He was shaking his head, and she knew why. She’d pushed for the lead spot. She’d been the one to scream about the wrongdoing, grabbing a hold of the story, ready to nail Vic McCabe to the stake, until she met with him, until the night before, when she’d finally heard his side and realized there was an even bigger problem. What exactly was the truth?
“How long?” he finally said with a look that let her know he was short on patience.
“Two days. Just give me two days.” Then she’d have a different story.
Wayne’s chair squeaked as he leaned forward and pointed at her. “Then I’m running the story. Now get out of my office,” he said.
Tish breathed a little easier, hurrying back to her desk as she heard him on the phone, the sound of his voice echoing through the office. She picked up her phone and listened once again, but she still had no messages.
Chapter 13
Vic was two hours into his drive back to Salem when his cell phone rang. He took in the caller and the number. “Vic McCabe,” he said, although he knew it was that damn reporter who’d started this entire mess.
“Mr. McCabe, it’s Tish Campbell from the Oregon—”
“I know who it is.” He cut her off, wanting her to get to the point and hopefully tell him she’d buried the story and convinced her editor it couldn’t be printed. “What do you want?”
“I rewrote the story with the details you told me last night, except my editor likes the first story better. He’s given me only two days to verify the details, and then he’s going to run with the first.”
He could feel his adrenaline kick up as his fingers curled around the steering wheel, squeezing as if it were Tish’s neck. “Why did you rewrite the story? I didn’t tell you what I did last night for you to go and do a fucking rewrite. Enough lives were destroyed that night because of some overzealous cops and a bad tip. I told you what happened so you would pull the story and drop it.”
“But I can’t do that, Mr. McCabe. If what you told me is true, then others need to know what really happened. This can’t continue to happen on U.S. soil. This is America, and we’re better than this.”
Was she kidding? Being so far away from Salem with hours still to drive began to feel like his biggest obstacle yet. “We’ve moved on, Ms. Campbell. The world doesn’t need to know, because the world has bigger problems, and this is yesterday’s news. Everyone has forgotten, and those who still remember are so few it doesn’t really matter. Just leave it alone,” he added with a little more force.
“How can you say that? Someone gave a false tip. Your girlfriend had every cop in the city on top of her. Law enforcement agencies dragged you both away, questioned you, interrogated you and her…and then what happened to her parents? How many hours later did they just let you go? You were held without bail, no Miranda, no lawyer, and how many bruises did you walk away with? What about her, about Badra?”
He didn’t want to go back to that night and the next day. “It was only a day, and they obviously figured out their mistake. I was let go.” Once the lab finally tested the Ziploc bag of white powder after he had screamed for hours that it wasn’t his, they discovered it was neither anthrax nor cocaine. It was a bag of flour.
“A story was printed…”
He knew the story, which had been printed before he was released, when the shit was still in the wind, but thankfully that was all that had happened before he quietly slipped out of the state and back home to Nevada, where his father and brothers lived. He never mentioned what had happened to any of them. He knew his father wouldn’t read the paper, and the local news thankfully never picked it up. Vic knew Tish was still waiting in the background for him to say something.
“It was fifteen years ago, Ms. Campbell. I’m the one who got off easy.” He lowered his voice. It was Badra who had paid the ultimate price. Her parents had been killed when the Feds surrounded their house and broke in the front door, ready to shoot first and ask questions later.
“But what about the girl? What about Badra?”
Why wouldn’t she let it go? He was shaking his head even though the reporter couldn’t see him.
“Leave her be. She’s the one whose life was ripped apart. Just leave her be,” he said, his voice softening. “Please, Tish,” he added, and it wasn’t lost on him that this was the first time he’d asked a woman for anything.
Chapter 14
Fiona unlocked the door of her two-bedroom apartment in a four-story walk-up and was instantly hit by the smell of garlic and oregano. “Hello, I’m home! Something sure smells good,” she called out as she locked the door and slid the chain. She tossed her keys on the table, seeing the mail piled and taking in the books open and scattered over the coffee table.
“Hey, Mom. You’re late! Thought you’d be home an hour ago.” John walked out of the kitchen, holding a wooden spoon and wearing one of the red and white aprons from the cafe. It looked odd on him, considering he towered at almost six feet. His broad shoulders were filling out, and so was his chest, but then, at fourteen, he was maturing faster than the other boys his age.
“Sorry, I should have called,” she said. “Something came up that I had to take care of. What are you making? Because it sure smells fantastic.”
“Grandma’s lasagna,” he said. “I just need to layer it and then put it in the oven.”
He meant the grandma Fiona had created one day, changing her heritage from Muslim to Italian. It wasn’t a stretch, considering her coloring, and it was something that would welcome her to a community instead of painting her as an outcast. The story had evolved: She was from a small Italian family from Chicago, and everyone had been killed in a car accident. She’d been the only one to survive because she had been working a part-time job. It had been simple, easy. She had laid to rest Badra Walker years ago, and Fiona Marino had been born.
“How did I ever get so lucky to have my kid cook dinner, and not just any dinner?” She shrugged out of her coat and tossed it over the back of the easy chair as she noticed the TV was on with some comedy rerun. She was about to say something, and maybe he knew, because he pulled a face.
“Look, I like the background noise. It helps me study and cook,” he added.
She also knew he had the TV or music or something on whenever he was doing anything, including brushing his teeth, but there was no way she’d say a word tonight about it. It didn’t matter.
He made another face. “Is something wrong?”
She was staring and doing a piss-poor job hiding the fact that she was still reeling from Vic having walked back into her life that day. “No, sorry, just an odd day.” She touched her head and forced a smile as her son did an odd quirk of his lip when he was giving her attitude. This time it nearly had her wheezing as her breath was sucked out of her, because it was just like his father.
“Seriously, Mom, you’re looking at me a little weird.” He turned away then and walked back into the kitchen, and she had to shut her eyes and give herself a mental kick in the ass. He wasn’t his father, although he was looking more and more like him every day.
She followed her son into the kitchen and had to fight the horror of the mess. He’d used what looked like every pot and pan, and tomato sauce was spilled onto the stove, floor, and counter. Dishes were piled in the sink, and there were containers and cans on the table. “Whatever happened to clean as you go?” she said as she started lifting dishes out of the sink.
“The cook doesn’t clean! Besides, I have homework and a project that has to be done by Friday.”
She started filling the sink as her son talked about his day at school. He was an A student all the way, and she’d never once had to stand over him and crack the whip. Something inside him was driven to succeed, and being top of his class was something he’s never had to work very hard at.
“So can I?” he asked and was staring at her again.
Of course her mind had been tripping out again, and she hadn’t heard a word he said. “Sorry, what?”
/> “You weren’t listening again,” he said with attitude as he shoved the lasagna into the oven and set the timer. “Some of the guys are planning on hanging out this weekend, going to a movie and maybe for pizza after. Was wondering if I can go?”
She wanted to scream no and lock the door, because her son was now at an age where he wanted to go out with his friends, and teens didn’t always make great choices. “Any parents going with you?”
The look he gave her bordered on horror.
“Sorry, but seriously, you’re so young, and…” She had to stop herself when she realized what she was doing. John wasn’t her, and he wasn’t his father, looking for trouble. John had a great head on his shoulders, and he had a plan for his future: He would study physics in university, and from there he said it would unfold.
He untied the apron and tossed it on the table, about to storm off.
“Hey, just wait, and don’t give me that attitude or the answer will be no,” she said.
“You mean I can go?” The shock in his voice had her forcing a smile that made her feel as if her face would crack.
“Of course you can. Just let me know what movie you’re going to see and where you’re going for pizza, and I can pick you up after,” she added.
“I can take the bus,” he said with a frown.
“Or I can drive you,” she pushed, hoping he wouldn’t argue this point.
“Mom, you’re going to have to ease up a bit and let me go. You hover too much.”
“And you’re too smart for your own good,” she snapped.
He flashed her that damn smile, his father’s smile.
“I am. I’m going to call the guys, let them know.” Then he was gone down the hall, closing his bedroom door, and all she could do as she stared at the pile of dirty dishes he’d left was hope Vic never came back, because she’d made a promise to herself years ago that he would never, ever meet his son.
Chapter 15
The cafe was buzzing with people, and the morning crowd who’d hurried in for their coffee and muffins had now given way to the people needing a midday caffeine hit and a quick lunch they could grab and go.
“I have two more orders for the yam and bean burrito, but we’re out of rice, and I used the last of the sauce for that last wrap. What do you want me to do?” Barbara asked as she poked her head into Fiona’s office again. It was the fourth time today, as if she were doing everything she could to engage in small talk. Fiona often chatted with the girls, but not today, and she was having none of this interest the girls had been leveling her way from the moment they’d arrived that morning, all of them behind the counter, whispering about the mysterious dark-haired man who’d shown up yesterday to see her.
“Cross it off the chalk board and tell the customers we’re sold out. Have them pick something else, same as you always do.” Seriously, this was ridiculous, and she wondered whether Barbara picked up on her sarcasm. She was still smiling, leaning against the door jamb, so apparently not.
“Sounds like a great plan. Hey…you never said how you know mister tall dark and handsome.”
So there it was, the subtle hints gone. She was now taking the direct approach of prying into Fiona’s business. She wondered if she glared. She could feel the shiver inside from how glacial her expression had to be, but Barbara was still smiling in a teasing sort of way. She was going to keep pushing until she gave her something or told her to drop it, but when had that ever worked with any of the women she hired?
“Someone I used to know,” she said, and she wanted to kick herself when she saw the way Barbara’s brows quirked. Instead of sating her curiosity, she’d spiked it. Idiot!
“Like an old boyfriend? Because I gotta tell you, the way he was looking at you, there were some pretty hot vibes he was tossing your way.” She actually waggled her brows and stepped further into the office, and Fiona had to suppress a growl.
“Barbara, the customer. Go tell them now, for the love of God,” she snapped and jabbed her hand out, and Barbara smiled and said “Oops!” before hurrying away.
“What in all hell is wrong with you? Bad, bad,” she said to herself as she dropped her face into her hands and groaned.
There was another tap on the doorframe, and she pulled her hands away from her face, ready to shout at Barbara. “What the…” She had to stop herself mid-shout when she saw John in the doorway, watching her in a curious way.
“You okay, Mom?”
She slouched back in her chair as her son stepped into the small boxlike office. “Yeah, sorry, what’s up?” she finally spit out as she tried to reel back the feeling that she was losing it and her neatly organized life was collapsing around her. She didn’t like messy. She liked to know where everything was and didn’t like surprises of any kind popping out of nowhere. Right now she felt as if everything had been pulled out and tossed everywhere for her to trip on.
“I need some money, and I forgot to get you to sign this permission slip for our field trip next week.” He was holding out a piece of paper, and she was blanking on what it was. “It’s for a fun day, bowling and then burgers after,” he finally added when she didn’t say anything.
She scribbled her signature and handed the paper back.
“Sorry, it was due today. I forgot to give it to you,” he said and was still standing there. “Money, Mom. I have to pay for it, too.” He bounced on his toes, one hand shoved in his red and white hoodie pocket. His hair was sticking up on one side, and she had to wonder if he’d even tried to brush it.
She could say something or let it go. “Your hair’s a mess. Tell me please that you at least looked at a brush this morning.” Nope, she couldn’t help herself. It was the mother in her.
“Ran my fingers through it. It’s fine,” he added with that teasing smile that always melted her heart.
“Hmm,” Fiona mumbled before pulling open the bottom metal drawer, which squeaked. She reached in, touching the business card she had tossed inside the night before, the one from Vic. She had to breathe and clear her throat before lifting out her wallet. “How much?” She was going through the bills.
“Fiona.”
She knew that voice, and it took a second to connect with her brain before the alarm jolted her. She lifted her gaze as she took in Vic McCabe standing in her open doorway. She jumped up, her chair rocking back and banging against the wall. The crash didn’t seem to startle Vic, but her son jumped.
“Mom, geez,” John said. Vic just watched her.
Her wallet landed on the floor. “Shit,” she said, then realized she’d said it out loud.
“Vic McCabe,” he said as he held out his hand to her son, and she noticed his frown.
“John.” Her son shook his hand, and Fiona darted around the desk, stumbling on her wallet on the floor before catching her footing.
“You need to go right now,” she said to her son, putting her hands on his shoulders to hurry him out.
“Yeah, whoa, wait, the money! I need the money.” He laughed at her, probably because she was acting like a kook.
“Right, money.” She tapped her back pocket and then spotted her wallet on the floor. She reached down and grabbed it and pulled out a twenty.
“It’s twenty-eight dollars,” he said, and she pulled out a second twenty and shoved both in his hand.
“Here, now go.” She shoved him, and he was still laughing.
“I’ll bring back the change,” he added, and of course that wasn’t going to work. She needed him to leave the cafe before things went any further sideways.
“Keep it,” she said.
“Okay, okay, thanks, Mom,” he said. “Nice to meet you,” he called out over his shoulder, and as Fiona slowly turned back to Vic, she wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking at in his expression.
“I didn’t know you had a son,” he finally said, but she could tell he was considering something.
“Mm-hmm,” she replied. “So what are you doing here?” And who had let him back in? Maybe he
knew what she was thinking, considering she was feeling totally blindsided.
“That light-haired girl out front said you were in your office. She told me to go on back.”
Fiona took a breath and envisioned all the ways she planned to fire Barbara’s ass today. She stood in front of her desk and found herself looking around without turning her head.
“You okay? You seem a little shaken.”
“No, I’m fine. You didn’t tell me why you’re back here. You left yesterday, and I thought I made it clear not to come back.”
He didn’t nod, but his lips firmed a bit as he just held her in his gaze. “I came back here because we have a problem, and I didn’t want to talk about this over the phone with you.”
“What problem? There is no problem. You have a problem, you fix it, you leave me out of it.”
“I will.” He stepped further into the office.
“So you’ll go now and leave me alone,” she added, and he didn’t say a word. Whatever it was he was considering, she had no idea.
“I asked you yesterday if you had a family, and you said no. Why did you lie?”
He wasn’t going to let it go. She started back around her desk, giving him her back as she touched her chair, staring at her fingers. “I didn’t want you in my life, Vic. Yes, I’m with someone.” She wouldn’t look his way.
“John’s father?” he said, and Fiona looked up at him, seeing him cross his arms and glance toward the doorway.
“You should go now, Vic. I have a life,” she said. Namely, she had his son, and she wanted him to leave so he wouldn’t put it together.
“You said that yesterday, too.” He shoved both hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. His face had a heavy dark shadow from having skipped a day of shaving.
“And I meant it, Vic. You think I moved up here and did everything I could to hide who I was just because? I didn’t want to see you again. There’s too much there, too much hurt, too much everything.” She lowered her voice, wanting no one to hear her.
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