His heart was still hammering, his blood still burning, but that insatiable hunger, the hideous need, had faded, leaving behind a residue of shame. Would he have done that if it hadn’t been for the oil? He wanted to think no, but the answer was mostly likely yes, he still would have done it.
Face still toward the window, she asked, “Tell me what you and Belmont have been up to.”
Hayden stayed silence, trying to decide the negative consequences of telling her. She’d discover what he’d done to Matthew and Lila, find out about Rachelle, she already knew about Juliana and Lila. No need to tell her about McKinon… or Bob. Or the ring.
“I know you’re hiding something, Hayden. I can feel it.”
She came back to the bed. Her eyes, with the green gone for now, were guarded but not wrathful. Skipping the part about the 23UT, he told her about turning Rachelle, taking her body to the crypt and swapping her body for Rachelle’s. It hadn’t been hard, figuring out which guard to bribe.
“Matthew doesn’t know his own guards.” After a pause, she asked, “What did you bribe them with?”
He looked away, then realized his error.
“You might as well tell me. I’m going to find out anyway.”
He told her about McKinon and the playroom and the 23UT.
She got up and left the bedroom. After wrapping the cover around himself, he followed her to the front room. No sign of Belmont.
Mattie was at the window, looking out at the black night, the snow, the ice. She had her hands to the glass. There probably wasn’t a guard out there this time, but if Matthew did come to, this apartment would be the first place he’d look. If he looked.
“I don’t know how long it lasts,” he said, coming further into the front room.
She put her fingertips on the glass. “Or if it ends.”
“Right.” He sat on the armrest of the chair.
She dragged her hand down the pane, leaving a series of trail marks on the glass, like someone from outside was trying to get in.
“If I hadn’t dosed Matthew… ” He wasn’t sorry, and he’d do it again. Matthew was a disgusting motherfucker. Lila was a case of wrong place, wrong time. Rachelle. She got what she asked for.
“You did what you did, Hayden,” she replied, putting her other hand on the glass and making another trail with her fingers.
“What happens to you, if he doesn’t… wake up?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
He did. He did want to know. But he wasn’t going to ask a second time and he needed to let go. “This is good-bye for us.”
“Oh sure,” she said, still staring out the window.
Now? What for him?
He went back his bedroom, grabbed his phone.
Five texts from Bob, each more excited that the one before. The livestream with the Zombie Rites tie in, he loved it. The guy was ecstatic about the brilliant concept and outrageous execution, but Hayden didn’t care so much about all of that. It was the last, final message that had his full attention. That was the one that promised delivery on the job.
Hayden was headed to The Globe.
He was standing with his fingers poised over the phone, crafting the perfect text in his mind, when he heard several thumps and a metallic clank sound come from the bathroom. She was leaving without saying good-bye.
He should be glad.
But he tossed his phone onto his bed, then ran to the bathroom. The window had been pried open. Wind and snow blew in, chilling the air already. Chunks of ice covered the ledge where she’d climbed out. A smudge of dirt from her boot was on the wall—right next to the toilet, which now had the cover taken off.
The top of a plastic zipper style bag poked up above the water line.
Holy shit. Belmont’s research. It had been right there. Damn she—it—was crafty.
Hayden pulled the bag out, dried it off, then took it to his front room and shook the contents out onto the floor. Sketches, hand-written notes, and the thumb drive. All right there.
Chapter Twelve
“This is good-bye for us.”
Wanting to savor the moment, Hayden paused outside and gazed up at the wide, gleaming building. Rows of windows, intriguing architectural details. It wasn’t old-school Boston like Bob’s building, but it was impressive. It represented the power of the press, not the power of secrets and conspiracies and cover-ups. Truth mattered and reporters, real reporters, had power. The power to make a difference. The power to transform lives. That hadn’t changed.
And he’d arrived.
It wasn’t likely that he’d have an office, hell he’d be lucky if he had a desk, but he didn’t care. This was his moment, what he’d worked for, what he’d nearly traded his soul for. Nothing was in his way. That tabloid was all in the past. No more shit stories. No more assholes. Bob had promised him, only high exposure pieces. He’d promised himself, only a decent life.
His phone buzzed. Bob?
No, it was Belmont, assuring Hayden that he’d get his laptop back as soon as the old man’s newly turned wife gave him a break. Then the old man went on to explain what he meant by that, disgusting old guy that he was.
Ugh. Hayden tucked his phone back into his pocket.
The sunlight from the cloudless sky streamed over his face, warming his cheeks. No wind. No ice. Just crisp sun. The soft piles of snow were melting, edges softening to create shapeless lumps lining the road. Congress Street was alive. Cars zoomed past. Buses and trucks rumbled by. The city hummed as though that storm had never happened. Hayden moved his gaze, traced the edges of the roofline, checked around the top floor windows. All clear. Nobody—nothing—would get in his way. Not then. Not ever again.
He’d learned his lesson.
He smoothed back his hair, adjusted the collar of his light-blue button down, then straightened his back. After he hiked his bag up onto his shoulder, he headed for the door. It swung open on smooth hinges. As the door was gliding shut behind him, he decided right then—he was going to continue the Pulitzer tradition at the newspaper. He’d start checking his Twitter feed, watch for the next big thing. Maybe he should try 4chan. Tap into the subversive subcultures that never get any exposure at all. He’d find his niche. Make it big. Not just for him, but the paper too.
The elevator door opened just as he was approaching, as though his arrival had been perfectly timed by unseen forces. If he believed in karma, he would’ve taken that as some sort of sign. But he didn’t have faith in things that couldn’t be seen. He didn’t want to put his future in the hands of some hopeful idea, so he took the welcoming door as his due and slipped inside, hit the button for the top floor and positioned himself in the center. The car stopped a few times, letting people on, lettings people off. Nobody even looked at him, but within a couple weeks, he’d be exchanging hellos to some of them. Finally, the doors spread wide, he got out, strutted down the hall and rapped on the door centered on its end.
Perfect.
It was all perfect.
His exchange with the administrative assistant was quick and efficient. The red-haired man took his coat, dropped it over a chrome coatrack tucked tastefully into a corner. Time spent in the waiting room: not long enough to get distracted by his phone.
That was perfect too.
The assistant escorted him to his new boss’ office and motioned for him to sit in one of the sleek chairs positioned across from a mid-century desk. Gladly, he did what he was told. Elizabeth Hume, businesslike in her bright red suit jacket and plaid pants scooted out of her imposing chair to circle the desk. She propped her narrow hip on the side closet to Hayden and stared down at him with long-lashed, brown eyes. He waited, watching for an outstretched hand that never came. Instead of being welcoming in the traditional sense, she folded her arms below her narrow chest and looked down at him over the top of her reading glasses. The few stray hairs framing her 40-something face would’ve looked sexy if he’d had a mind to think about them. He didn’t. A man with a mission shouldn
’t let himself be distracted. And—he’d had enough sex and sexy to last him a long, long while.
“Hayden Buchanan Thomas. Wonderkid. Let me get a good look at you.” She slipped the glasses off and tossed them onto her desk. She took her time, looking him over, letting her gaze linger on his thighs, creep up to his neck until finally settling on his eyes. “I hear you had quite an adventure.”
“I—I—” Hayden cleared his throat, glanced behind her at the late afternoon skyline. The sun, hanging low over the horizon, cast an orange hue over the buildings. Beautiful. Now calm. “It was what it was,” he finally managed, lifting his open palm and trying for a casual air. He tugged on the collar of this button down, loosening it until he spotted the careful way she was following his hand. “In the end,” he added, emphasizing the word end, “I was glad to deliver for the readers of that paper,” he said, again adding emphasis to be sure she understood he knew her paper wasn’t anything like Bob’s rag.
“Glad to hear you understand the importance of delivery.”
He nodded and murmured, “Mm, hum, yeah.” Trying to recover from his sudden awkwardness, he attempted a clearer tone, “Yes, of course. I’m ready to get started with you—your paper.”
She scooted close enough to set her hand on Hayden’s shoulder. “That’s good. We should talk about your new position and you need to think about your first assignment.”
Some ideas were already forming in the back of his mind. The upcoming election? The controversial zoning proposals that were slated to be on ballot? He swallowed and watched her slowly, maybe reluctantly, pull her hand away. Maybe he wouldn’t mention the sexual assault allegations he’d heard were about to come to light on one of the local college campuses. While in grad school, he’d done a series on the higher education financial aid crisis plaguing community colleges. He could suggest that and impress her with a quick turnaround time. The research was still in his laptop and the contacts still in his phone.
“I know you’re going to love what I have in mind for you,” she said, giving his shoulder a gentle massage,
“Great,” he said, pretending to not notice the way her hand was digging into his muscles or exploring the curves of his shoulder. “Lay it on me.”
She gave his crotch a pointed look, her lips quirking. “How about I just tell you about the project?” She laughed, a sexy, open-mouthed red lipstick laugh that lasted so long that Hayden had begun to wonder if she’d been expecting him to chuckle too.
“Yeah. Right. Okay.” Fuck. He sounded like an intern. “Of course. Whatever you’d like me to do.”
Thankfully, she dropped the sex kitten act and went back around to her chair. She rolled it forward, set her elbows on the glass top and leaned in. “You are going to be the senior editor for our new feature.”
Senior editor. Good. Feature. Bad. “Thank you. I appreciate your confidence in me.”
“Thank Bob.” Her tone had an edge and she looked away, frowning.
She seemed to be waiting for something, so Hayden nodded. “I’ll do that. For sure.” Again, he winced inwardly. Why was he acting so stupid? Nerves? That made no sense. He’d earned this job. He was ready.
When she spoke again, the edge was even sharper. “After you thank Bob, forget Bob.”
“Oh, okay.” He didn’t think she was thinking about his new position or his job qualifications.
“Good. That’s settled.” A smile flashed across her lips. “No doubt you are aware that print media,” she paused and pulled her glossy mouth into a frown. “is in a downward tailspin. Readers—no offense—don’t care about quality writing or actual news. They reply on Twitter for the minute by minute and CNN for the drone-on drama.”
The bottom of Hayden’s stomach dropped, but he nodded.
“Whether we want to, or not,” she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, “we have to adjust.”
Hayden nodded again, that sick feeling getter sicker as he noticed that gesture was the exact same one Rachelle had used when she was about to condescend. Criticize. Back then he’d thought she was entitled, after all, her family was old money Boston.
“Hayden? You still with me?” Elizabeth patted his wrist with a vague smile. “This is an exciting opportunity. I know you’re so, so ready to get started. And we—I—appreciate that.” She moved back, the faux gentleness gone as she once again folded her arms. “Monetized content. That’s the new trend. That’s where you come in.”
The gut drop was nothing compared to the all-around queasy feeling now spiraling through him. He didn’t want to be monetized. He wanted to be notarized.
“Your first task will be to come up with a title for the feature. Paranormal Patterings. That’s what the focus group came up with. But they were all over 60, just there for the free lunch.” She scoffed. “Personally, I think that sounds ridiculous. My favorite, Night Bumps.” That was followed by a shrug that was obviously intended to be cute. “But you have the experience, so you come up with the name.”
“You want me to cover… ”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Not just zombies. We think it’ll be best to shut that down for a bit. Let that all cool off. You understand?”
Again, she seemed to be waiting, so he nodded his agreement.
“We want you to go in a different direction.” She tapped her dark grey fingernails on the glass. “I heard a guy is making a documentary about a possessed house in Watertown. I heard HBO tried to get the rights to the story but this unknown, mystery director paid cash for the house. The owners moved to Houston. I bet you could track them down. Dig up their story. See what’s going on. Is it a hoax?” She stopped tapping, propped her hands up on the armrests. “What if the family made the whole thing up? Just to unload the house to the highest bidder?”
Hayden tried to nod, but his neck was too stiff with tension. “A real scam.” As he said it, he thought about Bob and how that thank you may not be coming after all.
“A total scam. Exactly!” She choked out another series of scoffs. “We know it’s not real. And you could dig that all up. Toss in some sex, like you did with the zombies. Crass as it was, people did love it. Bob showed me the numbers. Numbers don’t lie.”
“No, I guess they don’t.” But people did.
“So. You have the idea of what I’m after?”
“Yes. I guess I do.”
“Just to let you know, we keep a closer eye on things here.” She picked up her glasses and waved them at him. “That means no unexpected livestreams. No wild stunts.” She set the glasses back down. “Understand?”
Oh yes. He understood.
He also understood that just maybe he didn’t have to take this job.
She shoved her chair back, the wheels gliding silently on the wood floor. Once she was on her feet, she started walking to the door, a clear indication the meeting was seconds from ending. “Darrel out there will help you with your paperwork, give you a company laptop and phone.” She swung the door open, paused as she leaned into it. “Features writers don’t need offices, you wouldn’t even want one if it was offered. Would you?” She ushered him out into the ante room, pausing with one hand on the door, the other out stretched.
The handshake, finally. Hayden reached forward, offering his own hand, and that’s when he saw the gold pinky ring on her right hand. When his hand hid it, the tips of fingers brushed against the cool, hard, metal, sending a cold, hard shiver down his spine.
Once you’re in, you’re in.
“Guess that’s it for now,” she said, tugging her hand from his lingering grip.
He backed up. “Yes. I suppose so.”
The assistant took Hayden’s coat from the rack, held it out. “I’ll take you down for the paperwork.”
“Sure.” He took the coat. “There a restroom around first? I need a minute to, to… ”
Get my shit together.
“Down that hall,” he said, pointing back the way Hayden had come. “Past the elevator and around the corner. It’s kind of crappy, b
ut it’s the only one on this floor. Only one you can use, anyway.”
“Cool.” Needing something to do with his hands, he tossed his coat over his shoulder. “Back in a minute.”
Not caring that he was being told to use some kind of second-rate restroom, Hayden got the hell out of the room and out into he hall where he could let his face go.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Once you’re in, you’re in.
Damn.
After bending around the corner, he spotted the narrow door marked restroom, shoved his way through it and went straight to the small white enamel sink. It was stained by some kind of brown mold, and the mirror above it was chipped. The walls of the entire room were beat up tile. It was like a high school shower room. The toilet was running, gurgling water constantly. An icy draft was making the entire room cold. Darrel was wrong. It wasn’t just crappy, the room was borderline disgusting. Guess it was fitting for the new paranormal feature editor. Maybe he should check it for ghosts or demons. Do his first feature on it.
Shit.
He tossed his coat over the stall door, flipped on the cold water, cupped his hands under the spout to let it chill his palms. Once his hands were numb, he splashed the cold water across his face. Doubtful he could wash away the shock, but maybe he could freeze his face enough to keep it from showing.
“Too much excitement. Hayden? The first day too much for you?”
Hayden swiped the water off his eyelids. “I said good-bye, Mattie. I meant it.”
“Oh, I know you meant it.”
“I did. Seems to me you should have something better to do.”
She shoved herself between him and the sink, then sat on the edge of it. “Thanks for worrying about my schedule. I appreciate it.”
He took a step back.
“What’s the matter, Hayden? Can’t deal with how deep you’re in?”
He crossed his arms, trying to protect himself from everything she aroused in him, everything she did to him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She laughed as she grabbed the waistband of his pants, yanked him to her. “I don’t know? It’s you that doesn’t know.”
Mistress of the Undead Page 14
