Cover Shot (A Headlines in High Heels Mystery Book 5) (9 page)

“Look, you don’t have him on murder.” I raised one hand when Landers made a face. “You don’t. Not without the ballistics. You have him on discharging a weapon in public. I’m not asking you to let a criminal walk. Just to be sensitive to a unique situation.”

Landers shot a glare at Aaron, then turned to face Kyle. “Is she always this big a pain in the ass?”

“I’d say it’s sixty-forty.” Kyle grinned and winked at me over Aaron’s head. “But she’s so darned plucky, it makes it less annoying.”

I rolled my eyes, then raised one brow at Aaron. “So? What do you say?”

He tapped his fingers together, staring at Landers, who was still looking in the general direction of the body.

“We don’t have proof. We have conjecture,” he began.

“Pretty goddamn logical conjecture,” Landers snapped.

“Didn’t say it wasn’t. But here’s what I know for sure: Nichelle isn’t crazy. And she is fair. She also knows something she’s not sharing.”

Landers’s eyes flashed my way. “Have to get the story first. Just like my dad.”

“Same song, different day,” I said. “I think I’ve proven the people are more important to me than the headline, but thanks for that vote of confidence.”

“Hell, Chris, who’s to say one of us wouldn’t do the same in his shoes? I can’t imagine, if I’d lost Barbara when my girls were little. I might have gone more than a little crazy, too. We’ll put a uniform outside her door to watch him, and keep this floor secured. It can’t hurt anything. And the Chief will like the good press.”

“How long are you going to keep that up?” Landers didn’t look happy, but he wasn’t arguing.

Aaron looked at me. “As long as I can. But I’m not sure what that looks like. If they order him picked up, my hands are tied.”

Loud and clear.

I smiled. “Thanks, Aaron. I owe you one.”

“Eh. We’re even. Go on home. And make this worth the ass-chewing I’m about to take, huh?”

“You got it, Detective.”

I hoped to hell I could make good on that promise.

12.

A killer lead

Charlie’s blue eyes narrowed when I stepped outside the police tape, but my gaze skated right past her and her cameraman to Parker, who looked more pissed off than he had when I went inside.

And then past him to Joey, who was leaning against the back of my SUV, tapping his iPhone screen furiously.

Oh. Shit.

My thoughts spun through several scenarios in about three seconds, and none of them ended well for me. What if Kyle got bored talking shop with Aaron and Landers and came downstairs before I could get Joey out of the parking lot? Every time their paths crossed, it intensified the possibility that Kyle would recognize Joey—his files on the Caccione syndicate were extensive, and included a boatload of photos.

And what about Parker? He wasn’t a cop, but he was a hell of a good reporter. The less everyone in my life knew about my boyfriend, the better. Which my psychiatrist friend Emily had all sorts of opinions on. Opinions I didn’t care to consider.

Parker stepped toward me, already shaking his perfectly tousled blond head. “Glad you’re still alive. Do you know how pissed Bob is? He saw us leave together and started ringing my phone about twelve seconds after you went in there.”

I winced. “I texted him. I needed him to revise the front and hold space.” My editor loved my exclusives, but often hated the ways I went about getting them.

“He even yelled at me.”

Damn. I was in for an ass-chewing of my own, killer story or no.

“I’m fine. No one has any call to get bent out of shape. In fact, I’m better than fine. I saved the day and got the exclusive. Not a bad night.”

“I think the call to get upset comes from your blatant disregard for your personal safety,” Parker said.

“I second that.” Joey appeared behind Parker’s shoulder. Take your eyes off him for three seconds, and look what happens.

“I did not—” I began.

“Let’s not,” Joey interrupted. “Every news outlet in town has a report of a gunman in the hospital and one foolish reporter who chased the story into the line of fire.”

“I was careful.” I patted the vest, keeping my tone soft. He was worried, not looking to pick a fight.

“You could have been more careful,” Parker said, curious emerald eyes on Joey.

I ignored the pointed introduce-me glance and kept my attention on my new beau. Who looked downright furious to anyone who knew him well. Parker probably thought he was mildly annoyed.

“The story is believable to anyone who’s met you, even without the corroboration.” Joey kept his eyes locked on mine, his voice tighter than his tailored vest.

“Am I hurt?” I kept my face and tone bright, unstrapping the vest and reaching for his hand.

Returning the pressure on my fingers, he sighed. “Don’t appear to be. But one of these days that luck will run out.”

“I’ve learned my way around a dangerous situation.” I pulled the vest off, handing it to a patrolman who rushed by on his way to help keep a mob of shouting family members from charging the doors.

“It’s the habit of jumping into the deep end that bothers me.” He smiled with that one and I returned it, squeezing his hand again. “You could stop that anytime.”

“Hear, hear.” Parker ran a hand through his hair. “The ATF guy was furious. Tried for a half-hour to get in there after you. The cops got all out the ass about him bigfooting their territory. They argued jurisdiction until you called the all-clear, and White told them to shut up and took him inside.”

Joey flinched on “ATF guy” and looked more than a little hurt by the time Parker stopped talking.

Oy.

“He heard it on the radio on his way home,” I said.

“And he’s still stuck on you.” The tightness was back, Joey’s eyes roaming the crowd. “Enough to come running.”

I linked my fingers with his and tried to pull his eyes back to mine. “I have no idea what Kyle is stuck on. He’s an old friend. But he is just my friend.”

Parker coughed out a nervous laugh and leaned close to me. “Why do I have a feeling I’m chewing on my toes, here?”

I smiled. “Because you’re smart. I hope they’re not too sweaty. Kyle is a sore subject right now.” Which I didn’t completely follow. I chose Joey. I wasn’t sure of much else about our relationship, but I didn’t want to be without him, and I didn’t want to be with anyone else.

Parker nodded a we’re-not-through-with-this and smiled, pulling me into a hug. “I’m glad you’re okay, Clarke,” he said, the unease I’d been worried over as we left the office nowhere to be found. “I’m going to catch a ride back to the office.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow?” I asked. “Sorry we never got around to it.”

He nodded. “Whenever you have time.”

“Sure. Sorry if I worried you.”

He glanced between me and Joey. “I’m suddenly glad Mel covers the council. No guns.”

I nodded. He waved and moved to the knot of reporters, catching Dan Kessler from WRVA, who was headed back to his van.

“Why must you continue to take these chances?” Joey put his hands on my shoulders.

I settled mine on his waist, a soft smile playing around my lips. “Stubborn. It’s a genetic flaw. Ask my mother.”

“I’d love to.” His voice dropped and turned serious. My heart stuttered. Something told me there was a double meaning in those words, but I couldn’t stop focusing on the story (stories? There were at least three intersecting at the moment, if my math wasn’t off. And it could very possibly be. Numbers aren’t my strong suit.) for long enough to consider the implications.

Dead people and research now. Romance later.

Story of my life.

I glanced around and locked eyes with Charlie. My gaze meeting hers was all it took to bring her running in my direction. I started to make a break for the car, then felt guilty and paused. Before she could cross the lawn to the driveway, though, the doors behind me opened and Aaron and Landers walked out. Followed by Kyle. I met his eyes and saw a flash of something I couldn’t identify when they landed on Joey. He made it two steps toward us before the press corps surrounded them, everyone screaming questions over each other. I grabbed Joey’s hand and strode to my car before Aaron could get “one at a time, folks” out of his mouth.

“You want me to follow you?” Joey asked as he opened the driver’s door for me and gestured to his sleek black Lincoln, parked across the street.

I brushed my lips across his. “I’d love it. I have to file some copy with Bob, but I can do that from the car. I want food, and to hear your thoughts on this. But then I probably should work.”

He pinched his lips together. “Story of our life.”

Our. My stomach jumped at the tiny word, and I shook it off.

Focus, Nichelle.

I smiled. “Burgers okay with you?”

“Following you, baby.”

I pulled my brain back from the “relationship term overload” cliff and climbed into the car. “Great.”

I parked at the restaurant before I stopped grinning.

Pulling out my laptop, I turned on my cell phone hotspot and opened an email to Bob. I laid my notes on the console, but I only glanced at them a couple of times—not the sort of experience one is likely to forget, really.

Richmond Police diffused a hostage situation at St. Vincent’s Medical Center Wednesday evening, clearing the scene and returning the hospital to order while protecting thousands of patients and staff members.

One woman was killed during the incident, though it wasn’t immediately clear to witnesses exactly how that happened.

I clicked over to Facebook and searched for Stephanie Whitmire. She was twenty-seven. Single, no kids, GMU grad working in marketing. Good enough. I clicked back to the story and added a few lines, plus a bit about the body discovery. Heaping more praise on the PD, I threw in a note about disarming the gunman before I read back through it and clicked “send.”

Anyone who wanted details would have to quote my story, which always burned Charlie right the hell up. And should make Andrews leave Bob alone for at least a couple of days.

That put an extra bounce in my step as I shut off the computer and stepped out of the car to go inside. Joey leaning against the front doorframe and the smell from the grill held promises of a fantastic evening.

Joey settled into the age-marked walnut booth across from me, his tailored Armani as out of place as Birkenstocks at a runway show.

“I take it this place doesn’t have an extensive wine list?” He winked.

“If there’s ever been a bottle of wine in this building, it found its way here on accident.” I laughed. “But they have great iced tea, and the best burgers and fries in town.”

“You do know good food,” he said.

I smiled at the waitress, her cropped red curls bouncing as she listed the specials.

“A taco burger?” I interrupted.

“Taco seasoning, hot sauce, tomatoes, cheddar, lettuce, and spicy mayo,” she said.

“I think I have to try this. A burger that tastes like Mexican food can’t be bad.”

I went for the spicy fries, too, and a sweet iced tea. She turned to Joey, her eyes widening a little when she looked at him closely. Tell me about it, sister. Three months of something resembling a real relationship, and I still paused to admire his perfection every five minutes.

“And what can I do for you?” Her voice dropped a full octave when her eyes zeroed in on the third finger of his left hand. I cleared my throat. She didn’t appear to notice. To his credit, neither did Joey.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” he said.

“Brave,” I said.

“There are scarier things in life than food,” he said.

She jotted it down and walked away, a sashay in her step that wasn’t there before.

“Do you ever go anywhere without getting hit on?” I asked.

“What, her? She was nice, but I wouldn’t call that flirting.”

“She stared at you like a ten-ounce sirloin she’d like to smear some butter on.” I laughed.

“Nice of you to notice.”

“I don’t really care.” I laced my fingers with his, electricity skating up my arms when our hands touched. “But you’d have to be blind or slow to not see it. I notice.”

“So do I,” he said. “Miller isn’t going away, is he?”

“He’s been my friend for almost fifteen years. So I’m going with no.”

“He wants more than friendship.”

“Lucky for you, I do not.” Joey rolled his eyes and I sighed. “Let’s talk about something more fun, shall we? Like whatever it is you’re trying to get yourself killed over this week?”

“Come on. It’s been at least a couple months since the last time I tried to get myself killed.”

“Keep the streak going past this week.” His eyes sparkled, softening the flat tone.

“You got it. This is weird, but not run-for-your-life-Nichelle weird.”

“You never see the run for your life part ’til it’s too late.”

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

“Fire away.”

“Pun intended?”

“Absolutely.”

I told him the whole story, glossing over the more heart-pounding bits, finishing with my Twitter DMs and the cancer cure theory.

He shook his head.

“No wonder you’re so amped up. The more tangled a story gets, the more determined you always are to unravel it.”

“It’s an illness,” I said. “This whole thing is like a maze of rabbit holes. But I’ll find the pot of gold at the end.”

“You’re mixing metaphors.”

“I’m exhausted and still riding the adrenaline high. I trust you to keep up.”

“Doing my best.” He smiled.

“I have a friend checking on the computer stuff.”

“What else do you know about the victim?”

“Not much. He might have been seeing our old society editor, Mary Social Climber. Married a corporate bigshot who died last year.”

Joey shook his head. “Is this Richmond or Mayberry?”

“Small world, right? I’m trying to figure out how to dig up more about her without tipping my hand.”

He sighed, and the whole story flew slap out of my head when he met my gaze and traced a light finger over my knuckles. “Be. Careful.”

I nodded, my lips refusing to work.

Our food appeared in front of us, and I heard the waitress say “let me know if I can get you anything else” from ten miles away. I couldn’t tear my eyes from Joey’s until he let go of my hand, growling stomach be damned.

He smiled and picked up a fry, nodding approval when he popped it into his mouth. I hefted my burger, my thoughts returning to Amy the dying cancer patient, and pinging from there to my mom. The clinical trial that saved her was the worst four months of my life. And try as I might, I couldn’t shake the idea that Maynard was onto something that might give Tom Ellinger the same miracle. Might save my mom if she got sick again. If the past couple days was any indication, following this hunch wouldn’t be easy—but I could safely say I’d never wanted an answer more.

I bit into the burger, every bit as tasty as it sounded. My mom had been so sick. She couldn’t eat, needing to be fed through tubes and needles.

Couldn’t eat. Because of the trial drugs.

Clinical trial. That I’d found on the NIH website.

Because they catalog drug trials.

I sat up straight and almost dropped my burger to the sawdust-covered floor.

“What?” Joey paused mid-chew and covered his mouth with one hand.

“I know where to look. The guy said he was trying to get his wife into a trial with Maynard. I know I can find information on the trial and its success rate online.”

Joey’s lips tipped up in a resigned smile. “Do I get to finish my burger?”

“Don’t dawdle. We’ll come back when you can fully appreciate the food and there are no dead people. Promise.”

“The day we get to have a date with no dead people, I’ll wear a Carmen Miranda costume in a parade down Main Street.”

I snorted iced tea at the mental picture, motioning for him to eat.

Fingers itching for a keyboard, I wolfed down three-quarters of my food in five minutes. Finally. A lead. What was Maynard up to? And did it get him killed?