The Red Files

by Lee Winter

  Lauren couldn’t help but laugh. “I see you have charm when it suits you. But I also remember the last time we worked side by side. One week under your tutelage, and it was like some kind of sadistic boot camp.”

  “Ahh.” Ayers fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve.

  “Mmm.” Lauren folded her arms.

  “Would you believe me if I said I was hard on you for your own good?” Ayers tried.

  “You weren’t hard; you were vicious.”

  Ayers waved her hand airily. “I had my reasons. And I may say equally vicious things in the future. This is who I am. But I can promise you this—I will not steal from you. I will not lie to you. I will not sugar coat things. I will not blow smoke up your ass about your abilities or lack of them. I will make you a better reporter. And I will see this through to the end.”

  Lauren shook her head. “Your terms suck. You call me a bad negotiator, but what was that? ‘I may rip you to shreds in the future but, hey, that’s just me.’”

  “Like I said, I’m honest.”

  “You know that honesty thing cuts both ways, right? Tell me what you know about Jeremiah Denton, and then I can see how or whether he fits into my story.”

  “You’ll tell me about the escorts then?”

  “It’s a start.” Lauren sat back and evaluated her. “I make no promises.”

  Ayers looked down at her tailored skirt, thoughtful. She glanced up.

  “No. Joint story. Sign on now or get used to the closed doors you’ve already been experiencing.”

  Lauren frowned. “How did you…”

  “Know that people are slamming doors in the face of an entertainment reporter no one’s ever heard of? I can’t imagine,” Ayers smirked. “I, on the other hand, have a deep contact list.”

  “Which is useless if no one returns your calls.”

  “Who says they don’t return my calls?”

  “Your name is mud in political circles. Everyone knows it.”

  “Everyone? Well, your lack of precision is something else we can iron out of your stories. Sweeping generalizations have no place in journalism.”

  “Tell me about Denton,” Lauren repeated with a growl.

  “Tell me about the escorts,” Ayers countered. “Where were they from? Who hired them? Why did they all leave together?”

  Neither woman responded.

  “An old-fashioned impasse,” Lauren eventually said.

  “So it seems,” Ayers agreed. “You know, King, the editor actually likes me. And he owes me a favor.”

  “You want a parade?” Lauren muttered. Neil Evans was so high up the paper’s food chain, she’d barely said two words to him in the past year.

  “And our news chief doesn’t think much of you if the way Frank sold you out to his drinking buddy is anything to go by.”

  Lauren shot Ayers a mutinous look.

  “He thinks you’re just an entertainment reporter no matter how many stories you pitch him,” she continued. “I could convince Neil to talk to Frank and get you time off to pull this together with me. You’d get your shot.”

  “I can do this on my own.”

  “Really? I’d love to be a fly on the wall when you demand Frank gives you resources to follow up a hookers-at-the-ball story that has now shifted back to Nevada. Would he laugh in your face or wait until after he’s slammed the door behind you?”

  Lauren hesitated. Shit.

  “Exactly,” Ayers said. “The sad truth is no credibility, no experience, no help from your boss.”

  “Why are you so sure there even is a story?”

  “My instincts are not often wrong. If you hang around politicians and their minders long enough, you can smell their fear. The California team wasn’t anxious at all. But the Nevada crowd was antsier than a horse running up stairs. That’s when I knew.”

  “Give me something,” Lauren said. “Make me trust you.”

  Ayers paused. She gave a tight nod.

  “Jeremiah Denton was in the US Navy and was held as a POW by the North Koreans for about eight years. He came home and later became a senator.”

  “That’s it?”

  “No.” She gave a Cheshire cat smile. “Your turn.”

  “The paperwork hiring the hookers had a Nevada state seal on it,” Lauren said. “They were bussed in and paid for by taxpayers.”

  Ayers inhaled sharply. “What proof do you have?”

  “I saw the paperwork thanks to the bus driver. Who, by the way, has now done a runner to Mexico. His boss is furious.”

  Ayers exhaled heavily. “Okay well—when Denton was in enemy hands, he was put on TV in a propaganda film,” she said. “He blinked out messages in Morse code to tell his commanders he was being tortured.”

  “No kidding?” Lauren said in surprise. “Smart.”

  “It was. And highly effective. What has he got to do with any of this?”

  “One of the Nevada governor’s team is this weird IT guy named Jonathan Sands. He used Denton’s name as an example of a hero when he was mocking the media. He’s probably no one important, but my other leads are going nowhere fast, so…”

  Ayers stared at Lauren. “Hmm,” she murmured. Her gaze suddenly flew up to the ceiling as though thinking something through.

  “What?”

  Ayers pinned Lauren with an intense stare, and for the first time since she’d known her, Lauren saw excitement lighting in those gray eyes.

  “Are we doing this? This story? Together?” Ayers’s tone became urgent. “Decide.”

  “Um…”

  “Well go on, take all year. I promise you won’t get a better offer any time soon. Actually, I have to make a couple of calls. Check some things. Give me your answer when I get back.”

  She swept away from the desk, moving faster than Lauren had ever seen her.

  * * *

  Ayers reappeared almost an hour later, a strange look on her face. Lauren finally put her finger on it—she was smiling. Genuinely.

  “Well?” Ayers demanded immediately.

  “I’ve thought about it,” Lauren said. “I agree we can work together if I’m in charge.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I have fifteen years experience in Washington, ten as a bureau chief. When was the last front page story you wrote?”

  “Parking officer corruption. You might have read about it somewhere. The mayor resigned today.”

  Ayers gave her a hint of a smirk. “Fine, I’ll give you that. You know what I mean. I have the experience. I run this. You get to learn.”

  “You said you wouldn’t steal my story.”

  “I won’t. I’m not doing this for the credit.”

  “Why are you doing it then? Some grand attempt at getting back into politics? A last-ditch effort?”

  Ayers glared. “Our publisher will never let me back on politics. Not that it matters. I’ll be a free agent soon. I have less than two months left on my contract.”

  “Then why? I could be completely wrong. And you don’t even know what I know.”

  “I know enough.” Ayers’s smile positively glittered.

  Lauren wondered where this Ayers had been for past year. “I don’t get it. All I’ve ever seen from you is a complete lack of interest in anything going on at work. This is the first time you’ve even looked sideways at a news story. Why now? Why my story?”

  “You might have appalling fashion sense and a cringeworthy vocabulary that would make a teamster blush, but you might just have good news sense. Emphasis on might.”

  “Just last weekend you called me a fraud. I’m apparently a crass fraud in tractor hats.”

  “Yes. And you had just called me ordinary. What did you expect?”

  “I didn’t call you ordinary. I said you were the same as me. Oh…”

  Ayers smirked. “See my point?”

  “Christ, you’re so rude.”

  “And you’re an enduring pain in my side. Be that as it may, it doesn’t mean you haven’t stumbled upon something. Something w
orthy.”

  “You’ve been wrong once before,” she said quietly. “And your career ended. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  “Yes,” Ayers said curtly. “Just like that. Are you getting cold feet now? Is that what this is? Because if you don’t have the nerve for this, tell me now, and I’ll stop wasting my time with you. Of the two of us, you need me more than I need you.”

  “I’m just trying to understand. You hate me. Why would you want to work with me?”

  “And we’re back to your god complex. Seriously, King, not everything revolves around you. I’m doing what I have to for the good of the story. So if that means a collaboration, so be it. Putting the story first. Ahead of everything.”

  “Okay,” Lauren said. “But I get the top byline.”

  “I’ve had a thousand bylines. I don’t need another. You think I care who’s on top?” Her eyes seemed to glow.

  “Okay, so you agree that I’m in charge. So—your first move is to convince Frank to let me do the story.”

  “It’s done.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve already talked to Neil, and then we both talked to Frank.”

  “Just like that?” Lauren shook her head. “Frank did know you were talking about me, right?”

  Ayers softly snorted. “Frank wouldn’t care if a blind monkey wrote it as long as he got a story as big as the one I sold him. He’s even got that ditzy secretary of his lined up to fill in for you because she’s begging him to let her hit the parties circuit. Frank’s agreed to pay for accommodation and the gas for getting us to Nevada.”

  Lauren blinked. “Wait, what?”

  “Well that’s where the story is. And cheap flights are booked out because of some big convention, and he won’t shell out for business class. We’ll have to drive.”

  “Back up—what do you mean the story as ‘big as the one you sold him’? We don’t even have a story yet. We don’t know for sure what this is.”

  “He doesn’t know that. And I trust my instincts. Really, King, are you going to hide under a rock and play by the rules? No wonder Daley got the last story from you.”

  Lauren glared. “And Frank just bought this ‘incredible scoop’ bullshit and agreed, just like that?”

  Ayes smiled dangerously. “One of the benefits of who I used to be is that I can say certain things and they believe me.”

  Lauren stared at her. Well shit.

  Then her mind fast-forwarded through the conversation. Frank’s secretary would be filling in for her? She was nice enough, but dumb as a box of hair. Her expression drooped.

  “You’re thinking about the secretary,” Ayers said with a slow smile. “Frank said she could ‘spell and count,’ whatever the hell that means. I can see how highly he values you, given she’s the replacement.”

  “No,” Lauren lied, her cheeks heating up. “I was thinking that we’re definitely taking my car.”

  “My Saab is the obvious choice. All the creature comforts. It was even made this century. Does your tank even offer air-conditioning?”

  “Did you not hear the bit about my rules, my story, and my car? We’re taking her. That’s non-negotiable. Besides you can’t even park straight.”

  Ayers paused and said in a strangled tone, “Fine.”

  Lauren wondered at the capitulation. At all the capitulations—from working with her to cajoling their bosses to let her go to taking some long, boring road trip.

  “Why are you doing this?” Lauren demanded. “Any of it?”

  “You have to ask? It’s only ever about one thing.” She leaned down and lowered her voice. “The only thing that matters. A real reporter doesn’t even have to ask.”

  Lauren reviewed the possibilities. Ayers watched her with an amused expression.

  “The thrill of the chase,” Lauren finally said. “And nailing the story.”

  “Well now.” Ayers smirked. “Look who just became a real reporter.”

  CHAPTER 5

  On the Road

  “So, my fashion-curdled cherub, let me get this straight,” Joshua began as he flopped onto the floor of Lauren’s bedroom with a huff. “You are taking Catherine Ayers, your evil arch nemesis with the dreamy taste in toy-boys, to Nevada for a joint story?”

  “Yes.”

  “You.”

  “I just said that. Now make yourself useful and toss me my hiking boots. Behind you. No, the ones at the back of the closet.”

  “What, pray tell, are you planning to do with these eyesores?”

  “Hike in them? Hell if I know, but I’ve seen photos. Nevada looks plenty dusty.”

  “I still don’t get it—I thought you hated her in a throw-water-melt-the-witch kind of way. How many margaritas did I have to administer to stop you from quitting in the first week?”

  “Plenty,” she admitted.

  Joshua gave her a dubious look. “And now you’re co-conspirators swanning off to Nevada.”

  “Right.”

  “I never will get women. At least with us confirmed bachelors, we’ll cut you to the quick with our beautifully evil sneers so you’ll never die wondering at the depth of our vitriol and loathing.”

  “Until you all get drunk and hook up two days later,” Lauren laughed. “Come on, stop trying to understand this—there is no understanding it. All I know is if I’m going to have my big break, the price I pay is having Ayers along for the ride. And if she wants to get to the bottom of a mystery that has her burning up with curiosity, then the price she has to pay is me. Now pass me my cell. It’s just behind you.”

  Joshua gave her smartphone a waggle as he handed it over.

  “Make sure you take lots of snaps of the Caustic Queen in compromising positions,” he said with glee. “I know some gossip sites that’d pay serious moolah for her in disarray.”

  “Josh,” Lauren warned, “none of that. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  “Well then, you’d probably better not tell her that her delectable Tad tracked me down on Facebook and wants to do shots the moment the Caustic Queen blows out of town.”

  “Oh god! I did not hear that.”

  “He’s a cad,” Josh sighed sadly. “A cad with rock-hard abs.”

  “Resist, for god’s sake,” Lauren demanded. “Oh hell—I didn’t tell her about, um, before, either. Tad trying to hook up with you? I couldn’t figure out how.”

  “Well,” Joshua said, “I really hope she’s not too fond of that boy, because the things he suggested we do together does not make for G-rated reading. And seriously, hon, I don’t even know half the items on his to-do list.”

  “You’d better be kidding.” She shoved a pile of T-shirts into her duffel bag. “That’s just so wrong. Has he no shame?”

  “Welcome to Hollyweird,” Josh said. “Land of the closet jobs. So, in sum, you don’t want me to lay even one tiny little finger on Cat’s perfect piece of man-fluff while she’s out of town?”

  “Not even your pinkie—as you well know. Why are you even asking? I thought you were better than that.”

  “I’m only human—and he did send me the most divine selfie with his underwear gloriously AWOL.”

  Lauren almost dropped her duffle bag. “Ew.”

  “Kidding, kidding.” Joshua grinned. “God, you’re so easy. You know me—the taken ones are for looking, not touching.”

  “Good,” she growled. “Keep it that way. Now help me lug this stuff to my car. I’d better find some air freshener for her, too. The Beast smells like ten-day-old takeout.”

  “I can’t imagine why.”

  “I admit nothing. Hey do you think I should pack some more snacks?”

  “You mean those bags and bags of cheesy fatty snack monsters on your kitchen counter aren’t enough? Hey why is it that everything bad for us ends in ‘Os’? Doritos, Cheetos, Oreos…”

  “That reminds me—love me some Fritos.” Lauren reached into the cupboard and rummaged.

  “How do you keep your figure, girl? It’s a mystery
for the ages.”

  He disappeared as Lauren pulled out cans of soda and an icepack.

  “All packed, chickadee,” he announced five minutes later. He jumped up to sit on the counter; his restless booted heels banged gently against the cupboard doors. “Now don’t worry about me being lonely while you’re gone because I have an invite from the gaming guerrillas down the hall.”

  “I thought you hated them? Didn’t you say ‘Making lame gay jokes and stealing oxygen is all they’re good for’?”

  “That was last week. This week we’re having a détente. Keep up, honey. Snakepit’s actually not too bad when you get to know him.

  “Anyway, he’s just discovered girls, and in return for me outfitting him to look socially acceptable to the fairer sex, he promised to magic me up a pirated copy of the latest Anna Wintour documentary before it’s even in the theaters. And we’re in negotiations about getting his genius friend, Duppy, to hack into Christian F.’s website for a peek at his hot new range a whole week before it goes live.”

  Lauren hauled ever more cans of soft drink out of the fridge. “Duppy and Snakepit? God, how old are they?” she asked.

  “Don’t you see?” Joshua continued as he bounced on her counter. “I’ll be able to get a few bags out that match Christian’s new line before any of my competitors.”

  “Yeah, that won’t look suspicious at all.” Lauren snorted. “And I did not hear any of this. Can you at least update me on any of your legal plans?”

  “Okay, let’s see—I promise to check your mail and save your newspapers from the wicked thief and not pick up Tad for ‘casual discreet encounters’ no matter how many Kama Sutra positions he texts me. Okay?”

  “King?” a voice cut coolly through their conversation from the open front door.

  Lauren fumbled her sodas, and they flew out of her arms. Cans spun and bounced everywhere across the hard wood. One rolled rapidly over the floor, coming to a stop next to a foot.

  “Shit!” Lauren hissed as she realized just whose foot it was resting against. “Hey, um…I thought I was picking you up on the way through?”