by Nic Saint
“Yes, what do you want?” she snapped, walking off and putting some distance between herself and the other members of the committee.
“Alice. So great to hear your voice,” Reece breathed.
“Not so great to hear yours,” she responded with some asperity, though if she was absolutely honest she actually found it quite pleasant to hear him. Somewhere deep inside she still had feelings for the man, no matter how betrayed she felt.
“But why, honey?”
“Don’t honey me,” she retorted. “And you know very well why. You’re still dating Dorothy.”
“But I—”
“And don’t you dare deny it. I know you are.”
“But I am denying it. I told Rick already. I’ve got nothing to do with Dorothy, honey. You know that. She means absolutely nothing to me. The only person I care about—”
“Don’t you say it!” she warned.
“—is you.”
“Oh, Reece. You’re such a terrible liar.”
“It’s the God’s honest truth. How can I prove it to you?”
“You can’t. I…” She’d been putting off this part of the narrative, but now felt she had no other option than to confront him with his deception. “I saw the email, Reece.”
“Email? What email?”
He actually sounded genuinely surprised, but then she reminded herself he was an actor. “The email between you and Dorothy. I read it. I don’t know how I got it. You must have accidentally put me in BCC—a trick of your guilty conscience, no doubt—so there’s really no need to lie to me. I know how you really see me.”
“But, Alice, I—”
“No, Reece. It’s over. I’ll drop off your stuff at your father’s place. Please don’t call me again.”
“But, honey!”
She ended the conversation and her arm fell limply to her side as tears trickled down her cheeks. So she did still have feelings for the man. Too bad, for she was just going to have to learn to live without him. The worst thing was that he didn’t even acknowledge his cheating ways. How inconsiderate was that?
She returned to the group, but all the excited talk couldn’t really hold her attention, and when Felicity came over and put an arm around her shoulder, she burst into tears, and it wasn’t about the terrible fate that had befallen Moe either, or the cracks in the nuclear plant. It was about the cracks in her own heart.
Reece stared at the phone, aghast. This wasn’t happening. Not now. Not when he was feeling emotionally quite frayed himself. And what was all this nonsense about Dorothy? He hadn’t seen or spoken to the woman in ages, not since he’d severed relations and had moved in with Alice down in Happy Bays. His agent had declared him a fool for burying himself in the asshole of the world, as had many of his so-called friends, but he’d known in his heart that it was the right thing to do. That he’d never find a woman like Alice Whitehouse again.
But then the realities of life had impressed themselves upon him, and he’d had a long talk with Kirt Stur, one of his all-time movie heroes and a really good friend, and Kirt had told him that it was too soon for him to retire. He should make at least a few more blockbusters, earn himself enough money that he could retire if he wanted to, and really be free.
If he only made a few more hit movies he would be in a position where he could pick and choose his projects and really be in control.
He’d quickly seen that Kirt was right on the money, as usual, and discussed his plans with Alice. She agreed that he needed to put in a few more big hits, and had given him her blessing. She was nervous, of course, to date a famous movie star, but he assured her she need have no concern. For one thing, he wanted to stay in Happy Bays, because she was there, and so was his father, and he would only be away for a few short weeks, filming his next movie, and doing the promo work needed.
He paced the floor of his stylish mansion overlooking the Hollywood hills, replaying the conversation in his head. What was all that about an email? He quickly set foot for his study, and opened his laptop. Checking his inbox, he found no messages from Dorothy Valour. Just to be on the safe side he also checked his spam and bin. Nothing. Finally, he brought up the list of sent mail, and quickly found one addressed to Dorothy.
His frown deepened. That was odd. The email was dated yesterday. Had he been corresponding with Dorothy in his sleep? He clicked on the email, and saw that it not only contained a message from Dorothy but a response from himself as well.
Flabbergasted, he plunked down on the black leather chair as his eyes scanned the contents of the email. This was outrageous. Dorothy wrote that she missed him and was willing to give him a second chance, and he’d responded that he missed her too, especially the glamour of being with a classy woman like herself. And as he read on, a strong suspicion was forming in his mind, and his face clouded more and more.
Chapter 18
Adrian kicked the sand as he stared out across the ocean. A pale moon had settled over the murky waves, and there was fog coming in. These midnight meets were something he dreaded. Why couldn’t his co-conspirator and himself meet on one of the internet’s dark sites, like all good criminals nowadays? Why did he insist on meeting face to face? He had enough to deal with right now, and didn’t need the added aggravation of having to go through this ordeal.
He hated being out at night, hated the fog, hated the sand getting into his shoes, and hated, more than anything else, the damp cold. And of course he wasn’t particularly fond of his partner either. Though he was but a lowly helper carrying out the other’s master plan, he felt uncomfortable each time he got the call, and the few times they’d met the man had given him the creeps.
“Adrian. Over here,” the hollow voice of his associate sounded. He craned his neck to see, but could only detect a wisp of fog, as if the man consisted of nothing but thin air. Weird, but then everything about the guy was weird. His name to begin with. Glenn Roke. What kind of a name was that? And why did he know so much about the nuclear plant if he didn’t even work there? It seemed as if Roke knew everything. The work schedules of the cleaning crew, the names of all of his colleagues, and even how to convince the people in charge to turn a blind eye when cracks suddenly appeared in the concrete husk that kept them all safe at night, and not suffering from extreme sunburn.
“What’s with all the cloak and dagger stuff?” he hissed. “Can’t you just, you know, send me an email or something?”
“I’m afraid these precautions are quite necessary,” the man replied.
Then the moon reappeared, and he saw him. Dressed in black from head to toe, he could see the pale elongated face, the short white hair, but most strikingly the scar, which slashed all the way from his crooked mouth to his right eye, which had been turned a milky blue.
The man was as freakishly scary as they came. “Why did you want to meet? I thought everything was taken care of?”
“It is. I just wanted to make sure you were still…motivated.”
He shifted his eyes suspiciously. “I’m worried about the inspection.”
“Don’t worry about that. It’s all been taken care of.”
“How did you manage?”
The man merely smiled—or rather displayed a horrid grin.
He shivered, but then he figured he’d probably bought them all off. “You’re going to bribe them, huh? Great thinking. But how can you be sure no one will blab? Money can’t buy everyone, you know.”
The man merely lifted his shoulders. It sure as heck had bought Adrian. When the sum of one million dollars was mentioned his feeble conscience had given one last gurgle and died. As it was, he’d hated this job for as long as he could remember, and one million was a nice severance package.
“You do realize the risks we’re taking, right? With the whole thing in place it only takes one idiot to poke his nose where it doesn’t belong and the shit will hit the fan.”
“The shit will hit the fan when I say so, and not one minute sooner,” the spooky man assured him.
&nb
sp; “How can you be so sure?”
“Trust me,” the man said with an eerie smile, “I am sure.”
“I still think we shouldn’t have left so much time between putting the device in place and starting the countdown,” he muttered.
“How many crevices are rigged?” the man wanted to know.
“All of them are in place,” he assured. “A dozen in each tower. The moment we detonate, those babies are coming down.” He paused. “So when do I set the timer?”
Roke started to turn away. “Soon, Adrian. Very soon now.”
He hated this vagueness on the other’s part. Soon. When was that? Tomorrow? Next week? Heck, how was he going to get any sleep with inspectors lurking around, and Mark Stokely raising all kinds of alarms? “What about—”
“Mr. Stokely? Not to worry. He’s been taken care of.”
“Yeah, they fired his ass, right?”
The man fixed him with an icy stare. “He’s been taken care of,” he repeated coldly.
“Right.” He watched the eerie figure vanish from view, as if swept up in the swirling fog. “So you’ll let me know soon, huh? Don’t leave me hanging here, buddy.”
No answer came but the whistling of the wind and the sound of the lapping waves breaking on the beach.
Shivering, he tightened his coat around himself, and walked back to his car parked on the road. What a mess. He should simply set the plan in motion now. Why postpone? Every minute they waited things could go wrong. And if anything could go wrong, it would go wrong. Wasn’t that some kind of law? Smurf’s Law or something? He didn’t know and didn’t care. All he knew was that he could probably forget about his million dollars if he didn’t stick to the stupid plan. So stick to it he would.
Chapter 19
Felicity was worried. Worried about her friend Alice, worried about Mabel, who’d looked completely out of sorts, and worried about Happy Bays. If what Mabel said was true—and she had no reason to doubt her—the town was in serious peril. And not just the town but the whole island. If that thing blew, who knew what could happen? Worst case scenario was that the place would become uninhabitable for the next 20,000 years.
This was serious business, and she didn’t know if Mabel’s plan was really the best way to deal with this crisis of biblical proportion. Rick had a point, she felt. Save a parrot to save Happy Bays? It seemed ludicrous. But then again, the HBNWC had their own way of doing things.
“I think we need to publish this story,” Rick said as he put down his Kindle.
They were in bed, Rick reading the autobiography of Bob Woodward while Felicity put cream on her hands. She was suffering from dry skin lately, and didn’t know what to do about it.
“We gave Mabel our word, honey. We really can’t go publishing stories about her husband without their consent. You know that, right?”
“We don’t have to mention Mark. We could simply write a story about the plant. We could credit it to an unnamed source. That should do the trick.”
“Mark would be implicated. He’s the one who sounded the alarm in the first place. If you published this story now he would be hung out to dry.”
“I don’t get it,” he said, taking off his reading glasses. He looked really cute in those. Like a real intellectual. “Why would they kick out the whistleblower? Isn’t safety their main concern? I mean, I can understand why this Jamie Mason would throw him under the bus. He sounds like a real ignoramus. But the director? He should give Mark a medal and a pay raise, not the boot.”
“I know. There’s something really fishy going on. Looks like they’re determined to wipe these cracks under the carpet.”
Rick grinned. “How do you do that?”
“How do I do what?”
“Wipe a crack under the carpet?”
She laughed, and rolled over to his side of the bed. “Watch out, buddy, or I’ll wipe your crack under the bed.”
Before she could say more, he drew her in for a kiss, and any smartass comment she’d been about to make was wiped from her lips. When he finally released her, her heart was pounding, and her eyelids fluttering.
“What did you want to say?” he asked, flicking a russet lock from her brow.
“Huh?”
He kissed her again, then stared at her seriously. “You know what we should do?”
“I have a pretty good idea,” she said huskily, nestling closer against his chest.
He didn’t smile this time. “We should go over to the plant under the cover of darkness, scale that tower, and take some pictures of those cracks ourselves. Then we would have our story, Mark would be safe, and those bastards would be forced to act.”
She thought about this and had to admit Rick had a point. “But what about Moe?”
Exasperated, he stared at her. “Moe? Who the hell cares about some stupid parrot?”
“The mayor does, and so does his wife. They love that bird.”
“Honey, are you a reporter or what?” He held up his hands. “What’s the bigger story here?” He twiddled the fingers of his left hand. “A missing parrot?” He twiddled the fingers of his right hand. “Or a possible nuclear disaster that could wipe out life as we know it on Long Island?”
She gave this some serious thought. “Mh… Well, if you put it that way…” She pointed to his left hand. “I’ll have to go with the parrot.”
When his face fell, she laughed heartily. She loved to tease him. The man took everything so seriously. “I don’t believe this,” he groaned.
“I’m kidding!” she cried. “Just kidding, honey. Though, seriously, I do think we should look for Moe. Though I don’t like him, he still doesn’t deserve to be kidnapped and locked up, alone and scared.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, all right. We’ll look for Moe, but only if you’ll go with me to check out those cracks. This story will put us on the map, honey, I promise you.”
“Us? You mean as in you and me collaborating on a story?”
“Sure. Why not? We could work this together.”
The prospect held a strong appeal for her. Felicity Bell and Rick Dawson mentioned in the same byline? It could really launch her career.
“You mean you would treat me on equal footing?”
“Sure I would. You’re a great reporter, hon. The way you handled that murder case? I couldn’t have done it better if I tried.”
“Well, that wasn’t just me. The entire HBNWC worked that case.”
“Yes, but you ran point, and you wrote the story, so you get the credit.”
She thought about this. Mom had always told her this reporting thing would one day mean the end of Felicity Bell the baker, and she’d always told her she was wrong. She would never leave Bell’s to become a full-time reporter. But what if Mom was right? This story could really be her breakthrough. And if she collaborated with Rick, it meant the big leagues. The prospect appealed to her a great deal, though she hated to think she would have to leave Bell’s. But then again, as a freelance reporter perhaps she didn’t have to leave at all. At least not permanently. She could combine the two jobs.
“Okay, I think you’re right. We should report this. If the nuclear plant blows, we’re in terrible danger. All of us.”
He held up his hand, and she placed her own more delicate palm against his rough-hewn mitt. “Deal,” he said, fixing her with those remarkable blue eyes of his.
“Deal,” she murmured. “Bell and Dawson. The new writing duo.”
Chapter 20
In her room Alice lay staring at the ceiling. In spite of recent events all she could think about was Reece. A couple of days ago he’d been lying beside her, and now he was gone. For good. No matter the nuclear holocaust staring them in the face, or the parrot now probably fighting for his life, all she could think about was the man she’d worshiped from afar, then for a brief moment had loved up close and personal, and now was gone from her life, leaving nothing but a vast emptiness.
In spite of her decision not to allow sadness to pervade her
every waking moment, she couldn’t help but feel those damn tears pricking behind her eyes again, and when she finally turned her face into the pillow, it was wet.
Damn that rotten Reece Hudson. He’d made her fall in love with him, and then this. And as she stuck her hands under her pillow, they touched something soft. She curled her fingers around it. It was one of Reece’s socks.
On the other side of the country Reece was wide awake as well, and it wasn’t because he was missing one of his socks. He was missing Alice. And of course there was that annoying habit of East Coast time lagging behind West Coast time.
He knew she would find it very hard to believe, but he’d fallen for the feisty blonde with the pixie face. Far from movie star material herself, she was nevertheless the most wonderful woman he’d ever met, and the thought that she was hurting was like a stab through the heart.
He’d been pondering what to do about this terrible betrayal, and now, as sleep refused to come, he finally decided that the only punishment for Dorothy’s behavior was of the public kind. The very public kind. And as he devised his plan of revenge, he knew that this might not bring Alice back into his life, but at least he had to try.
Tomorrow he would set the events in motion that would set the record straight. It would be his most challenging role to date, and he would play it with relish.
“Shut that bird up! Shut him up!”
Alice wasn’t the only one who couldn’t find sleep. In one of the few hotel rooms at the Happy Bays Inn that were occupied, two figures sat staring, bleary-eyed and completely worn out, at the source of their troubles.
“Dumb-ass. Dumb-ass. Dumb-ass!” the sleek bird croaked.
“Maybe I can whack him?” Johnny suggested.
“No, you can’t whack him!” Jerry cried. “We need him alive, you moron.”
“Oh. Right.”
The two crooks stared at the brightly colored parrot, who sat perched on his stick inside his cage, hurling abuse at them.
