I blinked. Immediately I flashed back to snow swirling around, and I saw the man cut in front of the pregnant mother and child during the Confinement. I tried to forget his face, but anger percolated throughout my body.
Should I say something?
If I drew attention to myself, I could possibly be recognized. Was the principle more important than my safety?
“Always do what is right, Owen…even if it’s not easy.” My mother’s voice echoed. Emotion tugged at my soul as I heard it.
I reached over the woman’s head and tapped the man who cut in line on the shoulder.
“Hey man, you passed all of us in the line,” I said.
He turned back with an irritated demeanor.
“I just hopped in line with my friend,” he explained.
“Well, that isn’t right, passing all of us.”
He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.
“My bad, man,” he said apologetically but didn’t move to the back of the line.
I strained to ignore my gut. It was pushing me to say more. I knew I couldn’t, though. It was far too risky. The brunette who was between us had slid sideways when I told the man he had passed us. She hadn’t acknowledged that anything had occurred.
After a few minutes, I reached the counter.
“What can I get you today?” the chipper woman asked.
“Coffee with milk, please.”
“Steamed or cold?”
“Cold, two-percent is all right.”
“Sure thing! Is that all for you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It’ll be $2.39,” she said.
I studied her expression as she assisted me. I was looking for indications of whether or not she knew who I was. On the outside, I tried to appear calm. Internally, I was petrified. For the past year, there hadn’t been a public place I could go without being recognized. I hoped my disguise was enough. I wore sunglasses and the hoodie Laura bought me last night. My goal was to keep my face as concealed as possible.
“Here you go,” the barista said and gave me my coffee.
I didn’t smile and kept a straight face.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
I kept my head low as I walked to the corner of the room. I sat at a two-top table against the window. Part of me wanted to face away from everyone, but something inside told me it would be smarter to keep an eye on the other customers. Many of them were typing away on their MacBooks with their earbuds in. None of which were paying attention to me, and that was exactly what I wanted.
I sipped my coffee and let my eyes roam around the room. The anonymity of the sunglasses was comforting. I could just stare at people and they had no idea I was looking.
I locked eyes with a woman. She immediately looked down at her phone.
It was the brunette that was standing in front of me in line. I could tell from her walnut-colored locks. Now that I could see her face, I studied her closer. She had big, almond-shaped eyes. Her skin was smooth and unblemished. Judging by her tan, she was Italian, or Hispanic. She glanced up at me again.
Then she looked down at her phone and up at me again.
Did she recognize me?
Shit. The angle she held her phone at seemed like she was looking at a picture or something. I drank more of my coffee and tilted my head away from her.
Her eyes were on me. I could feel it.
I looked over at her, and when I did, she glanced back down at her phone quickly. This time, I turned away from her direction and used my hand to prop up my head. This woman knew who I was, and I wasn’t about to let her scrutinize my appearance any further. I fucked up. I should have sat facing away from the crowd. My plan backfired.
The chair in front of me slid back. The woman sat down and scooted it in. Startled, I just stared at her. She pulled together her pea coat and stared back at me with pursed lips, her facial muscles taut. She had high cheekbones. I found her very attractive.
“Can I help you?” I asked, standoffish.
“Actually,” she began, “I was hoping you can.”
“Uh…there’s nothing I can help you with. I asked you because you just nonchalantly sat with me, and you’re a total stranger.”
She smiled and revealed perfect white teeth.
“I am a total stranger, you’re right…but you aren’t.”
She turned her iPhone around and I saw a picture of me from a news article a few weeks ago. My stomach felt like it fell out of my ass.
“I think I’m gonna head out,” I announced and stood up.
She grabbed my wrist, clutching it tight. I stared at her startled.
“Wait,” she demanded.
My jaw clenched. Our eyes were locked in a stare. I slowly sat back down, silent, and she released her grasp on my wrist. She brushed her hair behind her shoulder, and in her caramel eyes I saw something I had seen before—determination. There was a fire burning behind them…a fire lit with passion. It was so strong I could feel it across the table. It reminded me of how Cole’s eyes would look when he talked to me about our party, in the beginning.
“What?” I muttered under my breath.
“I am a journalist for the Raleigh News and Observer. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions regarding the recent accusations of your involvement in the attack on the final debate.”
“Are you out of your mind?” I sneered.
“No, I’m not actually—”
“You must be. Look, miss, no offense to your profession,” I leaned in, whispering, “but the last thing I want to do is have another reporter sensationalize me in the news all for a big bonus. I’ve been through it a hundred times. You say one thing, and they always tweak it to fit their story.”
She shook her head with disdain.
“You know, as condescending your view is of us, I’m surprised you’ve become as popular as you are.”
“I guess to the media I’m just another pretty face.”
“Seems like it,” she scoffed. “But thank you, for generalizing me, and lumping me in with reporters I’ve never even met. Despite what you may think, we aren’t all the same.”
“Why should I believe you’re any different?”
“Firstly, I’m not a reporter. I’m a journalist. Secondly, I agree that much of the news you see on TV, the internet, or newspaper, is skewed by the opinion of the person who wrote it. Or worse, their boss, or someone else’s opinion. I prefer to conduct myself in a more ‘old fashion’ manner. Journalism is dead. I hope to revive it.”
There it was again—the fire behind her eyes, the passion. It was so attractive.
You can’t stay here. She knows who you are. You must leave.
“What am I even doing?” I mumbled. “I need to leave. I can’t stay here.”
“Please,” she pleaded, her eyes desperate. “This is totally off the record.”
As much as I knew I needed to leave…something told me to stay.
“What do you mean?”
“Off the record,” she repeated. “I’m not going to use this for an article. It’s not for work.”
“Then what is the point of even asking me?”
“Because I want to know the truth.”
I stared into her eyes, as she did mine. In that moment, I felt a spark—chemistry.
“So, logically speaking, if you want to know the truth, then that means you believe what was said about me was the contrary.”
“Correct,” she said and revealed a small smile. “I think it’s the biggest heap of garbage that’s been on the air in over a decade. From a journalistic standpoint, it’s very two-dimensional. With their story, they string people along with simple connections. There are no facts. Just some video footage of you standing up and your coincidental background that aligns with their story.”
I agreed with a nod.
“They have reduced me to this,” I whispered. “On the run, and changing my appearance with nowhere to go. I’m fucked. Royally fucked.”
> “For now…” She said with a smirk. “They are winning the battle, but perhaps you can win the war.”
Her statement caught my interest.
“How?”
“Let’s just say I have a connection in my industry that no one else has.”
“Which is?”
“My godfather. Ian Westlake—”
“Like I’m supposed to know who that is,” I interjected.
“If you’d let me finish…” She scolded. “He is the Editor in Chief of The New York Times. He has been in that position for over a decade and with the company for even longer.”
“Are you hinting at…?”
“Yes. Maybe, just maybe, with the right evidence we could undo what they have done.”
She said we. She was no longer thinking singular. We. I shook my head. Her hopes were too high, and if she knew what I had gone through in the past two days she wouldn’t have been telling me this in the excited tone that she was.
“What?” she asked in reaction to my expression.
I opened my mouth to answer, and I realized I didn’t know her name.
“What is your name?”
“Rachel.”
“Rachel, sorry to bring you down a notch, but we won’t be able to accomplish shit until we figure out who they are. That, and we have to figure out why. Why me?”
“I’m no idiot,” she said with a deadpan tone. “Ian has information bombarding him from all directions twenty-four seven. In the meantime, you aren’t going to accomplish shit either if you are behind bars. Once they’ve got you, it’s game over.”
I swallowed hard. She noticed my discomfort.
“I—I’m sorry for being so brash.”
“No, it’s all right. It’s the truth.”
She pressed her lips together. “Anyway. How have you gotten this far without being caught?”
“I had help,” I answered.
“They must be good at what they do.”
“He is.”
“Why isn’t he still with you?”
“Because one of us is wanted and the other is not. He can’t help me if he is in the spotlight too.”
She nodded. “Are you going to meet with him again?”
“I don’t know. I can’t talk to him unless I am at a computer.”
“Interesting. So, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s your plan?”
“I don’t have one.”
Her eyes lit up. Then, it hit me. Rachel had no intentions of just asking me a few questions. She didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. Behind her dark eyes, the wheels were turning. She had the plan. She had it from the moment she sat down.
“Spit it out,” I said.
“What?” she asked with her face contorted.
“You have a plan. What is it?”
“Uh…I—I mean.”
“Rachel, I don’t have time for small talk. Give it to me.”
She seemed taken aback by my assertiveness. She sat up and straightened her posture. Then, her demeanor turned rigid, and her stare intense.
“You won’t make it another day riding that bike—”
“Watch me,” I interjected.
“I hope I don’t have to. You asked me what was my plan, so please don’t interrupt me again.”
I barely nodded out of embarrassment.
“Every cop from D.C. to Miami is looking for that bike. You can’t use it as your escape forever. It can only go so fast. They have more firepower than you. It’s simple.”
I stayed silent.
“Like you said a minute ago about your friend. You are in the spotlight, and he is not. I am also not in the spotlight. We have no ties on social media. We’ve never met before. With me, you’re safe.”
Safe. The word beckoned me as I heard it.
“The problem is though, with me you’re not safe.”
“Oh please, stop with the comic-book dialogue. Let me finish.”
“Fine,” I muttered.
“Look, you need to buy yourself more time. If you’re with me, you have that kind of time. No one is going to be looking for me. If we can figure out who framed you and have some legitimate proof to back it up, Ian would have a headliner. He would have a story. There is a little over three weeks until the election. Don’t you want to save what is left of your party?”
What is left of your party.
Her words stung terribly.
“Oh my God,” she muttered. “I’m so sorry…I didn’t mean it like that. My condolences.”
“I am sorry too. I can’t believe he is gone. I am the only one left now.”
Those words tore away at me inside.
“Even more of a reason to expose the truth. In honor of him.”
Who was this woman? She had just met me and I liked her more by the second.
“I like that,” I said.
“As do I. So, what do you say?”
I paused. I had an extremely sexy journalist asking to give me a ride. This had to be the record quickest time I’d ever managed leaving somewhere with a woman. If I was still in college, I would have just said yes. It would have been a no-brainer. I knew how people were, though. My experiences dealing with reporters and journalists alike had shown me to trust no one.
“Why would you put yourself at risk for me? I am no one to you.”
“Actually,” she began, “before two days ago, you were someone to a lot of people. People looked up to you. You were revered for your impact on this country. My colleagues at work would always flip out when you were in a new interview. People wanted to hear what you had to say.”
“How sweet of you, saying that,” I teased.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, pursing her lips.
“I don’t have to, you already did.”
She laughed. I made her laugh.
“I’m glad to see that throughout your dilemma you have yet to lose your humor,” she mocked.
“Thank you,” I fed into her sarcasm.
“I would put myself at risk for you in the name of journalism. For the sake of the real story.”
“Damn, you’re that die-hard of a journalist?”
She nodded. “The truth means everything to me. It is what sets apart the greatest journalists from the rest. You affect history, and we document it—inextricably linked.”
“That’s deep.”
“I’d like to think so,” she smiled.
“What happen Owen, is those people, make shallow story in shallow water. You and I, we deep. We know better.”
Laura’s words from last night echoed in my mind.
Rachel was deep too.
“What about your work? Won’t they wonder where you are?” I asked.
“My job requires me to travel anyway. I can do my work from home, or anywhere. Regardless, this story is unlike anything I will get the chance to tackle in my career. It’s worth the risk.”
“It better be,” I said, “because if it isn’t, we will both be fucked.”
“For now though, we are still fine. Let’s not think too far ahead of ourselves.”
I nodded. She was very intelligent, and so well-rounded.
“If only you knew what I went through in the past two days. You might be a little less optimistic.”
“I’ve seen it on the news. Regardless, things like this don’t happen by chance.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“When I was in line, Ian and I were texting about you. You had successfully disappeared for the night, and we wondered where you ended up. At least, in my office, all the buzz was about that you were in the Raleigh area.”
“I would assume. The CIA is looking for me.”
“Well, yes. Anyway, I don’t know. Since the news came out of your involvement, my mind has been awash with thoughts. I’ve lost sleep thinking about this.”
“So have I,” I added.
“Naturally so,” she said. “Either way, I’ve just been thinking about how bogus this lie is. How they aren’t trying to
sway the opinions of the citizens who think for themselves. They are trying to sway those who let others think for them. It’s so blatantly obvious that someone with power is injecting this story into the media. They are being forced to air this. There’s no other logical explanation.”
“If only that knowledge was enough to help me…” I mumbled.
“What’s the use of knowledge if you do nothing with it? If Einstein wouldn’t have written his equations of general and special relativity, he wouldn’t have redefined the way we think of time and space. His knowledge would have been wasted.”
“I agree.”
“That’s where I come in,” she said with a smile. “If we can get the right information to Ian, we can potentially unravel their lie. Like I said, I’ve been brainstorming every waking moment about this. That if I just had the chance to get my hands on the real story, I might be able to fix it.”
“You’re a journalist, not a miracle worker,” I countered.
She wasn’t amused.
“I can’t say that I am, but I am damn good at what I do.”
“I believe you are…but do you really expect me to put all my trust in you? Expect me to go out on a limb with a stranger and hope for the best?”
She glowered at me.
“Right now, you’re hanging from that limb by a noose, struggling to breathe,” she hissed. “And I’m the only one around that has a knife to cut the rope.”
Her analogy left me pondering.
“Like you said, you don’t have a plan. I do. So what’s it gonna be?”
I sat there confounded. Rachel had an energy about her. It was almost magnetic. It was something I didn’t mind being around. She was definitely book-smart, and well-versed. She had the guts to sit down and approach me with this idea…but did I really want to let this gorgeous girl get involved? Let her risk her life for me?
“Owen,” she said. Her voice pulled me from my trance.
My forehead creased in anger.
“Are you crazy? Lower your voice.”
Her eyes became wide. She must have gotten comfortable and forgot.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Don’t you feel it too, though? It can’t just be me.”
“What do you mean?”
“This—us meeting each other. What are the chances that you, of all people came into this coffee shop and stood in line behind me? If I would have looked over my shoulder while I was texting Ian, I probably would have passed out. The irony is just beyond me. I dreamt of a story like this since I was a little girl, and it sat right across from me. Don’t you think that it’s just too perfect to be coincidence…that it has to be fate?”
The Gambit Page 12
