Page 56 of Dead Air
"She's out cold?"
"Bourbon overload." Claire's response floated from the kitchen. "She provided some information, though. Partial plate from the night Landry died."
"Government vehicle?"
"Likely department issue."
Drawers opened and closed. Refrigerator door. Domestic sounds punctuated by professional discussion.
"Hutchinson agreed to meet tomorrow," Fiona said, her tone brisk but fluid. "We’ll see him in the Savannah office."
"Really?" Claire sounded surprised.
"Strictly off the record."
The conversation continued, but Lawson's grasp on consciousness slipped further. Fragments reached her through her alcoholic fog.
"… brother's involvement …"
" … department corruption …"
" … meeting Hutchinson tomorrow morning …"
Lawson struggled against the encroaching blackness. They were meeting Hutchinson tomorrow? The dead narcotics detective? The confusion swirled as darkness claimed her completely.
Her last coherent thought came from that part of her that wished the darkness might be permanent. Easier than facing tomorrow's revelations with newly exposed vulnerabilities and five months of sobriety abandoned in a single afternoon of weakness.
chapter
twenty-one
Morning arrived with cruel intensity.Sunlight streamed through blinds Lawson hadn't closed, stabbing directly into her bourbon-abused brain. She rolled away from the window, encountering a water glass and aspirin on the nightstand. Claire had anticipated her morning needs.
The bedside clock read 9:17 a.m. Nearly fourteen hours since her first drink. Her mouth tasted like something had died in it. Her head throbbed with each heartbeat. The price of abandoned sobriety, collected in full.
Bathroom rituals occurred on autopilot. Cold shower. Teeth brushed twice. Clean clothes from her go-bag. Each movement deliberate to minimize discomfort. The mirror reflected bloodshot eyes and skin that hadn't received adequate hydration. Punishment for weakness visible in every pore.
Voices drifted from the kitchen. Claire and Fiona engaged in a hushed but intense conversation. The scent of coffee permeated the house, drawing Lawson forward despite the desire to hide in hangover shame.
"She lives," Fiona announced as Lawson appeared in the doorway. No judgment colored her tone, just matter-of-fact observation.
Claire pushed a steaming mug across the counter. "Black. Strong enough to resurrect the dead."
"Feels appropriate." Lawson claimed the offering with unsteady hands. "Why are you both up so early?"
"Conference call with Thomas Hutchinson at ten." Claire checked her watch. "Twenty-eight minutes from now."
The swirling voices from last night finally began to make sense. "Thomas Hutchinson? Ray's brother?"
"The very same." Fiona leaned against the refrigerator, tablet propped against her chest. "Senior partner at Hutchinson & Associates. Arranged through his executive assistant after considerable negotiation."
"How did you manage that?"
"Mentioned potential story connections between his firm and Blackwell's podcast." Fiona's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Suggested press coverage might follow certain angles regardless of his participation."
"Polite professional blackmail." Claire prepared her own coffee. "Diplomatic pressure to address questions before they become public speculation."
Lawson's hungover brain struggled to process the implications. "He agreed to speak with journalists about his dead brother?"
