutting through the legalese, this clause states that our relationship shall continue with you in other capacities and with other possible programming options should there be unforeseen events.” He stared at Emma. “I’d say we had an unforeseen event, wouldn’t you?”
    Emma’s face flushed. “What do you want from me?”
    “Your full and heartfelt cooperation—or so it should appear on the air. You understand?” His throat and ear-lobes were red with anger.
    Emma said nothing. She let her folded arms and stiff posture do the talking.
    I, too, had about all I could stand of this guy. “Why are you being such a jerk, Mayo? No one’s having the greatest day, if you haven’t noticed.”
    “Let me clarify, then. I’ve lost a nice, happy story sure to be a ratings winner. But I plan on salvaging this, minus the nice and happy part. I’ll have to turn this over to Kravitz. And believe me, that burns my ass.” He swept the contract off the table and sent it flying toward the kitchenette.
    “Paul Kravitz of Crime Time?” Now that show I did catch on occasion. Kravitz. the interviewer, always came across as tough but compassionate.
    Chelsea said. “Isn’t that way cool, Emma? And he’ll be here tonight.”
    Mayo the Magnificent gave her a look that could wither a live oak.
    Emma turned to me. “Who is this person?”
    “An investigative reporter on a program that digs into past crimes,” I said. “Another show that I assume is produced by Venture?” I looked to Chelsea, who seemed a safer person to talk