Hard Press: The Evie Black Files

by Adam Nicholls

  “Work with? Dear heart, what do you think Troy did here?”

  “Um… He was a journalist?”

  Conan uttered a short, sharp laugh. “Yes. Right. That, and he was chief editor.”

  Evie was stunned. Was she really being offered a job of that importance? Things had never necessarily gone her way, so she’d expected things to swing in her favor eventually. But this?

  “You’ll be in charge of them, Miss Black. Everyone who made you feel like a fool, you’ll be their boss from this day on. Of course, the salary is nothing to scoff at, either,” Conan added, still selling the position.

  “Then…” Evie was careful now. Her next words would change her life, in one way or another. “It’s not enough.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Evie shook her head. “I’m sorry, but do you understand what I went through? Do you know the sexism you pushed into the room, and how it made me feel? If you want my work I’d really like something more. I’ve proven myself, and now that you can see my worth I want you to apologize to me in front of everyone. It’s the only way I can do this. Sorry.”

  “Wow… Anything else?”

  “A pay raise and a nice office,” she joked.

  Conan smiled, showing off his perfectly shaped teeth while Evie waited with her breath held. He then stepped forward with an outstretched arm and pushed open the door to the boardroom. “Come on in, then. Your seat is waiting for you.”

  Chapter Forty

  The sun came out on the day of Sadie and Emma Durant’s memorial. Guests came from all over as Calvin had not been given a chance to attend the funeral itself. Even the media had the common decency to keep their distance. Evie felt that she had no business attending, but Calvin had nobody else in the world, save for his mother.

  It was a beautiful ceremony, as far as memorials go. When it was over, everybody quickly left for the local bar to celebrate the Durants’ lives. Some were more eager than others to get a stiff drink inside them. Calvin, however, remained on the scene to say goodbye in peace.

  Evie watched from afar, silently saying her prayers for this man. He had lost everything, and although justice had eventually come around, it sure didn’t bring his family back to life.

  Minutes later, Calvin Durant came trudging down the path toward her. He looked grim, understandably, as if he could barely stand upright. “Thank you,” he said to Evie in a voice so monotone that it sounded almost robotic.

  “Don’t be silly. I wanted to come.”

  “No, I mean…” Calvin let out a long breath. “Thank you for getting me off the hook. I don’t know what I can do to make it up to you. Nothing could ever match the kindness you’ve shown me.”

  Evie had an idea but wasn’t so sure that he would commit. “You could live.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You could live. That’s your debt to me. I want you to make use of every single day that you’re free.” She put a hand on his chest. “You’re hurting and probably always will, but don’t let it stop you from living your life. Your family wouldn’t have wanted that, I’m sure.”

  Finally, Calvin began to weep. “I just… Sadie always said I should do what makes me happy. I… Excuse me.” He took a tissue from his pocket and blew his nose. “I always wanted to run my own business. There’s no time like the present, I guess.”

  Evie couldn’t find the words. Instead, she leaned against his body and engulfed him in a hug. “You hold on to that dream, and don’t you ever let it go.”

  “I won’t,” he said in her ear. “I promise.” They broke apart, and Calvin opened up the back door of the car, which had a colorful Sowley’s Rental image plastered across it. “Are you coming to the bar? I would really like to buy you a drink. It’s the least I can do.”

  Evie shook her head slowly, regretfully. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I have to be at work in an hour.” She watched him climb in, waving as the car passed. She had barely known Calvin Durant, but was glad she had at all. Without him, she would only have been looking for a way to pay the bills. Now that she understood the difference she could make, she wanted more than a job—she wanted to find the truth and share it with others.

  With one last look at the headstones on the mound, Evie slipped on her sunglasses and made her way back to the Vision building. After all, she had a lot of work to do.

  Black Widow

  Case File 2

  Chapter One

  Luna Sanchez had never seen a dead body before. Until this awful moment, her life had been mostly rainbows and butterflies. Glorious, fortunate days strung together, making her grateful to be alive. She had a wonderful family, a job that she loved (although being a maid was never what she had expected), and she enjoyed perfect health. What more could she ask for—save rewinding the clock to eleven fifty-nine, exactly one minute before she’d entered room 1222?

  She’d been on turnover service, making the rounds just like any other Monday. The twelfth floor was her last to clean before she got to clock out and pick up her son from kindergarten. While whistling to the tune of a Shakira song and bobbing her head to the lilt of her own voice, Luna slid the key into the lock and popped open the door. She hissed in a ragged breath as she saw it. Red. A puddle of crimson liquid that stained the linens and couldn’t be ignored. Couldn’t be unseen.

  “Oh” was all that fell from her mouth, her lips forming a perfect circle. The towels she’d been holding flumped to the floor. Shaking hands flew to her cheeks as if to cover a blush. Her disturbed stare didn’t stray from the walls.

  A deep shade of scarlet coated the bed, the obvious outline of a man shaped through the pool of blood. His body was sprawled, wrists bound and his head hung low. Strewn about the shag carpet in a tornado of clothes lay pairs of women’s panties. As if someone had flung the items out of their suitcase and run from the room screaming.

  A riot of thoughts overtook her mind, stealing her breath. Luna stepped forward, rubbing her eyes like that action would eradicate the body from her presence. Some kind of gruesome dream while wide-awake. It’s all in my head, she told herself, but the clean cut of the man’s throat—a perfect U from one ear to the other—convinced her otherwise.

  A flash of color snapped her attention from the man to the mirror over the heavy oak dresser. At first glance she thought it was blood spatter, but Luna soon realized that the shade was too pale. Across the reflective glass, in rushed lipstick handwriting, were two words. They meant nothing. They meant everything.

  BLACK WIDOW

  Terror overtook her slight body as a thought permeated her brain, causing a new torrent of rapid-fire heartbeats. What if the killer hid nearby? What if he stood in the bathroom, rinsing off his blade? Luna stiffened, straining her ears for any possible sound. Silence.

  A scream crept up the back of her throat and threatened to overrun her vocal chords and erupt in a symphony of terror. A thick bubble of air brewed inside her lungs, provoking her. All she could do was spin on her heel, examining the scene, taking in details so she could spend months in therapy trying to forget them.

  With one final shudder, Luna slipped through the door, not breathing until she heard the click behind her. Her heart choked her as she came out into the hallway. Just in case, she ran without looking back.

  Chapter Two

  Just as it always did, Evie Black’s research bled into lunchtime. She sat at her desk, surrounded by every known fact about the mysterious Black Widow killer. For weeks, bodies had been discovered, accompanied by a lipstick signature, and it seemed that nobody knew any more about it than she did. Even the police were struggling with their investigation.

  The door to Evie’s office clicked open and somebody stepped inside. It was Conan Reed—short, but stocky enough to make him a little intimidating to his staff.

  “Didn’t feel like knocking?” Evie said. Only a trickle of anger hung in her voice.

  Conan, the boss at Vision Magazine, slithered further into the room without another word. It was hardly surprisi
ng that he didn’t apologize. The arrogant son of a bitch thought the world revolved around him. “How’s the study coming along? Find anything yet?”

  Evie removed her glasses and laid them on her desk, then slumped back and rubbed her dry eyes. “I’ve got nothing. Nothing. Everywhere I look, somebody has a theory on these murders. But that’s all they are. Theories.”

  “Are any of them credible?” he asked, scratching at his nearly bald head.

  “Not a single one.” Evie sighed and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. She blew her black hair out of her eyes. “But I’m guessing you didn’t come here for a social call. What do you need?”

  Conan grinned, putting his hands on the back of one of the chairs and leaning into it. “Your research is coming along too slowly for my taste. Sure, it would be a fascinating article if we were first to publish the identity of this… what was her name?”

  “Black Widow.” Evie swallowed hard, expecting to be told to move on to something else. Everything she had been working on would become a huge waste of time. She narrowed her eyes and used her dark gaze to shoot bullets at his head.

  “Right, Black Widow. Problem is, it doesn’t seem like you can cope by yourself.”

  “I’m doing fine,” Evie protested.

  “No.” Conan stood up straight, fiddling with his silver cufflinks. Expensive, and completely out of place. “I’ve arranged to have somebody working alongside you.”

  Evie shot out of her chair. “What? Why? I don’t need any help.”

  “You do, Miss Black. You’ve been at this for weeks, and you’re still miles away from a decent piece for the magazine. For all I know, it could go on like this for the remainder of the year. That’s why I didn’t—”

  Evie blew out a breath. She hated this. She couldn’t stand that he’d fallen back into using her last name since she’d been promoted. Was it to remain professional, or was it designed to condescend? “This isn’t fair.”

  “Could you let me finish? Please?” Conan loosened his tie and unhooked the top button of his blue dress shirt to give himself some breathing room. “I’m not taking you off the project or anything. You’re outstanding as my chief editor, but you need polish as a journalist. That’s why I’ve called in some help for you. The sooner you get to the bottom of this thing, the sooner I can have you cranking out fresh articles every few days. Articles that will sell papers.”

  Evie rested her face in her hands. Did this dipshit care about anything besides the bottom line? Perhaps it’s not the worst thing in the world, she thought but still didn’t approve of having someone working alongside her. Even the best of people would likely slow her down. Yank her chain. But she had to remember that she was talking to her boss right now, and that left her without a choice. “Fine. Who is he?”

  Conan Reed smiled. “I knew you’d come around. So, his name is Nick Rice.”

  “Is he an intern, or what?”

  “No, he’s a very experienced journalist from the Washington branch. He’s actually been working on this case himself, albeit only for a few days. I thought it would be helpful for you both to compare notes, see what you can learn from each other.”

  Evie inhaled deeply, imagining a shot of straight whiskey burning down the back of her throat. Numbing away the annoyance of Conan Reed. “Fine,” she said. “How long do I have before he gets here?”

  Conan was already halfway through the door, her opinions about a partner dismissed. “Not long, Miss Black. He’s outside right now. Come and meet him. Oh…” He poked his head back into view. “And be nice, eh?”

  Chapter Three

  As it turned out, Nick Rice was a cocky, handsome son of a bitch.

  Blown away by his strong build, perfect smile, and soft, tan skin, Evie didn’t know if she wanted to slap him or throw him down and mount him. Unfortunately, his look-at-me persona ruined any desire that might otherwise have percolated. She was no more impressed by him than she would have been by a dog playing fetch.

  “Evelyn, I presume?” he said when she approached, eyeing her up and down with a hungry gaze, his full lips tugging at the corners.

  “That’s Miss Black,” Evie said. “Chief Editor. If you forget that, I’ll be happy to have someone escort you outside.”

  Conan Reed’s mouth fell open in an oval of annoyance. He snapped his fingers, summoning them into his office, while Nick and Evie played the staring game. “Get in here. Both of you.”

  “After you, boss,” Nick said to her, eyes dancing with challenge. And something else.

  Evie huffed and barged past him. People annoyed the piss out of her, but she usually gave them the benefit of the doubt. Although she hated the idea of a helper tripping over her toes, she had been willing to treat this man with courtesy. Had been. Having met him, however, she found herself only repulsed by his infantile playboy attitude.

  Nick shut the door and sank into the chair beside Evie so they were both facing Conan’s oak desk. Kind of like facing the firing squad.

  Conan cleared his throat and leveled his gaze. “I’m going to pretend it didn’t take five seconds for you both to act like schoolchildren just then. However, I won’t be this forgiving again.” He opened up his laptop and tapped on some keys. “How long have you been with Vision, Nick?”

  “Five years, sir.”

  “Ever been suspended from work?”

  The cheesy grin suddenly dropped from Nick’s face. “No.”

  “Well, keep it up and you soon will be. Evie, that goes for you, too. I need you both working together on this one—professionally. That means no bickering, spitting, kicking, or pulling each other’s hair.”

  Evie rose with rigid posture and stormed toward the door. “This is a joke.”

  “Sit down, Evie,” Conan demanded, his tone a strong dose of bristling anger lying right beneath the surface ready to explode.

  “But I—”

  “Sit down.”

  Hesitant and a little rattled by the drill sergeant routine, Evie took a seat beside Nick. She didn’t dare look at him—it would only make her angry or cause her to say something she’d eventually regret. Although right now… it would feel damn good to put this douche in his place. She had come too far and put up with too many bullies, and she wasn’t about to let another walk all over her.

  “For the record,” Nick said, “I want my name on the article. I came all this way, and I plan to do a great job, sir. I think it’s only fair that I take the credit.”

  Conan’s eyes narrowed, and he slammed a palm down on his desk, causing the stapler to rattle. “I don’t believe this. I’m working with children.” He yanked open a drawer and produced a sheet of paper. “You’ll need to sign this before you begin, Nick. Now, get out of my sight. Both of you.”

  Evie, barely able to believe how fast her day had gone downhill, stormed outside while biting her tongue. It sucked. Her blood was boiling as she stepped into the main room of desk cubicles, and Nick’s hovering made her want to scream.

  “Well, that was fun,” he said, grinning once again. Calm. Cocky. Seemingly unaffected by any of the previous minutes.

  “You’re unbelievable,” Evie said, shaking her head.

  “Thank you.”

  “Argh.” Evie turned and walked away. It was all she could do not to slap the guy in his smug, handsome face.

  “Hey,” Nick called, running to catch up to her. “I need you to show me everything you have on the Black Widow killer. Don’t forget… we’re partners now.”

  Chapter Four

  Thanks to some message left at her crime scenes, the papers and news channels called her the Black Widow. And wasn’t she? A seductress, luring men into bed, enjoying one last blast of sexual energy before cutting their throat. The name was quite appropriate. That was, perhaps, what had led her to use lipstick on the mirror time after time—she had to leave her signature somewhere.

  The killer took to the shower, where she watched the dark crimson roll off her silky skin with morbid
fascination. Regret enveloped her as she remembered the face of her latest victim. How he had begged her to remove the handcuffs so he could get out, how he had cried when she told him that he would never see his children again. And then the way the blood had trickled out of him, as it was trickling from her right now, the plughole sucking it up in a hungry little whirlpool.

  The ignorant morons in law enforcement thought the killings were entirely for sport. Police speculated that she had killed these people for pleasure. Had it not been enough that she’d left her underwear thrown around as a clue? Was it not obvious from the message on the mirror that she wanted to be recognized by the name?

  Black Widow would have to try harder. It felt imperative that they understand why she needed to kill. Focus their energies on her.

  She shut off the water, took a fresh white towel, and stepped out onto the cold tiled floor. Steam hung in the air of the bathroom. With a free hand, she wiped away a small circle of condensation from the mirror. There was a squeak, then her face came into focus on the pane. It was the face of a killer—cold, lifeless eyes and a distinct absence of emotion. Was this what she’d become? Was it no longer about the job, or was she beginning to enjoy it?

  Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. All she could afford was one blissful night of rest before it began all over again. Then, she would be back in someone’s bed with a small blade stowed conveniently in her purse.

  Business as usual.

  Chapter Five

  Evie left Nick with her notes and headed out for lunch. A welcome break to rest her frayed nerves before the fuse inside her singed down to nothing, igniting an explosion of righteous anger.