by Lee Winter
“Word on the street was I’d been too good at my job, and I was sniffing around something they didn’t want me to. Someone paid a large sum to ensure I was brought down. I’d say they got what they paid for—and more. And I learnt an important lesson that day.”
“Never to trust,” Lauren said slowly. “Never to assume.”
Ayers nodded. “It’s good advice.”
“Yet you’ve trusted me,” Lauren said. “Twice.”
“I’m really not sure why.” Ayers’s gaze settled on Lauren. “I knew you were trouble the moment I met you. The first day. I made your life hell so you’d leave and I wouldn’t have to even look at you.”
“Oh god, please tell me I don’t look like your ex?” Lauren stared at her, appalled.
Ayers gave her a small smile. “Not even close. But your brashness, your earnestness? She had that. It was in her eyes. She would look at me, and those eyes would promise me the world, and I’d believe anything.”
“It’s a scary thing,” Lauren suggested quietly, “to be so vulnerable to a simple look.”
“Yes,” Ayers said. “It truly is.”
“And you don’t do vulnerable. Or allow people in.”
“No,” she agreed. “Not anymore.”
“Well that’s good,” Lauren said, earning a startled look. “Because who wants to be exposed to life’s highs and lows, all that messy emotion, when you can just skate through, unfeeling and uninvolved, bitching at everyone? That’s much safer.”
“Are you judging me now?”
Lauren smiled to take the sting out. “Maybe a little. But no more than you judge yourself. It’s a devastating thing that happened to you. But I think you told me because you know I won’t pat your hand and say there, there. You want me to challenge you. Force you back out of your shell. And you trusted me because I’m the only person in your life who’ll make you.”
“You know nothing about me,” Ayers said faintly.
“So you keep saying. But I don’t see family or friends around you, telling you that life’s meant to be lived. That you’re too interesting and too smart to disappear into old regrets. That you have to get back in the game. I can’t picture Tad even standing up to you, let alone doing that.”
Ayers’s eyes were mere slits. “You can be very annoying. Maddening.”
“Yeah,” Lauren agreed. “So I’ve been told. Do you think that’s why you kissed me?”
“I suspect it was a case of momentarily taking leave of my senses.”
“Mm,” Lauren said, seeing a glint in the other woman’s eye. “I figured as much. So…want to take leave of them again?”
“We have a long drive tomorrow. And we can’t…”
Lauren gave her a smile, leaned forward, and kissed her soundly. Ayers made a startled noise and began to pull away. Lauren followed. She felt a whispered sigh, and then the soft lips began to respond.
Ayers’s hands slid up into Lauren’s hair, gently caressing, and her mouth dropped to near her ear. “What am I going to do with you? This can’t happen. You must know that.”
Lauren recaptured her lips, kissing the protests away.
“Lauren.” Ayers sighed and pulled away.
“Catherine, you like me this way. I challenge you, remember.”
“This is insane.”
“Yes.”
“We hate each other.”
“Really not feeling that right now,” Lauren said, nuzzling her jaw. “I think you’re so beautiful by the way. And that acerbic tongue of yours? I want to kiss the insults right off it.”
“That sounds like a large-scale project. And we can’t. Lauren, we can’t. I mean it when I say the story must come first.”
Lauren leaned back and took in Ayers’s stormy gaze. Her eyes were filled with desire but laced with sincerity.
She sighed. “Okay. But you know we won’t always have a story between us.”
Ayers regarded her for a moment, absently curling a stray strand of hair around Lauren’s ear. “I know.”
“And when that day comes, what then?” Lauren asked.
“When that day comes, you’re going to be famous. We both will be. Your family will probably throw you a parade.”
“And…”
“And you’ll have more job offers than you count.”
“And…”
“And Frank will finally give you the respect you deserve.”
Lauren sighed. “Stop it. You know what I’m asking you, don’t you?”
Ayers didn’t speak, just studied her with a scorching intensity.
“Catherine?”
“Lauren,” Ayers said quietly. “I don’t want to make promises I know I can’t keep. I’m sorry if that hurts, but it’s the truth. And, as I keep saying, I prefer the truth in all things. Now it’s getting late, and we have a big day tomorrow. We should turn in.”
She cast Lauren one last, lingering, smouldering look and then rose.
Lauren watched her ascend the stairs, disappointment filling her chest.
Chapter 12 –
Sleeping Dragons
“It’s a ditch,” Lauren said with disappointment, glancing from her smartphone’s GPS app back to the muddy channel stretching out in front of them. “We’ve driven for seven hours with hangovers for something called Wiley Ditch.”
“I don’t recall saying I had a hangover.” Ayers pushed her darker-than-normal sunglasses on more snugly.
She’d barely spoken for most of the drive, which suited Lauren fine given she’d woken up grumpy and miserable. The excess of wine was only partly to blame. She wondered if Ayers regretted letting down her guard the previous night. The thought made Lauren even more morose, but there was no polite way to raise that in conversation. Besides, her head throbbed too much to try now.
“Not a hangover then,” Lauren replied with forced cheer. “You prefer tired and emotional? Dawn damage? The mourning after? That one works with and without the U.”
Ayers sighed. “Can we focus on the business at hand? Your device seems limited,” she waved at Lauren’s cell. “My Saab’s GPS says our destination is actually at the end of this ditch.” She pointed to the distance.
Lauren looked up to see a small, dense copse of trees about a half-mile away. “Okay then.” Both women got out of the car. Lauren fumbled with the heavy door and it slammed loudly.
Ayers’s face morphed into a sour expression. “Must you?” she hissed as she gingerly closed her own door and locked up. She rubbed her temple.
“No hangover, huh?” Lauren smirked. Predictably, she was met with silence.
They set off. It was easy, flat terrain, pretty much all farmland beside the swampy, overgrown ditch, and before long they were almost at the trees.
There was a sharp bang overhead.
Lauren immediately wrenched on Ayers’s arm, pulling her to the ground. Another bang echoed around them. Lauren gave Ayers a push, propelling her into the sodden ditch three feet below. There was a heavy splosh and a curse. Lauren scrambled after her, splashing into the thick brown water rimmed with green vegetation.
“What the hell are you doing?” Ayers sputtered. Mud had drenched the front of her blouse and her pants were soaked. She tried to get up but Lauren slammed her hand firmly between her shoulder blades, pushing her lower with a hissed “No! And for god’s sake, be quiet!”
Ayers’s head jerked around.
“Someone just took a couple of pot shots at us,” Lauren growled softly. She shifted an overgrown weed out of her face and edged up on one elbow
“You’re sure?” Ayers sat up higher, glancing around.
“Yes I’m sure!” Lauren said, wrenching her back down. “Three of my brothers hunt. I know what gunshots sound like. Okay, it looks like we can commando crawl back to the car along this ditch. It’ll be muddy as hell, but at le
ast we won’t get our heads blown off.”
“Are you insane? And this is getting beyond absurd. We’re being shot at in the middle of nowhere!”
“Yeah, well, could be our thugs are in a bad mood because they can’t find the laptop. Or maybe they want to stop us from finding our whistle-blower.”
“It can’t be those two oafs,” Ayers argued. “If they’d been following us, the shots would be from behind us, not over there.” She pointed sharply toward the trees.
Another shot sounded—closer this time.
“Catherine!” Lauren snapped her arm down. “Could you remember this is live ammo?”
“Hard to forget,” Ayers snarled, “since we’re lying in a putrid trench like we’re stuck in some bad Coppola flick.”
Lauren blinked at her, realization dawning.
“What?” Ayers asked with a dark look. “Don’t tell me you liked Apocalypse Now. It was highly overrated.”
“Shit,” Lauren said and twisted forward. “Well, I think I know who’s shooting at us.”
She sat up and shouted, “Hey, Gray!”
“Lauren!” Ayers hissed, pulling in vain at her T-shirt. “Live ammunition, remember!”
There was another shot in reply.
“Oh come on!” Lauren shouted again. “We’re friendly, okay? Hold your fucking fire.”
A figure stepped into the ditch about fifty feet away and stared down at them, water lapping his shins through camouflage pants. His hair was sandy, unkempt, and escaping an old dirty bandana; eyes clear blue.
He took one look at them and laughed.
“What in hell do you two think you’re doing there?”
“Uh, avoiding getting shot at?” Lauren said.
“What makes you think you’re important enough to waste a bullet on?”
“Wait—you weren’t shooting at us?”
“Not unless you’ve grown a blasted cottontail and go well with baked potato. Besides, if I was shooting at you, you’d be too busy being dead to talk. So, who’re you with? You one of Uncle Sam’s slippery little eels?”
“Hell no! I’m a reporter.”
“Reporters are as bad as the government. Bit of a line ball which is worse, actually.”
“We just need your help to find Jon. Della’s frantic. We came from LA to look for him.”
“My boy’s missing, you say?”
“Yeah.”
“And who’s she?” He jabbed a finger in Ayers’s direction. “Some kind of mute?”
“I’m also a reporter looking for your son,” Ayers said as she sat up. The mud clung to her clothes, and she scowled, trying to sluice it from her body. “I’m Catherine Ayers.”
He regarded her thoughtfully.
“Well now, so you are,” he said. “I thought you looked familiar. Worked in DC once, didn’t you? You brought down those corrupt senators who were up to their snouts in kickbacks. About, oh, three years back, am I right? You were in all the news.”
Ayers gave a slow nod, her disbelief evident.
He nestled his rifle in the crook of his arm, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small pouch. He rolled himself a cigarette and muttered, “They sure stitched you up later, didn’t they, honey? Taught you who was boss and how that cesspool works. I read you just scuttled out of there after that. Dust cloud up your tail.”
Ayers’s expression was a mix of sourness, fury, and surprise. Gray shifted his assessing stare over her face and barked with laughter, then lit his cigarette. “What, you think some old washed-up soldier of no fixed address doesn’t know what’s going on in our nation’s capital? I used to live there, you know. I read all the papers. They float on by and make great insulation. Put them in your pockets, in your shirt. Nice and toasty. But they also kept me right up to date.”
He sucked in a slow drag and considered her.
“And now here you are—looking for my boy. Small world.” He shook his head and turned, pointing to the trees behind him. “Well, come on then, a person can’t talk in a civilized manner in a ditch. What were you thinking, climbing in here anyway? Crazy-assed move. Is it some LA thing?”
Lauren and Ayers shared an incredulous look and crawled out of the drainage ditch after him.
Gray pointed them to a white gnarled log as he unloaded and put away his rifle in a tall, camouflaged tent. Strung-up pots hung from the tent pole outside the flap on one side, and a bag of perishables hung on the other pole—presumably keeping it out of reach of vermin.
Lauren studied the set-up, surprised. It seemed roomy and well organised for a man of nomadic impulses. But, she supposed, if you’re going to spend your whole life off the grid, it may as well be comfortable.
Gray returned, crouched in front of them, and stoked a small fire. And that was when Lauren realized he had bare feet—brown, thick soled, and heavily calloused.
“Don’t you get cold?” she asked him, gesturing to them.
He seemed surprised as though he’d forgotten it was unusual. He shrugged. “Get used to it. Easier to get the jump on folks. Had some strange folk in suits follow me around for a bit. You can hear a man by the squeak of his shoes, did you know that?”
“Why?” Lauren asked, perplexed. “I mean, why you?”
He gave her a hard look. “You calling me a liar? Or saying it’s all in my head, maybe? You’re like those veterans hospital shrinks.”
“Actually,” Ayers interrupted hastily, “we’ve had a few run-ins with certain government suits ourselves. So we understand.”
Gray relaxed and inhaled on his cigarette. “Well. That’s the thing. I don’t remember why anymore,” he finally said, exhaling a long swirl of smoke. “Noggin isn’t what it used to be. But I stay vigilant anyway. Move around a bit to throw them off. Just in case. Now, you mentioned my boy? Why’re you two worrying about him?”
He checked a small pot of water on a metal tripod over the fire, then rummaged around a tatty box nearby, and drew out a can of instant coffee.
“Gone up $1.50,” he said, pointing to it. He peered at them. “Not good.” He reached for a spoon. “Well? My boy?”
“We believe your son can help us with an important story.”
“What’s it about, this big story?” He scooped some coffee, and his hands trembled as he tried to get the granules in the mug. He spilled more than he got in, then he poured the boiling water.
“We think he’s a whistle-blower,” Ayers said. “That he’s trying to tell us about a company bribing government officials.”
Gray’s low laugh resounded around the tiny encampment. “My by-the-book kid? Who loves everything neat and in its place? Who lines up all his socks by color and has his boxer shorts ironed and marked for every day of the week? That boy?”
“I know it sounds unlikely,” Lauren said. “He’s been pretty clever about it, but yes, we think he’s a whistle-blower.”
Gray shook his head. “Now I know you two are crazy. I taught my son well. And there is no way he’d do something so stupid as to put his neck in a noose like that.”
“How can you be so sure?” Ayers asked.
The tent flap opened suddenly, and a man stepped out. “Because he knows me. And he’s right. I would never be a whistle-blower.”
Both women stared at the stooped figure of Jonathan Sands as he rubbed sleep out of his eyes then put on his glasses.
“Well, look who’s finally up. It’s after two.” Gray rose and passed his son over the mug of coffee. Sands lowered himself to the ground, sat cross-legged, and observed the women through his owlish spectacles. He was the least outdoorsy human in creation, Lauren decided, taking in his neat pants and too-big Marines-emblazoned T-shirt—clearly borrowed—and immaculate loafers.
Sands cupped the mug and glanced at his father. “Who can sleep with you grumbling in your sleep all night?” He drank in big,
hearty gulps.
The old man gave him a grunt and turned to his guests. “You two want some coffee?”
“No thanks,” Ayers said.
Lauren shook her head.
“Right then, I’m off to the lake. Since you two scared away that jackrabbit, I’ll have to hook us some supper instead.” He reached for a backpack a few feet away which had a fishing rod stuck in the back.
He eyed the two interlopers. “You cross my boy, and I’ll hear about it. And next time I won’t be playing around with those bullets.”
His threat sounded almost cheerful.
Jon glanced at the two women after his father disappeared beyond the trees. “Don’t mind him,” he said, returning his tired gaze to his coffee. “Dad can be a little protective. When he’s not reliving the Tet Offensive every other night, he tries to scare away anyone who might want to stir up trouble. But he’s mostly harmless. You know, he used to teach comparative literature at Georgetown University in DC before he got drafted.”
“Why didn’t he go back to teaching?” Lauren glanced around the small encampment. “This isn’t much of a life for an old man.”
“Says the war stole his words. That’s all he ever says about it.”
He studied Lauren for a moment between sips of coffee. “So—the entertainment writer. We meet again, Ms. King. And who’s your bedraggled friend?”
Ayers glowered, and Lauren bit back a laugh. “Catherine Ayers. Also a reporter.”
“Show me your phones and any electronic devices.”
Lauren handed over their burner phone. He quickly removed the battery and SIM card and passed them back.
“Nothing else? Tablets, smart watches, anything?”
They shook their heads.
“Well, given the fact you’re both here, I suppose there’s hope for this story yet. How far have you gotten?”
“But you just claimed you weren’t a whistle-blower,” Lauren said.
“I’m not.”
“But—” Lauren protested.
“Just tell me—how far,” he interrupted. “It’s important.”
