by Leslie North
“Nice to meet you,” Kevin said.
“Kevin,” Kim Rigsdale called. “We need you, please.”
“Excuse me,” Kevin said, giving Geneva the first genuine smile she’d seen around this fundraiser. “It was great talking with you.”
“You too,” Geneva said before turning back to Frank and taking out her digital recorder. “Is it okay if I record this, Mr. Sutton? My main purpose in coming here was to find out more about the recent rash of suicides among ex-Navy SEALs. I’m investigating how the military handles reintroducing vets back into society after times of war and how our current VA system is failing these guys.”
“Now you’re in my territory, Ms. Rios,” Frank said. “I’m always looking out for another great cause to support and I’m glad you’re trying to bring this story to light.”
“Specifically, Mr. Sutton, I’d like to get your opinion on the recent rash of SEAL suicides in this area. Two good men recently killed themselves because they didn’t get the support they needed from the military. In my research, I discovered their mental health benefits through the VA had been cut drastically over the last two years. The current plans before Congress now would cut those already-reduced benefits even more. How do you plan to address this if you’re elected, Mr. Sutton?”
“Oh, well.” Sutton glanced around, as if looking for back up, but none was forthcoming. “Our veterans are a national treasure, Miss Rios, and I have a comprehensive plan to help them as much as possible.”
“Perfect.” Geneva narrowed her gaze. “What exactly do you plan to do?”
Sutton blinked several times then checked his watch. “My goodness, look at the time. I need to prepare for my upcoming speech. I do hope you’ll be able to feature our talk in your little newspaper. Do you think there might be a way to spin it so I could get some good campaign coverage out of it as well? Maybe work my name into the headline or something?”
Geneva gave him a blank look. Sutton seemed crazy as hell, but harmless enough. His supporters though? Well, that remained to be seen.
“Do you want to make an official statement on the suicides, Mr. Sutton?” Geneva tried to get the conversation on track. “That way I could include it in my article.”
“Well, other than I’m glad you’re shedding light on the incidents and what needs to be done to help these men, I can’t think of anything.”
“Frank,” Kevin Quinn called. “I’m sorry, but we really need to talk to you a moment before you go on stage.”
“Right.” Frank patted Geneva on the shoulder then started toward the stage. “Thanks again for coming, Ms. Rios. Vote Sutton for Congress!”
Frustrated, Geneva moved to the sidelines once more to watch the rest of the speech. As she expected, not a lot of substance, just the same old empty promises and rhetoric designed to appeal to blue-collar white America while ignoring any people of color or minorities. Still, it was weird he’d dodged her question about his plans for veterans benefits completely. Most politicians she knew couldn’t wait to blab on endlessly about their brilliant ideas to fix the perceived wrongs of America.
Disheartened, she tuned out after the first five minutes and instead focused on the crowds gathered. Perhaps she could try to interview some of these supporters again. The crowd today seemed a lot more organized as though this wasn’t their first time and maybe it wasn’t for some of the attendees. There were lots of cheers and shouts and angry posturing and the pounding country rock music blaring from the speakers was nearly deafening. Still, recorder in hand, she approached a nearby group of men dressed in dress shirts and ties. “Excuse me, gentlemen. My name’s Geneva Rios and I’m a reporter with the National Tribune. If you don’t mind I’d like to ask you a few questions for a piece I’m doing about Frank Sutton and record your answers for my interview.”
The first guy, mid-thirties with dark hair and pale skin, looked at her, his black eyes cold. He was wearing different clothes today, but his attitude reminded her of the preppy-guy from the night before. Was it the same person? “Why would I want to talk to you? Mr. Sutton says the media is biased and rigged against him. When he gets elected, all of you amoral, lying pieces of shit will get what’s coming to you. Maybe sooner, if you don’t watch yourself, bitch.”
Stunned by the underlying current of violence in the man’s tone, Geneva stepped back, her hands shaking hard enough that she dropped her recorder. She bent to pick it up and someone slammed hard into her side, knocking her to the ground. Bodies seemed to press in closer, closer, and her oxygen supply dwindled. She fumbled for her recorder and a heavy foot crushed her hand into the ground causing her to cry out in pain. Her mind kept looping the preppy guy’s ominous warning:
You amoral, lying pieces of shit will get what’s coming to you…
Get what’s coming to you… Get what’s coming to you…
It was almost as if the lyrics to the song and the cheers of the crowds had morphed into that same message. Dread and desperation clawed through her. She needed to get out of here.
Now.
No one offered to help her up, though several bystanders sneered down at her.
Eventually, Geneva managed to grab her recorder and climbed to her feet, cradling her sore hand against her chest as she plowed through the crowds to the edge of the area. What had just occurred left little doubt in her mind these seething people were more than capable of cutting Mark’s brake lines or worse. She suddenly couldn’t wait to get out of there.
Weaving her way through the police officers around the perimeter, Geneva headed back to her SUV then to the bed and breakfast, looking forward to a few hours alone to gather her thoughts and calm her emotions before she saw Mark again. How sad her country had become so divided over something as stupid as the color of someone’s skin or their ethnic background. These old battles should’ve been settled long ago, yet still seemed to raise their ugly heads every four years when it came time to elect new government officials.
Very sad indeed.
12
Mark finished his third conference call of the day and sat back with a satisfied smile. He’d managed to sign two more important, high-profile clients already today and this third one seemed like a good bet as well. Things were going well for Brothers In Arms. Going well for him personally too, considering his night with Geneva. The chemistry between them and the way she responded to his every touch was amazing. Hell, if he didn’t know better, he’d think they were meant to be together.
Inhaling deep, he sat forward again. Except he did know better.
Frowning, he shuffled the papers on his desk. The sooner he remembered that and focused on what he needed to do—keep an eye on Geneva and what she was writing about while she was here; continue to investigate the murder/suicides of his friends; figure out who the hell had cut his brake lines the other night—the better off he’d be.
He and Geneva were fuck buddies during her stay in Ortega, nothing more. She’d made that clear last night when she’d left the comfort of his arms to sleep alone in the guest bedroom. No matter how compatible they might be in the sack. Mark finished up the contracts he’d filled out for the new clients, then closed the documents on his computer and opened his work email.
There at the top of the queue was a daily digest newsletter from the National Tribune.
Clicking it open, Mark flicked through the articles on his screen. Updates from the wars in the Middle East and northern Africa, today’s weather, stock reports, and horoscopes. Near the bottom was the special interest section. He glanced at the top headline in the box then did a double take.
Top Private Security-Training Firm Brothers In Arms—Help or Hoax?
What the actual fuck?
The article, dated two days prior to when he’d first seen Geneva in the parking lot at Scoops, read like a copy and paste smear campaign of every false rumor and bad review on the Internet. It called into question his hiring practices for having taken on two recent employees who later committed suicide, then linked tha
t to Geneva’s stated agenda regarding the military’s disregard for the mental health of its soldiers. The article even managed to tie things in with the death of Geneva’s own brother, Jaime. By the time he’d finished the article, Mark was seething.
Where was the other side of the story, the true side of the story?
His company was expected to top one million dollars in profit that year and Mark made sure they donated to charity appropriately for their blessings. Where the hell was that information in that snide little article, huh? Where was the fact he and the guys routinely volunteered for Habitat for Humanity and at the local children’s hospital? Nowhere, that’s where. Because this article wasn’t about doing good or seeing good in others.
This article was to sell papers. Period.
“Shit.” Feeling pissed and betrayed, Mark shut down his laptop then charged out of his office to walk the perimeter of the grounds. This. This was exactly why he’d known better than to trust Geneva or her fucking trash bin of a newspaper. This was why he’d kept her at arm’s length and not allowed her to get too close. Two days they’d known each other and she’d not said one word, not one, about this article or the awful things her paper had accused his company of.
He stalked across the now empty training field and headed for the flatlands. Whenever his emotions threatened to overtake him and he had shit he needed to work out, physical exercise always helped. And man, oh man, was he furious right now.
It felt like living with his father all over again.
Every smile, every look, every word out of Geneva’s goddamned mouth was a lie.
Not that he’d trusted her completely, but Jesus. They’d fucking slept together last night. They’d almost fucking died together. Would it have killed her to admit her newspaper had published that nasty little article about his business?
Mark veered off from the flat, sunbaked trail he was on and headed toward the ocean cliffs instead. The sex had been good too, so damned good, and helped him forget for a while all the other shit going on in his life—the deaths he was investigating, the loan payments on the compound land that were coming due in a few months, the fact his mom wasn’t getting any younger and would soon need more help at her restaurant.
Why couldn’t Geneva have just stayed a nice, harmless little distraction?
Why did she have to go and betray him, just like he’d feared she would?
The fact the article had come out before she’d met him hovered around the edges of his mind, but he was too pissed right now to consider it.
Exhaling loudly, he stood at the top of the cliff that led down to the small cove owned by the company. This line of thinking was getting him nowhere, yet he couldn’t seem to break himself out of the vicious cycle.
Below him, the ocean waves crashed against the shore and beckoned him closer. What he’d love to do was grab his board, change his clothes and spend the next few hours surfing away his tension and anger. What his responsibilities required, however, was that he head back to work and conduct business as usual. After taking one last, fortifying breath of salt air, he headed to his office, his thoughts still as tangled as his emotions.
Didn’t help either when Vann interrupted his never-ending paperwork with the background check Mark had known he’d run on Geneva. So, now he knew that not only did she not tell him about the article, she’d failed to tell him about her personal connection to the suicide story too. Worst of all, was the fact he couldn’t get the goddamned night they’d spent together out of his traitorous head. In fact, she’d been foremost in his thoughts all day. The way she’d tasted, the way she’d smelled, the way she’d refused to take off those stupid socks or sleep in his bed…
Geneva had lied. Lies of omission, yes, but lies all the same.
There was nothing Mark hated more than lies.
By the time Geneva arrived later that evening, he was livid. For a man who prided himself on never losing his cool, his lying little reporter had managed to accomplish the near impossible.
He sat behind his desk, waiting for her when she pulled into the lot. Tonight, they’d be doing a whole lot more than grabbing dinner. They’d be facing all this shit head on, once and for all. No more lies.
“Hey.” Geneva walked in. She’d changed from earlier, he noted, from her jeans and basic white T-shirt, to a black mini-skirt and a fitted pink top. Still had on those same damned boots though. Another reminder of the secrets she was keeping. His indignation rose while she smiled sweetly as if nothing was wrong. “Hope I’m not late.”
Mark remained seated and forced himself to take a deep, calming breath. “Got something you’d like to tell me?”
“About what?” Geneva stepped closer and tossed her bag onto one of the chairs in front of his desk. She winced slightly and rubbed her right hand. “You look tired.”
“I am tired.” He frowned. “Tired of all your shit.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He scowled. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here, Miss Rios?”
“You know why I’m here.” Geneva crossed her arms and met his gaze direct. “I’m investigating the rash of SEAL suicides.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean why?”
“I mean why do you care about these men’s deaths?” Mark pushed to his feet and came around the desk toward her. “Why come to my business about them, huh? Cut the crap, Geneva. I saw the awful little smear article in your paper about Brothers In Arms.”
“What? I haven’t written anything.”
Flipping his laptop open, he pulled up the article and spun the machine around for her. Geneva sat down to scan the article. Fairly quickly, she began to shake her head.
“I had nothing to do with this. It must have been my boss who put the article together as a precursor to what I hoped to write.”
Mark gritted his teeth. “Then why is your name on it?”
“He must have named me as a contributor because he included the story of my brother, which I’m not thrilled about but I didn’t do this.” She looked away. “Listen, I—”
“Show me what else you’re writing.”
“What? Hell, no.” Crimson flushed her cheeks and her hazel eyes sparkled with fury. “See, there’s this thing called Constitutional rights and freedom of the press.”
“Right.” A small muscle ticked near his clenched jaw. “So you are going to print a bunch more crap about us then?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” His voice grew louder. “What about your brother?”
The color in her cheeks drained away. “What about him?”
“Were you planning on mentioning Jaime at some point?” Mark all but spat the words out, too pissed now to care. “Oh, wait. That would be a conflict of interest, huh? Wouldn’t want your second-rate newspaper to get sued. Again.”
“My brother has nothing to do with this.”
“Funny, because I think your brother has everything to do with this. Sounds like Jaime came home, couldn’t cope, and killed himself. Now, there’s a bunch of other guys with the same problems and you can’t help but project your brother’s issues onto them and the whole military establishment. Sorry, lady. Conspiracies and lies are not my thing. This is exactly why I never should’ve had anything to do with you in the first place.”
Expression furious, Geneva jabbed her index finger into Mark’s chest. “First, my family’s business is private. Second, what happened with my brother was the Army’s fault. They failed Jaime. They let him come home without any resources, any treatment, not even a thank you for your service before they kicked him out on the streets to fend for himself. So, yeah. I’ve got a problem with that. I made a promise to my brother, the day I buried him, that I would bring this story to national awareness and I won’t fail him twice. And if that means exposing the military’s poisonous mentality and corrupt attitude then so be it.”
“Poisonous mentality?” Mark tone turned jagged as shattered gl
ass. “What the fuck are you talking about? I gave eight years of my life in service to my country. What the hell have you ever done? Our military should be praised.”
“Sure. They train the paranoid to be more paranoid, right? What’s not to praise.”
“Why, you…” Mark stalked to the other side of the room. He needed to get some space before he smashed his fist through the wall, Hulk-style. He’d never met a more misguided, misinformed, maddening woman in his life. Unfortunately, his blood was also pumping and his adrenaline flowed hot through his veins, and fuck all if he wasn’t more turned on than he could ever remember being in his whole goddamned life.
Jesus.
Furious at himself and frustrated beyond belief, Mark rubbed his hand over his head and kicked the toe of his boot into the baseboard, hoping to ease some of the unbearable tightness in his body.
“What’s the matter?” Geneva taunted him from her spot in the middle of the room. “You talk a good game about being open and honest, Mark Rogers, but you can’t take it in return?”
He shook his head, but kept his mouth closed, his hands clenched at his sides. “Excuse me?”
“C’mon,” she continued, either not knowing or not caring how close he was to the edge, how bad he wanted to fuck her so hard and so long, until they both forgot about this stupid fight, all her stupid lies, and just connected physically again, like they had the night before. “What do you want, huh? Honesty or honey lies?”
“What do I want?” Acting on pure impulse, Mark strode over to Geneva, and then stopped himself. His fists were clenched at his sides and his breathing ragged. “Fuck!” He turned away. “I’m so goddamned torn right now I don’t know what I want anymore.”
After several tense moments, Geneva took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things about the military. It’s not our troops that are broken; it’s the system behind them. But I had nothing to do with the article and I’m upset about it too.”