nice safe story about blueberry smugglers or something. Whatever it takes.”
“Okay. Thanks for the advice.”
“And keep her close,” his partner continued. “I mean, by phone. Whatever you do, don’t sleep with her. Is she pretty? I forgot to ask.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“Then you’re in trouble. Don’t get stupid.”
A muffled ringtone sounded from deep inside the armchair.
“Incoming. ’Scuse me.” Huxton shifted heavily on the cushion, trying to get a smartphone out of his back pocket without success. He stood up and shucked the striped uniform, retrieving the phone just as the ringtone stopped.
Huxton studied the screen. “Hell’s bells. Headquarters and the Atlanta PD agree for once. The chief is going to ask the media to play down the shooting. No more than a mention on the evening news or bury it on a back page. Over and out.”
He put the phone back in his pocket without replying to the text.
“Guess I don’t have to play mind games with Kelly, then,” Deke said.
Huxton shot him a sharp look. “Kelly Johns was at the building? The blonde from WBRX?”
Deke stood up. “That’s the one.”
Huxton whistled.
C HAPTER 4
K elly had overslept. The hands of the huge clock visible from every point in the newsroom were at 10:15 by the time she sneaked in.
“Kelly!” Fred Chiswick, the senior newswriter, intercepted her mad dash to her office. “Here’s your copy if you want to take a look.”
“Fred, please. I have to have some coffee before I face Monroe.”
“Oh, right. He escorted you to that club opening last night. I saw the photos on the WBRX Facebook page.”
Fred was following her down the hall. She wasn’t about to give him the full report. By the first light of day, padding around her condo after a long, hot shower, she hadn’t been so sure she was right about having been followed. But when rain clouds darkened the sky as she drove in, the strange feeling came back.
“Did you have fun?” he asked.
“Not really. I left before he did. He’s going to want an explanation.”
“Which is?”
They were out of earshot of the newsroom. “I was tired and bored and he was driving me crazy.”
“Lie to him,” Fred said cheerfully. The brash advice was at odds with his appearance. He looked like a tweedy little professor, his brown eyes hidden by round-rimmed spectacles.
Kelly waved him into her office and shut the door quietly, not sitting down when Fred handed her the pages.
“I could have e-mailed them, but I know you like to mark your material,” he said.
She read it in silence, almost relieved to see no mention of yesterday’s shootout. It was bound to come up at the morning meeting. One of the assignment editors usually summarized the scanner feeds out loud.
“Looks great,” she told Fred, handing the pages back.
“No changes?”
“Not a one.” She opened a desk drawer and looked for a comb, jerking it through her hair. There was no time to make coffee. No loss. The five flavors really were awful.
Fred was looking at the pages, not at her. She wanted to roll her eyes. She liked him, but sometimes he was a nuisance.
“You like it, huh? The opening line’s decent—I slaved over it. Sometimes the first sentence is the hardest to write,” he mused.
“All I have to do is read it.” Kelly found a tube of lip gloss and a small mirror. “If that’s the problem, what’s the solution?”
“Write the second sentence first.”
Fred seemed awfully pleased with that bit of wisdom. Kelly Johns smiled as she slicked her lips, looking at him over the mirror in her hand.
“I’m not joking, Kelly. Take it from the oldest living news writer still working.”
“You’re not that old.”
“I’m nearly extinct,” Fred intoned in a gloomy voice. “Me and the dinosaurs.”
“Newspapers are dying. TV news is next. You keep telling me the same things.” She checked her teeth.
He ignored her comment. “I’m headed straight for an exhibit at the
“Okay. Thanks for the advice.”
“And keep her close,” his partner continued. “I mean, by phone. Whatever you do, don’t sleep with her. Is she pretty? I forgot to ask.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“Then you’re in trouble. Don’t get stupid.”
A muffled ringtone sounded from deep inside the armchair.
“Incoming. ’Scuse me.” Huxton shifted heavily on the cushion, trying to get a smartphone out of his back pocket without success. He stood up and shucked the striped uniform, retrieving the phone just as the ringtone stopped.
Huxton studied the screen. “Hell’s bells. Headquarters and the Atlanta PD agree for once. The chief is going to ask the media to play down the shooting. No more than a mention on the evening news or bury it on a back page. Over and out.”
He put the phone back in his pocket without replying to the text.
“Guess I don’t have to play mind games with Kelly, then,” Deke said.
Huxton shot him a sharp look. “Kelly Johns was at the building? The blonde from WBRX?”
Deke stood up. “That’s the one.”
Huxton whistled.
C HAPTER 4
K elly had overslept. The hands of the huge clock visible from every point in the newsroom were at 10:15 by the time she sneaked in.
“Kelly!” Fred Chiswick, the senior newswriter, intercepted her mad dash to her office. “Here’s your copy if you want to take a look.”
“Fred, please. I have to have some coffee before I face Monroe.”
“Oh, right. He escorted you to that club opening last night. I saw the photos on the WBRX Facebook page.”
Fred was following her down the hall. She wasn’t about to give him the full report. By the first light of day, padding around her condo after a long, hot shower, she hadn’t been so sure she was right about having been followed. But when rain clouds darkened the sky as she drove in, the strange feeling came back.
“Did you have fun?” he asked.
“Not really. I left before he did. He’s going to want an explanation.”
“Which is?”
They were out of earshot of the newsroom. “I was tired and bored and he was driving me crazy.”
“Lie to him,” Fred said cheerfully. The brash advice was at odds with his appearance. He looked like a tweedy little professor, his brown eyes hidden by round-rimmed spectacles.
Kelly waved him into her office and shut the door quietly, not sitting down when Fred handed her the pages.
“I could have e-mailed them, but I know you like to mark your material,” he said.
She read it in silence, almost relieved to see no mention of yesterday’s shootout. It was bound to come up at the morning meeting. One of the assignment editors usually summarized the scanner feeds out loud.
“Looks great,” she told Fred, handing the pages back.
“No changes?”
“Not a one.” She opened a desk drawer and looked for a comb, jerking it through her hair. There was no time to make coffee. No loss. The five flavors really were awful.
Fred was looking at the pages, not at her. She wanted to roll her eyes. She liked him, but sometimes he was a nuisance.
“You like it, huh? The opening line’s decent—I slaved over it. Sometimes the first sentence is the hardest to write,” he mused.
“All I have to do is read it.” Kelly found a tube of lip gloss and a small mirror. “If that’s the problem, what’s the solution?”
“Write the second sentence first.”
Fred seemed awfully pleased with that bit of wisdom. Kelly Johns smiled as she slicked her lips, looking at him over the mirror in her hand.
“I’m not joking, Kelly. Take it from the oldest living news writer still working.”
“You’re not that old.”
“I’m nearly extinct,” Fred intoned in a gloomy voice. “Me and the dinosaurs.”
“Newspapers are dying. TV news is next. You keep telling me the same things.” She checked her teeth.
He ignored her comment. “I’m headed straight for an exhibit at the
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