by Sylvie Fox
Though without tact, nothing Cam’s mother had said had been untrue. In a weird way, she kind of missed Bridget. Rarely did she encounter a “tell it like it is” woman who wasn’t afraid of what anyone thought of her.
Yesenia had to admire a woman who faced down the tragedy of losing a husband, and raised two wonderful men. She’d never taken an eye off her boys, and they’d both grown up to be loving, responsible men. One of whom had been her lover and protector until she’d pushed him away.
Ignoring years of manners, she put her elbows on the table, sunk her head into her hands. Might as well get comfortable if she was going to be in for all twelve rounds.
Unprompted, Bridget continued. “Someone who loves my son for who he is. Even if he does have a stick up his law-abiding ass, I know deep down there—” Bridget jabbed Cam’s chest. “—he feels deeply. I want a daughter-in-law who didn’t break his heart.” The knockout punch. Bridget had delivered it like a champ. Broken? But he’d wanted to break up as much as she did, right? He’d said she betrayed him. What she’d done was nearly unforgivable. That he wanted a divorce. Was her memory faulty? Had he really frozen her out or was his behavior a response to the way she’d treated him? Damned if she knew anything at this point. She was punch drunk.
Yesenia looked at her husband. For one heart-stopping second, his guard was down and she saw what she hadn’t seen for all those years. With a crashing realization that stole her breath, it hit her. She’d done something she’d never intended, never meant to do. She’d broken his heart.
Chapter Thirteen
All the fight left her. At once, Yesenia’s strawberry banana Belgian waffle was as tasteless as Bridget’s dry toast. She didn’t want to spar with his mom anymore. She needed time to think. Had their separation been one big misunderstanding? It couldn’t be possible. He’d walked away, dry-eyed. Rebuilt his career from where she’d left it, broken. He’d probably even dated. No man as attractive as Cam could have been alone all that time.
She’d been the one devastated by his anger and mistrust. His lack of understanding about her family. Wanting to push away from the table, to go home and tend to her own wounds, it was nearly impossible to stay put, waiting for the check. She needed time to figure out if she could help Cam heal from the damage Bridget said she’d inflicted. Figure out if it was her job to help him. Figure out if he even wanted her help.
Turning her head slightly, she tried to furtively sneak glances at the man she’d fallen in love with, married, and left. Cam looked fine. He was tucking into a breakfast burrito with such relish, you’d never know the woman right next to him had laid him out emotionally.
As soon as she could, without appearing rude, Yesenia stood.
“Cam, I need to get home.”
“I hope I didn’t scare you off,” Bridget said. Yesenia’s antannae weren’t finely tuned enough to figure out if his mom was sincere. In an instant, she decided it didn’t matter.
“No, I need to check in at work,” she said.
“Figures.” Bridget put her balled up napkin on the table, then pulled an outdated phone from her purse. She squinted at the tiny keys, pressing them slowly and deliberately. Yesenia excused herself to the ladies’ room. Fortunately, by the time she came back to the table, Ryan and his girlfriend appeared to pick up Bridget. For once, she wasn’t even annoyed at her mother-in-law’s intermittent refusal to drive in Los Angeles. Her own mother’s undocumented status and lack of driver’s license had made her a sometimes unwilling chauffer. But Bridget’s reliance on her sons had always been a power play, through and through.
If she hadn’t seen his guard slip for that single moment, Yesenia wouldn’t have believed Bridget. But Cam didn’t even look at her when he pulled to her door.
“Gotta get to work, myself,” he said uncharacteristically drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
“I don’t really have to work. I only wanted to leave before things got too heavy.”
“Not today.” Cam only looked her way for a second, depositing a dry kiss on her cheek. He didn’t meet her eyes. Well, her timing had been off then. Bridget had killed that morning’s mood—dead.
“Are you sure?”
Yesenia was disappointed. She’d gotten used to being pursued. Pushing him out the door after a hot and heavy make out session. What would she do if he walked away?
“See you.” He was flicking at his phone before she even stepped into the vestibule. No watchful eyes making sure she was safe.
Like a boxer who’d taken an uppercut, there was only the thinnest scab protecting their reconciliation. She and Cam had made a disaster of their marriage. They’d been immature and ill-equipped to deal with marriage’s inevitable clashes. Maybe Cam’s inadvertent leak of details from a confidential investigation, and her subsequent airing of a story that killed the cock-fighting sting dead was a bigger debacle than most couples faced, but with their family’s urging, they’d turned away from each other.
She could see now that their troubles could have brought them closer together, made their marriage stronger. But they’d let the naysayers sever the frail ties they’d woven. Unless one of them did something, their reconciliation would be derailed like their marriage had been. And something told her, this would be their last chance.
Retreating to her comfy couch, Yesenia wallowed for a good long time, her wall clock ticking away the seconds, before the muffled sound of a phone ringing came from her purse.
“Cam?” she spoke hopefully into the receiver. Hoping he’d do what he’d always done, make the first move to bridge the gap between them.
“Ernesto Barrero here,” the voice said. Work.
Pushing the personal from her mind, she spoke. “Lo siento. ¿Que pasó?”
“You still friendly with your ex?”
Though Ernesto couldn’t see her, Yesenia stood wary of what was coming next, but wanting to use her height to its maximum advantage even if it only made her feel more in control. “What happened?” she asked again.
“LAPD is letting Mitch Rasmussen turn himself in on the sly. They’ll process him quick on a Sunday then let him go. No perp walk. No cameras. It’ll be like it never happened.”
“Wow.”
“And the LAPD is letting a third councilman go.”
Yesenia sat back down and racked her brain. She’d been so busy focusing on Dolores’ mess that she’d heard only as much about the Rasmussen story as her viewers. Reading Ernesto’s copy had been all she’d done. City council members arrested in vice prostitution ring, had been the opening line. The new, young reporter had done all the legwork on the story. “I thought they’d been charged.”
“The two that were arrested, yes. They may even resign.” She could hear Ernesto shuffling through some papers. “But there was a third arrest on Thursday night. Chas Hastings from the third district.”
“But his dad was the district attorney and–”
“Exactamente. We think he put in a few well-placed calls. And bingo! He’s gonna get out of jail this afternoon. They’re gonna give Hastings and Rasmussen the special treatment today.”
Yesenia’s heart raced. Involuntarily she sat forward, pressing her face more firmly into the phone. This was career gold. “A city corruption scandal will catch on like wildfire over this. I smell recall,” she said. If it happened once, it happened a thousand times: an entitled public official took the easy way out. And next thing they knew, they were bounced from office. Her name in front of a story like that. She could hear the VO/SOT, read the headlines: Yesenia Morales of KESP broke the story of LAPD’s special treatment program.
Ernesto spoke again, breaking into her thoughts. “Here’s where you come in.” The papers rattled again. She wondered if it was for effect. Her boss had a mind like a steel trap. He had to, given that the nature of his job as news director was to write and rewrite news instantly, judge which stories would stay or go. She had seen him rewrite entire newscasts without referring to any notes. “Lieutenant Cam
eron Becker is on deck to make the arrests and push the guys out the back door.”
Mystery solved. Ernesto hadn’t called her because of her skills, or for the career-making impact. He’d called her because of her ex. Plausible deniability had probably gone out with window when she’d answered the phone, breathing Cam’s name.
“He’s my ex,” she said slowly, cautiously, emphasizing the last syllable.
“Didn’t look so ‘ex’ by the elevators,” Ernesto said.
“We…I…” Her private life was private. But that earlier slip of the tongue had thrown a fork, stick–dammed English idioms–whatever, into things.
“I heard you answer the phone with his name.”
So much for hoping he’d missed that.
“Look,” Ernesto continued. “I heard the story about the exclusive you got all those years ago. How you exposed that undercover investigation into the celebrity-backed cock fighting and betting ring. Jumped you from reporter to weekend anchor.”
“So–”
Here it comes.
“I’d love for you to become a permanent addition to the nightly news.”
Which had been off the table since she’d been reading copy and not reporting on the story. She’d bowed out, citing personal issues. And they’d never made the connection with Dolores, thank goodness. But her readiness for the desk had been questioned from day one. Her chance to fix the past weeks was on the table. Game. Set. Match.
She ended the call with a noncommittal grunt. She punched in Cameron’s cell. One ring turned to four. There was no response. He must be in the thick of things. She needed to talk to him. To explain what she was about to do.
Putting the phone back in her purse, she ran to the bathroom and put her full face on. Slipping out of mom-pleasing flats and into professional heels, she ran out the door. Like she’d done hundreds of times before, she pointed her Jeep in the direction of Hollywood division. On the way, Ernesto assured her by phone that a cameraman and intern would meet her there, satellite truck ready for immediate broadcast.
At every stop light she dialed, but got no answer from Cam.
She pulled up behind the KESP truck on Homewood Avenue, a block away and not visible from LAPD’s Hollywood division. If they were going to ambush someone, they never situated the satellite truck near an entrance or exit. In L.A. everyone was looking for a camera. There was still something to be said for the element of surprise. People often told the truth first, and lied later. But if the truth were captured on film, it was hard to make up that lie….
When she approached, the cameraman Lyndon Turney had the transmitter extended. The intern, one of dozens she’d met during her tenure, was loading the camera with a fresh battery and assembling the waist pack.
“What do we need?” Lyndon asked. He liked to know what b-roll was needed, and what shots were priority. They’d do her stand up last.
“Chas Hastings and Mitch Rasmussen have ‘get out of jail free’ cards.” Nothing more needed to be said. If they’d done this kind of story once, they’d done it a thousand times. Their job was to turn a quiet exit into a perp walk. Get the politicians on film leaving jail. Leave the image of police, arrest, and wrongdoing in the minds of viewers.
Lyndon looped the belt and hoisted the camera. They started the walk east toward Wilcox when her phone vibrated.
Cameron.
For two rings, she considered ignoring it. He couldn’t be angry with her this time. He hadn’t been the one to tip her off. Ernesto had gotten this one fair and square.
“Yesenia Morales,” she answered.
“Sorry about Bridget,” he said. She lifted a finger toward Lyndon and the intern, halting their procession. She walked a few feet away, seeking and finding a bit of privacy next to an overgrown bougainvillea.
“I’m on Homewood,” she said.
She could hear Cameron’s intake of breath. Then a long pause followed. “Why?”
“Hastings and Rasmussen are getting out in five minutes.”
“Don’t do this, Jessie.” Cameron’s voice was steel.
“You didn’t tip me off. Ernesto did.”
“Who’s gonna believe that?” he asked. “It’s only me and Rivera on this one.”
“Then your partner’s a snitch.”
“No way it was her.”
“If it wasn’t one of you, then there’s a leak in your shop. This is legitimate news. Someone inside doesn’t want these two getting the special treatment. If I weren’t talking to you, I’d think you were the leak.”
“Seriously. You think I’d jeopardize my position, now?”
“You hate the idea that some perps get treated better than others.”
Cam chose silence over denial.
“I can let our citizens know that. Maybe they can agitate for a police chief who doesn’t do favors, vote for city council members who don’t flout the law.” There was more silence than static on the line. “Cam?”
“It’s up to you, Jessie,” Cameron said with finality. A double beep let her know he’d ended the call.
“Boss man?” Lyndon asked.
“My LAPD contact,” she said. She closed her eyes for a prolonged moment. If she did as Cam asked, she was going to have to put a story together. Something plausible.
It was like bad karma. Here she was, all these years later having to make the same decision all over again. The only difference is that she had the foresight to know what lay behind door number one and door number two. It was like standing on stage during Sabado Gigante.
“What’s the deal?” The intern was asking this time.
Career or love. It was that simple. And that complicated.
“The release has been delayed an hour,” she lied, crossing her fingers behind her back. As if that one gesture would save her career. It was only a matter of time before the truth came out. She could only kick that can down the road for a small while.
“Oh, man,” the intern responded. The starch had gone out of him. He traipsed back to the van, deflated.
“Gonna finish World Eleven,” Lyndon said, taking the camera from his shoulder and pivoting one hundred eighty degrees.
For a long moment, Yesenia was confused.
“Angry Birds.”
Right. Lyndon played one game or another every moment there was downtime. Maybe she should take up video games. She was about to have a lot of free time. She’d tipped her hand. The truth was she’d lost her shark instinct after what she’d done to Cam. Yes, she’d take the promotion and the money. But she’d lost the scent for blood in the water. She’d done a great job pretending. Chasing the same stories as everyone else, but this was a field for hunters. If she lost site of the prey, her career would die of starvation. News was a hungry beast that needed to be fed twenty-four hours a day. The hand that had held the microphone under her arm dropped, dangling loosely at her side.
An hour from now, she’d have to go through the motions. Pretend they’d been fooled. Go back to Ernesto. She was toast.
Chapter Fourteen
“Talk to me,” Jessie said Sunday night at Cam’s studio. It was near midnight by the time he had gotten home. She’d been sitting in the lobby, shivering on the white couch for who knows how long. Heat was in short supply down there.
She traded one white couch for another when she got to Cam’s loft. The striped dress that had looked so cool and crisp sixteen hours ago, hung wilted like a flower. She’d given up one of the biggest stories of the year today. His wife deserved some kind of explanation as to why this one thing was so important. Rasmussen’s processing, and his and Hasting’s release had gone as quickly, quietly, and smoothly as he and Rivera could have hoped. No cop liked being on the moving end of a directive from up high. But his climb back to Lieutenant had been steep. There was no way he could have afforded another fall off the promotional ladder again.
What he and Rivera had been asked to do had been one hundred percent wrong. The low level prostitutes, pimps, and drug dealers had all
gone to jail or been deported. Dolores wasn’t the only one to suffer the fate of deportation from the country. Two others caught up in the sweep had made their way back to Guatemala. The aides who’d helped were facing criminal conspiracy felonies.
Once the perps had started talking, he and Rivera were chomping at the bit to get the big fish. They’d issued arrest warrants for the councilman, happy to close the sting with the arrest of those with the most influence who had flouted the law.
Then they’d gotten a call to come down to West First Street, the new headquarters. The snow job took nearly an hour, but the bottom line was Hastings and Rasmussen were going to be charged with misdemeanors, processed quietly and let out on their own recognizance.
Cam had railed all the way back toward Hollywood. Rivera was silent, only speaking up once to say that the case was closed. When Jessie had called, he’d known his partner was the leak. She’d had the guts to do what he couldn’t: shed light on the injustice of privilege.
And maybe they’d have been in the clear. He’d been with Jessie nearly the entire weekend. There wasn’t a moment he could have leaked the story. But the flip side was that he’d been with Jessie.
When he’d told Rivera, she’d said nothing. He’d downplayed his relationship with Jessie, and Rivera had taken him at his word. She’d probably never thought the guy at KESP would assign Jessie to the case. But he had, and Jessie had never shown up when they’d let the politicians out the back door.
But he couldn’t say a single word of this to her. Cameron didn’t talk. Ryan was the brother who talked. Where was that chattering fool when he needed him? Yellow pad in hand, Ryan would have been ready to go. Ready to explain why he and this woman should be together. Cam shook his head in frustration. He may be more fluent in English than Jessie, still he didn’t have the words.
Joining her on the couch, he rubbed at the smudged makeup lingering under one eye. Doing what he did best, he pressed his lips to hers. But she didn’t open for him.
“Not this, Cameron,” she said, her hand firm against his chest.