Hard Press: The Evie Black Files

by Adam Nicholls

  What would Sanyasi do with her after that? She would be free of her obligation, but Teresa had never known the man to be a straight shooter. If anything she would be lucky to walk away alive, but doing his bidding seemed to play into his good books. Maybe she’d catch a break.

  Whatever keeps me alive, she thought as she scanned through several CVs. Either way, this ends soon.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Conan Reed arrived at the office at three o’clock in the afternoon. Evie and Nick were waiting for him. They’d been longing for their chance to bring him up to speed on the situation, essentially using him as a sounding board for this shitstorm. He nodded and mumbled as he listened, hanging on every word with a face so white he resembled an Egyptian cotton sheet.

  “You have to contact the police,” he said, nudging the phone on his desk in their direction. “Immediately. This is as serious as a heart attack and just as deadly.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Nick protested, his voice laced with venom.

  “Watch your tone.”

  “No.” Nick shot to his feet, pointing down at the evidence they’d taken from James Harley’s secret office. “We went out of our way to get the story here. Evie has put in a hell of an effort to—”

  “Mr. Rice.”

  “To get some information for your damn article and—”

  “Mr. Rice!” he repeated.

  “And you expect her to just hand all this straight over to the police? Just forget that she put her life on the line to get this damn story?”

  Conan slammed his fist on the desk, seething, riled by the infuriating subject matter. It was just hard enough to make both Evie and Nick jump. “Step outside for a moment, why don’t you? Cool off a little, before you give me reason to send you back to Washington.”

  Evie sat in the chair between them, clutching the arms so hard her knuckles turned white. “Go on, Nick,” she said in her calmest voice, soothing them both and trying not to sound like she was taking a side. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  With a sigh and a slam of the door, Nick marched out of the office, leaving Evie alone with her boss.

  “Listen.” Conan hid his eyes behind his hands, rubbing them with the heels of his palms. “I care a great deal about you, Miss Black. I care about all of my staff, but for you especially as my chief editor. With that said, I think it’s time to take a step away from this project. For your own safety. What would I do if anything happened to you? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

  “But we’re so close to blowing the story wide open.”

  “I know,” he said smoothly, “but it’s going to land you in some trouble if you carry on this way. I don’t know exactly how you got this information—I don’t even want to—but if you had to dig as hard as you say you did, then I bet there’s a good reason it was buried so deep. As for Sanyasi—”

  “He’s guilty as hell.” Evie tried to swallow past a lump in her throat.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “You know?”

  “I covered Sanyasi once.”

  This hit Evie like a ton of bricks. If there was anything she despised more than killers, it was secrets. “You did? Why didn’t you say something before I went running all over town?”

  Conan shrugged. “I didn’t know that Sanyasi was involved with Black Widow. I mean, how would I? Anyway, this was a long time ago, before I took over this place.”

  “What happened?”

  “I was threatened. Nothing serious, but enough to scare me away from the piece I was writing. My point is, I know how dangerous Sanyasi can be. And my advice, from one friend to another, is to back off. You understand?”

  I didn’t know you cared. Evie nodded, got up slowly so as not to do or say something she’d regret tomorrow, and left the office. As soon as the door clicked shut, she grabbed her coat and stormed past Nick. “Come on,” she said, pushing past the people who stood in her way.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Evie led Nick to her favorite restaurant, a lesser-known Chinese place downtown that served the best egg rolls in the city. Even more appropriately for this afternoon, however, they served strong booze at reasonable prices.

  “I like it,” Nick told her as he looked over his shoulder at the atmosphere. Vibrant silk dragons, lanterns, and artwork painted with the Chinese zodiac created a festive vibe. Evie liked it too and was glad that Nick seemed to.

  “Good. You should feel honored—I don’t usually bring people here. It’s kind of my little secret.”

  “Well, I won’t tell anyone.”

  Evie smiled at that. Easy conversation flowed until the food arrived. They talked about anything other than the Sanyasi situation in a deliberate attempt at evasion. As if remaining silent on the subject would make it go away. Discussing it openly would be like admitting that there was a problem. Right now, Evie just needed to forget about work.

  They ate in silence, chomping down mushroom fried rice and more chow mein than they’d ever thought they could fit in their stomachs. A good house vodka complemented the delicious fare perfectly. When they were done, Nick unhooked his belt, and Evie burped into her fist.

  “This was a good idea,” Nick said. “Totally worth the aching gut.”

  “Right?” Evie took a swig of her vodka, emptying the glass and refilling it with the bottle they’d bought. “So, tell me something: how does a prize-winning journalist from Washington end up in New York City? Surely a killing spree wasn’t enough to just pull up stakes and run to the Big Apple?”

  “Wrong.”

  “I’m never wrong.” Evie popped a candy into her mouth, smiling as she crunched into it. The candy burst and her mouth filled with fruity flavor.

  “You are this time,” he teased. “But if you must know, I’m here for my kids.”

  The statement caught Evie off guard. “I didn’t realize you had little ones.”

  “Yep, two kids and a wife.” Nick reached into his pants and produced his wallet. He flipped it open and slid out a photograph. “Careful with your greasy hands,” he said and handed it over.

  Evie studied the photo, semishocked that Cocky McCharming could hold down a relationship, much less take care of a family. And judging from the photo—a happy-looking bunch at a picnic bench in the middle of a grass patch—they were a good family. “Cute. They’re the reason you’re here?” She handed back the photograph. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “They’re big movie fans. They absolutely worship Superman. You’ve seen the old Christopher Reeve flicks, where it shows a more adventurous life to investigative journalism? They seem to think their daddy is like that—some amazing kind of adventurer. When they found out I was looking into Black Widow, they urged me to find her. Capture her. Bring her to justice.”

  “They look… what, five? Six?”

  “Six and eight.”

  “And they already know about Black Widow?”

  “They can read. There are papers everywhere, and they’re neither blind nor stupid.”

  “Ah.” Evie was coming to understand his intentions a little more. His encouraging family seemed to explain why he had demanded having his name on the article—it was all about pride. In his work and in his life. Who was she to deprive him of that? It seemed simple; her job was to print good articles in Vision Magazine, so would it really kill her to share the byline with him?

  “How about you, Evie? What’s driving you through all this dangerous investigative work?”

  “I’m just doing my job.” Against his insistence, she paid for the meal and threw his coat at him. “I think it’s time we got back on track. Forget the police and ignore Conan—we have a killer to catch.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  As the sun dipped below the horizon, Evie found the two-story office building and rushed toward it with little care for her safety. Nick had demanded that she calm down and wait for him, but eagerness overtook her rational
mind.

  Everything was falling into place like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle. They had the files from Harley’s office—a chunky pile of papers with information about the competition—and other than Harley there was only one person on that list who was not yet deceased: Barry Marsh, distribution entrepreneur and devoted family man. His place of business was just by the Hudson River, and they had found it without too much trouble.

  Nick caught up, and they went inside together. A woman sat at the front desk, the computer monitor reflected in her wire-rimmed glasses as she typed. Suddenly, she looked up, as if she hadn’t noticed them enter.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I hope so,” Evie said, taking the lead once again. “I’m hoping we can talk to Barry Marsh. It’s kind of urgent and of a personal nature.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. He’s in an interview at the moment. But if you’d like to take a seat, then I’ll be sure to send you in when he’s finished. There’s a water cooler just around the corner, should you need it.”

  “Thanks.”

  They took a seat in the reception area and waited, quietly listening to the peaceful jazz music floating over the building’s public address system. It was the kind of music that was designed to keep you relaxed—elevator music, really—but all it did was make Evie more anxious.

  After a few minutes, another lady walked in, dumped her purse on the side, and walked around the receptionist’s desk. She sat at a desk of her own, glancing over at Evie and Nick. “Have you seen to the visitors?”

  “Yep, they’re waiting for Barry,” the first woman said.

  “They’ll be waiting a long time. He went out for coffee with the candidate.”

  “Really? I didn’t see him leave.”

  “You weren’t supposed to. They snuck out the back entrance, thinking I wouldn’t notice. Didn’t you see how pretty this one was? You know how he is…”

  Evie couldn’t help but overhear. At the last statement, she rose to her feet and crossed the room to the desk. “Did you say Mr. Marsh isn’t here?”

  “I do apologize,” the first woman said with a click of her tongue. “He has a bit of a bad habit. A married man has little time for more… physical efforts. Although you didn’t hear it from me.”

  Evie got the feeling that this lady had no problem with spilling the beans on all aspects of her boss’s private life. An attitude like that usually spawned from either boredom leading to gossip or the possibility that she was once one of these pretty young women the man had slept with—before being discarded like last week’s trash.

  “Is he expected back anytime soon?” Nick asked.

  “Hard to say.”

  “Well, can you tell us where he is? Maybe we could catch up to him.”

  Evie heard this without being convinced. Her luck had seldom led her to the right place at the right time. “Maybe you can track his phone?”

  “Hmm…” The woman turned to her computer and hit a few keys. “Chances are, he paid for the coffee on his business card—he’s too tight to reach into his own pocket, especially if it’s work related. If it’s updated, I can check his recent billings.”

  “Excellent,” Evie said and stood to the side, waiting.

  A few moments later, the woman looked up with a confused expression. “That’s weird. He’s paid for a night at Nicholson’s Motel. Looks like somebody is planning to get his freak on.” Her head tilted back, and she howled with laughter alongside her colleague.

  Evie shot Nick a look. Without a word between them, they both headed out the door, phones in hand to call a cab. If they were lucky, they wouldn’t get there too late and find a corpse.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Teresa, the infamous Black Widow, had him in her grasp.

  They’d been at the motel just long enough for the other customers to disperse. The fewer people there were to identify her, the better her chances would be at keeping Sanyasi happy. After all, she was here to do a job, and she was going to see it through.

  But before that, there was the urge. A voracious itch she’d become compelled to scratch. She longed for Barry Marsh as much as she did for any of her other victims. Teresa was a nymphomaniac at heart, she supposed, and wasn’t that the least she could do? Give them a chance for one last orgasmic moment of pleasure before their final breath, all for the sake of the gadget distribution market?

  “What’s this?” Barry asked.

  Teresa had had her back to him just long enough to let him rummage through her bag. She saw her own gun in his hand. It wasn’t pointed at her, but it was clear that she was in trouble. “I take it everywhere,” she said casually, pouting. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with.”

  “And this?” Barry said, waving a few sheets of paper around.

  Teresa’s heartbeat raced. She had no idea how to talk her way out of this one. Marsh’s details were all over that paper, including pictures of him and his family. She stood frozen, desperately seeking a response that wouldn’t sound like a two-bit line of bullshit. She had to convince him. To finish this job before Sanyasi finished her. She sighed and said, “Look, I didn’t want to scare you. My employer—”

  “Your employer?” Barry aimed the gun at her. It trembled in his hand. “Oh geez, somebody actually paid you to do this, didn’t they? Somebody has gone out of their way to make sure I’m dead.”

  Teresa looked down at her fidgeting hands, wrought with shame. It was worse, too; if she didn’t get the job done, she was a dead woman walking. “Why don’t you just put the gun down and we’ll talk, okay?”

  Barry shook his head. “No,” he said, turning red in the face and creeping backward toward the door. “No, I’m not falling for any of your tricks, lady. You just stay here while I go and call the police. I’ll shoot you. Don’t think I won’t.”

  “You won’t need to shoot me,” she lied.

  The gun was still trained on her even as he left the room, his every movement calculated, not letting anything stop him from leaving that motel room alive.

  Teresa watched him leave, trying to figure out just how exactly she would kill a man who had a gun—her gun—especially when she was unarmed. Barry Marsh had been the first person not to fall for her lusty ploy, although he had come close. Just not close enough.

  When the gun dipped out of sight, she counted to ten, hoping to give him a false sense of security, and then she reached for her purse. At lightning speed, she dashed toward the door, setting off to complete the job she had started. And she’d finish it today.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  As Evie’s taxi pulled up in front of the motel, a man waving a gun caught her eye. She commanded the driver to stop the vehicle so she could jump out. Before it even came to a complete halt, she tumbled out of it, almost falling into the storm grate. The driver dialed for the police on his cell phone. Who could blame him?

  “Keep the change,” Evie said, throwing money at him.

  “Hey, wait.”

  While she was aware of Nick’s voice behind her, she also knew that timing meant everything. Pausing to convince Nick that she would be okay was the least of her worries, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to wait for the dipshits in blue who’d already done nothing but make things worse.

  Evie ran toward the man, who had his back to her. His hawk-like gaze remained on the open motel-room door, the gun shaking like a leaf on a tree. Seizing the opportunity, she lashed out and wrestled him, pinning his gun arm on the ground.

  “Get off me!” he cried, wriggling like his life depended on it.

  “I’m not here to hurt you,” she said. “You’re Barry Marsh, right?”

  The man slowed down, his rapid breathing slowing down to short, strong pants. He stared at her with wide eyes and stopped trying to fight her. Finally, he nodded.

  “Good. Okay, Barry,” she said, gently removing the gun from his hand and climbing off him, “I need you to stay calm, and tell me what happened.”

  Barry Marsh climbed to his feet, dusting
off his knees and glancing at the room he’d come running from with fear-filled eyes. “Th-There was a woman. She brought me here for… you know. Sex.”

  “We know you’re a married man,” Nick said, appearing from behind her to stand at Evie’s side. “And your secret is safe with us. Just carry on.”

  The man ranted on in a panicked tone, not acknowledging Nick—it was as if Nick hadn’t spoken at all. “She had info about me. About my family. Photographs. Personal information. I found it in her purse along with that gun.”

  “Where is she now?” Evie asked, checking the gun in her hand. She didn’t want to use it, but if the police took too long and Black Widow posed a threat, she wouldn’t hesitate.

  “Still in the room.”

  Evie made a dry gulping sound. “We’ll take care of it.”

  “Who are you?” she heard Barry calling somewhere behind her. “Detectives?”

  But she was too far gone to care about him. He’d kept himself alive—that was all that mattered—and now she was finally going to meet Black Widow. Evie had researched her for so long it was almost as if she knew her personally. Only, as she neared the motel room, it suddenly dawned on her that she didn’t even know what the woman looked like.

  Evie dived into the empty room with complete disregard to her own safety, the gun not even raised in front of her. Adrenaline coursed through her body as she checked the closet and under the bed, ensuring that nobody could jump out and take her from behind. When she saw the closed bathroom door, a wooden barricade between her and whatever lay on the other side, she suspected she knew where Black Widow had hidden herself.

  Nick burst through the door, demanding answers. When Evie pointed to the bathroom, he shot forward and kicked it open with his heel. The doorframe splintered. A small woman tried to climb through the tiny bathroom window.

  “Get her!” Evie yelled.