by Mark Stone
"It's a rag," the reality star said as he made his way to Kate. "I screwed up, Cross," he said, pain flashing in his eyes as he winced at the woman. His mouth tightened and his arms folded over his chest. "I screwed up royally, and this is what happened."
"Don't," Kate said, shaking her head and recognizing what Anchor was doing. She had felt it too; the urge to lay blame on herself when things went wrong. It came with the job. It came with the personality type. When you take it upon yourself to save the world (one case at a time), it only makes sense to feel like you've failed when things go to hell. "This isn't your fault."
"The hell it isn't," Anchor said, shaking his head.
Kate cleared her throat, taking a steadying breath as she forced herself to continue down this path. She hadn't wanted Anchor here in the first place. He had no business riffling around in an open investigation, even if it turned out he had some pretty accurate information. That wasn't his fault though, and neither was this.
"I didn't see it either," Kate said, reaching out and placing a hand on Anchor's arm. It was a wildly out of character move for a woman who didn't like opening up to anyone, especially a man who had singlehandedly made her life so much harder in the space of a day. He needed it though. That much was clear from the look on his face and, though she wasn't exactly the cuddly type, she just had to try and help.
"Of course, you didn't," Anchor bristled, sighing loudly.
Okay. So much for trying to be nice.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Kate asked, narrowing her eyes at the man. "You might remember that, of the two of us, I'm the actual detective of the bunch."
"Right," Anchor answered, glaring at the woman. "But you weren't the one who cracked the code, were you? You weren't the one who figured out who the guild was coming for next." He ran a worried hand through his hair. "Or who you thought they were coming for next."
Walking over to the wreckage of his car, he balled his hand into a fist and slammed it against the ruined chassis.
"Calm down, Anchor!" Kate commanded, walking over to him.
"I fought for this." he yelled, turning back to her quickly. "I promised Marcus that I would be able to do this, that I would help you stop these idiots, help you stop this from happening to anyone else!" He shook his head hard. "He put his trust in me, and this is what I did. Because of me, that boy is more danger than he probably ever has been before." He blinked hard. "You were right, Cross. I shouldn't be here. I never should have been here."
Kate stared at the man for a few long seconds, trying to read his face. He wasn't an actor, per se. To hear him tell it, everything that happened on his show was real. Still, there was little doubt that it involved putting on for the camera. This didn't look like that though. Like Kate had mentioned, she was the detective, and those skills told her what this man was going through was real. No putting on.
Because of that, she needed to be honest with him too, even if it hurt a little.
"That might be true," she admitted. "Maybe you never should have been here, but you were here, Anchor. You are here. You wanted to be a detective, you wanted to work with the big boys? Well, the first rule of that is that we don't give up when things get tough." She nodded firmly. "You're right. Crap went south here today and, regardless of whether or not you believe it's your fault, I can tell you that fixing it is your responsibility." She put her hand on the man's arm again. This time, she did so firmly, squeezing his arm. She wasn't here to make him feel better anymore. She was here to let him know she meant business. "That boy is in trouble, and I don't think we have as much time as we did before." She breathed loudly. "Before it was weeks between the kidnappings and robberies. Things are different now. They know we're onto them. If they're as smart as they seem to be, they know we're going to use that blood sample you took to track them. That's bound to make them act irrationally. It's bound to make them act quickly." She blinked. "So, here's the deal. This isn't television. There are no commercial breaks and no narrative through lines. I can't promise you this is going to turn out well, and I can't say that you'll look good at the end of it. But we're going to try, Anchor. We're going to try as hard as we can. So you have a choice to make. You can either pull your head out of your ass and do what you need to do, or you can go back to being a damned television star. Either way is fine by me. I just need to know."
Anchor breathed heavy, his mouth tightening again.
"Okay, Cross," he said, his voice a near growl. "Let's get to work."
Chapter 17
“This is a waste of time,” Anchor said, looking over at Kate from across the tiny master bedroom in the worn trailer Patrick called home. They had been looking around here for clues for nearly half an hour now, and it was obvious to the woman that the nerves she had helped to sedate within the man were making a comeback. He had taken to running his hands through his blond hair nervously before rubbing the sides of his face, dusted with stubble.
“It’s always a waste of time until it isn’t,” Kate said, pulling the dresser drawer out and riffling through its messy contents. The drawer was filled with the sorts of things you’d expect to find from a teenage boy who basically lived on his own. There were open bags of chips, half eaten sandwiches that smelled as though they had been sitting well past the time any reasonable person would have thrown them away, and a stack of dirty magazines that struck Kate as odd.
“That sounds like the sort of crap I’d expect to find in a fortune cookie,” Anchor scoffed, slamming the drawer on his side of the bed shut and rounding the mattress toward the woman. “I’m just saying, there’s better use of our time. Don’t they always say that the first two hours after someone has been kidnapped is the most crucial? Like, that’s the time when people like you and me are supposed to be hauling ass and trying to find him.”
“People like me are trying to find him, Mr. Anchorage,” Kate answered. “The best and brightest in Vero Beach are on this case. The tire markings from the truck Patrick was thrown into have been photographed and sent to experts while detectives are combing the streets.” She shook her head. “As for you, I’m not sure there actually are any people like you.” She sighed. “At least not in the police force.”
“I’m just saying we should be out there,” Anchor said, folding his arms over his chest. “You wanted me to get in the game. You told me this was my responsibility.”
“I did,” Kate answered, nodding firmly.
“Then why aren’t you letting me help? Why the hell are you sticking me in this trailer while the best hours of the investigation tick by? Is this just more glorified busy work? That’s what it is, isn’t it? This is just like when you had me drive Patrick home in the first place,” Anchor huffed.
“Because that turned out so well,” Kate muttered, glaring at the man from under dark eyebrows. “You’re here, stuck in this trailer, because I am; because I think this is the best use of my time and because, regardless of whether I like it or not, you’re my partner.” She bit her lower lip. “At least for the moment.”
‘And why do you think this is the best use of your time, Cross?” Anchor asked, pursing his lips. “Enlighten me.”
“Because you never know where you’re going to find the clue you need,” Kate said, glaring down at the magazines and thinking.
“Your father used to say that, didn’t he?” Anchor asked and, without looking at him, Kate could hear the smile in his voice. It rubbed her the wrong way. She hadn’t realized she had quoted her father and, she didn’t realize her new partner would be so quick to pick up on it. It seemed wrong to her somehow that this man- this stranger- would recognize her father’s words before she had. “He said it during an episode or two, I think,” Anchor continued. “He—”
“Do you read porno magazines?” Kate asked, looking up at the man and pursing her lips. She knew she was going to get a kick out of his reaction. He looked mortified and Kate was loving every minute of it.
“I—” Anchor stammered, shuffling nervously an
d running his hands through his hair again. “I’m sorry. I’m almost one hundred percent sure I misunderstood what you just said.”
“Doubt it,” Kate scoffed, picking the stack of magazines up and slamming them into Anchor’s chest. “And grow up, would you? I couldn’t care less about your extra curricular activities. I’m talking about these. I’m here for the case, not to embarrass you, but I have to say I have enjoyed it.”
“Busty Ladies?” Anchor asked, looking down at the first magazine and reading the title aloud.
“What looks strange to you about this picture?” Kate asked.
“This picture?” Anchor asked, looking down at the cover again, his face turning red. “I mean, at first glance, she’s sort of contorted in a weird position.”
“Not that!’ Kate grimaced. “I’m talking about all of this. When’s the last time you held one of these in your hands? Do you read pornography, Anchor? Like, in a magazine? Do you actually read it?”
“No,” he answered. “I mean, not since I was a kid. No one does, do they? I mean, I guess they’re doing okay, seeing as how they’re still in business, but I can’t imagine someone my age, let alone someone Patrick’s age, actually reading one. Don’t people our age and younger just use their … My God,” Anchor said, his eyes widening. “Why wouldn’t this kid just use his phone?”
“That’s the question,” Kate asked, grabbing the books back from Anchor. She flipped through them, bypassing the pictures as much as possible until she came across something that struck her as strange. There were markings in this book, words circled in an article. She dropped the book, flipping through another. Again, Kate found words circled in an article, whereas the rest of the book remained untouched.
“What’s going on here?” Kate asked. “Why are certain words in choice articles circled in all of these?”
“I have no idea,” Anchor admitted, looking down at his phone. “But I think we have bigger things to deal with right now. I just got a text from Marcus. The results are back from that blood sample we got from the bakery.” Anchor’s face grew hard as he continued. “There’s a match, Cross. Looks like we know who we’re up against.”
Chapter 18
Anchor walked into the police department feeling about a thousand pounds heavier than he had this morning. Back then, when he was stuffing his face full of pastry and thinking about how lost this entire precinct would be without him, none of this seemed to be real. Sure, he knew how serious it was. Kidnapping people and forcing them to rob banks wasn't child's play, after all. Still, Anchor's mind was filled with delusions of grandeur. He dreamt of the glory and honor he'd receive when everything went right, of all the wrongs he could have atoned for once he had fixed everything. He never considered the fact that things might go to hell.
"This place is quiet," Anchor said, pushing Patrick's face out of his mind and trying not to imagine what sort of nightmare the poor boy was living through at this very moment.
"It's because people are working," Kate answered, not bothering to turn back to him. She was a few steps ahead of him, which had sort of become their working “normal”. It was obvious she was the sort of woman who liked to take the lead in things. Usually, that sort of thing would rub Anchor the wrong way. He had always been the alpha in any situation he found himself in. He was, after all, the star of the show. Besides, being the first one through the door meant you were also the first one in whatever danger happened to be lurking on the other side of said door.
He wasn't the sort of guy who was comfortable with anyone putting themselves in the path of danger for him, especially a woman. Still, Kate was no ordinary woman. She was fearless. Or, at least, she seemed to be. Besides, she knew what she was doing and, as much as he hated to admit it, maybe he didn't. This wasn't treasure hunting. Sometimes, it this line of business, the things you were looking for didn't want to be found.
"Where are you going?" Anchor asked when he saw Kate take a hard left away from Marcus's office. "I thought we had a match on the blood."
"We do," Kate answered, finally turning toward Anchor. "But his door is closed."
"What?" Anchor asked, looking over at the chief's office. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"A closed door means he's taking care of business, and that means we wait our turn," she said.
"What?" Anchor asked, his eyes widening as a wave of indignation ran through him. "You can't be serious! Cross, this kid has been kidnapped. He's in danger. Are we really going to put that on the back burner so someone can talk to Marcus about speeding tickets and moving violations?"
Anchor's voice had grown loud enough he was beginning to garner attention from other officers around. Kate, her jaw tightening, marched toward him.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She shook her head. "This isn't a television show, Anchor. You can't cut from one scene to the next. Marcus knew we were coming. I texted him as we were walking through the door, but there's more going on in a city like Vero Beach than what we're dealing with, even if it is serious. Other people have cases, cases that have nothing to do with speeding tickets and moving violations. He's the chief of police, Anchor. He's busy with important stuff. If he thought he needed to be with us more than whatever is going on behind that closed door, then I'm sure he would."
"That's a pretty strong show of confidence, seeing as how just this morning you were questioning his competency in hiring me in the first place," Anchor shot back.
Kate blinked, perhaps realizing the man was right. "What can I say? I'm a complicated person." She turned again and started toward a room at the far corner of the building. "In any event, we're going to have to wait our turn. Until then, I suggest you join me."
"Join you where?" Anchor asked, though he was already following her.
"In the break room," she answered, opening a closed door that apparently didn't have the same strict policy as Marcus's. "I haven't eaten anything all day. In this line of work, you've got to get it where you can."
A slight grin passed over her lips as she walked inside. Speaking over her shoulder, she added, "If I remember correctly, you're a pretty big fan of doughnuts."
*
"I can't believe you can eat right now," Anchor said, looking over at Kate as she tore into a microwaveable burrito. "Especially that."
Kate grinned at the man, setting her burrito on the table as she noticed the way his mouth turned down.
"Sorry it's not up to your standards," she answered. "I'm guessing a craft services table is much fancier."
He shrugged. "Depends on what sort of crew you're dealing with." Anchor's leg was shaking furiously under the table, moving so intently, it shook the blue plastic surface.
"Calm down," Kate said, pushing her half-eaten burrito away. "We're going to deal with this. The guild hasn't killed any of their hostages yet, and they're not going to start now."
"How do you know that?" Anchor asked, swallowing hard. "You said it yourself, things are different now. They know we're onto them. That changes the equation."
"Doesn't change it that much," Kate answered flatly.
"You don't know that for sure," Anchor answered. "You can't."
"No, but I'm willing to bet on it," Kate answered. "I know the way criminals behave, Anchor."
"And I know the way tragedies start,” he yelled, his eyes quickly filling with tears. His leg mercifully stopped shaking as he leaned across the table, practically reaching out to grab Kate by the shoulders. "I've seen this before. I've been the cause of it. I've stood there, helpless, shaking, and useless as an innocent person died because of what I did, because of the way I screwed up. I won’t let that happen again, Cross. I can't!"
Anchor imagined Kate would have shot back, that she would have chastised him for his outburst the way she had before. Not that it would have mattered. He had to get this off his chest, regardless of what she thought about it. She surprised him though. Looking at him with unblinking eyes, she placed her hand on his palm and softly said
, "Sit back, Anchor. We need to talk."
Anchor glared at her for a second, parting his lips to speak. Instead, he did as she asked, leaning backward and sitting flat against his chair.
"You're talking about your friend, right? The executive producer who drowned while working on your final episode?" Kate asked, her hand still on Anchor's palm.
Anchor looked down at the table. No longer was Patrick's face flashing through his mind. In fact, the boy wasn't even an echo in his memory. All of his, every piece of his consciousness was devoted to his best friend in the world, the man he had let die.
"His name was Andy," Anchor said. "He had a fiancée. He was about to get married. He had an entire life outside of this show, and he didn't die filming our last episode." Anchor sighed heavy. "We were canceled, Cross. The network wanted to go in a different direction, and they canned us. Andy was fine with that. In fact, there was a part of him that was excited to move on to different projects." He moved his free hand, running it through his hair. "I just couldn't move on though. He had everything. He had a future, but me? If I didn't have that show, then who was I? He kept trying to get me to give up the ghost, but I wouldn't listen. I convinced him that, if we could make one huge discovery, the network would reconsider. They'd give us our show back, give me my show back."
Kate blinked, keeping all emotion out of her face as she asked, "And that's when it happened? That’s when your friend passed?”
"We had done it a million times," he answered, looking off somewhere else, somewhere in the past. "He had gone down. I had gone down. Nothing bad had ever happened. I didn't think anything bad ever could." He shook his head. "I was wrong though, just like now. I got cocky. I got pushy, and I got desperate. I cost my best friend in the world his life. I took him away from his fiancée. I can't be responsible for that again."
Anchor felt a pressure on his hand. She was squeezing it. She was looking at him and, for the first time, there wasn't a hardness in her eyes.
