Above the Fold

by Rachel Scott McDaniel

  “I didn’t realize it would catch on like it did.” He adopted a pained look. “Honestly. I only mentioned it to a couple of people.”

  In Adam’s feeble defense, most of her classmates had already looked down upon her. The nickname had only sealed the case against her.

  “I’m sorry, Elissa.” Regret shone in his amber eyes. “I should’ve apologized years ago. You’re so different now than what you were then.”

  The ache in her heart stretched to her shaky fingertips. How could she put into words the effort she exerted every day to keep that clumsy little girl from showing up again? A retreat to the ladies’ room was vital. Her skin flushed hot, and tears threatened to swell. “I accept your apology, but I need time.”

  “I’ll wait.” A sadness crept over his expression. “As long as it takes.”

  Elissa spared a nod in his direction and then pivoted toward the doors. Four steps to the exit. She could hold it together that long. Jay Lewis bounded in, blocking her retreat. Her father’s press foreman reeked of cigarettes, a sure indication he’d spent the first part of the evening in the lounge.

  “Did you hear the latest?” His brown brows squished together. A scowl usually ornamented Jay’s face, but this moment, disbelief stretched across his sharp features. “The radio news bulletin?”

  “No. What happened?”

  “He’s dead.” Jay pulled a large hand over his face.

  Cole stepped beside Elissa, his commanding presence somehow comforting. “Who’s dead?”

  Jay blinked. “Why, Daniel Shelby.”

  “Mr. Shelby.” Cole’s breathy whisper iced her blood.

  She braved a glance at him. A muscle ticked in his jaw, but other than that—stoic.

  A small crowd gathered, and Jay filled them in with the tragic news. “There was an explosion at the Halloway Building. The whole thing went up in flames. Poor guy was inside.”

  Confusion settled between Cole’s brows. “That abandoned place on Bootlegger Alley?”

  “Yeah. They’re saying a still exploded.” Jay’s mouth pulled into a grim line. “That’s the third explosion in six months.”

  Elissa worried her bottom lip. Why had Mr. Shelby gone to the Halloway Building? Everyone knew Bootlegger Alley—Garson Street and its surrounding area—was rumrunner and drug lord territory. Surely, the respectable inventor hadn’t been caught up in crime. A chill slithered through her bones. “It’s awful. His poor family.”

  Cole held up a hand. “If the building was in flames, how’d they know Shelby was inside?”

  “The radio bulletin said the police got an anonymous tip.” Jay shrugged. “Someone claimed they saw Shelby enter the place. Plus, they found a fancy walking stick with his initials on it among the rubble. The firemen are still working to get the flames under control, I think.”

  Cole blinked, and the befuddled daze cradling his eyes sparked into confidence. As he shifted to face her, her hand unintentionally skimmed his forearm, but he caught her fingers in his. “We gotta do an extra.”

  She choked on her own breath. “Did you say ‘extra?’”

  His gaze latched on hers for an excruciating second, trapping her rebuttal in her chest. He squeezed her hand, withdrew his touch, and scanned the crowd. Most likely looking for an ally. “Yes. We need to do an extra. Let’s get your father.” He turned on his heel, but Elissa clutched his elbow.

  She expected the action to halt him, but the momentum jerked her forward.

  He stroked her knuckles with his thumb, surprisingly tender for such an uncomfortable situation. “Again with the death grip on my joints?”

  “Cole, we don’t do extras. Not anymore.” Surely, he knew this. Even if they pumped the article out in record time, it couldn’t compete with the expediency of radio. But then, Cole always had a soft spot in his heart for Mr. Shelby. Maybe he wanted to do a memorial for him. “I’m sorry. I remember how fond you were of him.” She slid her hand up his arm to rest on his shoulder.

  His dark eyes flashed with an intensity that knocked her heart four notches past racing. Elissa clamped her mouth closed before a tiny gasp could escape. She’d forgotten how powerful his stare could be and the weakening effect it had on her.

  “What’s going on?” Her father’s voice ripped into her thoughts, drawing her back to the present. “Lissie, you all right? Your cheeks are fiery red.”

  She dropped her hand from Cole’s shoulder and placed a palm to her cheek. “We just found out Daniel Shelby has been killed.”

  “Sir, I suggest you call in the crew for an extra.”

  Her father’s eyebrows spiked. “It’s risky. One where money could be lost if it turns out unsuccessful.” While his words agreed with Elissa’s, the twinkle in his aged blue eyes said otherwise. Father’s weakness for excitement mixed with Cole’s power of persuasion equaled a whole lot of trouble.

  She needed to intervene. “This will be considered old news. Nobody would buy a story they already know about.”

  Even Jay’s shoulders curled forward in disappointment. What was wrong with everyone? The Review had no excess funds to throw around. Zero. To support this crazy impulse, they’d need to call in a quarter of the newsroom staff and fire up the presses. Then there were production costs. Paper and ink. And what newsie would want to give up a Saturday night to stand on a street corner? Only to come back with bundles of unsold extras?

  A dull ache spread behind her eyes. No. Completely illogical. If the men needed a surge of something thrilling, they could go for rides on the massive dumbwaiter she’d spotted on the way in here. At least the men would be contained, and no money would be thrown away. “I’m just as competitive as any of you, but even I see the absurdity in this. There’s nothing to be covered that isn’t already broadcasting all over Pittsburgh.”

  “Something isn’t adding up.” Cole’s fingers flexed at his side, his flinty stare aimed at her. “He was murdered.”

  The chatter hushed, and all eyes fixed on him.

  The hair raised on her arms, sending a chill to her gloved fingertips. “It’s most likely an accident. Anything could’ve happened.”

  “Shelby was murdered,” he said, his deep rasp emphatic.

  Her father yanked out his pocket watch and frowned. “It’d be a close call if we did an extra. How do you know all this, son?”

  “A hunch.”

  “I can’t run presses on a hunch.”

  Elissa exhaled the breath trapped in her chest. Father was on her side. No extra. No money squandered. She’d have to keep an eye on Cole. His lofty ideas could be the driving stake in the Review’s for-sale sign. She wasn’t sure how they handled funds in New York, but around here—

  “What about facts?” Determination flickered in Cole’s eyes, his gaze slipping from Father to her. “How about an interview with one of the last people to see him alive?”

  Elissa shivered. “Who would that be?”

  “Me.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Cole fed Jane a crisp paper and poised his fingers over her keys. Elissa stood beside him, wringing her now gloveless hands, nervous energy rolling off her, misting him with doubt. What if this endeavor turned out a failure?

  When he’d confided in Tillman about those few moments on the street with Daniel Shelby, his boss approved the extra and assigned Elissa to be his copy editor. Cole’s chest had swelled at the thought of spending the next hour with her, crafting an out-of-the-ordinary editorial. But witnessing her lowered lashes and uneven breaths jabbed his confidence. How would he get her to trust him if he failed? He rolled his shoulders, but his fitted jacket restricted his movements. He screeched back his chair.

  Elissa jumped.

  “Didn’t mean to startle you.” He attempted to shrug out of his coat, smacking his elbow on the armrest. A twinge of pain shot to his fingers, and Elissa stooped beside him. Dainty fingers tugged his sleeve, and he worked with her to slip his left arm free. Same with the right.

  She relieved him of the jacket and
draped it over the back of her chair.

  “Thanks, Spark.” He winked, but she scrutinized the floor as if counting the scores on the boards. She hadn’t allowed him to call her Spark once since he’d returned. Where was his little spitfire? This wasn’t working. He stood, the movement snapping Elissa’s stare to his. “I think we need to pray first.”

  Her lips parted.

  Cole swooped her hands into his before she could pull away. Head bowed, he prayed for God’s help in writing with clarity and precision and also for His comfort to surround the Shelby family.

  “Amen,” Elissa whispered.

  He squeezed her hands and released them. Her lashes lifted, a fringy veil drawn open to reveal the treasure of her gaze. If only he could memorize the placement of every lucid speck of gray amongst the blue depths in her eyes, but she turned and plucked a pencil from her desk drawer.

  He flashed a smile. “Let’s give Pittsburgh something to chatter about tonight.”

  A genuine look of hope swept across her face. He’d write a lifetime of articles if that’s what it took to soften Elissa Tillman. Earlier, when she’d dismissed him on the dance floor, her spine had been stiff as if forged with iron, her mannerisms impeccably controlled. During their interactions over the past week, nothing had been out of place, from her sculpted hair to the straight-seamed stockings. Nothing to find fault with. She stood, sat, walked as primly as an etiquette handbook.

  But just now, he’d glimpsed emotion behind the façade, an authenticity that bolstered his heart. He couldn’t determine if her behavior had been a strange case of vanity or something deeper, but whatever it was, he’d uncover it.

  But first, the extra.

  The next fifteen minutes flew by in organized chaos, pulsing vigor through Elissa’s veins. Cole would type a paragraph, and Elissa would pull the page to edit. He’d roll in another sheet, and the process would begin again. An intriguing fluidity until Elissa read the last paragraph Cole had added to the final draft.

  “It’s time to meet them at their headquarters,” Shelby had said. “One shrewd business deal deserves another.” These words were spoken an hour before his death. Who was Shelby meeting? Was the headquarters in the abandoned Halloway Building? If not, why had Shelby gone there? The truth behind this story has yet to be discovered.

  Her gut tightened. The paper shook in her trembling hand. No. She couldn’t allow this.

  Cole’s fanatical typing paused. “What’s wrong?” His eyes searched her face, the intense study causing all her nerves to gather in her chest.

  “We can’t print this.” She choked the words out, realizing more than her hand shook. Her entire frame shivered. Even the pencil stuffed behind her ear wobbled.

  His brow wrinkled. “Of course, we can.”

  “No, we can’t.” Alarm encroached her being, making the rise and fall of her chest as visible as the rhinestones dotting her neckline. Cole knowing Shelby had a meeting scheduled that close to his time of death was a vital piece of information. What if Cole was correct in his assumptions? What if the people Shelby met had killed him? “This needs to go to the police.”

  “And what, have the radio bulletin spill this news instead of the Review?” Cole scooted back his chair and stretched out his legs like a cat waking up from a nap. So casual. The fool. “You know full well the cops turn a blind eye to Bootlegger Alley. Saying a still exploded? I bet they hardly investigated it.”

  “Then take it to your cousin. He’s on the level.”

  “Sure.” He returned his gaze to the typewriter. “After we print it.”

  She slapped the paper onto his desk, ignoring the mild sting to her palm. “Don’t you see? You’re putting yourself in danger. If Mr. Shelby was murdered, the killer is still on the loose. And if they think you might know more, they might try to …” Emotion squeezed her throat. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she willed her composure to steady. She tried hard, so very hard, but the tears collecting in her eyes exposed her pretense of insensitivity. She sucked in a quick breath and turned from him and his penetrating gaze.

  A chair screeched. She flinched. No doubt he stood, a droll smirk smothering his countenance. She couldn’t face him. He’d tease her. Ridicule her because she’d admitted he might be right about it being foul play. Laugh at her sorry show of emotion. Elissa took two steps toward her desk, increasing the distance between them.

  Maybe she should speak. At least give the appearance of strength. She ran a hand over her gown, smoothing invisible wrinkles, and lifted her chin. “I won’t concede my opinion.” The words came out bossy, but even that was better than weak. “Are you careless with your life, Cole Parker?”

  He cleared his throat, his warm breath caressing her neck.

  Cole was closer than she’d thought. Like reach-behind-her-and-touch-him close. Why hadn’t she heard his footfalls? Sliding her eyes shut, she took precious seconds to prepare for a good dose of ribbing. That was Cole’s way—making light of everything.

  “Elissa.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, and at once she wished the strap of her gown was thicker than a spaghetti noodle.

  His warm touch sent shivers down the length of her arm to her fingertips. With a gentleness she never knew he possessed, he nudged her to face him. She complied because resisting his tender prodding would only validate any suspicions he might have regarding her crumbling veneer. But one sniffle, and she was sunk.

  His onyx eyes sheened with compassion, causing her own to widen.

  She worked her bottom lip, willing her pulse to steady. “I don’t think—”

  His hand slid down her arm and grasped her fingers. He flattened her hand on his chest. “Feel that?”

  His tuxedo jacket remained draped over the chair, his stark white shirt the only barrier between her palm and his skin.

  “Can you feel that, Elissa?”

  How could she not? His heart pounded with fervor and rapidity, making her own rival its pace. “Yes.” She should withdraw her hand. This interaction was too intimate for a couple of journalists in a newsroom, but she couldn’t move. His eyes begged for her to understand. What, she didn’t know, but as a courtesy to an old friend—not the lover who’d jilted her, but to the friend who’d once defended her name—maybe she should try. “What about it, Cole?”

  “This heart almost stopped beating four months ago. I was reckless with my life. It was my own doing.” His gaze dipped for an excruciating second, then fastened onto hers. “When I felt myself dying, I told God if he’d revive me, not just my heart, but me—the person I want to be—then I’d surrender to Him.” He tugged her hand away from his chest and cradled it within his own. “He gave me a second chance to get things right.”

  Why did she get the feeling she was included in this somehow? She bit the inside of her cheek, dizziness swirling her mind. What almost killed him? Was that the reason he wasn’t at the Dispatch anymore?

  The door burst open, and Elissa yanked her hand from Cole’s.

  Jay Lewis appeared, eyes shining like a little boy’s on Christmas. “Got that article for me yet?”

  Elissa’s gaze darted to Cole’s desk and the semi-crinkled extra.

  Before she could scramble to tear the blamed paper into bits, Cole swept it up and pushed it into Jay’s hand. He clapped the press foreman on the shoulder with a crooked grin and arrogant lifting of his chin. So different from the tender way he’d interacted with her only a moment ago. “I’ll walk with you downstairs. You can skim over it and ask me any questions.”

  Elissa took a hasty step forward but stopped when Cole glanced back.

  He mouthed a quiet plea. “Trust me.”

  Heat pulsed through her. How could he say that? Yes, something had shifted between them over the past hour, but for him to request her trust? No. Too far. She narrowed her eyes, and he chuckled. Their tangible, heady moment vanished. Cole returned to his nonchalant ways, and she acquired a giant headache.

  Alone, she busied herself with cleaning out s
ome folders and tidying her desk. She caught her reflection in the tiny mirror beside her pencil sharpener. The smooth up-do she’d styled this afternoon now frizzed, several wisps of hair escaping the pins. Black makeup smudged the skin beneath her lashes. A sigh escaped. She’d fussed and fussed, attempting to be pristine for this evening, but failed to preserve the perfection that exhausted her both mentally and physically.

  The lilies Adam had gifted captured her jealousy. With the pad of her thumb, she stroked a veined petal. “Such effortless beauty.”

  “I disagree.” Cole stood in the doorway, his shirtsleeves pushed past his elbows, his hair mussed like he’d fought the wind rather than assisted Jay with the press. Not fair. Dishevelment increased his attractiveness when it lessened hers. He strode across the room and joined her in admiring the delicate arrangement.

  “Nothing about this is effortless. It had to break before it could grow.” He stood so near his arm brushed hers. “Stretch beyond the shell and wrestle with dark surroundings. Yet … it persisted”—his gaze locked with hers—“and found the light.”

  Her heart threatened to wilt. Could he read her struggle? See any improvement from five years ago? Or did he view her as she did—the gangly girl who had to concentrate when she walked because of being pigeon-toed, who approached simple tasks with a prayer for precision because of incessant clumsiness?

  She swallowed a groan. This hadn’t been her night. Cole had witnessed her iron façade weaken to mushy clay, and her mind become as jumbled as her appearance.

  “Seems to me, Spark, you can’t value the beauty until you understand the journey.”

  She coughed out a feeble laugh. “Since when did you become a philosopher?”

  With his flawed knuckle, he pushed a wayward lock of hair behind her ear, the smile lining his face treacherously soothing. “The moment I became broken.”