Triumph (7 page)

As it happened, he’d called her. The screen of the smartphone she’d left on her desk blinked with his number.

Kelly procrastinated, fiddling with the coffeemaker in her office. She sat down with the filled cup, trying to think of what to say.

She’d essentially told Deke Bannon that she was beginning an investigation whether he liked it or not, with or without him.

The adrenaline coursing through her system during their after-hours meeting had gotten the better of her.

She liked the feeling. Always had.

Now that Monroe Capp had spiked a story he knew she’d worked hard to develop and effectively closed the door on a potentially much more interesting one, she felt a second surge. Something was going on. She couldn’t go it alone. She would need Deke.

The tech director poked his head in. “Have you seen Gordon?” he asked. “He signed out equipment the day before yesterday and he hasn’t returned it. Usually he’s in by now. I can’t reach him.”

“I haven’t heard from him, Steve.” A feeling of foreboding made her set aside the coffee. She hadn’t thought to call the cameraman this morning. Or Laura.

“You and him and Laura have been teaming up on that corruption feature, right?”

“Yes. Which Monroe just killed.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he said without much conviction, preoccupied by his own problem. “Laura just called in sick—she didn’t know where Gordon was either. Although it wouldn’t be the first time he ‘forgot’ to return stuff.”

A small pouch on his belt began to buzz.

“Maybe that’s him,” Kelly said. She hated lying to Steve when the gear was right under her desk. But she had no idea what Gordon needed to do with it or to it to make sure the footage wasn’t retained.

“Hope so.” He took out a phone from the pouch and squinted at it. “Hey—you’re right.” He picked up the call. “Gordon? Where the hell are you, buddy? I was thinking you pawned our best camera and went to Mexico or something.”

Kelly sipped her coffee. Steve waved to her as he turned to walk down the hall. She got up and closed the door. The video camera and laptop would stay where they were until she spoke to Gordon herself.

She set the cup aside and opened her laptop, not sure whether to call Deke now or later. She might as well outline the story, even if she never got to do it. Ten minutes of steady typing got done before a soft knock on the door got her attention.

“Come in.”

The door swung open and she saw one of the reporters from the morning meeting, another new hire, someone who reminded Kelly a little of herself at the same age. She was tall and slim, with dark blond hair in a shoulder-length bob.

“Hi. Sorry to interrupt. I’m Coral Reese.”

“I know. What’s up?”

Coral took that as an invitation to step inside the office, studying the photos on the walls before she spoke. “I love the pictures. You’ve accomplished so much.”

“Oh yeah. My brilliant career,” Kelly said wryly. “I hope it’s not over.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Coral said with genuine indignation. “I just wanted to say that I thought Monroe Capp was totally out of line. Someone should goose his ratings and see how he likes it.”

The tart comment made Kelly laugh. “You’d better close the door if you’re going to say things like that,” she said.

“Oh, I’m not staying,” Coral assured her. “I have work to do and so do you.”

“Thanks for stopping by.”

“I also wanted to say if you need someone to do research or anything, let me know. I’d be happy to help.”

“You bet.”

Coral left and Kelly returned to her outline, feeling a lot more cheerful. It was good to have an ally in the ranks. You never knew when you were going to need one. She took the initiative to call Deke and left a message when he didn’t pick up.

The smartphone rang in less than a minute. Not him.

She looked at the screen with the identified number. She didn’t want to take it, but she had to.

“Kelly Johns here.”

“Ms. Johns, this is Lieutenant Dwight with the Atlanta Police Department. How are you today?”

Kelly took a deep breath. “Just fine, thanks. And yourself?”

“Doing great. I’m sure you’re busy, so I’ll get to the point. We were wondering if you could come in right after lunch. We’d like to ask you a couple of questions about the shooting yesterday.”

He seemed so sure of himself she forgot to ask how he—or anyone—knew she’d been there.

“I see. I think I could stop by then. How do I find you?”

The lieutenant gave directions. Kelly wrote them down and thanked him, then hung up and bent down to check on Gordon’s laptop and the camera with the raw footage. Locked up tight.

Who had talked? Had anyone seen her at the site besides Deke and her crew? Neither Gordon or Laura had called her.

Filled with foreboding, she skipped lunch and drove to the police station, waiting on a nearby street until it was time to go in.

She walked briskly over the pavement, going up the low stairs.

Through the glass doors at the top, Kelly saw Laura and hesitated.

The assistant producer was on the other side of the metal detector, chatting with the handsome young officer who manned it. She noticed Kelly outside at the last second and made her way toward her with a guilty look.

Kelly held the door open to let Laura out and went down the stairs with her so they could talk in privacy.

“I had to do it,” Laura said in a low voice. “I mean, not that we had anything to confess, besides that we were there by chance. Kelly, I didn’t sleep all night.”

“Me neither. But I would have appreciated a heads-up.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have called you.”

Kelly stopped on the sidewalk. “What do they want to know?”

“Exactly what you’d expect. What we saw, when we saw it. We’re not under suspicion or anything. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Kelly blew out a breath. “I just wasn’t expecting this. What about Gordon?”

“Lieutenant Dwight said he would call him.”

“So they’re interviewing us one by one.”

“It’s totally routine, Kelly. Get a grip. We should have done it right away.”

Kelly couldn’t argue. She changed the subject. “I went to the morning meeting. The assignment editors summed up what came over the scanners. Monroe says we’re not covering the shooting. Mysterious requests from on high. He wouldn’t name names.”

“Oh. Anyone ask where we were yesterday?”

“Nope. I even went to a club opening with Monroe last night. He didn’t suspect a thing.”

“Good. Any breaking news?” Laura asked hopefully. “Something that would get everyone’s attention?”

“Nothing yet.”

“What happened at the morning meeting?”

“The usual. By the way, Monroe killed the corruption feature.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t say. He doesn’t have to.”

“Do you think—” Laura began.

“I’m trying not to think too much about any of this.” Kelly studied Laura for a moment. “You going home?”

Laura nodded. “I’ll be in tomorrow.”

“I’ll call you soon.” Kelly went back up the stairs, entering the building, getting more attention than she wanted. That couldn’t be helped. Her full name and the station’s call letters were right there on the sign-in sheet.

Lieutenant Dwight was businesslike and pleasant. As Laura had predicted, the interview was routine. But something in his tone made Kelly realize that he was controlling the conversation—and letting her talk.

Kelly would have loved to ask him several questions of her own.

He didn’t volunteer information of any kind, except for filling her in on the name of the building: Tridelta.

“I didn’t even know it had a name. I thought it was abandoned.”

“The site has been shut down. But legally speaking, it’s not abandoned. However, it’s changed ownership five times in less than two years.”

She mentally added the information to her notes for The Story That Would Never Get On The Air.

“I didn’t know that. We were just using it for a backdrop.”

Dwight asked a few more questions and she kept her replies simple. They had just happened to choose that location. Everything had happened too fast to remember much. Yes, she was working on a feature report about corruption in the construction industry, but it didn’t have anything to do with that building.

“Laura said you and she were working on the feature for several weeks. You came up with the idea, and she signed on as assistant producer, segment producer? Something like that.”

“They mean about the same thing.”

“When is it going to be broadcast?”

“I don’t know.” She didn’t have to tell him her boss had her on a short leash. “The news director decides things like that. I’m just an anchor.”

“Just?” The lieutenant smiled faintly. “I got requests from three of my guys to get an autograph from you.”

“I don’t mind.”

“It’s not allowed.” He made a few more notes. “I think we’ve covered everything. Thank you, Ms. Johns.”

“You can call me Kelly.”

“All right. Kelly it is.” The lieutenant sized her up. “I understand you used to be an investigative reporter before you came to Atlanta.”

She brightened. “I was, yes. The harder the case, the more I liked it.”

He thought about that for a moment. “One last question. Were you or anyone at WBRX planning to report the shooting before the news blackout?”

“No.”

“Why not? You were actually there. With a crew and a camera. Is there footage from the scene?”

“Besides my taped intro, not much. The building, of course. Inside and out. You can hear Laura and Gordon talking, but they’re not in front of the camera.”

“Anything on it that could be evidence?”

She thought quickly. “It’s digital video, time- and date-stamped. So you could pinpoint when the shooting started.”

He made a note. “Right.”

“When we heard gunshots, we—we just ran for it. Into the van and back to the station. We didn’t know what to do or even what had happened.”

“Go on.”

She waited for him to ask why they hadn’t contacted the police right away. He didn’t.

“The scanner reports came in after the evening broadcasts,” she said carefully. “My boss—Monroe Capp, our news director—told everyone at the morning meeting today that the shooting was off-limits. He didn’t say why.”

The lieutenant looked through the file folder of papers underneath his notebook. “Our media liaison sent a memo asking for cooperation from news operations. Usual reasons. Risk of compromising a sensitive investigation, jeopardizing the safety of undercover officers, so on and so forth.”

“I wish I could help, Lieutenant.” The words were blurted out. She wished that she could take them back when she looked at his stern face.

“You can’t, Kelly. Don’t even think about it. For your own safety and for legal reasons that should be obvious, let the police handle this.”

“I understand,” she said.

The lieutenant stacked the file folder on top of others. “That’s all for now. Appreciate your coming in. Guess I’ll see you on the evening news.”

She managed a smile. “Yes. I do have to go back and get ready. It usually takes a couple of hours of prep. It’s not as simple as it looks.”

“Nothing ever is.” He stood and shook her hand as she rose from her chair. “I’ll walk you out.”

M
onroe made a point of stopping by her office when she got back. “Hey there,” he said. “I was just talking to the chief of police. He said he saw you at the station going into Lieutenant Dwight’s office.”

Her boss had to have found out that she’d been at the scene of the shoot-out. He didn’t seem inclined to make a fuss about it. They understood each other.

“Yes, I was,” she said.

“Next time let me know,” Monroe said. “I don’t want my star anchor in a dangerous situation.”

“Okay.”

He headed off.

She decided to distract herself with busywork while she waited for Deke Bannon to call. He might give her a different story than the official one. Lieutenant Dwight didn’t seem like someone she could use as a source.

Her hour at the police station hadn’t been wasted. She’d ducked into the office that issued press passes when the lieutenant went back to his.

The smartphone next to her was silent. She willed Deke to call, unsuccessfully. Gordon beat him to it. She knew his personal number. He didn’t even bother to say hello.

“So what did you tell that cop?”

“He’s a lieutenant.” She filled him in on every detail of their conversation. “He wants to see the footage.”

“I knew that was going to happen,” Gordon groaned. “Nothing on it he can use, but I’ll make him an unedited copy. Where did you hide the camera and my laptop?”

“Under my desk. I’ll leave the key with the tech director so you can pick it up if I’m not here.”

Another hour went by. She tried to concentrate on summaries of upcoming stories that she’d pulled up on her monitor, but her brain was uncooperative.

When the phone rang again, it made her jump. At last.

She picked up after four rings, the sweet spot between overeager and hard to get. “Hello, Deke.”

“Returning your call. What’s up?”

“I don’t know where to begin at this point. I’d like to see you.”

“How about dinner?”

Kelly was surprised. The way he said it sounded almost like a date. She stalled for a few seconds. “It would have to be after we wrap the evening news. Like eight or eight fifteen. Is that too late?”

“No. We could meet at a hotel. I know one with an upstairs bar that has a great view. It’s nice. And it’s quiet. The restaurant is next to it.”

“Look, we don’t have to have dinner. I just want to talk to you somewhat privately.”

“Okay. The bar has booths. It’s really nice. Casual but quiet.”

She jotted down the directions he gave her. “See you there. Thanks, Deke.”

 

Hux walked through the nondescript warren of rooms at the government agency where Deke had taken up temporary residence. He found him by the piece of paper with his name on it taped to an open door.

Hux flipped the paper with one hand as he walked in and looked around. “Corner office?” His tone was friendly but mocking.

“Yeah. With no windows. Brooms do better. I’m thinking of moving into the janitor’s closet.” Deke didn’t look up from his laptop.

Hux took a chair that was missing a couple of back rails and sat down. “Don’t do it. Just be grateful you don’t have to work nine to five.”

Deke looked up from the laptop and gestured to a toppling stack of files. “If that falls, it will kill me.”

“Research, huh? Gotta do it.”

“Any time you feel like volunteering to help with the grunt work, Hux, let me know.”

“You bet. But I just got back from the war zone.”

His partner’s name for the worst part of the city. It wasn’t that, but something in his tone alerted Deke that he needed to listen.

“I talked to some of my informers.”

“Update me.”

“They know who’s moving major amounts of cash for drug dealers. Business is booming. Apparently some banks are, shall we say, accepting major deposits.”

Deke shot him a disapproving look. “Are these guys you trust?”

“They need me, I need them,” Hux said. “And dirtbags and weasels need to eat.”

Deke made a wrap-it-up motion with one hand. “Get to the point.”

“But there’s other deals going down. It seems that someone has been trolling the area for a hit man.”

“The trick is finding a competent one,” Deke said.

“The job is big bucks. Half in advance, half after. But so far, no takers.”

“Why?”

“The hit is high profile. Someone in the media.”

That got Deke’s total attention. “I heard about a case like that in London. A top newscaster was killed on her doorstep by a gangster.”

“No one said whether the target was a man or a woman,” Hux replied. “It could be a rumor. I just thought it was worth passing along.”

“Kelly hasn’t gone public with anything.”

“Maybe she shouldn’t. A snitch is a snitch. That’s enough to get you killed by certain people.”

“Like who?”

“To be determined. I did some preliminary research. I took a few of the guys for a ride in an unmarked and asked them to point out competent killers.”

“Of course. Exactly what I would have done. Get any pix?”

“Some. I’ll show you.” Hux patted his pockets. “I hope I have the USB cord cable—here it is. Plug me in, buddy.”

Deke took the dangling cord cable from him and attached it to the side port of his laptop. He held out a hand for the small digital camera Hux handed him. Several shots popped up inside the photo app frame. Deke clicked the keys to view them full screen.

“I think I know these losers. You got taken.” Deke stopped himself. “Wait a minute. Who’s he?”

He pointed to a huge, coarse-featured man with spiked black hair in an ill-fitting suit. He’d been photographed in front of a small store with a few dusty goods stacked in the window that never got sold. The kind of place that served as a front for unsavory operations from time to time.

Hux craned his thick neck to see. “I didn’t get a name. They just call him Ugly, not to his face. Because of that birthmark.”

A blotch of livid dark blue spread up the man’s huge neck almost to his jaw.

“That would show up on a Wanted poster. No one knows his real name?” Deke asked.

“I waved a hundred, and my best guy took me around the corner so that we could speak privately.”

“And?”

“He had to decline the money—he insisted he didn’t know who Ugly is. He practically had tears in his eyes. But you have to love the honesty.”

Deke rolled his eyes. “So send him a thank-you note. That doesn’t qualify as intel.” He paused for a beat. “And he could just be scared to death.”

Hux nodded. “A different gang is moving in around here. They specialize in money laundering, and—get this—foreclosed real estate. Bottom feeders, basically. But violent.”

Deke sat back, a thoughtful frown on his face. He knew that street talk could be hot air or a smoke screen or the rock-solid truth. “Should I tell Kelly?”

“That’s up to you, pal. I don’t have proof of a damn thing.”

“Even so—”

“She might try to investigate on her own,” Hux said. “Reporters get paid to look for trouble.”

“I don’t think she understands how far this can go, Hux.”

“So distract her with a safer assignment. Swear her to secrecy. And keep your eye on her and anyone who comes near her.”

 

Kelly changed quickly after the broadcast, picking a white linen blouse and skinny jeans that made her legs look long and shapely. She slipped her feet into wedge sandals the same shade of dark denim and stood up to pull her hair into a loose knot. Glasses next—her defense against the
aren’t-you
opening line. Sometimes it worked.

Once out of the parking lot, she glanced at the dashboard clock. She had about an hour, if she could remember which way Peachtree Avenue went and where it connected with Peachtree Street.

She negotiated the maze with ease, seeing the hotel, an impressive modern structure with a glass exterior and architectural stepbacks. Kelly slowed down, but she was driving under the hotel canopy well before eight.

A valet took care of parking her car. Kelly entered through gleaming brass revolving doors, looking up into a balconied atrium that seemed to be about a mile high. A massive check-in counter was to her left and a pricey-looking gift shop to her right.

She looked straight ahead and saw a sign for the bar Deke had specified, realizing it wasn’t on the ground level. Kelly waited for an elevator, ignoring male glances of admiration. At least they didn’t seem to recognize her.

The doors opened directly onto the bar’s foyer. There weren’t very many customers, which suited her just fine, and the hostess seemed to have stepped away from her station. Kelly headed toward a table for two in front of a huge plate-glass window, discreetly removing the second chair so she could wait for Deke in solitude.

She settled herself, taking out her laptop and smartphone in case she needed to look busy, and propping her large handbag in front of both. Only then did she look out.

Forget great. The view was glorious. A sweeping terrace with an infinity pool lay just outside the window. The deep blue of the water was set off by half-hidden lights that cast a rippling illumination up into the bar. The far side of the pool seemed to blend into the skyline, reflecting the brilliant lights of Atlanta at night. The tinted glass of the bar window darkened the scene somewhat. She could just make out a man resting there, his back to her, still in the water but his arms folded on the edge of the pool, looking out into the distance.

“Can I get you anything?”

A cocktail waitress stood by, poised to take her order.

“Yes, thanks. A glass of white wine. Pinot Grigio, if you have it.”

“We do.”

In another minute she was sipping from a chilled glass and looking out at the pool again. The swimmer was coming toward her, underwater, moving with powerful strokes until he touched the side and rose up, standing at waist level, letting the water roll off heavily muscled shoulders and pressing it out of his dark hair with both hands.

She realized with a start that the man was Deke. He didn’t seem to see her. The glass had to be reflective.

Dripping wet, he lifted himself out of the pool, his biceps swelling with the effort, and walked quickly toward a chaise, picking up a towel and tying it in a low knot around his narrow hips. Soaked, the towel clung to him. He grabbed another to dry off his powerful chest and back. His legs stayed wet as he walked, as muscular as the rest of him. No wonder her kicks hadn’t done any damage.

She lifted her glass for another sip, silently congratulating herself for getting here early. What an unexpected pleasure.

She sensed someone looking her way and adjusted her glasses, able to glimpse him in her peripheral vision. A middle-aged guy with a linebacker’s build and a crew cut—not anyone she knew or wanted to know. Kelly ignored him.

Deke walked to the side of the terrace and vanished behind a wooden wall. Kelly felt a slight pang to see him go. Other than that, the few sips of wine she’d had were making her feel awfully mellow. A brightness in the southern sky appeared. The moon rose, luminous and full.

Kelly heard hushed footsteps behind her and set the glass down, flipping open her laptop. Another man passed by, not even looking at her, talking softly to the woman at his side.

She checked the time as the screen came to life. 7:46. Deke would have to shower and dress fast, but he was likely to be right on time. She wasn’t going to say anything about seeing him in the pool. No reason to. This wasn’t a date.

More people entered the bar. The hostess and the cocktail waitress were both busy all of a sudden. Kelly left the rest of the wine untouched, pulling up a file to work on. The pool lights glimmered at the edge of her vision. She almost wished she could buy a bikini in the hotel gift shop and go for a dip after she and Deke finished talking.

She told herself that the pool was probably for hotel guests only, then wondered why he hadn’t said he was staying here.

A tap on her shoulder snapped her out of it.

“Waiting long?”

Kelly glanced down at the time in the corner of the screen. 8:11.

“No,” she lied. “Hi, Deke.”

“When did you get here?” He retrieved the chair that she’d removed and sat down next to her. His hair was combed but still dark with moisture, just touching the back of the collar of his crisply pressed shirt. He wore the shirt without a tie, unbuttoned by two. Like her, he had on dark jeans.

“Um, a few minutes ago.”

He’d shaved quickly, leaving just a trace of dark stubble along his jaw. And he smelled wonderful. She caught a whiff of clean male skin and a splash of bay rum.

“Did you notice the pool?”

She looked up nonchalantly. By now the reflective glass of the window showed more of the bar’s interior than the glittering water beyond it.

“It’s beautiful. Were you just swimming?”

“Yes, I was. Been meaning to, finally got around to it.”

“Not like you’re on vacation.”

“No. But I can fake it.” He smiled at her. He looked calm and sleek, as if the fierce animal tension she remembered in his hold had been exercised away.

He had the height to slouch a bit and still look taller than her. He rested an arm on the table, stretching out his long legs under it and looking around for the cocktail waitress before he turned his attention back to Kelly.

“What are you having?”

“Just white wine.” She shook her head when he seemed about to ask if she wanted another. “This is it for me.”

“I could go for something stronger,” he said. “I don’t have to drive.”

“So you’re staying here?”

“On the seventy-second floor.”

Kelly laughed. “Do you dare look out the window?”