Page 38 of The Morning After (Savannah 2)

“Very.”

Some of his grim demeanor faded as he skimmed her article for the third time. “You’ve shown this to Metzger?”

Nikki couldn’t lie. Even if she wanted to. Which she didn’t. Fink would find out soon enough. “No. I haven’t spoken to him.”

Fink looked over the top of his reading glasses and he didn’t look pleased. “Why not? I thought I said you two were to work together.”

Lifting a shoulder, Nikki said, “I work better alone. I think if you asked Norm, he would say the same about himself.”

“So you’ve gone off half-cocked.” He straightened, crossing his arms over his chest, his frown deepening into crevices all over again. “I told you—”

“Do you want to run this or not?” she demanded, taking the offensive. “Right now, we’ve scooped the competition. In six hours, everything in here”—she rapped the pages with an impatient finger—“will be splashed across every newspaper in the southeast and on TV and radio. Right now, we have the scoop, unless we blow it, and as to this article’s validity, I’m standing behind what’s in here one hundred percent.”

“I expect you to do that for every story.”

“Then make it a hundred and fifty percent, or two hundred. I’m telling you, Tom, this is hot. It’s damned near an exclusive.”

He snorted. Looked dubious. Chewed on the inside of his lip as if this were some kind of world debate or something when, in Nikki’s estimation, this was a slam dunk.

“Tom, really. Trust me.”

He glanced up at her. His eyes said silently, I did once before and you blew it with the Chevalier trial. But he didn’t utter the words because for over a decade, ever since that debacle, her work had been impeccable. Yet, he hesitated. And she knew why. It bugged the hell out of him that he didn’t know any of Nikki’s contacts. It had been a source of friction between them for years.

“I spent the past three hours double-checking the facts.”

Cliff Siebert had been reticent with the details, but he’d confirmed everything she’d learned from Jerome Marx. When she’d asked about Reed, Cliff had informed her that she’d better talk to the brusque detective herself. Like she hadn’t tried that already. She’d left more messages, gotten no response and decided to mention his name in the article, about how he’d been called up to Lumpkin County, that he was the connection to the murders.

“All right, we’ll run it. Page one.” Tom rubbed the back of his neck and she expected him to warn her that her job was on the line. Instead, he muttered, “Good work.”

Nikki couldn’t believe it. A compliment from Tom the Terrible? Things were definitely looking up. Before he could change his mind, she grabbed her things and was out the door where the night had settled deep into the city. Mist hovered over the street lamps and stoplights as she climbed into her car. She cranked on the ignition and the engine sputtered, coughed and died. “Come on,” she muttered. Not tonight. Her little Subaru couldn’t give out on her now. She twisted the key again and this time the reticent engine roared to life. “That’s better.” Sighing in relief, she patted the dash and drove out of the lot.

The streets were quiet. Eerily empty. Only an occasional car passed by as she drove home. She thought of the man who she’d seen after her aborted meeting with Reed, and as she pulled into her parking space at her house, she scrounged in her purse and found the note that had been left on her car. Its singular message was clear in the pale light from the security lamps.

Tonight.

Meaning this very night, right?

Was it a warning?

A threat?

Or a harmless prank?

The hairs on the back of her neck raised and she glanced in the rearview mirror. Nothing seemed out of place, though the old house was as dark as it had been when she’d left over eighteen hours earlier. She was tired, that was it. Overreacting.

Nerves strung tight, she yanked her briefcase and purse from the car and hurried along the walk to the gate. Unlatched and swinging free, as if someone had been in too much of a hurry to bother shutting it, it creaked in the wind. Nikki slid through the opening and slammed the wrought-iron latch closed behind her.

Heart hammering, she made her way along a brick path to the exterior stairs, all the while telling herself she was a fool. What was she afraid of? The night? For God’s sake, this was ridiculous! She had no time for paranoia.

Her boots clattered as she climbed, and on the final landing she saw movement, something slipping through the shadows. She nearly screamed before she recognized Jennings. “Oh, for the love of God, what’re you doing out here?” she asked as the cat pounced onto the steps and, tail aloft, raced up the final steps to her apartment. Nikki followed. Though she could have sworn she’d locked the tabby inside.

Or had she?

Maybe she’d left the bathroom window open to vent out the steam from her shower…or maybe he’d slipped past her on her way out this morning. Either way, he was meowing and pacing in front of her door. “Okay, okay, I know,” she said, scrabbling in her purse for her keys. “It’s cold out here.” She found the damned things and went to stick her house key into the lock but as she did she realized the apartment door hadn’t quite latched behind her. No wonder the cat had escaped. But…the door wasn’t ajar, either, just not quite shut. As if someone had intended to close it but had been in a hurry.

Like you. This morning.

She remembered flying out of the apartment, wearing her boots and scarf, hell-bent to tail Reed and confront him. But the door had slammed shut behind her. She was certain she’d heard the latch click. It would have locked.

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