Trevor had confidence that the governor and Wallace would orchestrate the conference exactly the way they wanted it to go, but it was his job to take care of Manning.
It was time for him and Manning to have a man-to-man talk.
“You’ve really sunk to a new low, Wayne,” Manning said when he walked into the underground parking garage and spotted Trevor leaning against his own car, with his feet crossed on the broad yellow line that separated their cars. “Stalking, is that your profession now?”
“Ferreting out rodents, more like it.” Trevor didn’t change his nonchalant pose. The muscles in his shoulders burned with restrained tension, and his hands itched with the urge to wrap themselves around Manning’s throat.
Manning’s nostrils flared. “Well, I wish I had time to quibble with you, but I’m a busy man. Nothing you would know anything about.” Manning headed for his driver’s side door.
Trevor blocked his entrance. “I’ll be out of your way in a moment. I have a few things to discuss with you, first.”
Manning stopped dead in his tracks. “Don’t take me for a sucker, Wayne. Last time you got in a lucky punch. I’ve beaten guys bigger than you at the boxing club for play.”
Straightening his posture, Trevor stood facing Manning. “Give me another reason. Any reason to beat you until you have to find a new hole to breathe through,” Trevor barked at the other man.
Trevor could hear the grinding of Manning’s teeth and witnessed his eyes pulling in at the corners as the other man gave him a fierce assessing look.
“Back off,” Manning spit out.
“You got it wrong, buddy boy. It’s you and your lackey that are going to back off.”
Trevor jabbed his finger into Manning’s sternum. He drew a small bit of pleasure from seeing the other man wince. Not as much as he would, had he hit him.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Manning tried to get around him. “Playing on dangerous ground, Wayne. Watch your back. Because you’re headed for a rude awakening.”
Bucking toward Manning, Trevor saw him flinch regardless of his verbal bravado. Trevor still remembered the joy from the last time he and Manning had an encounter, and he’d punched and laid him flat. But it was times like this he had to restrain himself and be the bigger man.
Shoving Manning against his Corvette, Trevor walked past him. Out of the corner of his eye, Trevor caught sight of a pink piece of paper as it fluttered from Manning’s suit jacket pocket. With a bit of prestidigitation, Trevor reached out, scissoring it between two fingers and palmed it. Feeling the prickle of the slip of paper as it stabbed at the inside of his palm, Trevor glanced down.
In the blink of an eye, Trevor looked down at the mini sized note. “North West, now” was the only thing written in block style angry strokes. In that same blink, he expertly flipped it over to the plain back to make sure he wasn’t missing anything else.
Pivoting around, Trevor held the slip out to Manning. “You dropped—”
Manning turned from his car and snatched the paper from Trevor as anger flushed his face, practically turning his yellow complexion burgundy. “Stay out of my damn business!” he roared.
Lifting both palms up in a “no harm, no foul” gesture, Trevor leaned back against his own car. He folded his arms across his chest to hide the clenching of his fists because he would have liked nothing better than to beat the man to a pulp, but in situations like this, restraint always worked best.
Trevor said, in a low deadly tone, “Stay away from Tiffany, and that includes your secret pet, too. You lost Manning; stand up and take it like a man for once.”
Manning’s face pinched in a sneer. Opening his car door he yelled, “Tiffany made a mistake by getting involved with the likes of you, Wayne. But I’m going to be the one who bails her out of it. Then her and her father’s debt of gratitude will be owed to me for cleansing them from the likes of you.”
Trevor scrunched his brow, tilting his head in confusion. He never understood people who held onto something that wanted to be free. “Why would you go through so much trouble to maliciously attain someone, who doesn’t want you?”
“It’s little people like you, Wayne, who will never truly understand politics. It’s all part of the game.”
“One day it will bite you in the end.”
Ignoring him, Manning got into his car and slammed the door, revving his engine. He backed out of his parking spot with squealing tires against the painted garage floor and pulled off.
Trevor quickly got into his car and cranked his engine. “I don’t know why you’d be in a hurry to meet someone on the North West side of D.C., but I’m about to find out.” Trevor reversed his vehicle, shifted into drive and guided his car toward the exit ramp.
Twenty
Trevor reached the exit of the garage, perplexed with indecision about which direction to go until he spotted Christopher’s vintage Corvette headed up the road where the street numbers became larger.
“You’ve got guts. I’ll give you that, Manning.” It was dusk out, and soon it would be dark. Not many D.C. natives were brave enough to head to the North West side after the streetlights came on. People who lived and worked in the area were the exception to the rule.
Trevor continued his clandestine pursuit, keeping a block’s distance, so as not to tip off Manning. He followed him up and down streets tagged by alphabets and numbers, until Manning turned into the parking lot of a pool hall located on 14th and K.
“Who do you possibly know in this district? Why are you here, Manning?” Trevor mumbled.
Trevor traveled up the street, slowing his car, staring into his rearview mirror, making sure Manning entered the building. He was surprised to see Manning without his jacket and tie.
Manning was no fool. His Bill Blasé suit would have stuck out like a sore thumb. On a brother in this neighborhood; it shouted money.
Once Manning was inside, Trevor backtracked and parked two stores away. He secured his car and checked around him. It wasn’t dark yet but getting close. Jeans and a button-down shirt helped him to blend in better than Manning’s apparel. Rolling his shoulders back, his gait was brisk but confident. He only hoped whatever business Manning conducted wouldn’t be long enough to get the cars stolen before they left.
A few pedestrians hustled by him to their destinations, not pausing as they passed him.
He walked past a vintage record store before reaching the door where Manning had entered.
Eight Ball was the name of the establishment etched on the glass window. He strolled by with nonchalance. On the side of the building he searched for a side door or an employee’s back entrance. He’d prefer not to be spotted by Manning or whomever he was meeting.
Trying a side door and finding it locked, Trevor moved on toward the back alley.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing calling me at work?”
The sound of Manning speaking in a grated voice stopped Trevor inches away from the back corner of the pool hall. Taking a risk, Trevor flushed his back against the rough brick wall.
A dumpster sat right at the back corner of the building, a barrier between him and the mystery meeting. Slipping his hand into the back pocket of his jeans, he pulled out his flip-top cell phone.
Opening it, he placed the ringer on silence, and then switched it to camera mode. Easing it around the corner, Trevor prayed the black cased phone wouldn’t be spotted in the dark.
“You’re not the only one taking a chance,” the other man pointed out.
“It’s a greater threat for me,” Manning barked.
Trevor held the phone out just far enough to see who was around the corner. At first, when Trevor looked into the mini screen he could only see the back of Manning as he stood in the shadows beside the backdoor, until a short stocky man stepped closer to him directly underneath the overhead lamp.
“Yeah, but I’m the only one who will go to jail.”
Who is he? Trevor wondered.
Selecting the button on his phone, Trevor turned off the flash and selected the capture choice. Pulling it close to him, he closed it and returned the cell phone to his pocket. Not wanting to chance either man seeing it.
“Did you hear something?” The short man sounded nervous.
“Yeah, your time running out,” Manning whispered.
Trevor strained to hear, doing his best to decipher the men’s low tones.
“Something’s going down.”
Trevor could almost feel the anxiety of the short man.
“Like…what?” Manning asked, sounding broken and rough, as if he were speaking through gritted teeth.
“I was at the mansion working on Sunday, and Miss Selina and Trevor came over.”
“Tiffany always has Sunday dinner with her father.”
Manning had planted a spy. The mystery man worked at the mansion? Trevor ran a few faces through his mind, trying to place him, but came up blank. He was glad he’d taken the picture and hoped it came out clear enough for the governor and Wallace to recognize the man.
He almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
The shorter man must not have gotten a reaction from Manning because he emphasized the next word. “Together. Embracing.”
“Is that what you brought me here for?” Manning sighed more than said.
He knew. Somehow Manning found out about Tiffany and me. Either the word had already gotten out, or Manning was working with the reporter as Tiffany suspected.
Straining his ears to hear more, Trevor listened.
The short man remained silent for a moment longer. Trevor figured the short man had realized the same thing he now understood.
“No. They had a meeting in his office. I stood outside the window, trying to see, but that damn mountain blocked my view.”
Trevor laughed silently, thankful to the “mountain.”
“So you have nothing for me?” Disappointment laced Manning’s words. “I’m out of here.”
Loose gravel crunched under shoe soles headed in his direction. Glancing around at the few cars in the side parking lot, Trevor had nowhere to hide quickly without someone seeing him. His body braced with expectation of meeting Manning. Prepared to back away, he froze when he heard Manning’s next words.
“Don’t touch me,” Manning snapped.
The short man must have grabbed Manning.
Surprised, Trevor had never heard Manning speak without using his self-assured politician voice. Like Tiffany, he was learning more and more about his fellow alum every day.
“Some guy named The Weasel had a package delivered. By the look on Wallace’s face, it wasn’t a ‘Thinking of You’ card.”
“Are you sure?” For the first time that night, Manning didn’t sound so confident.
“Yes.” Excitement permeated the short man’s tone. “Earl…Andy…Eric.”
Trevor heard a slapping sound, like flesh against flesh. He figured the short man palming his forehead trying to remember.
“Eddie. Damn it. That bastard’s burning both ends.”
Trevor’s mind began to race. Had Eddie tried to extort money from Manning as well, or was he taking Manning’s money for the info, then reselling it? Trevor continued to listen.
“You know him?”
“Every government official worth their salt knows of him.” There was a small pause, then Manning finished. “You leave him to me.”
“Whatever you say. What do you want from me?”
“Nothing. I need you to lay low for a while. People are on to you.” Manning directed.
“And you lead to me…we can’t have that. It’s time for you to find a new place of employment.”
“No problem. I had a few days off anyway. I won’t even be missed. It’s perfect timing.”
“Great. Don’t call me. I’ll contact you.”
“You sure you don’t need my assistance?”
“No. I know just how to muzzle this dog.”
At that moment, the side door opened and a gaunt older man came out stumbling and singing to himself. Trevor made a quick pivot, grabbed the side door, slipped inside and pulled the door shut behind him.
Twenty-one
“So do I get an exclusive scoop or what?” Liza Wilkerson asked eagerly, phone pressed firmly to her ear. She was the editor for the society and entertainment section of the D.C.
Chronicle.
“Who am I speaking with?” Tiffany bluffed, hoping she could buy herself some time or think of a quick idea to put the editor off.
“It’s me, Tiffany darling. Liza Wilkerson.” Liza’s country drawled, syrupy sweet, singsong voice came clearly through the receiver.
“I’m not quite sure I know what you’re talking about, Ms. Wilkerson.” Tiffany sat down on the corner of her desk. She had been on her way to Josephine’s office to go over some of the end of the quarter stats when she answered the phone.
“Don’t you Ms. Wilkerson me, Tiffany dear. I’ve known you since your fifth birthday and your father was running for Congress.”
Only if known was another word for track and report. “Liza, what can I do for you?”
“Like I was saying, Tiffany. I want the scoop. Who is the gorgeous guy you have been seen around with over the last couple of weeks?”
Tiffany could almost hear her panting with excitement on the phone.
“Tiff, are we still—” Josephine came walking into her office.
A single raised finger stopped her friend’s words.
Josephine lifted an apologetic hand to her mouth, silencing herself.
“There’s nothing to tell.” Tiffany waved Josephine forward.
Her friend sat in the chair next to where Tiffany was propped against her desk.
“Tiffany, please. Don’t think I’m going to believe that for one moment.”
“Liza—” Tiffany started.
“Darling…” Liza went on as if Tiffany hadn’t spoken. “I’m saying linked arm in arm.”
At least she and Trevor knew that their plan to become more public with the relationship was working.
Tiffany sighed. Liza Wilkerson was at the top of the game of society gossip. She should have known if Liza was calling personally, then she had a reliable source. Or more than likely the story was big enough since she wanted her hands in it. Tiffany decided it was best to be honest, especially since her father was planning a press conference some time soon. Having Liza on their side would do wonders to counteract anything The Weasel divulged. “Liza, I’m going to trust you…” Tiffany allowed the weight of her words to saturate the atmosphere, “…and tell you that there is a relationship between myself and this man. But I won’t go into any further details.
If you trust me and not print or reveal anything, then within the week you will have all you need for your article.”
“Most reporters wouldn’t be able to say this, but I believe from my years of being in this business I have earned a lot of people’s confidence. We have a deal. Your news within the week for my silence.”
“Thanks, Liza.” A weight rose off her shoulders.
“Can I get an exclusive.”
Tiffany laughed. Liza hadn’t made it as head of her division for nothing. “I’m not crazy enough to promise you that.”
Chuckling along with her, Liza finished by saying, “A journalist has to try.”
“Yes, she does.”
After farewells, both women hung up.
With a hard and long burst, Tiffany exhaled air from her lungs.
“That bad, huh,” Josephine said from her quiet position in the chair.
Tiffany looked at her and smiled. “Honestly, I will be glad when it’s over, Jo.”
“When is the press conference?” Cross-legged, Josephine continued to lean back in the chair, the picture of relaxation.
Placing her hands flat against the desk, Tiff
any slid herself across the desk until the back of her knees bumped the edge. “Dad is supposed to let us know.”
“I’ve said it a million times before, Tiff, but I will never envy your position. Living in the limelight…” Josephine shook her head.
“I wouldn’t wish it on anyone either.”
They shared a grin of understanding.
“How are you and Trevor?” Josephine wiggled her eyebrows at her.
An instant chortle bubbled out of Tiffany’s mouth. “A lot better than you and Ruben since I haven’t heard any wedding plans.”
Josephine dropped her head in the palm of one of her hands and groaned. “I know. I know.” She raised her head; a wisp of a smile graced her mouth. “Things are going well and we’ve had the discussion, but I’m dragging my feet for the time being.”
“Why?”
“Because the business is doing great. Now that you’re able to come on board practically full time, I’m moving toward being agreeable to the offer.”
“Jo, I’m sorry. I know everything for this company has leaned heavily on your shoulders in the past. If I haven’t said it enough, thank you.”
“You would have done it, too, if the situation were reversed.”
Tiffany had never felt more blessed for their friendship than she did at that moment.
“You know, Jo, Trevor and I were planning a real wedding before this entire Weasel stuff started. Now we’re just going to have to come out with the marriage. But I want you to know, I was going to ask you to be my maid of honor.”
Jo stood with one hand on her hip and the other wagging a finger at Tiffany, her gestures full of faux indignation. “Of course you were going to ask me. Who else could take that honored position? I’ve been your best friend since kindergarten, and if you think for one moment you’re getting away with not having me by your side because some slimy good for nothing reporter is out to make some cash…” Jo paused, folding her arms and rolling her eyes at Tiffany, “…you better think again, sister.”
Holding up both of her hands to ward off chastisement, Tiffany laughed until tears streamed down her cheeks. “Okay, okay…I get it.” Placing a hand on her chest, Tiffany released a calming breath. “So what am I supposed to do to make it up?”
Fire & Desire (Hero Series) Page 21