Chapter Thirty-Two
Me? Was he serious?
“I want to know what you like to do when you’re not bringing me the latest news. What do you do when you’re off duty?”
“Besides drink?” I raised the martini that was starting to blur my vision.
His laugh rumbled through the room. “Were you and your friend celebrating? She said something about going to Rio?”
I explained Delia’s trip and gave him a summary of the long years of friendship beginning with the days of Kimmie D and Delia Burnett. “We used to play games when we met new guys, giving them false names. Like I would be Kara, and she might be Debor-AH. Not Deborah, but Debor-AH.”
“I should be happy I got your real name,” he said with a chuckle.
“Only because you knew who I was,” I admitted, thinking of that first day I saw him. Sudden melancholy gripped me and tears stung my eyes. “Damn…”
“What?”
“I miss Delia. I wish she’d come home.” I drew a jagged breath and lurched to my feet. As I stumbled toward the steps, he caught me. He lifted me to my feet and for an instant he held me with powerful arms. He smelled of expensive, exotic cologne. His soft sweater brushed my cheek. He felt like…oh, hell…Rick.
I pulled away. “I better get back to my friends.” The stairs swam before my eyes, but somehow I made it to the top step. He was right behind me.
He put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be forward. I thought you needed comforting.”
I held my head down, afraid to look up and see pity. I didn’t know why sadness had swamped me. “I’m being silly.”
“No.” His low voice was comforting. “You’re being human. May I take you to dinner tomorrow night? Let’s talk when we’re not sitting in the middle of a fishbowl.”
“Sure.” I rattled off my new phone number and scooted out the door, fearing he might touch me again. Brad met me as I hurried through the milling crowd.
“I’m ready to go home,” I said. “Do you mind telling the others? I’ll wait at the car.”
****
Thursday, 7:00 a.m.
The ringing of my cell jerked me out of a sound sleep. I fought to brush away grogginess. What made people think I was awake at this hour? I blinked my eyes open to check the number. Sam. He launched in without preamble.
“I guess I don’t have to tell you how fuckin’ stupid it was to make those comments to the news. I ain’t answerin’ questions from anyone and if you tell them I’m helpin’ you, I won’t do it anymore.”
“What time is it?”
“I’ll call you later, if you haven’t been arrested.”
His anger was understandable. I’d admitted someone was helping and it could bring unwelcome attention if news people learned his name. Hank would be furious. Why hadn’t I realized that before opening my big mouth? My phone rang again. Didn’t anyone sleep in?
“Good morning, Kimberly,” a gentle Southern voice said. “This is Oliver Nichols.”
I pushed my hair back from my face. My head hurt as though someone was yanking on my hair. Had I had that much to drink? I felt horrible. And I had a bad feeling about why he was calling.
“Yes, Mr. Nichols?” I cleared my froggy throat.
“If you say one more word to anyone without my permission, you can find another attorney.” All trace of Southern gentility vanished. His voice grew hard as a rapping gavel. “I am your attorney. Any statements come from me or through me. I don’t care how many friends you have in the media. When I work for you, you do as I say. I won’t put up with shenanigans. If you can’t live by my rules, then let’s cut the cord and you can go right to jail.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Nichols…”
The phone clicked. What a crappy way to start the day. I might as well face it. Crime drama wasn’t my thing. Where was my historical romantic life?
A shower didn’t help, and I couldn’t face the thought of staring at that damn board. I couldn’t even go out, since my repaired Mercedes wasn’t being delivered until noon. I called the one person who might cheer me up, even though I had no idea what time it was in Brazil.
“Do you know what time it is?” Delia rasped.
I was too pleased to hear her voice to care if she complained. “My life is falling apart. I needed to talk to you.”
“Oh, baby, what is it?” Sympathy replaced irritation, soothing me like a warm bath.
In halting sentences I let her have it all, unloading everything, including Sam’s anger and Oliver’s tirade.
“You should have told me this from the beginning, you nut. You need my help. As usual. I’ll see what kind of connections I can get and be home in a few days.”
Pangs of guilt struck me immediately. “I don’t want to interrupt your trip. I just needed to vent. I can get through this.”
“You’re horrible in a crisis when it’s personal. Give you an earthquake or fire that affects others and you’ll go on the air and calm the world. When it’s your own mess, you fall to pieces without me.”
Her lecture was as painful as Sam’s because I feared she was right. “Things aren’t all bad. I might have a date.”
“What?” She squealed like a teenager. “With who?”
“Miles Brookings. The Pilgrim guy from the bar.”
Her gulp was so loud I feared she might choke. “He actually called?”
“It’s not that simple. He’s the Bimbo’s father. I’ve run into him a few times.”
“Now you’re going my route? Trophy wife? That’s what I need—your sexy ass for competition.”
I laughed. “I don’t think so. Besides, you have Walter.”
“I’m ditching that idiot. But he doesn’t think much of your Pilgrim. When I mentioned I met him, Walter said the guy is known for shady deals.”
Shady deals? That sounded promising. “Like what? Can you ask Walt?”
“He’s hunting elephants somewhere. I can’t reach him.” Disgust rang in her voice.
“I don’t think they have elephants down there.”
“Whatever,” she said with a laugh. “I don’t care. I’m ready to go home.”
“Don’t do it just for me. I need to do things on my own sooner or later. I might as well start now. Give me your phone number so I can call if I need you.”
“You just did.”
“I mean the place where you’re staying.”
“Call my cell.”
“What if it isn’t working?” I persisted, not wanting to be left without a connection again.
She sighed. “I’ll have to get it. I’ll call you later. Will you be around?”
“I may have dinner with Miles, the Pilgrim.”
“Don’t forget condoms…just in case.”
Recalling his gentle touches, I gulped. Would he put a move on me?
“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Delia asked with a delicious giggle.
“He probably has his own supply. Custom made.”
We hung up laughing. She could do so much to raise my spirits. I looked toward the stairs, but couldn’t face my board or Rick’s ledgers. I needed a day off. Slumping on the sofa, I turned on the television and tuned to a news channel.
A cool blonde in a sleeveless shell read headlines. She needed my mother’s fashion advice. The fuchsia blouse and thin white arms did nothing for her. An unflattering photograph of me jumped out behind the woman’s helmet hair.
“Did she do it?” the caption read. The screen split into two people—Joe Higgins, a former assistant district attorney, and Paula.
“Oliver Nichols won’t discuss a reward or comment on Kimberly’s latest interview,” Paula said, “I understand he has threatened to quit.”
Higgins glared into the camera, shaking his head. “She’s her own worst enemy.”
“Do police have any other suspects?” the anchor asked Paula.
“Not that I know of.”
“This reward offer is her attempt to pretend she didn’t do it. How many guilty people make that sort of offer?” Higgins added.
“She claims to have hired a private investigator, but we haven’t been able to discover who it is.” Paula’s voice rang with skepticism.
“And you won’t!” I shouted at the set and hit the off button. I might as well have a “guilty” sign pasted on my forehead. Could I get a fair trial if I was arrested?
My cell phone buzzed and I grabbed it. The caller ID showed “caller unknown,” but I hit the talk button, hoping it was Delia. Wait until she heard about this lynch mob.
“Kimberly? I hope I didn’t wake you.”
I’d never heard the voice on the phone, but I knew it immediately. Miles! My heart skipped and I patted my hair into place, as though he could see me.
“I’ve been up for a while,” I said, trying to sound awake.
“Good. I wanted to confirm dinner tonight.”