“I didn’t have to for a very long time. Now...it helps.”
There’d been pain behind her voice. An aggravated edge that Cassie had originally chalked up to the woman being caught unaware by the question. But what if there was more to it?
She was so focused inward, Sam’s turn onto the street in front of the station sent her listing to one side. She caught herself with one hand and scanned the employee parking. “Hold up, Sam.”
Almost instantly, Sam eased up on the accelerator.
“Everything all right, Miss McClintock?” This from Abel, who sounded more than a little concerned.
“Yeah, fine.” She sat a little taller in her seat. At 11:30 in the morning, a lot of employees were already headed out for lunch, so the parking lot wasn’t as thick as it could have been, but the tall iron fence that surrounded the lot didn’t make looking any easier. “Just trying to see who all is here.”
There. The snappy little red Chevy Spark that Lizbet had been so happy about buying just a few months ago.
“I’m good.” She waved Sam on to the guest parking lot in front of the building. “If you’ll drop me off there, I’ll just run in and get what I need.”
She hustled down the long sidewalk, a power walk just shy of a jog, and heaved open one of the tinted double doors.
Bonnie was the last person she’d expected to see manning the front desk, and given the surprise on Bonnie’s face, Cassie was the last person she’d expected to see today, too. “Cassie! Please Jesus, tell me the big dogs came to their senses and brought you back.”
“No. No call backs. But if you’re here on a Monday, does that mean you’re full-time now?”
“Nah. The weekday girl’s got some kind of cooties, so I got lucky. What are you doin’ here?”
“I need to talk to Lizbet. Have you seen her?”
“Yeah. She was in the break room about an hour ago.” She picked up the phone. “You want me to call her and get her up here?”
“No!” Cassie lurched forward and waved the receiver back toward its cradle. “God, no. I think she’s avoiding me as it is. If I’m gonna talk to her, it’s gotta be a sneak attack.”
A shit-eating grin crept onto Bonnie’s face, and she gently put the phone back in place. “Oh, this sounds like a juicy story in the making. How can I help?”
Talk about fortuitous opportunities. If it’d been the regular girl, management would have been notified of Cassie’s arrival two seconds inside the front door. “Any chance you can buzz me through?”
Bonnie frowned. “If I do that and someone sees you go through, they’ll be able to check the logs and see it was me that let you in.”
Right. And Bonnie needed this job in a seriously bad way. “It’s okay. Maybe I can wait outside and follow her when she leaves.”
“No.” Bonnie shook her head a little and her gaze drifted sideways, distant. A second later, she pulled out her keyboard and narrowed her attention on the screen in front of her. “There might be another way, though.”
Her fingers flew over the keys, the muted clacks the only sound in the otherwise silent lobby. She hit the enter key and waited. “Hmm.”
“Hmm what?”
“Just...hang on.” The transformation in her demeanor was shocking. On the surface, Bonnie acted like a girl who was more comfortable working a beer tap and waiting tables than working a computer, but seeing the level of concentration on her face and the confidence in each keystroke made it seem like she was born with a screen in front of her.
“Yep. There it is.” She zeroed in on Cassie. “I found the security database. I’ll punch you through then wipe the transaction.”
“You can do that?”
A weird look crept across her face. Part guilt, part consternation. “My brother’s got a thing for computers. I’ve picked a few things up from him.”
“Oh, that sounds like another story. One that requires drinks.”
The playful rebuttal worked and drew a wry smile back to Bonnie’s face. “Someday. Maybe when I’m not holding down three part-time jobs.”
“Deal.” Cassie glanced at the security camera mounted in the corner. “What about that thing?”
Bonnie cleared her throat and fiddled with the pen on her desk. “That database has the security recordings, too, so...”
Oh, yeah. They were definitely getting drinks, and unemployed or not, Cassie was footing the tab. “You sure?”
“Hell, yeah. Haven’t had this much fun at a job since a fight broke out over DC versus Marvel comics at the bar I was tending.” She pulled up something on her computer. “You ready?”
This was it. Once she went through that door, she was really in it.
She wiped her sweaty palms on her hips and nodded. “Absolutely.”
The buzzer rattled like an amplified bee and the door clicked open. Voices from men in the studio echoed off the hallway’s industrial white tile, but no one showed in her immediate line of sight. With a quick wave to Bonnie over her shoulder, she let the door snick shut and crept toward the bullpen.
Her arms and legs trembled, and the best her lungs seemed capable of were shallow short breaths.
Footsteps sounded from the side hallway behind her, and her heart jolted.
She ducked into the women’s bathroom, huddled next to the door as it closed and waited for the person with the quick heavy footsteps to pass. Not that hearing anything over her pounding pulse in her ears was an easy feat. Sneaking into a TV station was certifiably insane. Definitely not the kind of work she was cut out for.
The footsteps passed, leaving only the quiet of the lounge that separated the bathroom from the exit in their wake.
“Cassie?”
No. Freaking. Way.
Cassie straightened away from the door and slowly turned. “Well, if it isn’t the girl I snuck in to see. Why aren’t you answering your phone?”
“Um.” Lizbet motioned to the bullpen. “I do have a job to do.” As soon as she said it, she seemed to remember the same was no longer true for Cassie and flinched. “Sorry.”
Cassie waved it off. “Don’t be. But I need to talk to you. Now.”
She checked beneath the stalls in the main part of the restroom, gripped Lizbet by her suit-clad arm and tugged her toward the two padded slip chairs in the corner. “You know that BDSM novelty piece you did a few weeks ago? The one with the Pro Domme?”
Lizbet demurely took the seat next to Cassie and smoothed her scarlet red pencil skirt toward her knees, a mildly incensed frown on her face. “That wasn’t a novelty piece. It was the start of a series. And the online comments were triple that of any other stories done this month.”
Cassie shook her head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it as a dig. I’m sure it did great. But I need to know about your source. The lady whose identity you kept hidden.”
The incensed expression shifted to wariness, and Lizbet edged away from Cassie as though uncertain who or what she was dealing with. “What about her?”
Now for the tricky part. Getting any reporter to share their source was iffy at best. If she shared that the Domme was a possible murderer that might get Lizbet off the fence, but would open a whole different can of worms. Kir had trusted her with family knowledge. She wasn’t about to break that confidence now. “I think she’s the person who told the execs about my relationship with Kir, and I think she shared it because she was somehow tied to Alfonsi.”
“So?”
“So, why would she want to shut me up? A reporter?”
The shift in Lizbet’s features was subtle, but it was there—the slow dawning of comprehension.
“There’s something there,” Cassie said. “Something she doesn’t want me to know. Either because I’m a reporter, or because I’m tied to Kir.”
“And why would you want to know? You don’t have an outlet to report whatever
you learn.”
“Because Ed accused me of using station resources for Kir’s benefit. Implied I haven’t been objective. Neither of those things are true. And while I get they have to think about station credibility and all that, I want a chance to clear my name and prove the work I did while I was here was solid. Wouldn’t you want to do the same?”
Lizbet pinched her lips together. Whether it was because she thought Cassie was crazy and was trying to hold the opinion in, or she agreed with Cassie’s motive and was too afraid to voice it, Cassie couldn’t say.
Either way, Cassie wasn’t giving up. “Do you think I deserved the action they took? Really?”
Gaze sliding to the floor, Lizbet let out a sharp huff. “No.” She straightened her spine and squared her shoulders almost as fast as she’d offered her agreement. “But, be that as it may, I don’t see how this involves me, or why I should tell you anything about my source.”
Inspiration struck. One of those glorious moments of intuition that blossomed in her gut. “Because if what I’m thinking is going on, I’ll give you the story. Everything. All the details and full credit.”
Lizbet’s head snapped back. “Why?”
“Because I’m done with reporting. I don’t need the story, but I do want to clear my name. The best way for me to do that is for the management team to realize they’ve been caught up in a scheme and we were both pawns.”
“You’re done with reporting?”
“Completely. I’m going to do something I really love. Take some time and explore my options.”
The way Lizbet studied her, one would think she’d just grown two heads. “And this Kir guy...does he have anything to do with you being able to take your time?”
Hell, yes, he did. He had everything to do with her life. With her future. “Kir believes in me. He knows I’m good at reporting and he’s proud of what I’ve accomplished, but he also knows I’m in the business for all the wrong reasons. He wants me to do something I love and be happy.”
In the time she’d known Lizbet, Cassie had seen many sides of her colleague. Focused. Angry. Coy and professional. But in that moment, a soft appreciation settled in her features. She smiled, the gesture marked with sad envy. “You’re a lucky girl. Not all of us get that kind of a chance.”
She regarded Cassie for another moment, then nodded, stood and straightened her jacket. “When Ed called me in the day they let you go, he told me what had happened. He said the tip came from someone at the Midsummer Masquerade.”
An odd shift in topic, and not exactly the response she’d been hoping for, but Cassie went with it. “Yes. Someone shared the information with one of the executives.”
“Hmm.” Lizbet kept fiddling with her suit, tugging on each sleeve of her jacket and delicately flicking her fingers over the fabric as though ensuring no lint had dared to touch it. “That’s a big event. It’ll be hard to narrow down who might have said it. And that’s only if you can get your hands on the guest list.”
She snapped to attention and zeroed in on Cassie as though she’d been jolted by a thought. “You know, now that you’ve got a man with deep pockets, maybe you can afford a trip to the lady who makes my custom suits. She’s a costume designer like the ones who work those masquerade balls. I’ll bet she could even make a skinny thing like you look like you’ve got curves.” She winked then sauntered toward the door, full of attitude. Opening the door, she paused for a last look at Cassie, a silent message behind her eyes. “Good luck.”
The wink.
It hadn’t been a sassy one, but a pay attention one.
She’s a costume designer like the ones who work those masquerade balls.
And she’d made sure to bring up the Midnight Masquerade. If a costume designer did a ton of work on a masquerade, surely they’d be included on the guest list.
Cassie slipped her phone from her back pocket and opened her browser.
Costume Designers in New Orleans
Cassie clicked the first one—a man located near downtown. She hit the back arrow and tried the next.
A carousel of images featuring all manner of parties and costumes took up the bulk of the home page, but the address at the bottom showed Canal Street.
Fell on hard times and had to branch out or something. She’s over on Canal Street.
Yes!
She punched the Bio link in the top right-hand corner and the designer’s image filled the screen. Behind her, a multitude of colorful costumes lined the wall on prime display, but those full lips and turned up nose were unmistakable.
It was Lizbet’s source. And the woman she’d seen in the coffee shop. And at André’s. The only difference between the three were hairstyles and clothes, but as a designer she’d know all kinds of ways to alter her appearance.
In the corner of the image, a slick blue and red costume stood out among the others. Not something you’d expect at Mardi Gras or a formal masquerade, but more in line with a superhero movie.
No.
One resounding thought that ricocheted through Cassie’s head and made her blood turn cold. Evette and Emerson were going to a designer at noon—one who Evette had hoped to have make Emerson a Halloween costume and who’d specifically reached out to them and volunteered her work.
Bolting from her seat, Cassie jerked the bathroom door wide and took off at a run down the hallway.
Her editor ambled from the side hallway and right into her path, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms and his glasses perched on the end of his nose. He looked up and jerked with recognition just as Cassie passed him. “Hey, what are you doing here?”
“Just stopped by to say hi to Lizbet.” She punched the release button on the door and didn’t look back. “See ya.”
Bonnie lurched straighter in her chair the second she laid eyes on Cassie. “Whoa, you okay?”
“Perfect,” she huffed without breaking step. “And we’re definitely having drinks soon.”
She shoved one of the doors wide and opened up to a full sprint for the parking lot. She made it all of three strides before Abel and Patrick hopped out of the car and started her way. She waved them back and opened her own car door. “Quick. Get in the car. We gotta get ahold of Kir.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Kir exited the Pontchartrain Expressway into the heart of New Orleans’s Warehouse District and tried to ignore the weight of his phone in his jacket. It’d been well over an hour since Sam had called him. An hour he and Roman had spent casually feeling out a potential suspect from the guest list when what he really wanted was drive to the station and make sure Cassie was okay.
“You’re overthinking it, moy brat.” Seated in the passenger seat, Roman perused the passing landscape outside Kir’s Audi like he hadn’t just poked a sleeping bear.
“I’m not overthinking anything.”
Roman swiveled his head and nailed Kir with a droll look. “And yet, you’ve made no observations about the next person on our list, and we’re only a mile away.”
Kir grunted. He could try and argue, but the truth was Roman knew him well. “Something feels off. She should have called by now.”
Roman shrugged. “Then call one of her men. Ask them for an update.”
He was tempted.
Sorely tempted.
But trust was a skill he’d left far too underdeveloped with women for too long, and he refused to jeopardize their long-term future for short-term comfort.
He shook his head, gripped the steering wheel a little more firmly and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. “The next name is one of your contacts. How do you want to play the conversation?”
Roman huffed out a smug chuckle and started to reply, but the subtle electronic ring of an incoming call cut him off.
Cassie’s number flashed on the display.
Cocking one eyebrow, Roman dipped his head tow
ard the dash. “Perhaps now you’ll be able to concentrate.”
Kir glared at Roman, but punched the answer button rather than argue and feigned a tone much lighter than the tension in his gut. “Hello, vozlyublennaya. I was wondering when I’d hear from you.”
Cassie’s labored breathing filling the car’s interior, her voice sharp and hurried. “I think Evette and Emerson are in trouble. Someone needs to call the police and send them to 2940 Canal Street.”
Roman’s gaze snapped to Kir’s, the same shock Kir felt like a living current beneath his skin reflected in his brother’s expression.
On the side of the street were two open parallel parking spots. Kir checked over his shoulder, then whipped his car into the slots and demanded, “What’s going on?”
“I know who tipped off the execs at the station. It’s a woman and she works at that address. She’s a costume designer and her name is Via Ricci, and I think she’s the same person who took a picture of us at André’s. The things is, Evette told me this morning that she and Emerson were going to see a costume designer about volunteer work for an upcoming fund-raiser. I think it’s the same woman and I think Evette was set up.”
“I’m calling her guards,” Roman said, taking out his phone.
Kir kept his focus on Cassie. “What do you mean you think it’s a setup?”
“Do you want details, or are you going to check on Evette and Emerson?” she bit back with an edge he’d never heard before.
He took the none too subtle jab, though, glanced over his shoulder and U-turned out of the parking space. “I’m driving. Roman’s calling her men. Now talk.”
Her sigh was one short on patience. “Short version—I’ve seen women while we’ve been out together I thought I recognized, but nothing ever triggered for me because they all looked different. Different hairstyles and hair colors. Different clothes. This morning, it all clicked—they’re all the same woman. She’s just wearing different disguises.”
“And you figured this out how?”
“Because once I pointed it out, Aunt Frieda recognized it, too, and it’s the same woman Lizbet interviewed for a special interest piece. I went to the station to see if Lizbet would share her source. I told her I thought her source was somehow tied to Alfonsi and had intentionally leaked my relationship to you as a means to shut me up and keep me from stumbling onto something I shouldn’t know.”
Hers to Tame Page 25