79

Why didn’t Jane pick up her damn messages? Jake propped his BlackBerry on the Jeep’s steering wheel, the heater humming, the shift in Park. He hadn’t even gotten to give her the word on the Vicks. He hit Redial. “It’s me. Again. By now you’ve heard. Call me.”

Should he head directly to her apartment? He tipped the BlackBerry back and forth on the wheel. Maybe yes, maybe no. Jane was certainly not in danger—Matt was dead, Sarah Lassiter hooked to a bunch of beeping monitors with two cadets and DeLuca guarding her hospital room. Not talking yet, but they’d buzz him if she came to.

She might live, doctors were saying. If she does, maybe she’ll get Patti Vick as a roommate. Jake had to smile. So much for the Bridge Killer.

End of story.

He shifted into Drive, eased out of the cop shop parking lot. Jane’s apartment. Why not?

*   *   *

That’s odd. Alex’s door is closed.

Jane had dashed up the three flights to the city room, unable to wait another moment for the exasperatingly slow elevator. Her head was full of her story—Maitland a turncoat, working for Lassiter’s opponent, Gable as the other woman—well, she couldn’t actually write all that, not yet.

Now, fidgeting in the waiting area outside Alex’s office, she waved both hands, signaling, trying to get his attention. He had the desk phone to his ear, cord stretched to the limit, pacing. Gesturing. Frowning.

She decided to go ahead, write what she had, a first draft. She had to call—who? Lassiter, of course. And the secretary of state, she was in charge of elections. Could she postpone the whole deal?

And Moira. Who so far wasn’t returning Jane’s calls. Would she play the good wife in all this?

Jane dug in her tote bag for her phone. Damn. Still on mute from this afternoon. She clicked it back on, turning the ringer to extra loud.

The city room was deserted, tomorrow’s first deadline past and the night shift not due for half an hour. She would have some quiet to get her thoughts together.

She rounded the corner, hoping Tuck wasn’t occupying their chair.

Great. Empty.

She plopped into the swivel in front of the desk, then quickly stood again. She was in the wrong cube. No Bridge Killer crime scene photos pinned across the bulletin board, no Snickers wrappers in the wastebasket, no bulging manila file folders taking up all the room on the desktop.

Jane paused, confused. But her own stuff was there, where she’d left it last night. Her envelope of photos. Her campaign brochures. Archive Gus’s file.

Only Tuck’s possessions were gone. Maybe Jane’s scoop snagged her an office of her own?

A footstep in the corridor. A cough. And then Jane’s phone beeped. A message. Has to be from Jake.

“Jane?” Alex appeared at the cubicle entrance. He draped one arm over the low fabric-covered divider.

Had she ever seen him in a suit and tie before? Hot Alex, indeed. Her phone beeped again. Extra loud.

“Hey, Alex, listen,” Jane said. She stood quickly, smiling, eager to tell the story. Describe every detail. “You won’t believe what I just—”

Alex put up a palm. The twinkle was gone from his eyes. “Two things,” he said. “First, good news. You know about Patti Vick, right? Police released it, five minutes ago.”

“Patti? Vick?” Jane tried to figure out where this was going. Arthur Vick’s wife?

“Confessed to killing Sellica Darden. Revenge. For her husband’s—affair. You see what that means.”

Jane sank back into her desk chair, one hand on the smooth metal desktop, needing to keep her balance. Her knees were not to be trusted.

“Didn’t Jake call you? You don’t know?”

Jane glanced at her phone. It beeped again. Alex had a funny look on his face.

“No, I—” Jane tried to think. She’d clearly missed Jake’s call. Patti Vick? She couldn’t wait to hear every— Wonder if Leota Darden knows. Jane reached for the cell.

“Before you pick that up,” Alex interrupted. “The bad news. We had to fire Tuck. She was seeing Laney Driscoll, the police PR flack. Turns out, he leaked her those crime scene photos. And a lot more. The superintendent just fired him, too. It’s a bad deal. All around. We trusted her, we printed it, we’ll back her in court. First Amendment, all that. But sleeping with a source? Any kind of inappropriate behavior? The Register will not tolerate that.”

Jane’s hand hovered over her cell phone. It beeped again. Insistent. And, since Alex obviously suspected who was calling, potentially career-ending.