by Ivy Nelson
Her eyes went wide. “He thinks Savannah is dead? That’s so sad.”
They sat quietly for a moment while she reread the note. As he waited, a familiar voice came across the TV.
“Oh my God! You’re on TV,” Carrie exclaimed. “Hey, I know her too.”
Peter cringed as he heard himself say, “I never thought they were a very good news agency anyway.” That bitch.
“Peter! How could you?” Carrie asked.
He picked up her hand. “It’s not what it looks like. Gigi and I have… history.”
“Gigi? You call her Gigi? Oh, my goodness you dated her, didn’t you? Is that where your hatred of journalists comes from? Is she the one who fucked you over?”
He sighed. “That’s a really long story but yes. Can we please not talk about it?”
Carrie stared at him a minute longer before relenting. “Sure. OK. But you should know I’m friends with her. Not like besties or anything but she’s a former colleague and I respect her.”
Peter wanted to lay into her about the things Gina Whitman had done to his family, but he restrained himself. Now wasn’t the time.
“I’m exhausted, do you mind if we call it a night? I’m going in to work late tomorrow so we could get up early and maybe have another look at everything this mystery person sent us.”
Carrie nodded her agreement, but Peter noticed the disappointment in her eyes. Was she hoping to pick up where they had left off? Peter felt like a bastard for not thinking of it sooner, but right now he just wanted to sleep and put all of this out of his mind. Seeing Gigi again had stirred up some of his more bitter feelings and he didn’t trust himself to hold them in.
“Goodnight Peter,” Carrie said as she pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“Goodnight Carrie, I’m sorry I’m not better company.”
“It’s OK. I got a few orgasms out of the deal anyway.”
With that, she scurried out of the living room in nothing but his t-shirt, leaving him open mouthed staring after her.
Chapter Eighteen
Carrie spent most of the night tossing and turning, wishing that Peter would have shared a bed with her. After the last couple of days of what felt like emotional whiplash, she wasn’t sure what was going on between them. Feeling his disdain for Gina Whitman last night had given her at least some insight into his early animosity towards her though. Now she glanced at her phone and saw that it was after six in the morning. Peter hadn’t been kidding about going to work late today.
Crawling out of bed, she made her way to the bathroom and took a long shower. When she emerged from the bedroom forty-five minutes later, she found Peter at the bar eating oatmeal and drinking his one cup of coffee. It still amazed her that he kept the hours that he did on so little caffeine.
“Good morning. Got any coffee left?” she asked.
He turned on his barstool and gave her a small smile. “Morning. Made a full pot just for you,” he said nodding towards the counter where the coffee pot sat.
“There’s oatmeal too if you want it.”
Carrie made a face. “No thanks. I’ll just get something at work.” After filling her mug, she sat on the barstool next to him.
“Did you still want to go over everything from R I P?” she asked.
“I’ve been up for two hours. I already did. I just don’t know what we’re missing.”
“Hey, that’s not fair. We were going to do that together,” she said with a pout.
“I can’t help it you slept so late,” he said. If he hadn’t winked, Carrie might have smacked him.
“Fine. I’ll take everything to work with me. I have to leave the building and do some interviews today, is that going to be a problem?”
The urge to protest was evident on Peter’s face. His overprotective streak was almost cute sometimes. After she watched him wrestle with her question for a moment, he finally said, “Give me your phone.”
Hesitantly, she handed him the device and watched as he navigated to the app store. “I’m putting a friend finder app on here that I can track. You get into trouble you text me immediately. Even if you think you might be in trouble.” He slid the phone across the counter to her with a stern expression and she tried and failed to stifle a giggle.
“I don’t see anything funny about this, young lady.” That sent her into a full-blown laugh.
“I’m sorry. You’re just so serious. I get that you’re being protective, but you’re just so damn uptight. You really need to lighten up a little.”
For a minute, she thought he was going to lecture her about her safety, but the tension passed, and he went back to his oatmeal.
Carrie wanted to broach the subject of their almost sex adventure yesterday but wasn’t sure how, so she just drank her coffee and read the news on her phone until Peter announced that it was time to leave.
A half hour after he dropped her off, she was in a cab on her way to the Cabaret. They had cleared the scene in the middle of the night, but there were still some FBI agents hanging around. The club wouldn’t open until closer to noon, but she knew that some of the staff would come in early to get the place ready to open.
Carla was one of those people. Carrie was waiting for her by the employee entrance.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Carla hissed. “You’re going to get yourself in trouble.”
“I just wanted to ask if you knew what happened last night and when you saw Savannah last.”
Carla backed away as if she was heading for her car again. “Nope. Sorry. Not talking to you. Savannah should have kept her big mouth shut.”
Carrie followed Carla. “Is she still alive?”
“Excuse me. Are you a cop?” Carla yelled at a man who seemed to be in charge of the scene.
“FBI. Agent Flinn, ma’am. Is everything OK?”
Carrie stepped in front of Carla and offered her hand. “I’m a reporter with the Post. Just looking for someone from last night’s incident who can answer a few questions.”
The agent looked back and forth between Carrie and Carla. Thankfully, the girl didn’t make a scene, just muttered something about needing to get to work and backed away.
Finally, the agent said, “I’m afraid we’re not currently commenting on the incident. There will be a press conference at two this afternoon with an update on the case.”
Carrie nodded and pretended to enter the information into her phone. There was a text from Peter.
What the hell are you doing at the Cabaret?
Carrie wanted to call him and give him a piece of her mind but instead she sent a one-word response.
Working.
Since she had spooked Carla, she decided to leave and wait for the two o’clock press conference. By then, the club would be open, and she might be able to get some better information from people who didn’t know her. As she climbed into the cab, Tom called her.
“Come to my office as soon as you get back to the office.” There was no hello.
“Everything OK Tom?”
“Everything is fine. I just need to talk to you.”
He sounded tense, so she didn’t push him.
When she got to his office, he told her to close the door and sit down.
“I’ve been asked to bench you from the Upwood story. He’s in protective custody and his detail doesn’t want anyone making waves or putting him in danger.”
Carrie stared open mouthed at her boss. She’d never known him to be a coward. In all her years working as a journalist, she had never been removed from an assignment. It was a shock to her system, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself. Then it hit her.
“Did Peter Mercer put you up to this?” she asked.
“Who?” Tom asked, scratching his temple.
“Never mind. Who asked you to bench me?”
“The FBI. An agent Finn?” he said with a shrug.
Carrie stared at her boss. “You didn’t write it down? What’s wrong with you Tom? And when have you ever given in so easily?�
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Tom rounded his desk and sat in his chair. “I’m just not sure it’s worth pursuing anyway, so it seemed like the right thing to do, giving in to them.”
“Why Tom? How can you say it’s not worth pursuing? I have solid leads, I have a missing stripper, I’ve got a source that’s feeding me data that seems like it could be accurate, and I have a damn good reason to think Upwood is part of it. I think the American people deserve to know what their CIA director is up to.”
Tom closed his eyes then stood, leaning over his desk with his palms flat on his calendar. “Please Carrie. I know this is hard for you, but you need to walk away from this. Your source is completely unverifiable, you don’t know you have a missing stripper, you just think you do, and you have no real connection to Upwood. Give what you have on the missing girl to the FBI and let them pursue it if it’s really that important to you, but the Post will not be running this story.”
Carrie mirrored his posture leaning over his desk and met his gaze. “Is someone threatening you Tom? This isn’t like you.”
“No. Nothing like that. Just listen to me on this one. I’ve always let you do your own thing because you’re good at your job, but I need you to trust me and take a step back.”
She sighed. Talking to him now was proving pointless.
“So, what do you suggest I work on now?”
“We’re in Washington D.C. Carrie. I’m sure you can come up with something. What about that piece on the black budget?”
Carrie shook her head. “Budgets? First, that’s your baby, why would you give it to me? Second, you want me to abandon a potential sex trafficking ring for budgets? You’ve lost your damn mind.” Without another word, she turned and walked out of Tom’s office.
Feeling numb, she made her way to her cubicle and stared at her screen. It displayed the list of missing girls from the handwritten journal in a spreadsheet she had made. Carrie knew she was this close to connecting all the dots, she just didn’t know how to convince Tom to let her keep working on it.
“Black budgets my ass,” she muttered as she closed out the document. Now she wasn’t sure what to do next. Leaving early was always an option, she’d racked up enough vacation time to take six months off if she wanted. Calling in sick or taking vacations had never been her thing. The only time she traveled was for a story and her only friends outside of journalism were Gary and Edith and a few others in the scene.
Wandering to the break room, she filled her coffee cup, but it wasn’t what she wanted. It had been awhile since she felt this lost.
An hour later, she was still staring blankly at her screen, but her thoughts had drifted to Peter. What was he doing? At first, she thought maybe he was the one who’d had her benched, but Tom seemed to truly not know who he was. It was more likely the FBI agent she’d run into at the Cabaret. She picked up her phone and dialed Peter’s number. To her surprise, he answered.
“What are you doing right now?” she blurted.
“Carrie?”
“That’s me. What are you doing?” she asked again.
“Working…” His voice trailed off.
“I know that dummy. But what exactly are you doing?”
“You’re being weird. I’m sitting at a desk doing paperwork.”
“Ugh. Boring.” She was regretting the phone call and had no idea what to say to him.
“I’m sorry my job isn’t exciting enough for you. What do you need?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to see if you wanted to sneak off for lunch or something.”
There was silence on the other end of the line and Carrie fought the urge to hang up. He had to think she was insane.
“Sneak off for lunch? I’m in charge of a secret service detail. I can’t just sneak off.”
Carrie felt embarrassment heat her face. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll see you when you pick me up tonight.”
This time she did hang up before she embarrassed herself even further.
Less than thirty seconds later, the phone rang. It was Peter and she hesitated to answer. When she finally did, he didn’t bother saying hello.
“What’s wrong Carrie? Spit it out.”
She scowled at the phone. Bossy fucker, isn’t he? “Nothing.”
“Don’t lie.” His voice was stern and filled with warning. An unexpected warmth unfurled in her belly.
With a loud sigh she said, “I shouldn’t have called. It was stupid. I was just feeling restless and caged in.”
“You have the app on your phone so I can keep an eye on you. You’re not trapped anymore.” His voice held traces of confusion.
“I know. It’s not that. Tom took me off the trafficking story. Said the FBI told him to bench me because of his protective custody situation. I thought maybe you did it at first. I’ve never been taken off a story before. I’m not handling it well.”
The sound of papers shuffling came through the phone before Peter spoke again. “I’m going back to the CIA building in about an hour. Can you meet me at the Lincoln Memorial in fifteen minutes?”
That piqued her interest, and she bounced in her office chair. “I can if I leave right now.”
“Fine, I’ll bring sandwiches and we’ll talk.” When Carrie ended her call, she was feeling less weighed down and even a little excited.
Exactly fifteen minutes later, she was standing on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial surrounded by tourists when she spotted Peter walking up in his standard black suit and sunglasses. In his hand he held a bag of food and two bottles of water. She raised her arm and waved at him until she caught his attention.
When he reached her, he handed her a bottle of water.
“Drink.”
“You’re bossy, you know that?” she asked as she accepted the drink.
“It’s part of my charm, now drink. That’s my requirement for sneaking off to have lunch with you.” Carrie had a feeling his eyes were just as stern as his frown under those sunglasses.
With a frown of her own, she cracked the seal on the water and took a long swallow. “Happy now?” she asked, rolling her eyes.
“Not quite but we’ll get there,” he murmured before taking a drink of his own water. They had moved out of the path of the tourists, so he pulled out the two sandwiches.
“Hope you like turkey,” he said, handing her one.
She accepted the sandwich and bit into it. “Thanks.”
After a few bites in silence she asked, “Do you want to do something crazy?”
“You mean crazier than chasing after a sex trafficking ring on the word of a mysterious stranger who calls himself RIP?”
Carrie laughed at that. He had a point, but she shook her head. “I mean something fun. Don’t you have time off soon? When is your last day at work?”
“Friday.”
“So, let’s do something. Something you wouldn’t normally do. We can find a place to go rafting or jump out of an airplane. Go on an amusement park hop for thirty days.” She clapped her hands together. “Yes, thirty days of roller coasters sounds fun.”
When she stopped talking, she realized Peter had removed his sunglasses and was staring at her as if she had grown a second head.
“Wow. This losing your assignment thing really has you messed up doesn’t it, little one?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I’m just feeling antsy and like I need to do something.”
His eyebrows drew together, and he stared at her for a moment as he balled up his sandwich wrapper and chucked it in a nearby trashcan.
“Walk with me. I’ve only got a few minutes before I need to get back,” he said, replacing his sunglasses and offering her his arm.
Accepting it, she fell into step beside him as they made their way down the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.
“I want to make you a deal, but I want to make it clear that this isn’t meant to pressure you in any way. Say no if you want and there will be no hard feelings.”
Intrigued, she nodded and motioned for him to conti
nue.
“First, I want to apologize for leaving you hanging last night. I was not in a good frame of mind when I got home, but it was still a dick move.”
Carrie’s mouth dropped in surprise and she felt her face heat as he continued.
“Since you’re asking me to do something I wouldn’t normally do, I want to ask you to do the same.”
Carrie blinked. “Something I wouldn’t normally do? Like what?”
“Give me one night as my submissive.”
Her head started to shake.
“We did say we were going to talk about it,” he pointed out.
That was true but talking was not the same as doing. Still, it was only fair to hear him out.
“Keep going,” she urged.
“We can negotiate as much as you want but I’m asking for a full day of complete submission within whatever boundaries we set.”
“And in exchange what do I get?” she asked when he was done.
“Whatever crazy adventure you pick for me,” he said.
Carrie looked up at him. “Somehow I feel like you’re getting the better end of the deal.” He shrugged and flashed her an unapologetic grin.
They walked a few more feet before she said, “I have one issue with this.”
“Only one?” he teased.
Withdrawing her hand from the crook of his elbow she smacked him on the shoulder.
“I’m serious. I’ve never seen you play before. How do I know we even jive in that department?”
“Fair point. Would talking to some of the people I’ve played with help or would that be weird?”
She crinkled her nose. “Definitely weird.”
Peter laughed and put her hand back through his arm so they could continue walking. “Fair enough. Talk to Edith. She likes to gab. I’ll tell her she can talk to you about whatever she wants. Not that she needs my permission to gossip.”
“I’ll tell her you said that,” Carrie said with a wink. “If I agree, what are my limits on the adventure I plan for us?”
He held up a hand and counted off a list on his fingers. “I’m not getting a tattoo, I’m not eating weird shit, and I’m not dying, cutting, or otherwise altering my hair.”