The boys nodded and Ted handed over his plate.
“I’m too tired to eat, Annie,” Ted said. “You’ll see me when you see me.”
“Ditto,” Espinosa said, also handing over his plate.
Annie looked at Dennis West, the youngest of the group, who was chewing on what looked like a shrimp egg roll. He held on to his plate.
“Before you leave, Dennis, I need to tell you that some young man has been trying to get in touch with you for the past two weeks. He’s called the paper at least a few dozen times and even stopped by twice. He would never leave his name. If you check your extension, I think he left you some messages. Are you working on something? Is he a source or a snitch?” Annie asked curiously.
Dennis shook his head as he handed over his plate. “Nope. No clue. If he calls again, tell him I’m back and give him my cell-phone number. When he came by, did you see him?”
“No, but Adam in the mail room said he was a tall, really muscular guy. He also said the guy said it was urgent that he talk to you. Urgent, Dennis. Ian, our cub reporter, had a few meetings with him. Meaning he actually spoke to him.”
“In this business, Annie, there is urgent, and then there is urgent. I’m going to sleep around the clock, and then I’ll be back at my desk. This was a very nice homecoming. I wish I wasn’t as tired as I am, so I could enjoy it more.”
“Not a problem, dear. When we get notice of your Pulitzer, we’ll really celebrate. Run along.” Annie hugged the young reporter, wishing she had a son like Dennis West.
* * *
Dennis rolled out of bed three days after he’d returned to the small condo that he kept in town so he wouldn’t face the long drive out to his mini-farm in McLean, Virginia, at the end of the long day. It was a one-bedroom, sparsely furnished and close to the Post.
It wasn’t that he’d slept for seventy-two hours. He hadn’t. He’d periodically woken, eaten, and gone back to bed. Now, though, he was wide awake, his sleep quota fulfilled. He yawned as he looked at the digital clock on the little table next to his bed. Eleven o’clock. Other than now, the last time he’d slept till eleven o’clock was five years ago, when he had a bad case of the flu.
“Up and at ’em, dude,” Dennis muttered to himself as he headed to the bathroom and a steaming-hot shower. He looked in the mirror and gasped. He looked ugly enough to scare small children. Three days of facial stubble, his hair standing on end, his eyes caked with something he’d never experienced before glared back at him. His mouth tasted like the inside of his winter snow boots. For sure, he needed to get back to the land of the living and get on with whatever this new day held for him. He grinned when he wondered what people would think if they saw him as he looked at that moment.
Forty minutes later, showered, shaved, his unruly hair slicked back, Dennis dressed in pressed khakis and a long-sleeved sky-blue Izod shirt. He sat down on the mini-stool and tied the laces on his new Nike sneakers. “Good to go, dude,” he mumbled as he made his way out to the tiny area that pretended to be his kitchen, where he made a cup of coffee. He made a mental note to stop at the supermarket to buy some groceries. Being gone a whole month meant the larder was bare. As it was, he was going to have to drink his coffee black, when he preferred to douse it with heavy whipping cream and three sugars. Sometimes, he was worse than Maggie, with her whacked-out metabolism.
While he waited for his coffee to drip, Dennis checked his phone for missed calls and e-mails. Nothing worth getting excited over. He eyed the coffeepot and turned his head to make sure he could hear the last of the plopping sounds while he stared out the tiny window over the sink to see what kind of day it was going to be. It looked blustery. Well, that was normal for October and meant he would need his Windbreaker. The problem was he had no idea where or in which duffel bag the Windbreaker would be in. He hadn’t bothered to unpack, and he wasn’t going to do it now, either, which meant he’d have to wear one of his blazers. Not a problem.
Ten minutes later, Dennis closed the door behind him, vowing to stop at the nearest Starbucks for a real cup of coffee and possibly a Danish.
Forty minutes after consuming not one but two delectable pastries and two coffees, Dennis literally raced to the Post. He could hardly wait to get inside his home away from home. God, it was good to be back. So good, he felt like dancing a jig. He managed to control himself as he high-fived his colleagues and humbly accepted all their congratulations and praise on the veterans series he, Maggie, Ted, and Espinosa had worked on.
“Has anyone seen the rest of the Fearless Four?” Dennis called out.
A young cub reporter named Ian Smith shouted that they hadn’t even called in. Dennis felt his eyebrows shoot up. For sure he thought Ted would be at his desk. Oh, well. The other three were getting older, so that probably accounted for their absence. For some weird reason, it pleased him that of the four of them, he was the only one who had shown up to work.
Dennis turned on his computer and waited for it to boot up. Once he was up and running, he stared at the screen, wondering what he was going to do. Maybe he should have checked with the EIC to see what, if any, assignments were available this late in the day. He was saved from making any decisions when Ian Smith ran over to him with a sheaf of phone messages.
“And, Dennis, some guy has been here three times looking for you, but he wouldn’t leave his name.”
Dennis rifled through the pink slips. Nothing that needed his attention. “What guy? Did he say what he wanted? Did he leave a number to call?” He surmised it was the same guy Annie said the mail-room clerk had told her about.
“No to everything. I asked, Dennis. Heck, I even followed him the last time he was here. I figured you would want to know, being an investigative reporter. All I can tell you is he was a tall, buff, good-looking guy. He probably weighed around one-eighty. Great suntan, bright blue eyes, and he was sporting a two-hundred-dollar haircut. Drives a Beemer. I was on foot, so I lost him. He looked jittery and nervous. I will say that. I figured he was one of your sources and was looking to get paid or something. Or that he had the skinny on something for you to work on.”
Dennis squinted at the cub reporter as he tried to remember if he knew anyone who fit Ian’s description. He couldn’t come up with anyone. “When was the last time he was here? I know all my sources and snitches, and the way you described the guy doesn’t come near to anyone I know. Well, if he shows up again, tell him I’m back. You have my permission to give him my personal cell-phone number.”
Ian scampered off, leaving Dennis staring at the home page on his computer. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to conjure up someone in his life—friend, foe, acquaintance—who fit Ian’s description. Absolutely nothing came to him. Therefore, it must be a stranger who had some kind of news for him or needed help of some kind. A mystery, to be sure. One that was going to drive him nuts if he didn’t figure it out.
Dennis knew sitting here at his desk with nothing to do was also going to make him nuts. He shut off the computer and headed to the EIC’s office. He stuck his head in the door and asked if there was anything for him to do.
“Annie said to tell you to go home and not come back till Monday,” the editor in chief replied. “I told Maggie, Ted, and Espinosa the same thing when they called in earlier this morning. So hike your tail on home, Mr. West, and don’t let me see you till seven o’clock Monday morning. You guys did a super job, so rest on your laurels. If anything earth-shattering happens, I’ll send you a text. Go on now. Git!”
Now what was he supposed to do? Monday was days away. Dennis dragged his feet as he headed back to his workstation, grabbed his backpack, then made his way to the elevator. He felt lost, homeless, for some reason. He couldn’t even visit the rest of the fearless group, since they were under the same orders as he was. Well, crap!
He supposed he could use up some time by going to lunch. Or he could hang out in the lobby and hope a big news story walked through the doors. Like that was going to happen. Not. Maybe he sh
ould head out to his farmhouse in McLean to check on things. But if he did that, he’d rattle around like a bean in a seven-thousand-square-foot warehouse. He nixed that idea immediately. He needed to do something. Something meant going to the supermarket to fill his larder. He could also stop to pick up his dry cleaning and his shirts at the dry cleaners. Usually, he did things like that on the fly, but it was a way to take up some time.
Dennis moved through the revolving door, stepped aside, and looked around, across the street, up and down the street. Nothing caught his eye. Just another ordinary day. He wondered what, if anything, would happen if he went to the BOLO Building and pestered the guys. If they were even there. He could have lunch outside at the Bagel Emporium. The weather had cleared since he set out earlier. The wind had died down, and the sun was out. He should take advantage of the day since it was coming up to the end of October and the weather would turn too cold to eat outside.
His decision made, Dennis started walking. Georgetown wasn’t all that far. The exercise would be good for him, and his reward would be a hot pastrami on one of Ding’s perfect bagels.
As he made his way to Georgetown, Dennis let his thoughts turn to the mysterious stranger who had been trying to get in touch with him. What, who, where, and why? As hard as he tried, he could not get his brain around who it could possibly be. Letting his imagination run wild, he went from one scenario to another, trying to fit each one to the mysterious stranger. He came up dry each time.
Forty minutes later, Dennis checked out the BOLO Building, only to find it uninhabited. He shrugged and made his way down the alley, pressed in the security code, and left the area. Out front, he waited for a break in traffic before he sprinted across the busy road to enter the Bagel Emporium, where he waited in line to place his order. The delectable, tantalizing aromas made him realize he was truly hungry. He explained to the waitress that he would be eating outside. She handed over a numbered card, which meant his bagel, coffee, and brownie would be brought to him.
Dennis sat down at a table and prepared to do some serious people watching until his food came. His cell rang. He looked at the caller ID. Ian from the paper. His heart clicked up a beat as he pressed the TALK button. “What’s up, Ian?”
“That guy just called again. The one who has been calling. I told him you were back. He asked how he could get in touch with you. I gave him your cell number, Dennis. I hope that was okay. Is it okay?” the cub reporter asked anxiously.
“Absolutely. Thanks, Ian. He hasn’t called yet. I guess we should hang up and give him a chance.”
After ending his call with Ian, Dennis held his cell phone in front of him, willing it to ring. All thoughts of food or people watching had disappeared. “Ring, damn it,” he muttered.
The waitress appeared with his food. She set it down and picked up the numbered card and left. Like he could really eat now. His eyes never leaving the cell phone, Dennis reached for the bagel, which was cut in half, and bit down. Tasty. He slurped at the hot coffee. Ding made really exceptional coffee. Delicious. “Ring, damn it.”
An elderly couple with a golden retriever sat down two tables away. Dennis was just about to attack his brownie when two Georgetown college girls loaded down with books took up another table. He took a moment to realize they were cute but too young for him to get any ideas.
Ring, damn it.
Dennis gathered up his trash. How long should he wait? He’d finished his coffee and brownie. If he was going to stay until the phone rang, he’d have to go inside to get another cup of coffee. Stupid is as stupid does. Of course he was staying. He deposited his trash in the trash can that stood off to the side and walked back inside, then returned to his table with a double latte. The golden retriever barked to welcome him back.
“Ring, damn it.”
Thirty minutes later, Dennis’s cell still hadn’t rung. He finished his double latte and tossed the cup in the trash as well. He patted the golden’s head, smiled at the owners, and left the Bagel Emporium. He stepped to the curb and hailed a taxi and told the driver to take him to the market that was a block from his home. He felt high and low and everything in between. A hair away from finding out who the mysterious stranger was who wanted to get in touch with him.
“Well, here I am, buddy, so where the hell are you? Whatever it is you want from me can’t be very important, or you would have been in touch by now. So, Mr. Mysterious, screw you and the horse you rode in on,” Dennis mumbled under his breath.
In the neighborhood supermarket, Dennis zipped up and down the aisles, picking and choosing as he went along. Total time spent perusing the aisles: twenty-two minutes. He loped back to his condo at a fast clip and was putting away the last of his groceries when his cell finally rang. He was so ticked off, he almost didn’t answer it, but the reporter in him wouldn’t allow for a phone to ring without being answered. He barked a surly, snarly greeting and waited.
“Dennis?” He didn’t recognize the deep timbre of the voice.
“Speaking. Who is this?”
“It’s me, Toby. I need to see and talk to you. It’s urgent, Dennis.”
“Do you have a cold, or did you have throat surgery? Doesn’t sound like you. Are you the guy who has been stopping by the paper and calling but not leaving a name?”
“Yeah, yeah, it was me. It’s the lessons. You know, the voice thing.”
Dennis didn’t know, but he let it slide. “Look, I’m sorry I never called you after we met up two years ago. Life just got in the way. What’s up?”
“Are you busy? Can we meet somewhere? Off the grid.”
Off the grid. Spies and federal agents went off the grid. He had read enough and watched enough television to confirm that “off the grid” was spook talk. The fine hairs on the back of Dennis’s neck moved slightly, an indication he needed to go on high alert. “I’m home. I’ve been on the road for work. Just got home this past Friday and slept the past few days away, until today. You want to come by my place? I gave you the address on my card the last time we met.”
“Yeah, well, in the move and the shuffle, I lost the card. We need to meet someplace in the open, where there are people around. It needs to look like we met up by chance. Listen, I usually run in Rock Creek Park around four. I end up at the zoo, so how about we meet up there? Just wear running clothes and sneakers. I’ll find you. Don’t worry about watching out for me. And don’t tell anyone you’re meeting me.”
Dennis swallowed hard. The fine hairs on the back of his neck were doing their dance of anxiety. “Are you in trouble, Toby?”
“Hell, yes. What I mean is, right now I am not in trouble, but I will be very shortly. Why else do you think I would be calling you and going through all this bullshit?”
“Well, to be honest, I thought we were friends and were going to stay in touch. That’s why I thought you were calling, to stay in touch.”
“It’s complicated, Dennis. So, are you going to meet me or not?”
“Sure.” Dennis waited for Toby to say something, but the call ended. He stared at the phone in his hand for a long time before he placed it gently on the little bistro table in his small kitchen. He could barely take his eyes off the small square. The fine hairs on the back of his neck were still doing their dance.
Dennis looked at the clock on the range. An hour to go. Time enough to find his running gear and grab a taxi to take him to the entrance of the park.
And he needed time to think.
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White Chicken Stew
1 pound chicken breasts, baked and cut in chunks
2–3 potatoes, peeled and sliced
1 pkg. frozen peas and carrots
1 can cream of chicken soup
1 can cream of celery soup
½ cup milk (more if you want it thinner)
¼ cup ranch dressing
½ cup sour cream
2 tablespoons dried minced onion
½ tablespoon Parisienne H
erbs or 1/2 teaspoon poultry seasoning
1 teaspoon kosher salt
fresh ground pepper to taste
Put chicken, veggies, and potatoes in slow cooker.
Mix soups, dressing, milk, sour cream, and all seasonings together.
Pour over chicken mixture in slow cooker and mix together.
Cook on low until heated through and veggies are done.
Because this recipe is so comforting and filling, rarely is there room for dessert, but I have a sweet tooth so I serve lime Jell-O mixed with mandarin oranges. I hate to admit this, but I top it off with a mountain of Reddi-Wip. My bad. But . . . it is soooo good. Perfect ending to a great meal.
FERN MICHAELS is the USA Today and New York Times
bestselling author of the Sisterhood, Men of the Sisterhood, and Godmothers series and dozens of other novels and novellas. There are over seventy-five million copies of her books in print. Fern Michaels has built and funded several large day-care centers in her hometown, and is a passionate animal lover who has outfitted police dogs across the country with special bulletproof vests. She shares her home in South Carolina with her four dogs and a resident ghost named Mary Margaret.
Visit her website at fernmichaels.com.
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ONE STEP AT A TIME
In a city built on dreams, Trisha Holiday makes her living moving like one. But out of her dancer’s costume, she’s as down-to-earth as they come. That’s why she ignores the admiring note that arrives backstage after one of her ethereal performances. Yet the sender, a wealthy foreign prince, isn’t easily dissuaded. An American education has made Malik long for the freedom to choose his own bride—and the woman he wants is Trisha.
Getaway Page 9
