Chapter 5 #2
“Your gut, huh?” The man’s low chuckle filled the phone’s speaker. “Well if there’s one thing I’ve learned from this job, it’s that a reporter’s gut can turn a story into gold.”
Janie’s lips curved upward. “I was hoping you’d see it that way.”
“You know, you still haven’t told me about this counteroffer of yours.”
Here goes nothing.
“Give me a few weeks to dig into this thing more to see what I can come up with. Once I have proof of my suspicions, I’ll fill you in, and you can decide.”
“Decide on what, exactly?”
“How much the Post is willing to pay for the exclusive publishing rights to the initial story. And trust me, David, you’re going to want this story. But if not, no harm, no foul. I’m sure I won’t have any trouble finding a different outlet to publish.”
This isn’t my first rodeo, Ellis. You want the goods; you’d better be willing to pay.
Janie wasn’t a greedy person in the least, but she also wasn’t stupid. Something as massive as a missing White House intern would bring with it professional and financial security that would typically be years in the making.
For someone who currently worked for herself, a safety net like that wasn’t only desired. It was essential.
“You seem quite confident that this story of yours is going to pan out.”
“Because I am.” She truly was. “So . . . what do you say?”
The sound of Ellis releasing a long, slow breath reached Janie’s ears. “I’ll give you a week, and then you’ve got to give me a bite as soon as you have something solid.”
“Make it three. Oh, and I’m gonna need a place to stay during that time.” She glanced around the room. “I’m thinking I should just stay here. You know, since I’m already unpacked and all that.”
Another nerve-cinching pause passed before he came back with his final offer.
“Three weeks and the Post covers your stay, but you have to give me something right now. I don’t need the whole meal, just a nibble I can chew on until I hear from you again.”
“Okay, so what I’m looking into directly involves the White House.”
A deep snort sounded from the other end of the call. “This is D.C., Janie. Every story is about the White House.”
It was worth a shot.
“Okay, fine. What if I said it involves a White House intern?”
Ellis’ tone grew more serious at the additional word. “An intern?” His interest sounded more than a little piqued. “Are you sure?”
“About that part? One hundred percent.”
“I have to admit we haven’t had a scandal like that in a while.”
“Give me enough time to look into this thing, and you will.”
Though she had a feeling this was about a whole lot more than a sitting president taking advantage of an impressionable young girl.
“You drive a hard bargain, Janie.” The man who very well could become her boss sighed again. “Three weeks and not a minute longer.”
Her smile grew wide. “You won’t regret this, David. Trust me.”
“This is Washington, sweetheart. Stick around long enough, and you’ll soon learn you can’t trust anyone in this town.”
“We’ll talk soon,” she promised before ending the call.
The sound of running water pulled her attention back to the nearly full tub.
The bath!
“Oh, crap!” Janie exclaimed aloud as she raced to turn off the faucet.
Mountains of thick, white bubbles had formed along the water’s surface. She nearly laughed at herself when she thought about the mess that could have occurred had the phone call taken even a few minutes longer.
Within minutes, she was climbing into the steaming oasis. The water had bite when it first touched her skin, but once she was submerged to her shoulders, the slight sting from the heat was a welcomed, soothing pain.
Janie rested her neck on the tub’s built-in pillow, and for the first time in days, she truly let herself relax. She’d allow herself this brief respite from the world, and then she’d get back to work.
Her lids fell shut, and as she lay there, surrounded by water and mounds of concealing, vanilla-scented suds, she pictured Emmett’s handsome face. She imagined what it would be like to run her fingers through his dark hair or touch the sprinkles of gray at his temples.
Beneath the water, her fingers twitched as she envisioned touching the course hair of his beard. Janie could almost imagine herself toying with the bit of gray that adorned his chin.
Emmett was a man of few words who appeared to take his job very seriously. The client in her was quite thankful for that, but the woman in her needed to be very careful where he was concerned.
Very careful, indeed.
Janie couldn’t remember a time when she felt such an intense, magnetic pull toward a man as she did with Emmett. But this wasn’t about her. It was about finding Amy Weaver, and she couldn’t—she wouldn’t—let herself become distracted from that goal.
Even someone as mouthwateringly tempting as Emmett Shaw.
He stood at his office window, swirling the half-empty glass in his hand, waiting for the man he’d sent for to arrive. The view was truly magnificent.
Killer, some might say.
His lips curled at the thought as he turned to face the person who’d just opened the door to his office. “So?” He returned to his desk and began pouring his guest a drink to match his own. “What did you find out?”
The sharply dressed man without a hair out of place ensured the door was shut before giving his response. “Her name is Janie Reynolds.” He kept his voice low. Quiet. “She’s an investigative journalist from St. Louis.”
“Of course, she is.” He handed over the two-fingered glass of expensive whiskey.
“Thanks.”
He took a sip from his own glass and swallowed. “Who’s she with?”
“No one.”
“No one?” The answer wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. “She’s freelance, then?”
“For several months, now.” His so-called friend nodded. “Before that, she was working for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. Apparently she left them to work some story on city and state corruption that got picked up by a bunch of news platforms across the country.”
“Missouri girl does good, eh?”
His friend smiled with a chuckled, “Something like that.”
But he wasn’t smiling. Not even a hint of a smirk dared to grace his lips.
Reporters . . . journalists . . . whatever you wanted to call them.
They were all the same. Vultures that lived and breathed to cause chaos.
To interfere with the workings of a government he’d spent a lifetime trying to protect.
“Family?”
“None that we found. Grew up in the foster system. Single. No kids, siblings, or known relatives on record.”
“Interesting,” he mused. “Just like our other friend who didn’t know when to leave well-enough alone.”
“The same thought crossed my mind, as well.”
“What is it with these people?” He blew out an angry breath.
“It’s bad enough, they’re journalist, but why do they both have to be the same, do-gooder type?
” Another sip graced his lips as he did his best to calm his rising temper.
And yet, he couldn’t keep from blurting out an additional, “And what the hell is a freelancer from Missouri doing here, in D.C.?”
“According to my source at the Post, she’s being wooed by David Ellis for their Investigative Unit. Which would explain why she was there the other day when I saw her talking to the Amy We—.”
“Shh!” He scowled, waving a hand back and forth between them. “You can’t so much as whisper that name inside this building, do you understand?”
All he got in return was an insincere, “Sorry.”
“You will be,” he warned. “This thing comes out, and we will both be very, very sorry. Now why do you think she was talking to an investigative journalist outside her own circles?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
Frustration threatened to boil over, and it was all he could do to control his temper.
“You seem to forget I pay you a lot of money so I don’t have to randomly guess.
Now, call me crazy, but I don’t think an investigative journalist just happened to be standing outside the Washington Post, talking to a woman with the power to destroy this entire administration. ”
Starting with me.
“You said your guy took care of her, yes?” He continued when the other man nodded, “And there’s no way she can be traced back to us?”
“My guy’s always clean.”
“For your sake, I hope to hell that’s true.” There was a pause and then, “What about the file?”
“It wasn’t on her.”
An instant and powerful wave of anger crashed into him. “What the hell do you mean, it wasn’t on her? If she didn’t have it, and it wasn’t in her apartment, then—”
“We’ll find it, don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry?” He took a broad step toward the other man. “That file gets out, our careers won’t be the only thing ruined. You do understand that, right?”
“Yeah, I get it.”
“Do you?” he reaffirmed the concern through a set of clenched teeth. “Because this is way beyond getting fired. We’ll be in prison. Death Row, to be more precise. Because that’s where people go when they’re convicted of treason.”
“My guys will find the file,” the other man assured him without even breaking out into a sweat.
“They’d better,” he warned. “And I want that reporter dealt with, too.”
The other man gave a nod. “Any particular way you’d like me to approach that job?”
He went back to his desk for another drink. “I don’t care how it’s done, and I don’t want to know the details.” The less he knew about the process, the better. “But we need to know what she knows first.”
“And after my guy gets her to talk?”
It wasn’t a question of if. For all the headaches and stress that came with situations like these, his guy always gets them to talk.
“Same as always.” He looked up from his glass with a knowing stare. “I just want this thing handled and put to bed.”
The office he’d protect at all costs grew quiet before the man he trusted to get the job done spoke again.
“You’re the boss.” He sat his glass on a nearby accent table. The conniving man opened the door and left the office with a silent assurance that the situation was under control.
With that particular problem off his plate, he returned to the same window as before. The Washington Monument stood high in the distance, like a patriotic, imposable force.
You’re the boss.
A grin graced the corners of his lips as he brought the glass’s rounded edge to his mouth. He tipped his head back and finished the remaining drops of the smooth whiskey. Yes, this was his favorite view so far.
There’s more where that came from.
His thought made his smile grow wide. Yes, he loved the view and the power that came with it. And he’d be damned if he let anyone—especially some no-name journalist from Missouri—take either of those things away.