I sighed and started to head to one of the less comfortable armchairs facing the desk. I stopped before I reached it, lacing my fingers together. I didn't want to sit down.
"I know you're hell-bent on firing me—"
"This sounds suspiciously like asking for your job back," Michelle warned.
"All I'm saying is instead of firing me, can I take a sabbatical?" I asked quickly, deciding to just come out with it. "You said you believed me about Guzman. And you're right. I shouldn't have let her get to me. I made myself look bad. I made this paper look bad. But maybe…maybe I can make it right. I know you know I'm good at my job. If there's evidence proving my case, you know I'll find it."
"That's a big if, Lara," Michelle said.
"I know it is," I said. "And I know I probably don't deserve this chance because I know you've already given me several hundred and chances eventually run out. And I know that if this is coming from someone higher up than you, you have to tell them you fired me. I get it. But maybe, between us, I'm just on leave collecting that evidence. Maybe I don't pack up my office. Maybe I leave it as-is because I'm coming back."
Michelle gave me a long stare. I stood in her office, waiting. My heart was pounding over and over again against my chest. My left foot kept bouncing up and down because I wanted to try and stand still rather than pace around the room. I hated waiting. And she knew it. Which was probably why she made me wait longer than she probably would have.
"Lara," Michelle said, her tone slightly dejected. This couldn't be good. "I like you, okay? I do. But there's no one higher up. You're fired. I'm going to let everyone know. My journalists need to know there are consequences to being an idiot. Just because you broke the story about Jon Hawkins does not mean you get permission to do whatever you want. There are still rules we have to follow, and this is one of them.
"Having said that," she said, letting her voice trail off. She breathed through her nose, looking at the smooth oak wall. I wondered if she was taking in the picture frames filled with articles from the paper over time. Not just ones she wrote, but ones her journalists wrote that broke a story. I saw mine hanging on the wall, the one that broke news about who the Big Bad Wolf was. The human behind the beast.
My heart clenched. I hoped Jon was all right. I hadn't heard from him since yesterday. Not that I expected him to text me to let me know he got home, but it would be nice to hear that he was safe.
"I'm not opposed to bringing you back," Michelle finally said, flicking her eyes up at me. I could tell she still wasn't sure about this, that maybe she should think about it more. But that debate was enough for me to realize that this was another chance she was offering me, one I didn't want to pass up. "If you do things the right way. If you can get me an article that proves Guzman tried to kill you twice, you can have your job back. But I can't guarantee anything more than that. I'm sorry, Lara. This wasn't what I wanted at all. But I'm not quite sure what else to do. My hands are tied. Pack up your stuff." She nodded to the door, a gentle movement. "Now, if there's nothing else?"
There wasn't, unfortunately. I played my last card and still didn't get what I needed.
"No." I forced my mouth shut, just for a second. Just so I could pause and keep any argument from slipping out of my mouth. I forced a smile but I was sure it was awkward and tight. "No. That's it."
Michelle nodded and turned back to her computer.
I released a shaky breath and headed outside. I tried to look on the positive side of this. At the very least, I was grateful for having the option to come back, but it would require me to dig deep, to get what I needed. It wouldn't be easy. But that evidence was going to save my job and, quite possibly, save my life.
I let out a shaky sigh as I grabbed a box from the copy room and headed into my office. This was going to be so embarrassing.
Chapter 15
I had nowhere to go.
Okay, technically, that was a lie. Robbie would have no problem with me being fired from the paper because it would mean I wasn't risking my life by publishing words I couldn't take back, even if those words were the truth. And Robbie would never kick me out of his place. Despite the fact that we weren't together, he was one of the only people I could count on to drop everything for me, to be there for me when I needed it.
I just didn't want to be around him right now.
If anything, I wanted to be by myself, lost in thoughts.
I decided to go to my old place. At least this way, I could drop the box filled with my stuff that had been hanging up in my office or stored in my desk off. I didn't want to continue to walk around the city with a target on my back that screamed I had been fired from my job.
I was sure my apartment was relatively safe. Guzman probably knew I wasn't living there anymore. I wouldn't be surprised if she had a couple of her thugs go check it out herself to be sure.
The walk was brief but at least it helped get the tension out of my body. I climbed the familiar stairs, unlocked my door, and stepped inside. I was assaulted with the scent of stuffiness.
I closed the door, locked it, and crossed the room so I could crack open the windows. It looked like rain so I made sure the windows let in fresh air and that was it. I didn't want my apartment to be ruined with rain. I was planning on coming back here at some point.
Once the windows in the living room and the kitchen were open, I collapsed onto the couch. I hadn't even turned on the lights, but I couldn't be bothered to. As such, I let myself sit in the dark with my thoughts, giving myself a moment to feel sorry for myself.
God, I was pathetic.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I rested my head back on the pillow behind me and stared up at the ceiling. I should have known something like this was going to happen, but I didn't care. I acted. I said what needed to be said, I just picked the wrong time to say it.
Sighing, I closed my eyes. I wasn't sure if I regretted it or not. Michelle was a pawn being used by the mayor. I thought Michelle wanted the truth as much as I did, but I was wrong. She wanted the truth as long as it sold her papers. As long as that truth was approved by the right people.
This was bullshit.
I was the best journalist at that stupid paper. I was the one who discovered Jon Hawkins—the man behind the Big Bad Wolf. I was the one who blew the lid off of corruption and shady union deals that didn't put workers first, the money chain behind the abrupt firing and hiring practices of the Perry school district, the sex scandal in the Perry youth soccer league.
None of that mattered.
All because I spoke up about something again.
"Too far," I muttered to myself. "More like bullshit."
I snickered but my heart wasn't in it.
"What are you doing here?"
I jumped. The voice was right next to my ear. Right behind me. It came out of nowhere. It was familiar. It set my body on fire and sent my heart straight to my throat, lodging it there so I nearly choked on my own spit.
"Jesus Christ, Jon." I placed my hand over my chest, hoping it would calm my beating heart. "You scared the shit out of me."
"That's my point." Jon stood behind the couch and made his way around it until he positioned himself between me and the coffee table. "Are you even allowed to say Jesus Christ? Isn't that taboo?"
His comment made me fiddle with my cross. Doing that helped me calm down.
"You didn't answer my question," he continued. "What are you doing here?"
I swallowed. I kept my eyes on him as he slowly took a seat on the edge of the coffee table. I wasn't sure if it would take his weight. He was strong, bulky, while that coffee table had belonged to my grandparents.
"Last I heard, I live here," I told him, making it a point to ensure my voice didn't shake. "I should ask you the same question."
His eyes lingered on my face. I wondered what he saw when he looked at me.
"I've been keeping an eye out," he said finally, looking away. He crossed his ankles and put his feet underneath him. "Making
sure no one is trying to hurt you, and if they are, taking care of the threat."
"Why risk yourself?" I asked.
The question made him furrow his brow in what appeared to be annoyance. I didn't understand why he was annoyed with me, but that wasn't one of the questions I was concerned about.
"Don't be an idiot," Jon said. "I found something. With the dog tags."
I was glad for the change of subject. I didn't understand what I was missing. I hated when people assumed I knew something, then seemed to imply I was stupid because of my ignorance.
"What did you find?" I asked.
We were close to each other. If I crossed my legs, my knees might scrape his shins. If I leaned forward and he leaned forward, we might be—
"Yvonne was a setup."
I blinked, all previous thoughts of me and Jon touching vanishing. "What?" I asked.
"Yvonne was a setup," he repeated. His voice was tight. It seemed as though he didn't want to talk about this at all. Why he chose to talk about this with me, I didn't know. But I wasn't going to do anything to stop him. "She never… What we had…" He huffed a breath. "It was all a lie."
"I don't understand," I said. "I thought—"
"Yeah, I did too," he said, his voice getting hoarse with frustration. "She works for the Steel Corporation."
"I'm sorry," I said. I had never heard of the Steel Corporation.
"It's one of the businesses that belongs to Segerstrom," Jon said. "You know where they had that non-profit gala your close friend was throwing for victims of domestic violence? That one."
"You heard about that?" I asked.
"Everyone in Perry heard about that." Jon got up and moved away from me, as he usually did when I inadvertently did something to piss him off. "The pregnant lady who lives next door, her baby heard about what you did in the womb."
"Nice," I snapped.
"You're being stupid," he said.
"Why is everyone telling me that?"
"Because it's the truth." Jon furrowed his brow. "What's going on with you?"
I stood up and waggled my finger. "Hang on," I said. "You don't just get to change the subject because you don't want to talk about your crap anymore. What do you mean Yvonne works for the Segerstrom company?"
"She works for a corporation owned by Segerstrom," Jon said, shoving his hands in his jean pocket. "There's a difference."
"Regardless," I said. "What does it mean?"
"It means that our entire relationship was a joke." He placed his hands behind his head like he was stretching, but I knew it meant that he needed something to do with his hands.
"Do you want a cup of coffee?" I asked him, heading to the kitchen. Even if he didn't want one, I could sure use a drink. Maybe not coffee either.
I looked on top of my fridge where my lone wine bottle sat. I had drunk maybe two glasses from it. I hesitated. It was just after eleven and I promised myself I would never drink because I was sad. If I did that, wine would be a depressant, something I was using to make myself feel better, and then it became a slippery slope of turning into a crutch when I wanted it to be something I used for celebrations.
I released a breath and forced myself to grip my cross.
The temptation left and I moved to pantry to pull out the coffee.
"If your relationship was a joke, why give me the dog tags?" I asked as I grabbed to mugs and began to scoop the coffee into the cups. "I mean, she would know I wanted them for a reason, right? She handed them over, no problem. Seemed glad to be getting rid of them, if you ask me."
Jon shrugged. He started pacing. "You're asking me," he stated, sticking his thumb into his mouth so his fingernail pressed against the edge of his teeth. "Maybe it was a trap. Maybe they want me digging. Maybe they have nothing to hide. Maybe—"
"Maybe she cares about you." I hated that I even had to bring up that option but it wasn't one I could ignore. I filled up the mugs with tap water.
"What?" Jon's voice was flat.
"Think about it," I said, putting my hands up. "First, you know how I feel about her. If I'm actually saying disgusting things like this, even you have to admit that I'm really trying to be reasonable here."
Jon heaved a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes. He started to slow-clap.
"Anyway," I cut in. "Look. Maybe you were part of the job. Maybe you were her assignment. But maybe she wound up caring about you. Maybe that was why she gave us the dog tags. Maybe because she knew it would help you."
Jon continued to give me a flat stare. "Does that sound like something Yvonne would do?" he asked.
"Working for a secret government agency isn't something I think Yvonne would even be able to do," I pointed out. "I completely misjudged her." I shook my head. "Maybe I'm not always right about things I think I'm right about."
"What was that?" Jon asked, tilting his head to the side. "Are you admitting that you were wrong about something—for once in your life?"
I ignored him. "But what was her job then?" I chewed on my bottom lip and resumed my pacing, playing with my necklace as I did so. "Like, what was her job?" I spun on the heel of my shoe to face Jon before the microwave beeped. "You guys met before your tour started, right?"
Jon stepped into the kitchen and plopped in a chair before the dining table. He nodded his head. "I had just finished basic training and was out with my unit," he said. "We were going to be deployed in the next couple of days and we wanted to live it up before we left."
I stirred Jon's coffee after putting mine into the microwave. The clanging of the spoon against the glass helped me focus my thoughts.
"Did you see her or did she see you?" I asked as I walked over to him.
He made a face. "I don't remember," he said. "I just remember seeing her and thinking she was cute. I wasn't expecting anything to come from it. I just remembered we talked all night and then all day and all night again. We didn't even have sex. It was the strangest thing." His voice got raspy thinking about it and I forced myself to swallow so I wouldn't make a face he would be offended by. "She was easy to talk to. I didn't even think about sex. Well, I did, but…with her, it didn't matter. I felt comfortable. I liked her. I really liked her. When she said she would wait for me, I thought she was crazy. And, like an idiot, I believed her."
When the microwave beeped, I thanked God. I knew I should be ecstatic that Jon was sharing this part of him with me. I was sure he didn't share it with anyone else. But I hated when he talked about Yvonne—the rare times he actually talked about her. I hated that he sounded sad and regretful, like he missed her. Like he didn't want to hurt her.
The truth of the matter was, Yvonne left Jon the second he came back. She was what caused him to turn savage and rip up the government agency that had, essentially, saved his life. If she had just welcomed him with open arms, if she had just been grateful that he was alive…
"You’re beating that coffee into a pulp, Red," he said. "What did it do to you?"
I dropped the spoon into my sink. I didn't even hear it as it clattered. I brought up my cup of coffee to my mouth with shaking hands and tried to be careful so I didn't spill on myself as I walked over to the kitchen table.
"Okay," I said after the hot liquid crawled down my throat and settled into my stomach. "Yvonne potentially recruited you. Now what?"
"What do you mean, ‘now what?’"
"I mean, what do we do about it?" I asked. "Like, how do you even know about Yvonne?"
"The dog tags," he said. He tossed them on the table carelessly, looking at them the way a wolf might look at a collar. "I needed the dog tags to get into the building your friend had in the paperwork you gave me. Sonya Crawford heads a division out there."
"Wait, so the dog tags acted like a keycard?" I asked.
He nodded. "Let me right in without any issue, which means they haven't disabled mine," he said. "I don't know if that means they're fucking stupid or—"
"They're going to try and get you back," I murmured, finishing his thought
. "Do you think there're more of you?"
Jon shrugged his shoulders and took another sip of coffee. He scowled as he swallowed. "You know, you really have to get a coffee maker," he said. "This is fucking disgusting. I feel sorry for you if you think this is good."
"I don't remember asking you for your opinion," I said with a dainty shrug.
"Do you want to be pot or the kettle?" He set his cup down with a sneer.
"You never answered my question," I said.
"I know." I gave him a minute to think. His fingers started tapping against the mug, causing little drops of coffee to hit the surface of the table. "I have no idea, to be honest. I mean, I wouldn't be surprised if there were. No one knows about this program. Sonya Crawford is supposed to be semi-retired at a desk job, not heading a confidential weapons unit." He shook his head. "I just don't understand how Yvonne came to find me. How could she know I would fall for her?"
"She could have researched you," I said.
"That doesn't guarantee I would fall for her." Jon took another sip of coffee. At least this time, he didn't make a face.
"Doesn't it?" I asked. "It's not like she isn't pretty. Even someone who might not be attracted to her can admit that she's pretty. She's like George Clooney."
"What?"
"George Clooney," I repeated. "I'm not personally attracted to him. But I can admit the guy is good-looking. I'm not going to say he's not because it's not true. The same is true with Yvonne."
"I thought you didn't like Yvonne," Jon said.
"I don't, and obviously I was right about not liking her because look what happened," I said. "But that doesn't mean she isn't pretty. So if you take someone attractive whose goal it is to win you over, prepped with knowledge about what you like and what you don't like, she was guaranteed to win you over."
He shot me a look and took a sip of the coffee. He flickered his gaze downward as though he still couldn't believe he was drinking this.
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