Melissa snorted. “And you’d expect me to believe that?”
“It was part of the reason. But mostly, truth be told, Barb would have cut my balls off. She doesn’t much care what I do outside Los Angeles, but she protects her territory.”
All that heartbreak she’d gone through, all that angst, for such a pathetic reason.
Melissa looked down at her laptop. Maybe this was her chance to put her career back on track. Maybe going back to LA, now that she felt nothing for Everett, would be a good move. But somehow it just felt so . . . wrong.
“All I want to talk about right now is Rodrigo. Do you want to see the footage he shot?”
“Yes, I want to see the footage. We’ll have the other conversation another time.”
She opened her laptop and clicked on the video file she’d downloaded from the lipstick camera’s memory card. As Everett watched the footage, she knew he was hooked. Melissa had already seen it several times, but it still made her sick. The exchange of money was so blatant, so callous. Rodrigo had also managed to get shots of his foster mother beating a little girl, who was no more than three, with willow branches.
“And this boy is willing to go public?”
“Absolutely. He’s in the hospital right now, waiting to be interviewed. He’s the real thing, Everett. He’s a hero. He’s doing this for the other kids in his foster family.”
“Well, this footage is outrageous. I’ve never seen anything like it. But there are invasion of privacy issues.”
“True, but we can use it to confront the caseworker and the foster mother.”
“Do you have any corroborating witnesses?”
“A neighbor. And a former caseworker who suspected. She’s willing to go on camera.”
She had the goods on this story; she knew it and Everett knew it.
“I think we can use this in LA, even though it’s not local. As long as Channel Six doesn’t mind giving us the rights.”
Melissa recognized the opening gambit of a negotiation. “It’s local enough. We’re only a few hundred miles away.”
“No one in LA cares about San Gabriel.”
“They’ll care when they see this footage.”
They began arguing over whether it should be a week-long series or a special report, whether it was better for the Five O’Clock or the Eleven O’Clock News. It felt amazingly good to argue with Everett. She never would have dared in the old days, when she was Everett’s awed, innocent junior producer.
She got so wrapped up in their discussion, the bang of the door opening barely registered, until Everett spoke.
“Why, Ms. Ella Joy. Such an unexpected pleasure.”
Melissa’s head shot up. Ella Joy stood in the doorway like an avenging angel in a leopard-patterned silk suit and stiletto heels. Her blue eyes blazed like lighter fluid on barbecue coals. Melissa hoped her suit was too tight for hidden weapons.
“Unexpected? Unexpected? You think I’m going to put up with that kind of crap?” Ella planted her hands on her hips.
“I rather think you’d put up with any kind of crap to get where you want.”
“Well, you’re wrong. I mean, you’re right, but not that. That doesn’t get me anywhere.”
He threw his head back in a laugh.
Melissa looked from Ella to Everett. “This scene feels kind of familiar. What’d you do now, Everett?”
“Me? I was an unwitting pawn in this ambitious young anchor’s web.”
Melissa laughed. “Everett Malcolm, unwitting pawn. I like the sound of that.”
“Have I already mentioned that you’ve changed?”
“You think so?” said Melissa.
“I’m not entirely sure I approve.”
Ella stomped her foot. “Do you mind? This isn’t about Melissa.”
Everett turned his attention back to Ella. “Oh? What’s it about?”
“Glen Woodman.”
Melissa closed the laptop. “Maybe the two of you need a little time alone.”
Everett put on a look of mock alarm. “You’d leave me at such a precarious moment?”
“Absolutely. I’ll be out on the balcony.”
“Don’t get too close to the railing. The bellhop might see you,” said Ella in her nastiest tone.
“What?”
“Control your bile, my dear,” said Everett.
Melissa tuned them out and walked onto the balcony. It was hard to miss the secretive, hot look that had passed between Ella and Everett when she’d said the word “balcony.” Obviously they were hooking up. It didn’t surprise her. Of course Ella would have made a play for Everett, and of course Everett would have jumped at the chance. What did surprise her was how little it bothered her.
Had Ella fallen for him? Everett had a way of playing to a woman’s secret fantasies. For Melissa, it had been to make her feel like she was a legitimate talent, a real newsperson despite her background. The first time he’d sat down with her and broken down one of her scripts, her heart had melted. It was only when she’d fallen in love with him, and, fool that she was, worn her heart on her sleeve, that he’d turned away from her.
How had he snared Ella? Or had Ella been the one to snare him? Then again, what difference did it make to her? She wanted only one thing from Everett—put Rodrigo’s story on the air.
Deciding that she’d given them enough time to fight it out, she strolled back into the room and cleared her throat. “Ahem.”
Everett had Ella backed up against the wall. She could barely see Ella’s tiny body behind his lean one, but she heard her little moans.
Everett pulled away, with an actual look of embarrassment—something Melissa didn’t think she’d ever seen on that suave, cynical face before.
“I’m sorry to spoil the fun, but I’m here on business, and I’m a busy woman.” Never mind that she was unemployed.
“Call my office tomorrow,” said Everett. “We’ll work out the details.”
“Wait one minute,” said Ella sharply, straightening her skirt. “You aren’t pulling a Glen Woodman on her, are you?”
“Who is this Glen Woodman?” asked Melissa.
“No one,” said Everett.
“You got that right.” Ella brushed past him to corner Melissa. “You can’t trust this bastard.”
Melissa tried to squirm past the tiny anchor, but Ella seemed to be channeling a pit bull. “That sounds familiar. Didn’t I tell you that all along?”
“I know, I should have listened to you. But you know how I am.” She spoke over her shoulder to Everett. “And Everett, I don’t care how hot and bothered you get me, I’m still going to beat you.” Back to Melissa. “Melissa, I know all about your investigation. And you know damn well that it should be airing on Channel Six. It’s a San Gabriel story. It belongs on a San Gabriel channel. And you used San Gabriel equipment to shoot it.”
Melissa felt her jaw drop. “How do you know about it?”
“Seriously, do you think anything happens in that newsroom that I don’t know about? The only thing I don’t know is whether the kid got the footage, and I’m guessing that’s what you and Mr. Big Shot were looking at.”
“You know, Ella,” said Melissa thoughtfully. “You should seriously think about getting into the news business.”
“I’ll tell you what, I am thinking about it. I’ve got a brain like everyone else, you know.”
“Don’t get carried away, now,” Everett said nastily.
“Shut up, you!” Ella stomped a stiletto-booted foot on the thick carpet, and Melissa could have sworn the sound of a whip hissed through the room. She took the opportunity to slip under Ella’s arm and make her way to her laptop.
Ella whirled around. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. Melissa is going to bring that story back to Channel Six. I’m going to be the anchor who exp
oses corruption in the foster care system. And I’ll be doing it for all the little children of San Gabriel.”
“Except the ones with intact families,” said Everett.
“I said, shut up! Melissa, you heard him. He’s cynical, he doesn’t care about anything or anyone, he uses people, even innocent people . . .”
“Innocent people like you?” said Melissa skeptically, putting her laptop back in its case.
“No. Like you.”
Melissa’s startled gaze swept up to meet Ella’s. Was that something kind of like sympathy in those beautiful china-blue eyes?
“I probably deserved what I got, messing with Everett. But I sure as hell know you didn’t.”
Melissa wondered if she was supposed to be touched. Ella Joy, coming to her defense. Sympathizing with her. Only to further her own purposes, of course. “Don’t try to tell me you’re looking out for me.”
“I know I haven’t always treated you right. But this isn’t about me or you. It’s about doing what’s best for the little children of San Gabriel.” She clasped her hands like a saint praying to heaven, then added, “With the extra bonus of screwing with the man who screwed with us.”
Melissa nearly choked trying to hold back her laughter.
“Very touching,” mocked Everett. “But female solidarity can’t compare to the lure of the second biggest market in the nation. Melissa, you came here to make a deal. I’m willing to negotiate. Eleven O’Clock News, four-part series. You’re the executive producer.”
“And who’s the producer, Glen Woodman?” mocked Ella. “Don’t make any deals with that devil, Melissa. We don’t want him getting our story. I’ll get you everything he’s offering, and more. I promise. I’ll get your job back for you. No, I’ll get you a better job. Whatever you want, I’ll get it for you.”
Melissa looked from one to the other. They might have been made for each other. Two ambitious, selfish, manipulative, spoiled people. She gathered up her notes and stuffed them in her laptop case. “Will you promise me something, both of you?”
Two gorgeous heads nodded.
“You can have all the sex you can stand, but please don’t reproduce.” They gaped at her as she closed her case with a satisfying zzzzip. “As for the investigation, I’ll get back to you.”
And with that, she figured “sweet Melissa” was officially history.
Chapter Twenty-three
The next morning, for the first time in days, Nelly woke up with no pain clawing at her gut. It was five in the morning. She walked into the kitchen and opened the window. Leaning out, she took deep breaths of the fresh night air. The intoxicating scent of jasmine filled her senses. When was the last time she’d enjoyed the beautiful flowers she and Leon had planted?
“I’ve been so worried about Melissa, I forgot the simple things, like how delicious that jasmine is. Even if it is a girl flower, like you used to say.”
A hunger pang gave her another surprise. Nothing but pain had come from that region of her body in weeks. Before she put her plan into action, she decided to make her favorite breakfast, never mind that it was still dark out.
“Time for some oatmeal, Leon. Best way to start the day.”
Her mouth watered at the thought. She put a cup of oats in a pot, then added two cups of water. She turned on the burner, and stared fondly at the flame that leaped at her command.
Fire was going to help her get Brody and Melissa back together.
When the oatmeal was done, she added raisins, brown sugar, and cinnamon. She rummaged around the cupboard for walnuts, chopped up a handful, and threw them in too.
The first mouthful was bliss. She closed her eyes to savor it. It tasted of comfort, a mother’s love, a child’s contentment. This was the breakfast her mother had made for her, and the breakfast she’d made for Haskell. Even Leon had grown to like it, though he was more of an eggs and bacon man. She ate slowly, savoring every nausea-free bite.
After she’d finished her oatmeal, she made one phone call, asked one question, and nodded with satisfaction at the answer. The captain would be in at nine. The timing had to be perfect.
“I got half an hour, Leon. I think I’ll conserve my energy.”
She settled in on the living room couch with a paperback. It was one of her favorites, Love’s Wild Fury, about a Viking princess and her passionate, decade-long love affair with a supernaturally strong ship’s captain. The princess had ice-blond hair and glittering green eyes, but as Nelly read, half dozing, the blond hair morphed into a rich dark brown, and the princess began to occasionally wear glasses. The captain started commanding his ship while wearing firefighter gear, and he never seemed to lose his cool, with those intense charcoal eyes of his.
The princess and the captain, when they weren’t falling lustfully into each other’s arms, were always at each other’s throats. The princess kept waving a sword in the captain’s direction. Don’t fight him, Nelly urged silently. He loves you, can’t you tell? But the princess didn’t seem to hear, so she whirled the sword over her head. It sliced through the air and flew out of the princess’s hand. “Nooo!” screamed the princess, and dashed after it. But it was too late. The sword sang through the air with eerie purpose, and embedded itself in Nelly’s stomach.
Nelly woke up with a guttural cry. She clutched her belly, expecting to see gallons of blood pouring out of her. No blood, just the old pain, with a grim new face.
“Oh, Leon! This is bad. Real bad.”
Now she knew the pain in her stomach had been holding back all this time. This was the real pain. Impossible to fight, impossible to bear. But she would have to bear it, just a little while longer. Nothing was going to get in the way of her plan.
She put the cordless phone in her pocket, grabbed some matches, and went out the back door. Grabbing the back of the glider for support, she made her way, step by painful step, across the porch. She wasn’t too worried about what would happen to the glider or the porch. Brody would get here in time.
She’d chosen the backyard for a reason; it was as far as possible from the front bedroom where Melissa slept. There would be no risk of Melissa hearing as she dragged the garbage can next to the back porch. After taking a deep breath for strength, she knocked the can over so the trash spilled to the ground. The can made a dull thud as it hit the grass, and she held her breath, afraid she’d woken up Melissa. But all was quiet inside the house.
As Nelly arranged the trash in a trail to the wooden railing of the back porch, she smiled fondly at the memory of poor Leon, bless his heart, trying to burn down their work shed for the insurance money. It hadn’t worked, and they’d both learned not to mess with fire. Except in dire circumstances. Like now.
“It’s okay, Leon. I know what I’m doing. Don’t you be nagging at me.”
She found the lighter fluid next to the barbecue grill. The more she moved around, the better she felt, but she couldn’t count on that to continue. It was a lucky reprieve. A sign she was doing the right thing. She sprinkled lighter fluid along the trail of trash, and on the porch railing. After giving it a moment to soak in, she took the cordless phone out of her pocket.
“San Gabriel Fire Station 1, please,” she told the operator.
“Is this an emergency?”
“Not yet.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, if you don’t connect me, it will be an emergency. But right now, I can’t say as it is. Is that too complicated for you?”
After a brief, offended silence, the operator put her through.
“Fire Station 1, at your service.” Nelly relaxed. She recognized that voice. Ryan, the blue-eyed cowboy. She could still see him strolling across the stage of the San Gabriel Hilton while all the girls went crazy. With a satisfied smile, she lit a match and tossed it on the trash. Flame flared instantly.
“Ryan, it’s Nelly McGuire. Can you put me on w
ith Captain Brody?”
“Ms. McGuire, it sure is a treat to hear your voice again. What can the San Gabriel firefighters do for you?”
This was no time for flirting! Nelly anxiously watched the eager flames eat their way through the trash. “I need the captain.”
“Well, Cap’s off today, but I can get you Captain Kelly. Plus we’ve got a fire station full of guys who’d love to help you out.”
Brody was off? Her heart sped up, her breath came in pants. Why, oh why, hadn’t she specified which captain was coming in at nine? It wouldn’t do for Captain Kelly to come to Melissa’s rescue. No, no, no. It had to be Brody. Brody was supposed to rush over and rescue them. Only seeing Melissa in danger would make him see how much he loved her. “Page him!” she said desperately as the flames reached the porch railing. “Fire! Melissa’s trapped inside!”
Then pain squeezed a ruthless fist around her heart. She dropped the phone and fell to the ground.
At the same moment that Nelly was dreaming about a captain in firefighter gear, Brody was knocking on the door of Casa de Rebecca, as he now called it. No one answered his insistent knocking. Damn her, where had she disappeared to? And how had she managed to lock him out of his own house?
It had taken him long enough to figure out the answer to the Rebecca situation. The last thing he needed now was a delay.
He prowled around the house, peering in windows, until he spotted Rebecca in the spare bedroom. She bent, scowling, over her computer. It looked like she was hard at work—if someone could be hard at work while wearing a feathery, nearly transparent robe. Fortunately, he hadn’t installed the windows yet, and nothing but heavy plastic covered the empty gaps in the wall. He ripped away a corner of the plastic and hoisted himself through the empty frame.
Rebecca looked up with a startled frown. With a visible effort, she forced a smile. “What are you doing?”
“I’m calling your bluff.” He swung his body completely into the room, leaned back against the window frame, and crossed his arms.
“What bluff? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The Fireman Who Loved Me Page 25