The streets of Perry weren't terribly congested today. Even the traffic wasn't as annoying. There was movement rather than blocks of stopped cars with people hanging out of the windows and yelling at passersby, pedestrians, and other drivers. At least there were less people to see me walking down the block. I might not be crying, but my hair was stringy, my face was pale, and my general appearance was disheveled at best. Even as I walked, I received some odd looks—looks I pointedly ignored.
I looked through my phone. I should probably call Robbie to let him know I was on my way. I didn't want to drop in unannounced. When I finally found my phone in my purse, I clicked it only to find out it had died.
Perfect.
I continued to walk, shaking my head and muttering to myself. A couple saw me and purposefully crossed the street in order to avoid me. I nearly laughed, but not because I was amused. More like I understood why they were wary of me.
Was this rock bottom? I hoped so. Then I could only go up from there.
Another shiver went through me. As I crossed the street, I felt like someone was watching me. I stopped walking and looked. Besides the drivers waiting for the light to turn green, I couldn't see anyone who was actively looking at me, watching me. I got the odd glance but nothing nefarious. And yet, I couldn't shake this feeling like I was being…monitored.
A honk broke me out of my musing. I looked at the driver who threw his hand up. I turned. The light had turned green and I was holding up traffic. I waved my apology and dashed the rest of the way across the street, only slowing when my feet hit the sidewalk.
I continued walking. I quickened my pace.
From my position, I could make out the tall building that made up the apartment complex. I was almost there. Maybe another five, seven minutes.
I wove in and out of the passersby. The closer to downtown, the more people there were. Tourists who came to see a show, take a bus tour around the city. Perry wasn't known for celebrities like Hollywood or Broadway like New York. Rather, we were known for our heavy arts influence, kind of like San Francisco but grittier. We also had a good deal of corruption tied to our history, as early as the nineteen thirties, a few years after the city was founded.
The people surrounding me were taking pictures of what seemed like an innocuous building. The truth of the matter was, this building was the first one Jon Hawkins shot up when he made his debut in the city. If you went inside and looked around, you would be able to see bullet holes the contractors weren't able to completely remove.
I stopped walking to look. My whole body shivered but not like before. Not like someone was watching me. It was like I was back in a dream.
I had been here, interviewing a stockbroker. I had received a tip that he was screwing over clients and I wanted to get him in a lie and write an article about how corrupt the money in this city was, tying it to Guzman's campaign funding.
Instead, my stockbroker turned out to be the man who had been in charge of laundering money that funded the program Jon had been forced into. I didn't know how he was related to a secret government agency. To this day, I didn't know. I had always meant to dive back into things, but I decided not to, to refrain. I was already consumed with my desire to find out what happened to my uncle, what happened to my grandfather, proving Jon Hawkins was a man exacting revenge on people who ruined his life, and showing the city of Perry what a truly corrupt bitch their mayor was. A stockbroker didn't really fit in with my plans.
When the bullets whizzed past me that day, I thought for sure I was going to die. I thought I was going to get hit by a bullet, a casualty in a war that didn't really involve me.
We ran. I think his name was Bill. Bill Donald. We ran down the hallway, into an office. He wasn't going to let me in. I was trying to prove what a dick he was. He wanted me dead. I understood why he tried to keep me out.
But because of that distraction, he left himself vulnerable to getting shot. Even now, I could hear Jon's heavy footsteps. I could hear the shell casing clatter to the floor. I could hear my heartbeat echo in my head. I didn't know what was going to happen to me. I know I prayed. I recited some prayer my mom taught me when I was four or five.
"Why were you with him?" Jon had asked me. He was intimidating, brutal. He didn't care that I was a woman. He looked at me like a potential threat. Looking back, I was grateful he gave me the opportunity to explain myself.
"I, uh." My voice shook. "I'm a reporter. I was interviewing him because of… He screwed over a bunch of people and I hoped to prove it."
I didn't know if Jon was here because he was one of those people who had been screwed over. If he was a criminal who wanted to handle the problem himself. But I figured being honest might save me, so I trusted him.
Jon nodded once and put down the gun. "I never would have hit you," he said. "With a bullet, I mean."
I nodded once. I had no idea why, but I believed him.
He left without looking back, and I collapsed onto the floor, pulling my knees to my chest, and letting out a muffled scream.
I shook my head. Now was not the time to dwell on the past. I pulled my gaze away from the building and the tourists taking pictures and continued to cross the street, dodging cars, turning right on a red light, driving too quickly to stop and look for pedestrians. The thing about Perry was, there were always pedestrians. Walking was practically required for living here unless you were extremely wealthy and could afford to park your car in a garage. More than that, there always seemed to be traffic no matter what time it was. Unless you took the public transit system, which was ten minutes behind on a good day, walking was the best option. Unless I was running late, I tried to walk as much as I could. It was the only exercise I got anyway.
As I got closer to Robbie's building, the streets got even nicer. There was less pedestrians, less tourists. There was more greenery here, and even a large park that was simply known as Mile Square Park because each side was one mile.
Robbie didn't necessarily identify as being wealthy, but he was. He wore sweatpants and muscle shirts and his hair was always, always, always messy. No one would look at him and think he was wealthy but that was part of the beauty that made up Robbie.
When I finally got to the gold doors of the building, a doorman dressed in a log teal coat and hat, smiled at me.
"Lara," he said. "I've been expecting you. So good to see you again."
"Tim," I said, nodding my head once and offering him a surprised smile. "How are you?"
"Preparing for the holidays as best as we can," he said with a shrug as his gloved hand held the door open for me. "Christmas always sneaks up on you. I'm trying to get all my shopping down in October so I don't have to worry about it."
I nodded. "That sounds like a good plan," she said.
"I like to think so." He paused as I walked through. "I've enjoyed your articles, Lara." I stopped and looked over my shoulder so I could meet his eye. "The honesty. The grit. Don't let anyone censor you."
"I won't," I told him, and I meant it.
He offered me a smile. "Robbie's lucky to have you in his life in whatever way he can get you," he said. "Have a good night."
I felt myself smile as I headed to the elevators. Everything was bright. Each door had shiny black numbers on them. The crimson carpet, while slightly off-putting, was cleaned and vacuumed every night. I had no idea how the single cleaning crew did it, to be honest, but they were fast and thorough.
I headed to the elevators and stepped inside after the doors quickly slid open. I pressed the top floor, which required an access code, since Robbie owned the whole floor. I cursed under my breath. He constantly changed it. The last time, it was 1-1-3-0 for my birthday. Now, I wasn't so sure. I decided to try my luck and type in the same numbers. Sure enough, the elevators jumped to a start, and I was slowly lifted all the way up to the twenty-second floor.
When the elevator doors pinged once we hit the top and slid open, Robbie was already waiting for me. His bare arms were crossed over h
is chest and he had a jutted hip as he rested his weight evenly between his feet. He wore a black muscle shirt and black sweatpants. His feet were bare—the way he preferred them to be—and his tousled hair was messier than normal.
"It's about time," he commented. He stepped forward and took my bag, turning on his heel and heading straight for the guest bedroom.
My eyes flitted around the penthouse. Everything looked the same, and yet, I felt that there was something different about the place. His work area was in the living room so he could watch CNN and Fox News at the same time as he worked, but he still had an office off to the side and three other rooms, including the master suite. The strong scent of coffee masked any other smell in the place, and since Robbie was a creature of habit, I would say he was on his sixth and last cup of the day. He tried to stop before two in the afternoon or else he would never sleep, and because Robbie struggled with insomnia, he made it a point to try and give himself the best chance of sleeping each night.
"What do you mean?" I asked as I followed him. An old towel rested on the back of the couch, and a Styrofoam container of half-eaten Chinese food was on the edge of his desk. The low murmur from the flat screen television that hung over the mantle of the fireplace was the only sound in the penthouse.
"Your friend told me to expect you," he continued. He opened the door to the guestroom and a rush of cool air hit my face. The windows were cracked open. It hadn't been opened in a while, I realized. Almost as though Robbie didn't go in this room if he didn't have to. "You know, the one with killing programmed into his botched DNA. What the hell were you thinking? You're smarter than that."
I could already feel my temples pulse. "I already got a lecture from Jon, I don't need one from you too," I said as I reached up to soothe the pounding in my head.
"Maybe that's exactly what you need." Robbie set the bag next to the bed before turning around and placing his hands on his hips. "I never would have thought me and a mass murderer would ever agree on anything, but, apparently, I'm wrong because he seems to have more sense than you do. I shouldn't be surprised because recently, any common sense you had is gone, only to be replaced by—" He threw his hands up. "I don't even know. So I'll ask again: what the hell were you thinking?"
"About what?" I snapped.
Robby let his hands fall so they slapped his thighs. "Unbelievable," he said. "You don't even know. Why am I not surprised? You don't even realize what the hell you did." He started pacing the length of the room as I grabbed my bag from the floor and plopped it on the queen-sized bed. I recognized the comforter. I had picked it out. "Jon told me about this, you know, about you coming to stay with me. At first, I thought he was going to kill me. But when he mentioned you and the fact that you went to Guzman's house for an interview, I was too mad to be scared. Think about that for a second. You somehow angered me so much that I wasn't afraid of a fucking lycan even though he somehow managed to break into my penthouse on the twenty-second, highly secured floor of an apartment complex. When he asked if you could stay with me, I was offended that he even had to ask. Of course you are more than welcome to stay with me for as long as you want, but, Lara, seriously, what the hell is going on with you?"
"She almost killed me, Robbie!" I exclaimed. I dropped the shirt I was holding so it fell back in the bag and took a seat on the edge of the bed. "Not today, I mean last week. She killed Richard. I don't know what happened to my grandpa. But I have to find out."
"Who says you have to find out?" Robbie demanded. "See, that's where you're wrong. You don't have to find out. I can help you. It doesn't have to be you. But you're too bloody stubborn to realize that."
"I don't want to—"
"If you say you're bothering me by asking for help, we're going to have a serious issue." He took a breath and stopped pacing so he could face me. "I get that this is important to you. I know how close you were to your uncle. I don't know what it feels like to lose someone like that. But if you can't figure out a better way to solve his death, your legacy is going to get you killed."
Chapter 12
I didn't like hearing Robbie say something Jon already told me. I didn't like that Jon had talked to Robbie about me without me knowing, but I couldn't actually do anything about that. Instead, I said nothing and continued unpacking.
The next few days, I laid low and let Guzman's attack on me go unnoticed. I focused on research. Estrada needed hardcore evidence, and I was adamant about getting it to him. I just needed to know where to start.
To be honest, I was surprised I hadn't been interviewed about what happened at Guzman's place. Did Guzman want to keep it hushed up, or was she waiting for the perfect moment to use it to her advantage in some way?
I found out the answer the morning of day four, when I walked back into my office and found a luxurious bouquet of flowers on my desk. Orchids, daisies, roses, all organized in a way that was aesthetically pleasing. The rush of floral hit me the second I stepped inside and I was immediately assaulted by the beginnings of a headache. I didn't do well with strong scents, especially floral ones. It was why I rarely wore perfumes.
"I see you had quite a time interviewing the mayor." Michelle click-clacked her way into my office in a pressed white suit, her arms crossed over her chest and her hair pulled into a high bun. "Why am I not surprised?"
"I can explain," I said quickly. I dropped my bag on the floor next to my desk and fell into my office chair.
Michelle held up her hand to keep me from saying anything else. "Honestly, I don't want to hear it," she said. "The mayor has already made a statement to our paper. I'm surprised you didn't grab it, since it happened when you went to interview her in the first place. You're losing your edge, Tucker. I expect an article on it by the end of the day. I want to run it tomorrow, if we can. I will not let The Perry Post out-scoop us when my own damn reporter was directly involved."
I furrowed my brow. My headache only increased. I needed to get these flowers out of my face before I threw them across the room.
"I'm confused," I admitted.
"Why would you be confused?" Michelle asked, dropping her arms to paces across my office before placing her hands on the back of one of my guest chairs. "You were right there. You were interviewing the mayor, and Jon Hawkins attacked you as the Big Bad Wolf."
My eyes widened. Was that how it was being spun?
I glanced at the flowers again. Were these from the mayor—a facade if I ever saw one. Did she have the flowers bugged in some way to make sure I went along with her story? She had to be smarter than that.
"That's not what happened," I said flatly. Let her try and kill me again if she needed to. I was not going to allow her to cover up this. And to try and take Jon down with her? That was where I drew the line. "She tried to kill me."
Michelle opened her mouth, ready to attack me, but stopped herself. She let a sigh slip out of her nose and placed one hand on her hip, raising one eyebrow.
"Where's your proof?" she asked.
"Besides my firsthand account story?" I asked. "Does my word mean nothing?"
"It's not that, Tucker," Michelle said. "Come on. You know how this works. This is the second time in two weeks that the mayor has supposedly tried to kill you and both times, you walk away alive but with no evidence but your word. Would you print your story?"
I clenched my teeth together and started to tug on my cross. I hated that Michelle made a good point.
"Look, I'm not saying I'm going to publish it yet," I said. "I just want you to know that that didn't happen. Jon would never hurt me."
"Yeah," Michelle said. "I know."
"You do?" I blinked in surprise. I didn't go around telling people that I was immune to the Big Bad Wolf, but it was nice to know someone else noticed.
"Of course I know," Michelle said, offended that I would think otherwise. "The articles you have posted on Hawkins are proof enough. You think if he didn't want the public to have that information that he wouldn't just threaten you or kill you t
o shut you up? There must be something between you guys…. What that is, I don't know. But the man is gorgeous in a rough sort of way. I don't blame you for chasing him around."
I sighed. "You know that's not what I did," I said. "And we're getting off-track."
"You're right," Michelle said with a nod. "I'm pissed that you didn't get us a quote from the mayor. Since you were there and you did interview her, can you come up with something from that?"
"To be honest, the interview was me confronting her with corruption and her uncle trying to kill me," I told her. "I recorded some of it."
"Wait," Michelle said. She started pacing again. "Are you telling me that you confronted the mayor with things you didn't actually have evidence for instead of, I don't know, baiting her into admitting something?"
"I just—"
"You are good at your job, Lara, so I have no idea how the hell you could have screwed this up." Michelle's face went red with frustration. I had never seen her look so livid. As she continued to talk, her voice got quieter and quieter. I had to lean forward to hear her. "If what you're telling me is true, and you confronted the mayor with no proof, I would have to fire you. It would make the paper look bad for one of our journalists—our top journalist, actually—to do something as immature and unprofessional as that."
"Maybe I was trying to goad her into getting a response," I shot back.
"Did it work? No. I didn't think so. Do you really think Guzman is that stupid?" Michelle held up her hand and stopped pacing again. "Don't answer that. You do think she's an idiot because why the hell else would you do something as stupid as confront her? You had the opportunity to interview her. You have the opportunity to manipulate your words and getting her to confess without realizing it. Instead, you threw down your hand and demanded the whole pot before bets were even placed. You're better than that!"
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