Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
SAVANNAH
I sit cross-legged on my bed, earbuds playing Demi Lovato at full volume, my laptop open in front of me. Since Brodie left forty-five minutes ago, I’ve come up with a distraction to keep me occupied for the morning—plan a surprise trip for the two of us to Whistler.
Google is loaded with multiple pages ready for my research.
Car hire, hotels, spas, best restaurants. A perfect romantic break for us to celebrate being together. With nothing holding us back.
My email pings, a notification popping up in the corner of the screen.
Play with Fire: The Truth Behind the Ladder
by Brodie Holt
Frowning, I skip to a new window, opening my email. It takes a moment to refresh and then Brodie’s message sits in bold at the top.
Odd. I said I didn’t need to read it.
I click it open and am a good two paragraphs in before remembering I need to breathe in order to stay alive. I heave in a breath and choke it back out as the words on the screen blur into one big fucked-up mess.
“Hey, you okay, Sav?”
I look up to find Nix hovering in my doorway, dressed for school in a chic pencil skirt. She’s beautiful, which only adds to my turmoil. Like everything’s inverted and twisted and upside down. How can Nix possibly look so normal when—
“Hey, Sav. Eyes on me. What’s going on?”
I thrust my laptop away and dash to the toilet, just managing to make it before the nausea churning my stomach into minced meat propels its way into the bowl with a splash.
Tearing off a wad of toilet paper, I dab at my mouth as my stomach convulses again.
It’s a couple of minutes later when I hear Nix behind me.
“What the hell is that email?”
I look up at her, my eyes streaming, the back of my throat burning. “I don’t know.”
“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to fucking—”
“They’re not Brodie’s words. They can’t be.”
“His name is crystal clear at the top. And it reads pretty damn authentic to me. He seems to know all the ins and outs of Hall Eight.”
I stand, flushing the toilet and shuffling through to the bathroom next door to wash my hands, rinse out my mouth, and splash cold water on my face.
I towel myself dry and turn back to Nix. “I know what it looks like, but it can’t be Brodie. He was just… Why would he…?” Another ripple of nausea threatens to derail me. “It can’t be him, can it?”
“Well, if it’s not him, who the fuck wrote it?”
The million-dollar question.
I manage a weak shrug. “I have no idea. I didn’t even get through reading it all.”
“Well, you probably shouldn’t. You’ll only throw up again.”
“It’s that bad?”
She swallows. “Worse.”
I force myself to drop my shoulders from where they’re currently residing close to my ears. Stumbling past Nix, I return to my bedroom, position my laptop on the bed, and kneel in front of it like I’m about to pray. Maybe I should.
If my two weeks shadowing Vancity’s latest budding female fire recruit has taught me anything, it’s that our city’s fire department is corrupt, misogynistic, and shockingly stuck in the dangerous dark ages.
And even worse, they know it and are prepared to do anything in their power to keep that truth from you, the tax-paying public.
Their priority is not saving your life. It’s exploiting their heroic public image to hide what’s really going on behind the closed doors of community fire halls, like the West End’s very own Hall Eight.
A sound escapes my mouth. It’s partially a sob, but it’s got resonance like it’s come from somewhere deep inside. I sense Nix again.
She hugs me in, deftly shutting my laptop at the same time. “Don’t read it, Sav. It’s not going to help make this any easier.”
I gawk up at her, unable to string two words together.
She hugs me tighter. “Okay, the way I see it, there’s two, uh… problems for us to tackle. Who wrote this piece of shit and what happens with it next?”
Her voice slips into full teacher mode and it makes me want to cry with relief. Nix is on it. And Nix being on it is the equivalent of having an army.
She scoots to sit opposite me, keeping hold of my hands. “Okay, let’s go back to the beginning. Where was Brodie going when he left here this morning?”
My lungs tighten at the memory of him leaving. Saying he loves me. Kissing me goodbye. It’s been less than an hour, yet it already feels like weeks ago. “Back to his apartment to finish his edit. He was planning on getting the copy to his boss this afternoon.”
“Mmm. Interesting.” She chews on her lip. “Where’s your phone?”
“What? Why?”
“Let’s call him.”
At least one of us is thinking straight.
I grab my phone and hit dial on Brodie’s number. It rings and rings. No answer. I hit dial again. No answer.
I try a final time and bite out a shrill voice message. “Brodie, where are you? Something’s happened. I need to speak with you. Now. Like, fucking now. Please. Call me back.” Dropping my phone to my lap, I turn my focus back to Nix. “Okay. What next?”
“Well, if we believe that he was going back to his apartment to finish the article, then that can’t be his doing.” She gestures to my closed laptop like it’s a dead rat.
“Precisely. But then who the hell wrote this? And why?”
“We need to think strategically. Has this been sent to hurt you or Brodie?”
“What do you mean?”
“Because assuming whoever sent this knows you’re together, it has the potential to hurt both of you.
You for believing Brodie’s betrayed you.
Him because it could both damage his career and push you both apart.
” Yep. Nix is fully embracing Nancy Drew.
“Let’s focus on Brodie. Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt him? ”
I shrug. “The only two people I’m aware Brodie has an issue with are his dad and Springer, but there’s no way either of them could pull off something like this.
It’s too involved. And it’s not good for them either.
If this goes to print, it’s going to cause issues for the whole force, not just Eight.
” I drop my head with a groan, the weight of what’s going on feeling way too intense for me to stay upright.
“Okay, but if we’re ruling out Brodie and his family as the possible senders, then there must be someone else.
Who’s the email even from?” She snaps her attention to my laptop, opening it in a flash and scrolling to the top of the message.
“Brodie dot Holt at the Vancity Herald. Is that his actual work email?”
“I have no idea.”
“Hold up.” She goes back to clicking, her fingers tapping away, perfectly laminated brows zipped together. “Yep. That’s his actual work email.”
Every new revelation is more suffocating.
It can’t be Brodie.
It really can’t be Brodie.
But with every passing second and click of my laptop’s trackpad, it’s looking increasingly likely that it can only be Brodie.
“Nix, it can’t be… I don’t…” My mouth flaps uselessly. Lost. Terrified.
“This is actually great. Really narrows things down.” Nix continues on the exact opposite trajectory to me, gaining momentum as she Nancy Drews.
“Whoever this is, they must be someone connected to the Herald. Someone who is able to log into Brodie’s work email and pose as him.
” She smooths her skirt, face deep in thought, and then sits upright with a start.
“What? What is it?”
She frowns.
“Just spit it out, Nix. What?”
“Well, let’s go over all the clues here.
One: This email has come from someone who has the ability to carry out an inside job from within the Herald.
Two: This email has the potential to break you and Brodie up.
Three: Its content, if released, is geared at destroying the reputation of the place where you work, putting your dream job at risk.
” She pauses, breath held like she’s waiting for me to catch up.
“Well… I think it’s pretty clear who’s probably behind this. ”
“What? Who?”
“Just think it through for a minute.”
I go inward, willing my brain to get with the program. To see whatever it is that Nix has worked out. Inside job. Breaking up me and Brodie. Destroying my dream—
“Oh my god.” I also sit up with a start.
Reality lands hard, fast, and ice-cold.
I shudder.
She nods, lips in a line.
“It’s my dad.”