Over a shrimp scampi dinner later, Tommy asked Kelly if he had met the special agent in charge.
“Yeah. He’s kind of a jack hole,” Kelly said, twirling a linguine noodle on his fork and then washing it all down with a gulp of Pinot Grigio. “I hate when the feds swoop in on our cases. They think they are rescuing us or something, Total bullshit. We don’t need their help.”
He was angry so Tommy didn’t say anything, but did think that maybe in this case the cops did need help. The killer was plugging along like nobody’s business. Nothing had stopped him yet.
The worse part was the feds had insisted on yanking Kelly off the case as soon as they found out he and Tommy were dating.
That’s what he was really angry about.
“It’s my case. Mine. I had it from day one, damn it.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. All I do is get you in trouble. I told you to run for the hills. I told you a long time ago when we started dating that it wasn’t worth it.”
“Oh, but it is,” he said, leaning in and nuzzling her neck until she turned to him, her mouth meeting his. She grabbed his hand and led him into the bedroom, leaving their dinner to get cold.
Later, they were sitting out on the balcony drinking wine and looking at the stars and city skyline across the river when Kelly’s cell phone buzzed.
The autopsy results had come back for the cop, Rourke.
He hung up the phone and turned to Tommy. “Bad news.”
“Oh yeah?”
“No coin.”
“Huh? What do you think that means?”
“It’s not what I think that matters. Costello says the murder seems different this time.”
Tommy looked at him and shrugged. Kelly elaborated.
“The killer might be different. It might not be our killer.”
“Are you shitting me?” Tommy sat up straight.
“Nope. Costello thinks we might have two different killers on our hands.”
“Oh shit.”
A copycat.
A big story. But the editors wouldn’t go with the two-killer theory unless it was on the record. Tommy hearing it second-hand from a detective at the police station was not good enough, the publisher said on the phone a few minutes later.
She’d taken the unprecedented step of calling him at home, even though it was late.
“We’ve got to kill that front-page story,” she pleaded. “We’ve got to change it so it says another killer may have murdered Rourke. What you have now — that’s he’s the latest victim of the River Killer might be wrong. Dead. Wrong.”
“You got this on the record?”
“Well, yes. I mean no. Nobody I can quote. We can say anonymous sources.”
“Do I have to go over not-so-distant history with you, St. James. You and anonymous sources are no longer allowed to exist in my world. Do you understand?”
Tommy sighed a great puff of air. It was her own damn fault. She had burned him so bad on that other story. It was an honest mistake. He’d never going to let her forget that.
“I understand. The problem I had last time — which was my fault — was that erroneous information ended up in the newspaper. What I’m trying to do now by calling you at home because I think it is that important, is save us from getting egg on our faces again. If you go with that story, there’s a good chance it will be wrong.”
She waited. Silence.
“If it is wrong, as you say, I’m not taking the blame for this one. It was your information, yours and Parker’s and if it ends up being wrong, it’s your ass again.”
“But I’m calling you to stop that. To get the right information in the paper. Please. Sir?”
He hung up the phone.
She was screwed.
After they finished the bottle of wine and had gotten ready to turn into bed, Tommy realized she had probably better call Parker and warn him that the shit was going to hit the fan in the morning when their front-page story ended up being wrong. Again.
Dialing Parker’s number, she felt a pit in the bottom of her stomach. Strike two against both of them. This was not good.
A girl’s voice. A familiar voice, languid and sleepy answered. Meg. Tommy looked at the clock. It was two in the morning. Obviously, another sleepover.
“Meg?”
“Tommy?”
“Yes?” Tommy answered warily.
“Cameron is sleeping, poor baby. I wore him out tonight. I mean, before we even got to the bedroom. The story we covered was so much fun. I was in my glory. I got some really good shots. I can’t wait to see what you think of them tomorrow. But poor Cameron. He’s not used to keeping up with a young thing like me. It’s almost more than he can take. In a good way that is. I work hard, but oooh baby do I play hard, too. It’s pretty much the perfect combination for him. He likes all my energy. I think he likes how young I am. How old are you anyway?” Her laugh tinkled merrily and she didn’t wait for Tommy to answer, not that Tommy was going to reply anyway. “So, anyway, Cameron’s down for the count, so can I take a message?”
Tommy hung up. He was on his own.
And what the hell story was Meg talking about?