Chapter Eight
Rick
It took a lot of willpower to sleep next to Devyn and not peel every inch of material from her body and make love to her all night. She would have let me, too. Her body was quivering with it, but she was emotionally drained after her nightmare and I wasn’t going to use that. I didn’t want her alone in case she had another one, and it might not have been my presence, but she did peacefully sleep through the rest of the night.
I climbed out of bed before she woke up, made coffee, and left her another note to help herself to breakfast. Today is my last full day with her, but I’m spending my morning in the office, wind howling past the windows just as strong as yesterday.
The snow doesn’t show any sign of letting up, and I find it hard to believe this will be over come nightfall, but the Weather Channel is reliable. It’s my own reluctance in saying goodbye to Devyn that I want to doubt the meteorologists who work for the station.
She needs to leave. I get that.
It’s my own fault I let myself fall a little bit in love. The sooner she leaves, the quicker it will fade. I’d been happy alone before she drove up, and I’ll be happy again when she drives back down.
I can’t concentrate on work, and on a whim, call the editor of the Times, Bill Newsom. We’re not buddies, but we go a ways back, belonged to the same gentleman’s club in Cedar Hill, attended the same fundraisers and other functions, bullshit parties Renata wanted to go to that I couldn’t have cared less about but went anyway for the networking.
I use his private number I have stored in my cell, and he answers with a gruff, “Newsom.” I see he hasn’t lost his grumpy teddy bear act.
“It’s Mercer.”
“Hey, you in town?” His voice is muddled, and I think he’s talking around a cigar.
“No. I have a couple of questions for you, though.”
Clearer now, he says, “Yeah? What can I help you with? Going to offer me an exclusive on what you’ve been up to the past two years?”
“No.”
“Oh. This isn’t about Renata, is it?”
That throws me off. “No. Why?”
Newsom clears his throat. “I thought maybe you heard she and I are seeing each other. Nothing serious, just a couple parties here and there.”
“No. I haven’t heard that.”
“You don’t mind, do you?”
I lean back in my chair, watch the snow fly horizontally past the cottage window. Three days ago, I would have minded. Two days ago, I would have minded. After sleeping in Devyn’s bed last night, my body snug against hers, my hand resting beneath her breasts all night, I don’t mind. “No. She’s single and can do what she wants, but a word of warning, she’s not that loyal.”
“Noted.” He sounds amused, but he won’t be that amused if he falls in love with her and she leaves him when he becomes involved in a situation she finds inconvenient. “You didn’t call to talk about that.”
“No, I didn’t. Tell me about Devyn Scott.”
He sighs. “That was some fucked up shit, there. My best goddamned reporter, and I had to fire her. You know I was just about to send her on her first over-seas assignment? I’d been priming her to get her off the fucking streets of Cedar Hill. She was better than this fucking city. It’s what made her a great reporter, you know? Sticking her foot in the shit, and not afraid to do it. Unbiased, I could depend on her to tell the truth, and you know what,” he asks, ranting now that he has an audience, “she was one of few, one of the fucking few, who wouldn’t take a bribe. Just let one rookie go last week for taking a payoff to slant a piece. It’s ridiculous no one’s honest anymore.”
“But Devyn was.”
“Hell, yeah. I burst into tears when she cleaned out her desk.”
“Why’d you fire her? What’d she do if she was that good?”
Newsom lowers his voice. “She stepped into the wrong pile of shit. Fucking Christ. You couldn’t have called me in the afternoon when I could drink while I talk about this shit?”
“It’s that bad?”
“Look, she was snooping around Stevie Johansson, and you know she’s got the city by the balls.”
I frown. “No, I didn’t know that. In fact, when I lived there, I thought I had.”