Page 12 of Exclusive

But it was on my way out of the courthouse that my ear was tugged. Not far from the stairs, I heard a loud conversation among a group of police officers shooting the breeze.

“Nah, dude. The money for the cruisers is a done deal. The commissioner is gonna shit a brick when she hears.”

Another officer laughed. “Wish I could be there to see the look on her face when she does.”

“This is just the beginning, man,” a third said with authority. “You think those two are at war now? Gear up. The hatchets are about to start fucking flying.”

Huh. I took a seat on the half wall in front of the building and pretended to be interested in my phone as I latched on to bits of the story, assembling the narrative one piece at a time. Apparently, the sheriff had requested funds for three new police cruisers from the commissioner in a public meeting, but for whatever reason, the requestwas later denied in a closed-door session. If I understood what I was hearing correctly, the money for the cruisers was then donated by a local steak house, which seemed bizarre. Apparently the owner hated the commissioner. I pulled up Kendall Steakhouse’s Facebook page, surprised to see the number of posts blasting the commissioner for the cruiser decision, putting them right in the center of what seemed to be a local political feud. Why was no one paying attention? I scanned the page. Because the steak house hadn’t tagged anyone directly, and the public figures had kept their views off social media. Who would be keeping tabs on a steak house? Yet this was unique. How often did you have local businesses jumping in the middle of a dispute between two county officials and actually making a difference? I was amazed.

I waited until the group of officers disbanded, leaving just one, who I followed to the caféon the first floor of the courthouse. He got in line to pay for his coffee, and hey, look at that, I did, too.

“Hi.” I flashed my most winsome smile.

He turned, paused, latched onto my gaze and smiled back. Nailed it. “Hey.”

“Officer Blackwell?” I found his name tag easily enough. “Skyler Ruiz.”

“Do we know each other?” He was still smiling that easy smile, probably trying to place me.

“No, but I’m a new reporter at KTMW. I wondered if you had a moment to talk about the disagreement over the police cruisers. I heard that Kendall’s Steakhouse has agreed to fund the purchase. Would you be willing to chat?”

His eyebrows shot up. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, and a reporter peppering him with questions he wasn’t allowed to answer was likely intimidating. “No comment, ma’am.”

I made a point of relaxing. Taking off the reporter hat. “Cool. I get it.” A pause. “Well, then can we just have coffee together? New in town.” I grinned, holding up my own full cup and doing my best to show off the dimple that had gotten me through closed doors in the past. He passed me a relenting smile back. Score.

“Just coffee would be fine. Yeah.” His ears turned red.

“Deal,” I said.

We grabbed a table in the courthouse café, and he let me know that his name was Jake and he was waiting to testify about a drunk-driving stop he’d made. I let him know that I was learning the ropes at the station and struggling to get a foothold on a good story. Afterestablishing my—truthful—vulnerability, I eased a strand of hair behind my ear, leaned in, and went for it. “You know, if you were to tell me more about the tension between the sheriff and commissioner, I wouldn’t have to use your name in the story. But it might help get me noticed at work where I’m currently crashing and burning. No one ever has to know, and you would be doing me a huge favor.”

He looked to the side, nervous. Maybe trying to see who was nearby. Luckily, no one was. We were between mealtimes, and the café was pretty lifeless.

“No interview required,” I assured him. “Just point me in the right direction. Help fill in the backstory and maybe give me the name of someone you know from Kendall’s who might be willing to talk on record.” I sat back. “The thing is, this story is going to happen regardless of you or me. I was just hoping to be the one to bring it home.”

He didn’t say anything. Neither did I. But I held eye contact and waited, watching as his resolve began to crumble before my eyes. He seemed like a nice guy who wanted to help.

Finally, “Okay, so this is what I know. But keep my name out of it.”

“You have my word. I’m just looking for the information that will help me move forward. Just trying to keep my job.” Also true.

Jake went on to detail a slowly eroding relationship between Sheriff Patrick Denison and Commissioner Roz Harlow, who had apparently been working behind the scenes to discredit the sheriff. Madame Commissioner had subsequently been caught on video at a Christmas party calling him a petty mama’s boy born without balls. Ouch. The video had circulated throughout the police department, humiliating Sheriff Pat, whose son’s best friend happened to own Kendall’s Steakhouse. The best friend wanted to stick it to the commissioner by underminingherfor a change, resulting in the police department getting those new cruisers. Kendall’s looked like the hero, and the commissioner looked like the big meanie, unwilling to help the city get what it needed to fight crime properly.

I sat back. This was a story the people of San Diego would be interested in. I still couldn’t believe no one was reporting on it until now. “This sounds like it’s been a crash-and-burn relationship.”

“That’s what I’ve seen. Sheriff was pissed, but now he’s happy as a tick in a tar bucket.” He winced. “Grew up in the South.”

“See, now that would be a great quote.”

He smiled. “No can do, but I have a feeling the assistant managerover at Kendall’s would talk to you. Her name is Essie, and she hates her job. Has one foot out the door already.”

I scribbled down the information and smiled at Jake. “You’ve been such a big help. If there’s ever anything I can do for you…”

He stood, his coffee gone. “Have dinner with me. You’re really pretty.”

“Oh.” I winced. “If I wasn’t gay, I’d totally be into it.”

He rocked back on his heels. “Dammit. Fuck me. My loss.”

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