by Lee Winter
“And a corporation to destroy,” Lauren responded, her mind still replaying how Ayers had hungrily examined every inch of her body. This was the woman who said they shouldn’t do this? They couldn’t be together? That maybe they hated each other?
“Yes we do,” Ayers smiled warmly. She tilted her head and looked at Lauren with interested, soft-gray eyes. “And I think I’m going to enjoy doing that with you.”
CHAPTER 13
Taming the Dragon
The drive home had been eerie. A heaviness hung over them as they digested Sands’s revelations. An international spying scandal. The CIA, NSA, and god knew who else was involved. Yet they couldn’t prove or print a single word of it.
“How can you be so calm about this?” Lauren asked, slapping the steering wheel in frustration. “It’s an outrage.”
Ayers frowned pointedly at Lauren’s abuse of her Saab. “Lauren, sometimes it just works out this way. We run the story we can, not the one we wish we had. We have to be practical.”
“And SmartPay gets away with the biggest spying scandal in history? Along with whoever else helped? And no one will ever know? Screw that!”
“We’ll know,” Ayers countered quietly. “We’ll know, and while we might be powerless to do anything about this now, you don’t know what the future will bring.”
“That sounds almost optimistic coming from you.”
“I’m never above hoping for more, even as life constantly disappoints.” Ayers gave her a hint of a smile to take the sting out.
They pulled into Ayers’s driveway just after ten. The garage door automatically curled up and Lauren carefully parked the luxury vehicle. With more reluctance than she’d ever admit, Lauren slid out of the driver’s seat and tossed Ayers her car keys as the other woman also stood.
“A girl could get used to driving a car like that,” Lauren said.
Ayers’s lips threatened to smile. “I’ll bet.”
Lauren’s gaze fell to the car beside them. “I’m not cheating on you, babe,” she told The Beast and gave it an affectionate pat. “Just appreciating your sexy competition.”
Her eyes dropped to the side of her car which had gotten so badly scratched up by their chase. She frowned. The Chevy was now unblemished.
“What the…?” She ran her hand along the surface to check, then she darted to the other side and examined it, too.
“It’s fixed,” she said slowly, eyebrows lifting in question.
Ayers was pulling her bag out of the trunk. “Imagine that.”
Lauren stared at her in wonder, heart thudding. “You had The Beast repaired?”
Ayers straightened and glanced at her before looking away. “Yes. Well. Apparently I owed you for some parking tickets. So this seemed equitable.”
Lauren blinked. “My parking tickets cost nothing near what a paint job would have. Especially color matching for a shade they don’t even make any more.” She strode back to where Ayers stood and, without thinking, enveloped her in a hug.
Ayers made a surprised noise. Lauren revelled in her softness and felt hands float up to rest on her back. They held each other for longer than polite gratitude would dictate, and Lauren’s breath caught in her throat.
Finally she stepped back with some reluctance and felt those fingers trailing slowly down her back as Ayers pulled away, too.
Lauren gave her a wide grin. “I have no words. This…it’s sensational. I mean it. Thanks.”
A red tinge covered Ayers’s cheeks and neck. Lauren wondered why she looked so uncomfortable. Did no one ever thank her for stuff?
“It’s nothing,” Ayers said stiffly, waving her hand. “Only money. Besides, I’m half tempted to bill it to Frank.”
“Not nothing,” Lauren corrected. She cocked her head. “I still don’t get how you came to be wealthy enough to say things like it’s only money,” she waved at the house, “when you’re a lowly entertainment reporter, and it’s not your family money.”
Ayers picked up her carryall and slung it over her shoulder. “Let’s just say I negotiated an extremely favorable salary package with the former publisher back when I was the toast of DC. I’m still on that package. And I caught the right end of the property market slump when people were dumping their estates for fire-sale prices.”
Lauren picked up her own bag, shut the trunk, and followed Ayers upstairs.
“Well I’m glad you got it,” she said. “The place suits you.”
“How so?”
“It’s elegant. Beautiful. With a fortress around it,” Lauren said and side-eyed her playfully. She slid her gaze to Ayers’s lips. Well, speaking of beautiful.
“You’re incorrigible.” Ayers said.
“True. But not alluring?” Lauren teased.
“Alas, you do smell like irrigation trench.”
“Now there’s a coincidence. Or are you about to tell me you’re above reeking of ditch water?”
“I’m well aware I do. I plan to fix that in a minute.” She considered her for a moment then gave a small smile. “Well. Good night, Lauren.”
“Night,” she grinned back. “And, hey, thanks again for my car repaint.”
She reached out and squeezed Ayers’s hand warmly, then watched the sexy sashay of hips as she headed to her room.
Lauren sighed. Even in rumpled, second-hand military fatigues, Ayers looked smoking hot.
* * *
Lauren had tossed and turned for three hours. She flopped over onto her back and stared at the ornate wooden ceiling fan, wondering what would happen when their story was finished. Would they go back to how things were? Snarking at each other across a crowded ballroom while Ayers counted down the days for her contract to end? Or would Frank finally take a chance and give her some real news stories? In which case would she even see Catherine anymore? Would she just one day disappear? Take off for her new life without so much as a goodbye? She was perverse enough to do that.
Lauren found just the thought of not seeing her again made her guts ache. She glared at the ceiling. Great. She was actually falling for the Caustic Queen. And, to quote Mariella, that way there be dragons.
At the thought of her favorite publicist, she glanced at the clock. It wasn’t too late. The night owl would still be up. She stabbed her number on her cell.
“Sweetie! You’re still alive?” came the weary but amused voice.
“Ha, funny. Yes. Catherine hasn’t killed me yet.”
“I see you’re on a first name basis now. How interesting,” Mariella purred.
“Mari…” Lauren sighed. “Just wanted to see how you’re doing—if it’s not too late, that is?”
“You know me. Right now I’m agonizing over the launch of Fire Swarm.”
“Oh my god, that $300 million exploding insects flick that’s drowning Los Angeles in billboards?”
“Not exploding, dear, immolating. Apparently there’s a difference. And the studio’s new CEO fired the entire promotions department last week for not making Fire Swarm sound, and I quote, ‘mega blockbustery enough.’
“So I agreed to take over the kick-off party on short notice, but I’m having a little problem because none of the starlets want to be anywhere near the handsy director. Sexual harassment insurance is a thing, isn’t it sweetie? We’re in a town full of lawyers and perverts, how can grope coverage not be a thing?”
“It should be,” Lauren agreed. “So how’s Harold?” she added, thinking fondly of the hapless state of California requisitions officer who was usually swept along in his frenetic wife’s wake.
“Snoring loudly beside me. Oh, that reminds me, I was going to call you tomorrow. He’s retiring. Can you believe I’ll have him underfoot 24/7 now? It’ll be chaos!” she said affectionately. “We’re having a little thing to mark the occasion on Monday. He’d love it if you could come.”
“Oh good for him. Tomorrow’s a bit tricky though,” Lauren said. “I’m on a really tight deadline with my story. It’s got to be filed by Tuesday night.”
“We’ll you’ll have a whole day after the party to write it then,” Mariella said breezily. “I’m not taking no for an answer, dear. Trust me, you’ll have a good time. My place, six. Do not be late. Oh and why don’t you bring a date? Is Catherine free?”
“Uh…”
“It’s settled then. And if he wasn’t unconscious and dreaming of improving his backswing, Harold would give his regards, too. Now then, sorry to run, but I have to find someone who’ll sell me 30,000 fireflies and a two-story high glass dome. Does that sound ‘mega’ enough? It’d better. Anyway, see you both tomorrow. Night, sweetie!”
Lauren hung up feeling somewhat confused. Since when did anyone hold a party on a Monday? She’d never known her friend to do that. Not even once. She was usually too busy recuperating from her weekends. And bring a date to someone’s retirement party? Who does that?
At the thought of Ayers, she smiled and flopped back against her pillow. Might be worth making the effort to go just to see her glammed up. She drifted off to sleep with a smile flitting across her lips.
* * *
Sunday was spent writing up their bribery story on the sofa in Ayers’s living room. A laptop passed back and forth between them. Paperwork was stacked on the coffee table, the floor, and any available surface. Ayers had done up a flow chart of who knew what, and did what, when.
They called the bus company manager, Walt, and Booze Booze Booze’s owner, Dan, for quotes, explaining what their respective service and goods had been used for.
“Holy Jesus!” Dan had barked, between hacking coughs of laughter. “Shit—it was dirty? Money meant for bribes? No wonder Assholes Incorporated were shaking me upside down for the invoice. Probably had the shredding machine already powered up in the back of their black van. Yeah, you can quote me on that.”
They also rang Athena, the brothel owner, giving her the opportunity to comment. Instead she drawled, “How interesting,” then hung up on them.
Lauren watched as Ayers methodically worked her way through her notes and slid just the right quotes in exactly where they were needed.
“What about—” Lauren pointed, reading over her shoulder, as she sat beside her on the sofa.
“Got it higher,” Ayers replied, divining her thoughts. She pointed to the screen. “And we need a better bridging para there, where you put in Dan’s quotes. It’s killing the flow where you shift topics.”
“Oh,” Lauren said, seeing what she meant. “How about The next day, another Nevada business got an intimidating visit from the two burly men. Booze Booze Booze owner Dan Hancock said etc etc.”
“That’ll work,” Ayers said and typed it in.
“When are we calling the governor and the other three bribe-takers for comments?” Lauren asked.
“Normally last gasp, Tuesday,” Ayers said as her fingers flew. “Minimizes the risk another media outlet gets fed the story by the government with their spin on it. But given what else is going on, the bigger picture, I’m inclined to give them as much time as possible to maximise how much their fear builds. We don’t know what we’ll flush out. Panickers have been known to do extraordinarily stupid things.”
“Such as?”
“You never know. Hand me that booze store invoice. And can you dig out the bus company security footage? I want to improve our description on the two heavies. I appreciate your attempt at color, but I don’t think neckless wonders will get past Frank somehow.”
Lauren handed both requests over and resumed her position cross-legged beside her. “I’d like to be the one to contact the power lines guy,” she said. “That kid accountant who also got bribed.”
“Okay, fine. You’re closer in age. Maybe he’ll respond to that.”
“Well yeah. I’m going to play friendly big sister. I think you might make him soil his pants,” she joked.
“I’m not that intimidating.” Ayers protested archly, although her eyes glinted with amusement.
“Yeah,” Lauren said, patting the other woman’s thigh. “You’re a real pussycat.”
“Well, I have no objection.”
Lauren shrugged. “Like you said, you never know.” She loaded up her Facebook page, looked up Nigel Masters, and sent him a request.
“You’re doing it via social media?” Ayers asked, turning to stare.
Lauren shrugged. “He’s young. This is where everyone hangs out.”
Five minutes later, her screen pinged. Lauren’s eyes lit with surprise.
“Nigel sent me a message back. I’m going to open a chat window.”
Ayers blinked at her. “Can you record what he says?”
“It’s kept by Facebook, yeah. I can screen grab it as I go.”
“Tell him it’s on the record.”
“Already did.”
“Why are you asking him about power lines?”
Ayers was peering over her shoulder, and Lauren tilted her phone away with an aggrieved grunt. “Big sister, remember. I’m appealing to his interests. And no backseat interviewing, okay?”
Ayers nodded and went back to work.
“Oh wow,” Lauren said softly a few minutes later. She tilted her phone around. “He just confessed.”
Ayers’s eyes snapped to the words on the screen.
I didn’t know how to say no to them. They are totally evil.
Lauren flipped the phone around and typed Then help me bring them down?
One letter appeared. Y. A few seconds later a mobile number appeared on screen.
An hour later, Lauren stared up the ceiling and dropped the burner phone to the table.
“Poor kid. It was just a game to him. A puzzle to solve.” Lauren shook her head. “When he first found the red files, he was excited. He thought he’d get promoted or something. Instead he got the crap scared out of him by Freeman’s chief of staff and bribe money shoved into his account.
“They told him even if he went to the cops, they’d never believe he wasn’t on the take and that he’d go to jail for decades. He didn’t spend a cent of it. He’s been a wreck for eighteen months with all this dough sitting in his account. He’s given us names, dates, everything.”
Ayers studied Lauren for so long she wondered if she’d done something wrong. She fidgeted.
“Well done,” she finally said. Lauren felt the glow warm her chest.
“Thanks,” she said and cleared her throat. “Nigel told me a bit of background, too. The three other bribe takers had no idea the red files had been cleaned out by Sands until after they’d ordered an internal investigation into why there were local prostitutes at the party.
“They’d worked out that it was taxpayer funds right away because their internal investigator phoned Athena and threatened her with a police investigation and a series of raids for code violations if she didn’t cough up the invoice.
“They knew instantly after receiving it that it was government accounts because of the distinctive color-coding pattern on the numbers. But it took a little while before they dug deeper and realized exactly which funds had been used, and the moment they did, there was a panic at the top. The three officials shut everything down, paid off the investigators to disappear, buried all of it, including retracting the press release they sent to us.”
“Well that also proves the two thugs going around intimidating people were not from the state of Nevada,” Ayers said. “Because they did a personal visit to shake out those invoices. It seems Sands is correct that our men in suits are part of some intelligence agency.”
“Yep,” Lauren said and glanced at her watch. “Hey, it’s dinner time. I’ve got an idea. Let’s order pizza and drink wine and celebrate our story being nearly done.”
“Pizza?”
“And wine.” Lauren grinned. “Because your wine cellar is kick ass, and I’m really gonna miss it.”
“Ah, it all becomes clear. You just want me for my wine.”
Lauren leaned back and looked at her playfully. “What answer will get me pizza?”
“Hmm.” Ayers rose and went to her kitchen, returning with a gourmet pizza menu. “The housekeeper left this here.”
“Sure she did.”
“Why so suspicious?”
“You don’t have a housekeeper.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“You’re a very private person, Catherine,” Lauren answered sincerely. “You wouldn’t have anyone here who you didn’t absolutely have to.”
Ayers didn’t answer immediately. “If that’s true, why have I let you stay?”
“You need me.”
Ayers stared.
Lauren felt herself redden. “For the story. Obviously.” She gestured at the screen. “It’s done isn’t it? I mean once we feed in Nigel’s quotes, that’s it.”
“Yes.”
“Think Frank will like it?”
“You can send it to him and find out.” She nudged her screen around, showing the opening of the story.
Lauren stared at her name above Ayers’s. “You gave me the lead byline.”
“As I said to you two weeks ago, I’ve had plenty, I don’t need another. And besides, you’ve earned it.”
Lauren gave her a pleased grin. “Thanks. Hmm, I seem to be doing nothing but thanking you lately.”
“I’ve noticed.” Ayers shook her head. “This is bad for my reputation. Apparently I’m not as caustic as I thought. Now…which pizza would you like?”
* * *
Monday morning, over coffee and reading the paper, Lauren emailed Frank their bribery story. Thirty minutes later, the phone rang. She recognized her boss’s number and picked up to tell him she’d call him right back on the burner phone. She made the call, switched it to speaker, and beckoned Ayers over.
“This is it?” he bellowed down the line. “Some shitty bribe scandal involving three asses from Nevada and some bean-counter kid caught in the middle?”