by Tate, Harley
She’d roped Keith into her fight. Leaving the studio carried a risk. If Keith’s boss called him back and he didn’t show, it could mean disciplinary action or even termination. Could she risk his job over a hunch and a gut feeling?
Lainey closed her eyes and took a calming breath. Twenty-four hours. He could claim food poisoning or a problem with Bear. No one would fire him over a missing twenty-four hours. Not even John.
Lainey opened her eyes and smoothed down the front of her dress. I can do this. She eased from the conference room and headed straight for the newsroom and her cubicle. Will’s voice carried once again from over the partition, but Lainey tuned it out. She needed to pack up anything useful and sneak out before he or someone else noticed.
She tugged open her top desk drawer. Bobby pins, a sewing kit, nail polish, a compact mirror. She tossed the sewing kit into her work tote and pulled open the next drawer. Backup sneakers in case she ever wanted to walk during lunch. Lainey snorted. They didn’t even have any wear on the treds. She shoved them into her bag along with a bottle of water, a forgotten snack bar she found lurking in the bottom of the drawer, and a pack of mints.
The last drawer contained files of investigations, tips, and dead-end articles. She leafed through the folders and pulled out a handful of business cards from other reporters and law enforcement sources. They would all be underwater, but it didn’t hurt to keep their numbers handy.
Years of a career and at the end of the day her desk yielded a handful of items. So much for planning ahead. She wished she stored a spare change of clothes instead of just shoes and a week’s worth of energy drinks and meal replacement bars.
Instead, Lainey always relied on the cafeteria and food delivery. Convenience over thoughtfulness. She shook her head. How many other people were exactly the same way? She thought about her sister and her mother again. Could her mom survive if she hunkered down in her apartment?
Not if the bomb threat was real. She would need to leave. Images of her mother driving her tiny Mini Cooper through crushing traffic to flee the city sent a wave of nausea up Lainey’s throat. Imagining the worst wouldn’t help. She dumped her pens out of one mug and grabbed the other she used for coffee before hurrying to the breakroom.
After washing the pen mug, she poured the last of the evening’s coffee into both mugs and rushed to the stairs. She squinted through the diamond-pattern safety glass. Keith waited on the landing, a backpack slung over his shoulders. She motioned with a mug and caught his eye.
As he opened the door, his brow shot up. “You made coffee?”
“No.” Lainey snuck past his arm and held out a mug. “I took the last of what was in the pot. I figured we needed the caffeine.”
Keith reached for the mug, his face screwing up as he read the words written in script across the front. “Hello, Gorgeous. I take it there weren’t any to-go cups?”
Lainey grinned. “It isn’t saying anything that isn’t true. Come on.” With her mug in one hand and her tote on her shoulder, Lainey hurried down the stairs to hide the blush spreading across her cheeks. It felt good to be sharing more than an awkward hello again. If only she’d made different choices…
She drowned the thought with a glug of coffee, almost swearing as the hot liquid tore down her throat. Her stomach burned as she reached the first-floor landing. There was no time to think about what might have been. Maybe if no bombs detonated and life returned to normal soon…
Keith eased past her, swallowing the last of the coffee in his mug before handing it over. “You ready?”
Lainey took a deep breath and slogged back the rest of her own mug before shoving both into her bag. “One second.” She slipped off her heels, dropped her sneakers on the floor, and shoved her feet inside. “Now I am.”
Keith nodded in appreciation. “Let’s do this.” He reached for the solid metal door and pushed it open.
The second the street came into view, Lainey’s mouth fell open in shock.
Chapter Seven
KEITH
Outside KSBF Studios
Los Angeles, California
Friday, 6:30 p.m. PST
Holy… Keith’s arm shot out on instinct, holding Lainey back from the chaos of the street. Traffic he expected. Maybe a few more honking cars and cursing motorists, buses muscling their way past taxis and commuters. But this? He cursed to himself.
Flashing hazards of a car lodged half on the sidewalk, half crumpled into a blue mailbox caught his eye first, followed by a throbbing mob of pedestrians coursing down the street. People wove in and out of idling cars, bumped into each other on the sidewalk, shouted insults at the bus stop. Cars and trucks and SUVs clogged the streets like plaque clogged the arteries of most of their passengers.
From the sweat slicking back the hair of the man directly in front of him, who was leaning out the window of a faded gold 1990s Camry, he guessed the gridlock began as soon as the reports of the EMP hit. How many people commuted into Los Angeles each day? Millions, for sure. All trying to leave at the same time.
Keith ground his teeth together. It would be a hell of lot harder to help Lainey and get home to Bear than he’d thought. He could back out. Tell Lainey he couldn’t do this. That Bear needed him and maybe she should take her sister’s advice and get out of town any means necessary.
He turned back to her. Dinner plate eyes swimming with fear and doubt focused on his face. A hopeful smile tipped up her lips, now more pink than lipstick red. Everything he loved about her stood in the doorway asking him to help.
The determination, beauty, and optimism. What might have been.
Keith turned his palm up and waited for Lainey to take his hand. Whatever happened next, he couldn’t leave her. Not when she needed him. They would find out the truth and get home to Bear. He had to believe that.
He managed a smile despite the chaos on the street. “Where to?”
Lainey stepped forward and the door to the studio stairs swung shut behind her. “I think we should start with the FBI.”
Keith tilted his head. “Isn’t Becky already there?”
“Exactly. That means there’s a van with a satellite connection. If we find anything out, we can be on the air tonight.”
“If the FBI knew anything, wouldn’t Becky have reported on it already?” He didn’t want to crush Lainey’s idea right out of the gate, but the chance they would find out any more than vague platitudes was small.
Lainey shrugged. “Becky might have more information than what she’s allowed to report. You heard Matt. He won’t air anything unless it’s corroborated and triple checked, and he won’t put anything on air that might cause a panic. For all we know, the FBI told Becky it’s Armageddon and to run for her life.”
Keith raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, maybe they didn’t say that exactly, but you know what I mean.” Lainey glanced toward the bus stop where a series of shouts rose up above the idling engines and almost constant honking. “Besides, do you have a better idea?”
Unfortunately, he didn’t. Keith shook his head. “How far is the field office from here?”
Lainey squinted up at the sky. “The FBI is in the Wilshire Federal Building. That’s got to be what—?”
“Ten miles, at least.” And in the opposite direction from my place. A pang in his heart went out to Bear. Hang on, buddy. I’m coming for you, I promise. Keith wiped a hand down his face. “We’ll never get there by car.”
“What about the train?”
“It’ll be jammed.” Keith pointed at the bus stop. “You think all those people usually take the bus?”
Lainey lifted up a foot. “We can walk.”
Keith scowled. “It’ll take forever.” He turned around in a slow circle, evaluating their options. “We need a motorcycle or even a couple of bikes.”
“What about those?” Lainey pointed to a cluster of electric scooters huddled beneath an awning half a block away.
Keith opened his mouth to dismiss the idea, but closed
it before he said so. The thought of perching on a scooter and dodging people and cars through ten miles of Los Angeles in a panic didn’t instill him with a lot of confidence, but the only alternative was to walk.
After a moment, he caved. “How fast do you think they can go?”
Lainey smiled. “Ten, fifteen miles an hour, I think.”
Three or four times faster than walking. He gave her hand a squeeze. “Let’s hope the payment processing goes through.”
They walked toward the scooters hand-in-hand, acting like any other couple out on the street. “What if we run into trouble?” Concern laced through Lainey’s question.
“We take it as it comes.” Keith pulled out one scooter and stepped onto it, testing it against his weight. “So how do these things work, exactly?”
Lainey showed him, using her phone to activate both scooters. “They charge us when the trip’s complete.”
“How long do you think they run before the battery needs to recharge?”
She shrugged. “We’re about to find out.” With her tote slung over her shoulder, Lainey pointed the scooter south toward the FBI office. “Ready?”
“After you.” Keith tightened the straps of his backpack as Lainey eased her scooter forward. It took him a few stops and starts to figure out the controls, but after several blocks, they were able to reach top speed weaving through the gridlock. “Turn here,” Keith called out as a side street opened up to their right.
Lainey navigated her scooter through a clump of cars and onto a smaller side street. They passed an apartment building under construction, a dumpster full of debris, and countless exhausted motorists staring at them with a mix of jealousy and anger.
Another left turn a few blocks south and Santa Monica Boulevard opened up in front of them. Lainey turned again and sped past the congestion of cars and pedestrians. Throngs of people crowded the sidewalks and swarmed into the street. One man hefted a briefcase over a side mirror of a luxury sedan and the owner buzzed down his window to lob a curse and a single offensive finger. The man walking shouted back, trading insults, sweat, and plenty of spit.
A stacked stone building covered with intricate carvings and trellises loomed ahead and Keith called out to Lainey. “Cut through there.” He pointed.
She frowned. “The cemetery?”
“It’ll be less crowded.”
She did as he asked and together they eased around the worst of the traffic and the people and ducked through a small iron gate. As they sped down the private drive, the noise of the traffic and chaos dimmed. Crypts and headstones rose out of lush grass while fountains burbled. The dead were resting peacefully while the living almost rioted outside.
Keith frowned. Were they about to join the dearly departed? Was LA about to turn into a scene straight out of an apocalypse movie? He sped up to come even with Lainey. He didn’t want to be stuck in the middle of a graveyard when it happened. “I vote for sticking to the side streets. Residential, if possible. We can make better time that way with less risk of running into a riot.”
“Agreed. Once we cross Melrose, we should be able to cut through the neighborhoods almost the entire way.” They lapsed into silence, each staring out at the gentle slopes of grass and well-cared-for graves until they left the quiet seclusion of the cemetery behind.
True to Lainey’s word, it only took a few minutes to reach a quiet neighborhood. Cars still filled the street, but only two lanes deep, with no pedestrians or angry bus riders to be seen. The rest of the scooter trip went by without incident as they passed through Beverly Hills and a million stucco houses with terracotta roofs.
As they emerged onto Veteran Avenue, the white rectangle of the Wilshire Federal Building rose out of the ground a few blocks away. “There it is.” Lainey pointed at the fifty-year-old structure. “You’d think there would be more people here.”
Keith surveyed the mostly empty park fronting the building as they approached. “The FBI is only a tiny part of the building. A ton of federal workers have offices there. I can’t imagine any desk-job types sticking around after the news hit, can you?” He didn’t wait for her reply. “Let’s find Becky and the van.”
As they eased the scooters across the road and into the park, a man called out. “Yo, how much for the scooter?”
Keith turned. He spotted the belly first, followed by a party-size bag of chips and puffed-out cheeks. He shook his head. “It’s not for sale.”
“Aw, come on man, you look like you could run a marathon. Help a big boy out.”
Lainey slowed her scooter, unease flickering across her face. “I’m sorry, we have somewhere we need to be.”
The man wiped a greasy paw across his shirt and stepped forward. “So do I, lady.”
Keith nudged Lainey and motioned for her to press the gas. “If you want a scooter so bad, come and get it.”
As the big man took a lumbering step, Keith squeezed the accelerator. Even at top speed, Keith could probably catch a scooter. He couldn’t keep up the pace for long, but he wouldn’t need to if he got a hand on the rider. But this guy? He made it ten feet before bending over and clutching his knees.
“And that’s why I run.” He eased the scooter up to Lainey’s as they entered the parking lot. Together, they searched for the familiar white block of a vehicle with a panoply of antennas on top. They found it on the far side of the building, parked in front of the federal building sign.
Lainey practically threw her scooter on the ground as she raced to the van. “It’s locked!” She rushed to the front of the van, hand up to shield her eyes from the low evening sun. “I don’t see Becky anywhere!” Lainey palmed her hips as she spun around, searching in vain for the other reporter. “Where is she?”
“Maybe she’s inside finally getting some information.”
Lainey shook her head. “No way. She’s here somewhere. I know it.” She raced back to the van and peered into the driver’s window. “Becky? Becky are you in there?” She banged on the window. “So help me God, if you don’t open this door, I’m going straight to Matt and telling him you’re banging your cameraman!”
As Lainey pounded on the window again, the rear door squealed open and Keith shook his head. That woman never backed down from a story.
Chapter Eight
LAINEY
Wilshire Federal Building Parking Lot
Los Angeles, California
Friday, 7:45 p.m. PST
Thank God. Lainey rushed in, yanking the van’s rear door wide before whoever was inside changed their minds.
“Whoa, simmer down there. No reason to cause such a ruckus.” Chuck, one of the veteran cameramen for KSBF, leaned over the rear of the van, one hand still holding the door handle.
Lainey eased back and dumped her tote bag on the ground. Her shoulder ached from carrying it while they bobbed and weaved through the unending traffic. Scooters were not made for long-distance travel. She wiped at the sweat smearing her makeup and wished she’d taken the time to wash her face before they left.
“What the heck happened to you?” Becky wrinkled her nose as she perched on the bench seat in the back of the van, fire engine hair still six o’clock news material.
“Haven’t you noticed the traffic?” Lainey pushed back her tangles. “Everyone’s losing their minds over the blackout.”
Becky glanced at Chuck with a frown. “We’ve been stuck here since noon. Matt canceled my piece on the new playground at the Westwood Park rec center and told us to get over to the Federal Building as soon as the news hit. We didn’t even have to move the van.”
“Not the way I planned to spend my Friday night, that’s for sure.” Chuck ran a hand through his graying hair. “My kid’s supposed to be in the school play tonight and I’m gonna miss it because of some blackout two thousand miles away.”
“It’s a little more than just a blackout.” Lainey’s gaze bounced between Chuck and Becky. “Haven’t you been following the coverage?”
“We can barely get through
to the studio to broadcast. If we didn’t have the satellite hookup, we’d be out of luck.”
Lainey glanced around. “That doesn’t make any sense. We’ve got to be in the most connected part of LA.”
“Round of applause for the genius in a wrinkled dress.” Becky sympathy-clapped her manicured hands. “There are thousands of offices and apartments within a few city blocks of here. Think about how many people are trying to call their friends and family or get online.”
“Not to mention all the people stuck in their cars.” Keith blew out a puff of air. “She’s right. The servers and cell towers must be overloaded.”
Lainey waved at the Federal Building. “What does the FBI say? If you’ve been here all day, you’ve got to know more than Matt let you broadcast.”
A frown creased Becky’s brow and her broadcast makeup. “Like I’m telling you anything about a source.”
“Oh, come on. I’m not a poacher.”
“No way.” Becky crossed her arms and leaned back against the van’s side. “I’m not telling you a thing.”
If they didn’t find out what the FBI was willing to divulge, then the entire ten-mile trek from the studio to the Federal Building was a waste of time. Lainey checked her watch. After eight already.
She glanced at Keith. Should she tell Becky and Chuck what she knew? That the high-altitude explosion might not be the only planned detonation? That Los Angeles was at risk?
Keith didn’t nod or shake his head or offer any help. Instead, he just stared at her with a noncommittal expression. She had to make the decision on her own. Lainey thought it through.
Becky was a solid reporter. Not the slickest or the most polished, but she knew when a story had legs and was willing to work her way up the corporate ladder. She wouldn’t stay outside the FBI’s offices unless it was worth her while.