Page 77 of Love in Training
“You mean aside from stalking and threatening journalists?”
He stops walking. “You think it’s him?”
I lay a hand on Rufus’s head, glancing up and down the street. “There’s a lot of evidence suggesting it’s him. I’m working on this with one of my contacts at the sheriff’s office.”
“Good.”
“But there’s more, Randall.” I pivot so I can speak directly next to his ear. “I’m pretty sure Schneider and Vanderpool have been turning a blind eye to reported assaults happening via Unmatched.”
His face darkens. “Can you prove it?”
“I have copies of police reports and hospital records, and I’ve conducted interviews with some of the victims. My friend at the sheriff’s office says that technically dating apps aren’t required to do anything because of the agreements people sign. But it seems like women should at least know which apps are taking measures to protect them and which won’t.”
“I agree.” Randall strokes one hand down his goatee. “I know I don’t need to say this, but make sure you verify?—”
“Everything,” I say. “Of course.”
He glances at theObserverbuilding. “How close are you? When do you think you can have something written up and ready to print?”
“I’m considering breaking it into two parts. Depending on how long it takes me to track everything down, I could have the first one for you by next week?”
“Good.” Randall shifts as he considers this. “Have you received any new threats?”
My cheek twitches. “Technically, nothing overtly malicious since last week. I had a strange empty voicemail last weekend, but that was all.”
“Okay.” He straightens, turning to face me. “Now. Did you get the email I forwarded this morning?”
Crap. I’d almost forgotten why he came out here in the first place. Briefly, I consider faking temporary amnesia. Blanking on how to speak English. Or maybe just pretending my computer died. Instead, I say, “I did,” and make a close examination of Rufus’s leather leash.
I don’t need to see Randall’s face to know his eyebrows are dancing a tarantella. “Was it just me, or did that message seem kinda... personal?”
I sigh and finally look at him. “You want the stupid, actual story? Or the embellished, more interesting version with spies and explosions?”
“Just the facts, please,” he says, always hot to sound cliché. He reaches into his breast pocket like he wants a cigarette, but Randall doesn’t smoke, so I’m not surprised when he holds a Hershey bar out to me.
When I shake my head, he shrugs and bites into the candy himself.
I lean against the red brick side of the building. “So, the scholarship that the Forbeses awarded—it sends a kid to medical school in the name of their son who died.”
Randall nods.
“Well, the thing is, Kyle Forbes never wanted to be a doctor. He joined the military just so his parents couldn’t force him into it.”
Randall breaks off another piece of chocolate, surprising me with a chuckle. “I can’t even send you to cover boring local events without you digging up more interesting stuff.”
My cheeks warm. I need something to do, so I push off the wall and resume walking toward theObserverentrance.
“But you didn’t write about that,” Randall muses, falling into step beside me. “So how come these doctors are so pissed off?”
I glance over at him, but as soon as I meet his eyes, I can tell he already knows.
“Well, for one, I wrote the piece about the scholarship recipient and not about them.” I snort. “But even if I’d written a glowing, complimentary account of their generosity, they would’ve hated it.”
Randall tosses his candy wrapper in a trash can and waits for me to continue.
“Kyle Forbes and I dated all through high school. We got engaged after he enlisted.” I stop just short of theObserverentrance, having zero desire to share this story with anyone but Randall. “His parents never liked me, and their dislike grew more intense when I encouraged him to follow his own passions instead of theirs. Though I guess if I hadn’t?—”
My voice breaks, and Rufus shoves his cold nose into my hand.
