Page 105 of Save Me

And he’s using his church connections from his home state to do it.

She told me about it the week before over lunch. She was once one of those adolescents who was pushed into a troubled teen program in the church. They told her they were sending her to a boot camp, where she was forced into working twelve-hour shifts, off-the-books at several restaurants.

When I told her I needed more evidence, she told me about her boyfriend. He was one of the drivers in this smuggling ring who was willing to talk.

Me: I’ll be there.

I head back to my office feeling like I’ve just gotten close to cracking this investigation wide open. A million thoughts run through my head as I make my way to the fifth floor of the building.

“Kennedy,” the receptionist calls out. “You have a visitor.”

I frown, not expecting anyone. “Who is it?”

She stretches out her hand, but a male voice interrupts before she can answer.

“The one and only Sebastian Blackmon.”

I spin on my heels and come face-to-face with him.

He smiles openly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

CHAPTER 30

Kennedy

I peer over my shoulder as I stride down the hallway to one of the open conference rooms.

Blackmon winks at me, that grin still on his face. He knows he’s surprised me by showing up out of the blue.

“This one is open for the next hour,” the receptionist says as she extends her arm and shows us into the room.

“Thank you.” I nod before entering. “Please have a seat, Mr. Blackmon,” I say cordially.

Blackmon chooses to sit at the head of the table.

Once we’re alone, I take my own seat halfway down the long boardroom table.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Blackmon?” I ask.

He glances around the room before a frown appears on his face. “Newspapers aren’t bringing in the money like they used to, huh?”

“This is one division of an entire media outlet,” I remind him, a phony smile on my face. “But the news does just fine.”

He snorts. “Television news, maybe. Internet videos, maybe, but written press?” He shakes his head. Then he meets my gaze. “Which is probably why reporters like you are running around trying to invent stories and throwing good businessmen like me under the bus.”

His tone loses the fake friendliness with each word.

I sit forward. “Mr. Blackmon, why would I want to invent anything when the truth is damning enough?”

Any semblance of a smile completely disappears after that question.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replies.

“I don’t? Then why would you come to my office out of the blue?”

“You reached out to my office months ago for an interview,” he says.

“To which I got no reply.”

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