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Cleo wasn’t sure if she heard the thud or felt it, but the pressure on her head disappeared. She came up like a drowning swimmer, hard, fast, and gasping for air. A gulp, then she turned, prepared to reengage, but Willa lay unmoving on the floor. Her upper body drenched, sunflowers were strewn festively across her torso.
Facing Cleo across Willa’s prone body was Jada. In her hand, she grasped Annaliese’s lead crystal vase.
“Cleo!” Jada dropped the vase, which narrowly missed hitting Willa on the head a second time, and grabbed Cleo’s arm. “You’re bleeding!”
She looked down to discover a thin red line across her forearm was oozing blood. Must have cut it when I pushed the knife away, she thought distantly in the fraction of a second before her knees wobbled.
Think about something else, she commanded herself as Jada dragged her to one of the kitchen stools. “I thought . . . I thought you were asleep.”
“No.” Jada grabbed a dish towel and wrapped it around Cleo’s arm. “Willa tried to give me one of those pills, but I didn’t swallow it.”
Thank God. Or I’d be the one on the floor, and there’d be a lot more blood.
And she’d be burned. Cleo touched her cheek. It was still too warm as if she had a bad sunburn. “Did you hear . . .?”
“Willa killed Sebastian,” Jada said. “And she wanted Annaliese to go to jail for it.” She didn’t seem the least bit affected by the news. Bending over, she picked up a piece of paper off the floor. It had a glob of mayo on one corner.
“This is Annaliese’s marker.” She met Cleo’s eyes. “Will she be coming home now?”
Cleo almost laughed. That was Jada. Single minded with her eye on the prize. “I hope so.”
Jada looked around. “I hope she doesn’t get mad. The kitchen is a mess.”
Before Cleo could comment, the front door crashed open.
“Cleo!”
Alec shouldn’t be back yet, but she was still too amazed that she’d survived relatively unscathed to spare any surprise over him rushing into the kitchen. Even so, she was flooded with a sense that everything would be all right. She didn’t have to think or fight or even call the police. He’d take care of those pesky details.
He skidded to a halt. “What the hell happened here?”
“Nothing much,” Cleo said. “Willa tried to kill me.” There was a sentence she’d never imagined saying. Suddenly, she was laughing.
Alec and Jada both looked at her like she was insane.
Maybe she was because she couldn’t stop.
Alec glanced at Willa lying on the floor then grabbed Cleo by the shoulders. “Are you all right?”
“Willa tried to kill me,” she sputtered between laughs.
He frowned at her, but he must have decided she wasn’t dangerously unhinged because he let her go to examine Willa. “Who hit her?” he asked as he picked up a sunflower and tossed it aside.
“I did,” Jada said.
“Good job.” Then he picked up the phone. “Anything in particular you don’t want me to tell 911?”
Cleo couldn’t think of a thing.
~***~
If Alec thought the situation he’d walked into was crazy, it was nothing compared to the chaos that came with the arrival of the police. Cleo gave them a bare-bones recital of what had happened. The cops called an ambulance to take her and Willa to the hospital. Before she got in the ambulance, Cleo asked Alec to call Danny Bonner. Neither she nor Jada, she insisted, was going to talk to the police without a lawyer.
The ambulance doors were closing when Cleo yelled, “Stop!” She leaned out. “Alec, where are you?”
He rushed to her. “I’m here.”
She grabbed his arm and squeezed then, as if this was the most important thing she’d ever say, she told him, “My voice recorder is in the kitchen.”
“You want me to get it for you?” Was she afraid she’d forget the details if she didn’t capture them soon?
“No, no, no. I was recording Annaliese’s call. Everything’s on there.”
“Everything?” he asked.
“Everything,” Cleo said. “Make sure Danny gets it.”
He nodded. “Consider it done.”
So that’s what he did while Cleo was at the hospital getting stitched up. By the time she arrived at the police station, Jada had already disappeared into one of the interrogation rooms with Danny; Cleo went into another with Danny’s daughter.
“Are you going to lawyer up too?” a middle-aged cop with a bushy mustache and eyebrows asked Alec.
“I don’t see a big need to,” Alec said. “I didn’t get there until the action was already over.” And as long as they didn’t ask about the marker and Cleo’s search of Sebastian’s office, which he didn’t think they knew about yet, he was comfortable answering their questions.
The interview was fairly straightforward. The cop only made one Elvis joke when Alec told him he worked for a tabloid but, what the heck, this was Vegas. If you couldn’t make Elvis jokes there, you couldn’t make them anywhere.
When the cop was finished with him, Alec sat in the station’s lobby and waited for Cleo. At the condo, he’d only gotten a brief explanation about what had happened, and even that Cleo had given him at hyperdrive speed. He hadn’t gotten a chance to listen to much before he’d turned the recorder over to Bonner, and he’d winced when he heard Willa mention the marker—Cleo might face repercussions from her exclusion—but the sound quality was enough. If what was on there really did implicate Willa, Annaliese should be a free woman within hours.
To pass the time, he made notes for the story on his iPad. He hoped he’d get to write a happy ending.
He’d been working on it for almost an hour when Cleo appeared. Alec jumped to his feet. “How’d it go?”
~***~
“Pretty well, I think,” Cleo said, hoping it was true. “They’re talking to Willa at the hospital, but I don’t know what they’ll get from her. The lawyer thinks if Jada’s story matches mine, they’ll charge Willa.”
“Did you tell them about the recording?” Alec asked.
She shook her head. “I’ll leave that up to Danny, but I’m sure he’ll want to listen to it first.” And he had gone with Jada, so she didn’t know if he’d had the opportunity yet or not.
“And Annaliese? What about her?” Alec asked.
“If they believe us, she’ll be released as fast as they can process the paperwork. Within hours the lawyer says.”
“So it was all worthwhile, then. All the interviewing, sneaking into Koblect’s office, having to fight off Willa.”
Cleo nodded. She hadn’t wanted to do any of it, but it had paid off. “Yes. As long as it brings Mom ho―” She froze in mid-word. Had Alec caught that? She forced herself to look at him.
Oh hell. He was wearing his gotcha smile.
“I—I—I mean . . .”
He touched her shoulder. “Cleo, I already know.”
“Know what?” She was grasping at straws, hoping—somehow—for a miracle.
His smile quirked to one side. “I know Annaliese is your mother.”
Her heart leaped into a fast rhythm. “How . . . How long have you known?”
“I figured it out before Annaliese got arrested. That morning when you went to meet your school chum.”
Her school chum? What was he talking about? And then she remembered the excuse she’d used to sneak off to meet Martin. It felt like years ago. “That long? And you didn’t say anything?” It almost felt like a betrayal that he hadn’t. “Why?”
The warmth in his eyes dampened. “I wanted you to tell me. I wanted”—his voice dropped to an intimate tone—“you to trust me with the truth.”
If anyone had earned the truth from her, it was him. He’d been there every step of the way, sometimes forcing himself into places where she didn’t want him, but also going above and beyond when she’d wanted to do things that he didn’t see the benefit of.
And she hadn’t even been honest with him. Worse, he’d known she wasn’t being honest yet he’d still been there for her.
She didn’t deserve a partner like him.
Her throat clogged up, and for a moment, she thought she might cry.
“Cleo!”
The voice came from behind her. Cleo cringed at the sound of it, but she turned anyway and tried to sound pleased. “Martin. What are you doing here?”
“I got a call from a source.” He flicked a glance at Alec as though surprised to find him at her side, then focused on Cleo in a way that dismissed him. “He says you’d broken the Koblect case and it’s not the Carson woman they have in custody.”
The way Martin said the Carson woman made her feel like a crappy daughter. So maybe Annaliese wasn’t anyone’s idea of Mother of the Year. Maybe Cleo wasn’t a candidate for Daughter of the Year either.
“You know The Sun would have been happy with a good story, but you breaking the case . . . It’s like your border story all over again.” He shook his head as though she was the most amazing reporter ever. “You’ll be able to write your own ticket at the paper because this is a story no one else can write.”
It had always been a story no one else could write. As Annaliese’s daughter, she knew things no one else would ever understand. Anyone else would paint Annaliese as a woman of loose morals. They’d probably taint her friendship with Willa, making Willa look like a cast-off lover bent on revenge. And lord knew what they’d make of Jada. Even without embellishment, the whole story sounded sordid.
At The Sun, at least she could write the story the way she wanted, and no one would be the wiser. Of course, Alec would write his own story, and he knew all the secrets she wanted to keep.
But at least her byline wouldn’t be on it.
And who would believe a story in The Word anyway?
“Cleo?”
She looked up into Alec’s eyes. Saw the worry there.
“You work for The Word, remember?”
“I know.” Her voice sounded fatalistic with a heavy overlay of apology.
Alec’s gaze flicked to Martin. “You signed a contract.”
“I know.” But contracts could be broken.
Martin finally looked directly at Alec. “You’re kidding, right? You don’t really think she’s going to stay at a tabloid when she’s going to be the hottest commodity in the media, do you?” He wasn’t laughing at Alec. Not out loud, but it was there in his voice. That you didn’t really think you could win note. The one that said he was so much better than Alec that it had never been a real contest. That belief Alec had nailed the first time he’d met Martin.
“This woman is going to win the Pulitzer.” Martin spoke with an assurance that belonged to someone who had seen the future. “If not this year, then next year. And maybe more than one.”
Through Martin’s entire spiel, Alec’s gaze stayed locked with hers. Even the shame she felt couldn’t make her break away. What if this was their last moment together? She’d known this could happen, but she hadn’t realized how deep the wound would cut. There should be blood all over the floor.
A long pause followed Martin’s last words. Then, in a low voice, Alec asked, “What about us?”
Cleo opened her mouth, but words failed her. Was there an us? She hadn’t allowed herself to think they would last outside of Vegas. She closed her mouth.
She saw the realization dawn slowly in his eyes. The Word had lost her. He’d lost her.
His eyes went blank, shutting off any chance of reading his emotions, and he stepped back.
“I hope―”
What? What did he hope?
“I hope you win a dozen Pulitzers.” And then he turned and walked away.
She didn’t realize she’d taken a step to follow him until Martin’s hand on her arm stopped her.
“Let him go, Cleo.” His voice was more understanding than she’d expected.
The look in his eyes told her that, for all his posing, he’d guessed she and Alec had something more than a working relationship. She should have known he would. Martin had never been a stupid man.
“Come on. I’ll buy you a few drinks, and you can tell me all about how you broke this story.”
That was the last thing she wanted. And whether Martin knew it or not, he didn’t either because, with a few drinks in her, what she’d end up doing was crying about Alec. Martin might understand about her affair, but he certainly wouldn’t find her misery over another man amusing.
“Uhm. I really can’t right now. I have to be here when they finish questioning Jada.” And when they released her mother.
“Jada.” Martin’s brow furrowed. “She’s that Carson woman’s lover, right?”
She wished he’d stop calling Annaliese that Carson woman. “Yes. She helped me with the story.” There’d be time enough later to explain. If she decided to.
“I can help with the interview,” Martin said.
“What interview?”
Martin smiled as though he saw her subterfuge. He thought she was protecting her source from poaching.
“It’s just that she’s . . . shy around strangers.”
“I understand.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Call me when you’re done.”
Cleo promised she would then watched him walk away. This time, she felt nothing but relief.
~***~
Alec sat alone at a table in the casino bar, five floors below the hotel room he’d rented at El Dorado, a half-drunk Cuba Libre in his hand. Willie Nelson and Ray Charles were singing “Seven Spanish Angels” on the jukebox for the simple reason that cry-in-your-beer music suited his mood.
Why he was in the mood for sappy country music was something he didn’t understand. He should have been grateful to Martin for getting Cleo out of his hair. He could have been stuck with her Ms. Pulitzer attitude forever. This was better. She was back where she belonged, and he’d go home tomorrow and not have to wrestle her for the plum stories.
So why did he feel restless and lethargic at the same time?
He stared into his drink, watching the ice melt and considered that he might have gotten a little too comfortable being the tabloid’s golden boy. Maybe he needed new challenges, new horizons, to make him stretch himself. Maybe he should write a book. What he’d told Bales at their first meeting was true. Sebastian Koblect’s life would make interesting reading, and he already had a good start on the research.
Of course, to do it right, he’d need to interview Cleo to get her insights about his death and . . . No. That would make him look like he was using the book to reconnect with her. He didn’t want to look pathetic. Even more, he didn’t want to be pathetic. It was better to let her go and not look back.
“Do you make a habit of drinking alone?” a feminine voice said.
He looked up, suddenly aware that the woman had been standing there for . . . he had no idea how long.
Bales was still dressed for the memorial, but she had a drink in her hand. A gin and tonic, he guessed, based on the lime wedge in the clear liquid.
“Not usually,” he said, “but it’s a lonely life when you’re on the road.”
“Do you mind if I join you?”
He gestured to the chair beside him.
“I hear you’re not freelance after all,” Bales said, sans any accusatory tone. “You’re actually a staff writer for The Inside Word.”
He folded his arms in front of him and leaned on the table. “You don’t sound upset about the subterfuge.”
“I’m not.” She took a sip of her drink then set it on the table. “I don’t care what you write about Sebastian. Or El Dorado. Or anyone else because”—she looked at her watch—“about an hour ago, I quit.”
“Do you have another job lined up?”
“Nope.” She made the p pop.
He felt his eyebrows go up. “What about your mother? How are you going to afford the nursing home?”
“I called my brother and told him I was tired of being the responsible one and the bills will be going to him in the future.”
“And if he doesn’t pay them?”
Bales took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I don’t know. I may have to move someplace cheap and take care of her myself.”
“Can your brother afford the nursing home?”
She laughed without humor. “Oh yes. He does quite well for himself.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a congressman in the House of Representatives for the great state of Florida,” she said as though reciting something she’d heard until she was heartily sick of it.
“Really?” Alec said in an exaggerated tone.
Bales met his gaze. “Why do you say it like that?”
He didn’t owe her anything in spite of all she’d shared with him, but what was the point of being a reporter if you couldn’t do a good deed now and then? He smiled at her. “Florida, you say. Where all those northerners from the eastern seaboard go to retire. What do you think would happen if his constituency discovered their representative’s dear, sweet, sainted mother, the woman who raised him, who changed his diapers and wiped his snotty nose while working two jobs, so he could attend a fancy school and have all the privileges of life, and who now suffers from Alzheimer’s disease, might get thrown out onto the mean streets of Las Vegas because he refuses to pay for her nursing home?”
Bales’ eyes grew wide as he spoke, and she held her fingers to her lips. “How―”
“The power of the press. Even if the story breaks in a tabloid—which has national circulation, I might point out—the local papers will pick it up and look into it. Do you suppose he can stand up to the scrutiny?”
“Oh my.” Even before Bales’ hand dropped, revealing a smile, he saw her eyes shining. “Yes, I think that would do it.”
Alec was willing to bet they wouldn’t have to even run the story. All he’d have to do would be to call the congressman from the great state of Florida asking for a response to the planned story. “You know,” he said, figuring, in for a penny, in for a pound, “if you can’t find a job you want here, Denver’s a nice city, and if you don’t mind working for a tabloid, I’ll bet The Word could find a place for someone with your skills.”
She picked up her glass, looking at him over the rim as she took a sip. “You know, I kind of like the sound of working for a disreputable company.”
From his wallet, Alec pulled a business card—one that actually had the tabloid’s name under his—and gave it to her. “I’m heading home tomorrow. Give me a day or two to settle in before you call.”
He finished his drink as she tucked the card in her purse. When he stood to go, she stopped him.
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“No need.” He tipped his head. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you, Ms. Bales.”
She smiled almost shyly at him. “Call me Nancy.”