Hot Off the Press

by Nancy Warren

  His brows rose and a totally unrepentant twinkle appeared in his eyes. “Now you know how I felt in front of Mel this morning. I know it sucks, but pretending we’re an item is our best chance to get away with working together.”

  “Well, just so you know, I’m dumping you first chance I get.”

  He chuckled. “We’ll have to see about that. Come on, spill.”

  So she told him what her mother’s friend had imparted over herbal tea.

  “I thought about it all day,” she said, “but the only explanation I can come up with is that Cadman’s planning to develop a casino/hotel complex in the bird sanctuary. But why? Apart from the obvious zoning issues, and the desecration of sensitive habitat, why would he want to put a place like that out in the boonies?”

  He shrugged. “He’s going to need a huge piece of land and if he wants riverfront, well, there isn’t anything big close to town. The numbered company owns a good-size chunk right on the river. And I checked. There’s no official environmental designation to stop it being developed. If Cadman can buy it from this Macarthur guy and keep the lid on the B.I.B. people, and get the mayor to push through a zoning change, it’s a done deal.”

  She nodded, having come to the same conclusions. “He’s got some pretty big hurdles to jump. But maybe we’re wrong. Remember at the opera opening, Harrison Peabody referred to it as a wilderness retreat.”

  Mike snorted his derision. “Guy drives twenty miles thinks he’s in the wilderness. Then he goes fishing and sends his wife to the casino.”

  “A wilderness casino. Interesting concept.” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her laced fingers, then felt sticky goo under her elbows and withdrew them in disgust. “Mike, didn’t you get the feeling, when you talked to Jeremy at Bald is Beautiful, that they act as if they own that land? Even though they obviously don’t. Jeremy implied the owner was a friend of B.I.B.”

  Mike rose. “You want a Coke or something?”

  “No, thank you.”

  He helped himself to a can from the refrigerator, dug out his wallet and put some money in a battered coffee tin. He popped the top and drank deeply before resuming his seat across from Tess. “If Macarthur is a friend of B.I.B.’s then Cadman’s got something on him. He’s using it to squeeze him off the land.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No, I’m guessing.” He stretched his legs out in front of him and tipped his head back to contemplate the ceiling. She didn’t follow suit. Likely there were bats up there.

  “Zoning’s Cadman’s second problem. That land’s not protected, but it’s not zoned for commercial development either.”

  Mike nodded. “He’s greased those wheels before.” His face clouded and she knew he was recalling the story of municipal corruption he’d yet to prove. “Dammit, Tess. We’ve got to get him. I’ll do some digging, pull all my files and we’ll start putting together what we know. Let’s say tomorrow night at your place for Operation Get Cadman. I’ll bring dinner.”

  She nodded. “All right. I have to go. I’m covering the Rotary Club’s big gala tonight. It’s black tie.” She glanced up at him with the most innocent expression she could manage. “Since we’re an item now, maybe you should accompany me. As my date.”

  He choked on his cola. “Sorry, princess. I returned the monkey suit.”

  “Some other time, perhaps,” she said, rising, feeling as though she’d got the last word for once.

  She should have known better.

  “Hey, princess?”

  She paused, one hand on the door that led outside, to the real world. “Yes?”

  “I told Jon I was nuts about you, too.”

  7

  Since the caveman first threw a mastodon steak on the grill, man has enticed woman into the sack with food.

  TESS ROLLED her shoulders to get some of the tightness out of them. “I wish you’d sit down, you’re getting ketchup on the carpet.”

  Mike had shown up, as arranged. He’d brought dinner, as promised—take-out burgers and fries.

  Her complaint didn’t make a bit of difference. Mike kept pacing as though he hadn’t heard her, stuffing another ketchup-soaked fry into his mouth.

  “You might at least share.” She’d already finished her fries.

  “I drove to Spokane today.”

  “That’s a pretty long Sunday drive.”

  He turned and kept pacing. “I felt like a nice long drive.”

  “Did you buy some insurance?”

  “Didn’t have to.” He shot her a pleased grin. “I recognized the guy right away.” Stopping in front of her bulletin board, he pointed to the picture of the golfing trip and tapped his finger over the unidentified golfer’s face.

  “Nathan Macarthur was the third man golfing with Cadman and the mayor? Great sleuthing partner.” She wasn’t really surprised, but this was the first evidence—circumstantial as it was—that linked Cadman with land along Pasqualie River.

  Mike nodded. “He goes by Nate.”

  “You spoke to him?”

  “Nope. He and the family pulled up not long after I got there, all decked out in their Sunday church best. I recognized him from the picture. His wife called him Nate.”

  Tess rolled her neck one more time. “So, we’ve got Macarthur, who’s supposed to be a B.I.B. ally, doing business with Cadman.”

  “What the hell is Cadman planning? And why is there land in Margaret Peabody’s name, and a bunch of other country club types, but not in Cadman’s? Why, Tess, why?”

  She gaped at him. He’d actually used her name. He hadn’t called her princess. A little smile of satisfaction curled her lips. On his next pass, she snatched a fry out of the cardboard container. Chomping down, she grimaced. He’d not only slathered the things in ketchup, he’d doused them in vinegar, too. The man had no idea of subtlety. In anything. Would his love-making be as bold and over the top as his other habits?

  She swallowed with a gulp, almost choking on a ketchup blob as a thought darted through her head. She spoke even as the quiver of intuition took hold deep in her belly. “Sex,” she blurted.

  He stopped pacing and stared at her, a strange but intense expression on his face, a French fry protruding from between his lips like a half-smoked cigarette. “Now?”

  She shook her head impatiently. “Not you and me. The story. Maybe that’s the answer to your question. Sex!”

  He stared at her as if she’d completely lost her mind.

  “It’s the oldest story in the world.” She rose. Now it was her turn to pace as she tried to make sense of the idea. “Mr. Cadman’s having an affair, he’s passing on secrets via pillow talk, he’s putting investments in her name, he’s—”

  “Her, who?”

  She just stared at him. How could he call himself a reporter and be this dense? “Someone who’s looking awfully young and pleased with herself these days. Someone who’s been out of town at the same time as Cadman. Someone who’s in a perfect position to chatter to Harrison Peabody about things that are supposed to be top secret.”

  “No.” He shoved another fry into his mouth and started pacing again. “Not Margaret Peabody.”

  “Yes. Margaret Peabody. You called her a hottie.”

  He swallowed and kept pacing. “You think Cadman and Margaret Peabody are jumping each other’s bones. What are you basing this on? What facts do you have, what sources?”

  She’d reached a wall, and turned to pace back to the computer. “Yuck!” she cried as she stepped on something warm and smushy. She raised a foot and pried off a squished French fry, then hopped to the bathroom to wash ketchup from between her toes.

  “Intuition,” she yelled over the sound of running tap water. “Gut level intuition.” She waited for him to scoff at her “woman’s intuition” but he didn’t.

  “Why?” he challenged.

  How could she explain something she only just realized she suspected? She came back into the room, scooped another fry and chewed without tasting. “He’s b
een acting odd. He had his teeth fixed. His hair’s been getting darker, not grayer. He smiles more.”

  “That’s because he had his teeth fixed. He wants to get his money’s worth from the new caps.”

  “It’s not just that. We’ve both noticed he’s been out of town a lot…and so has Margaret Peabody. At the same time. Maybe it’s nothing to do with business but with love.” She halted and they gaped at each other. Ty Cadman in love?

  “But—”

  “It would be interesting to see if her shopping trip and her spa vacation coincided with any of Mr. Cadman’s business trips. Maybe she and Mr. Cadman are in love.”

  He blew air through his lips in a silent whistle, finished the fries then turned back to her. He tossed the empty box at her trash without even looking and it landed dead center.

  “So what? Even if they’re having an affair, how does it connect to Macarthur?”

  “Let’s suppose he’s putting land in her name so people like reporters won’t figure out what he’s up to. It can’t be coincidence that Margaret Peabody just bought land recommended by Mr. Cadman right around the time you see him playing golf with Nate Macarthur.”

  “Okay, Tess. Write it up.”

  “But—”

  “I know, we don’t have any facts. Write it up and see how it feels. Figure out what we need to know, what we’ve got to confirm. It’s worth a shot.”

  A bubble of excitement bounced in her belly. “You think so?”

  He tweaked her hair, a teasing gleam in his remarkable eyes. “I think you might one day turn out to be a real reporter.”

  She swelled with pride at the grudging compliment. “You really think so?”

  He shrugged. “Hang with me long enough, something’s bound to rub off.”

  Now came the fun part. Composing the story, piecing it together as best they could.

  “Poor Margaret,” Tess lamented. “Do we have to mention her in this article.”

  “If your hunch is right, we’ll show the story to Cadman and if he loves Margaret, he won’t let it go to press. He’ll tell us everything.”

  “You’d blackmail Cadman?”

  He shrugged. “All’s fair…”

  “And if I’m wrong?”

  “You ever worked the obit desk? That could be the next assignment. For both of us. At some remote outpost in northern Alaska.”

  The tapping of keys was the only sound as she started to put together what they knew and what they suspected, weaving it with the hunches. Behind her stood Mike, leaning over her chair to watch the words appear on her computer screen.

  She paused as she contemplated how much of this was pure guesswork. “This stays here, right?” She tipped her head back to look at Mike. “The last thing I need is a libel suit from a family friend.”

  “I don’t need one, either. All we have to do is prove it’s true.”

  Still her fingers hovered over the keys. “Until then, we do nothing. Agreed?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Keep writing.”

  Feeling the keen excitement in her stomach, she went back to typing the story.

  “You’re using too many adjectives. Forget the flowery, stick to the facts.” His hands settled on her shoulders and she felt his warmth and the soft wafting air currents against her hair as he breathed in and out.

  “No. Don’t refer to Margaret Peabody as Cadman’s companion, it sounds like they’re bridge partners or something.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “I don’t know. Mistress?”

  “Isn’t that kind of like calling her a kept woman?”

  “What do men usually call the women they’re making love with?”

  He paused deliberately, and she felt the heat behind her intensify.

  “I, um…”

  “Concubine?”

  “‘Concubine,”’ she echoed as a flutter of lust danced along her nerves. “Sounds a little old-fashioned.”

  His fingers moved lightly over her shoulders and just touched the bare skin of her neck. “How about ‘sweetheart’?” His voice dropped lower and turned husky.

  Her fingers froze on the keys as she felt his touch burn into her flesh. “Sweetheart makes me think of beach movies from the fifties.”

  He leaned forward and whispered into her ear, “Lover.”

  Her stiff fingers moved, trying to type the word, while the breath caught in her throat. It came out lober. She giggled nervously then deleted and tried again.

  The word hung there on the screen in black and white.

  Lover

  The cursor winked at her. There was utter stillness in the room but for her racing pulse and trembling heart and the soft, slow caress of his fingertips across her neck. She hadn’t managed to shake her foolish crush on Mike Grundel. If anything, it had intensified as she’d come to know him better, until, it seemed to her, they’d arrived inevitably at this moment. Would they move forward to intimacy or back off?

  She pushed another button and a question mark appeared.

  Lover?

  Mike’s arm reached over her shoulder, brushing her hair so it whispered across her cheek. He hit the backspace key and she watched the screen, her heart pounding as he changed the punctuation.

  Lover!

  He stood next to her, lifted the hair off her neck and kissed her lightly on the nape. “Yes. Lover. I think that’s a good word. Don’t you?” His voice was as intimate as a caress; its effect as he whispered in her ear was a caress.

  She licked dry lips, while his mouth moved to the side of her neck and continued kissing her. She let her eyelids drift shut, acknowledging how much she wanted this. “Yes,” she said at last. “Lover is a very good word.”

  “I want you…”

  “Yes…” she whispered.

  “…to be my lover.”

  “Oh, yes.” His lips nibbling her neck sent erotic messages darting through her body. It had been so long, and she’d denied her attraction for him with such determination, but now the wall of the dam was cracking. Crumbling, really, under a torrent of lust.

  “Just for tonight.” His words were still soft, but she heard the warning in them.

  “Mmm.” Tonight was a very, very long time. And at this moment she really didn’t care if the world ended in the morning, as long as he kept going where he so obviously intended to take her.

  Of their own volition, her hands rose to do what they’d longed to since she’d first seen him. She touched his black hair and found it silky-smooth but also strong and wiry. “You have such sexy hair,” she told him.

  His eyes gleamed down at her, predatory and hungry. “Did you save that file?”

  “What file?” The words came out dreamy and slow in the stillness that surrounded them. This couldn’t be happening. It shouldn’t be happening. But it was. And her world felt suddenly, delightfully mellow-toned and honey-flavored.

  With a soft chuckle, he reached across her and pushed buttons until the screen faded to black and the quiet hum of the computer fell silent.

  Her nervous swallow was audible in the stillness. She was certain that if he listened closely enough he’d hear her blood had started to flow like tree sap warming after a thaw. Thick, languid and as rich as maple syrup.

  His lips hadn’t touched more than her neck, yet every inch of her skin tingled in pleasurable expectation. All her nerve endings had centered there, obsessed with the promise of the soft, velvety caress of his lips. Moving slowly, he made a leisurely trip to her earlobe and took it into his mouth, pearl stud and all.

  “You’re so warm.” He sounded surprised.

  Warm? He thought she was warm? She was so hot she must be personally contributing to global warming.

  She couldn’t move, or even think, and she was glad. Just experiencing this was enough. He’d been very clear that this was a one-off, so she didn’t have to deliberate on what a man like Mike Grundel could do to her life. He had no intentions of getting in the way of her career or her plans. He’d do nothing but give
her one night she had a feeling she’d remember forever.

  One night.

  She hoped he didn’t have any plans to sleep—not even for a minute.

  Slow and easy, as though he had all the time in the world, he trailed his lips up her throat, over her chin, and at last, at long last, came in kissing range.

  Her lips pulsed in anticipation. That fast-talking, often cynically twisted mouth taunted her with its nearness. His face was shadowed, but the glint of his eyes blazed at her like those of a beast of prey staring out from the blackness of the jungle. And like the startled victim, she felt herself transfixed by the fire of those eyes. Helpless to move.

  Unlike her jungle counterpart, she craved the attack.

  Whatever he saw in her face made him pause and gently lift a hand to her face. He traced a finger down her cheek, as soft as a feather. “Last chance to say no.”

  “No!” she gasped in panic. “I mean yes. Don’t stop now. Please.”

  The lips hovered nearer. “Only for tonight.”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “Only for tonight.”

  He kissed her. His lips caressed hers, moving back and forth so softly it was a teasing torment. It was hard to believe this was Mike—brash, cocky Mike—kissing her with such careful finesse.

  Then her lips quirked against his in amusement. Of course it was Mike. He tasted like ketchup. She reached up to still his head and encountered his thick hair. She ran her fingers through the amazingly silky strands. He hadn’t seemed like a man with any softness in him, so it was a surprise to feel the satiny texture slip through her fingers and fall forward to tickle her cheeks.

  Leaning over her, he braced his hands on the back of her chair, imprisoning her. She threw her head back in invitation.

  In the dimness, he was a contrast in light and dark. The black hair and darkly glittering eyes, the white denim shirt open at the neck to reveal a hint of coarser dark hair…Then the whole image blurred as he kissed her again, this time with all the firmness she could wish for. His lips captured hers and forced them to his will, molding and shaping them with the ease with which he molded and shaped words and sentences.

  She could barely breathe for the anticipation that was beginning to simmer inside her deepest, most secret places. It’s just a kiss, she thought dimly. She might die of pleasure before morning.