I had a dozen different ways of how I might not get out, but my house was much smaller, with dated locks and latches than what I assumed his sprawling mansion had and I just didn’t see it ever happening to me.
Dropping my heels to the floor, I set my wine glass on the coffee table and moved through the house, checking my own smoke and CO detectors to make sure the batteries weren’t dead. It had been nearly a year since I even thought of checking them. They all beeped loud and were in prime condition—just like what Matt said Thompson had himself.
Thompson’s detectors must have gone off, I thought as I joined Cooper back on the couch. Smart home systems also came with outside support networks that called and relayed information directly to the client’s cell phone. So what happened and where did the line of defense fail? I scratched Cooper’s ears as the thoughts tumbled over, bouncing around inside my head until I heard a soft knock on my front door.
Cooper’s wagging tail told me who it was. A second later, King stepped inside and I padded lightly across the floor, meeting him by the door, and greeted him with a kiss. His lips were firm and soft and had a cool minty taste that tingled my tongue.
King’s fingers tightened their grip on my hips as he released a deep, guttural groan.
Hanging onto his neck, I dropped my heels to the floor and met his gaze. He looked like he’d had a day. “I opened a bottle of wine, would you like a glass?” I asked.
He said, “I’d love one.”
I disappeared into the kitchen—feeling his gaze linger the entire way—and collected a glass from the cabinet, deciding to bring the bottle out to the couch with me. King was already leaned back with his arms spread across the back. His feet were stretched out in front of him and crossed on top of the coffee table.
King sipped his wine, and when he set it next to mine on the table I crawled up his body and planted another sensual kiss on him. He held me in his arms, stroked my back, and played with my hair as I asked him about his day.
“There was another gang-related murder in Five Points,” he whispered into the ceiling.
With the warmer weather always came more shootings and crimes. King told me more about his work and, after a brief moment of silence, I asked, “Did you hear about Richard Thompson?”
King had heard bits and pieces as the news developed. “What’s it mean for your story?”
I thought about how Thompson’s death should have lifted the weight I’d been carrying for so long, but instead, it only seemed to add a couple more pounds. “Dawson’s having me decide if we should delay running it or just get it out as planned.”
“And what did you decide?” King’s deep voice cracked with exhaustion.
“I haven’t,” I said, wanting to discuss the many questions I couldn’t make sense of.
King listened as I shared both my concerns and theories. Then he said, “All I know is that everyone was saying it was carbon monoxide that killed him.”
I rolled off his hard chest and reached for my wine glass. Hearing the cause of death again didn’t sit well with me. It was too easy—too convenient. King must have felt the tension between my shoulders because it didn’t take him long to ask what was eating me up. “I don’t know. I guess it’s just the timing of it all.”
King’s touch was soft as he tucked a thick strand of hair behind my ear. “Does Thompson being dead change what he did? Absolve him of his sins?”
I held his gaze and quickly got lost in it. “Not at all.”
“Then do right by his victims and publish the story.”
Chapter Eight
Loxley sat near the window with one leg crossed over the other, feeling the morning sunshine warm his back. He was well rested, somewhat surprised by how well he had slept considering the big day he had yesterday. There was no night terror or regret making him doubt his decision to kill Richard Thompson. His mind was only filled with rainbows and butterflies, both of which were mixed with plenty of warm sunshine. It was perfect—he was perfect—and it could only get better from here.
His foot swung like a cradle as he sipped his cappuccino and scrolled through his iPhone. Loxley stopped on his cryptocurrency exchange app, opened it up, and paused when seeing today’s valuation of CountsCoins.
“Unbelievable,” he whispered. “And certainly too good to be true.”
Loxley kept reading, scrolling up and down, navigating to the history of CountsCoins’ rise to fame. The digital currency was performing extremely well, considering less than a year ago it was floating in obscurity. But now, thanks in part to a well-orchestrated social media campaign endorsing the digital coins as the next big thing, CountsCoins ranked in the top 20 of all digital currencies currently being traded on the open digital exchange market.
Loxley swept his gaze to the left and stared out the window, lost in thought.
After making a brief appearance to listen to the founder of CountsCoins, Donny Counts, speak yesterday, Loxley spent his night learning more about the man who seemed to have it all. He had lots to catch up on, but, like Thompson, Loxley had begun his research on his subject far in advance to showing his face yesterday at Denver University.
Donny was the driving force behind the exchange’s quick rise. Mixed with the fear of missing out and the current cryptocurrency bull market, everyone was suddenly interested in blockchain technologies with hopes of striking it rich. Donny recognized the opportunity early and knew it was the perfect time to orchestrate the con of a lifetime.
Loxley turned his gaze to his phone and stared at the data, feeling the surge of fire ignite inside of him. It was the same feeling he had when he decided Thompson needed to go, and this was no different. The same fire in his belly perked him up and made him anxious to figure out his next plan of attack. Loxley was confident in his assumption that Donny Counts was taking his investors for a ride, and Loxley needed to do something about it before more unassuming victims’ life savings were stolen for the benefit of Donny’s insatiable greed.
Without giving himself away, he closed out his phone and rolled his gaze lazily across the room, suddenly finding himself staring at today’s front page headlines.
A charitable hero who died too early, were the words that caught Loxley’s attention below the headline, Investor and Philanthropist, Richard Thompson, Dead at 62.
Even from across the café, Loxley could read the deceit of the man he knew Richard Thompson to be. The only good coming from the article was that they were still calling his death accidental.
Feeling betrayed by the Colorado Times and the reporters who worked at the failing paper, a mixed bag of emotions filled Loxley’s insides with disgust. He’d have to figure a way to control the narrative of his next victim, he thought as the woman reading the headline news turned the page.
Loxley picked up his head and he felt the corners of his lips curl as the Times redeemed itself—or rather, Samantha Bell did. Her story called Thompson what he was— a fraud, a grifter who stole for personal gain—and nothing made Loxley happier than to know that he and Samantha Bell shared the same understanding. He knew she was the one, and together they could do great things.
“Samantha, my dear, I knew you would come through,” he said to himself, smiling at the thought of getting away with murder. He wrapped his lips around the rim of his coffee mug and felt his sense of purpose only grow larger.
Loxley never thought it could be this easy—or this enjoyable—to sit freely amongst his peers, the same people he took up arms for and swore to protect, without them suspecting he was their Batman vigilante protecting them from the rise of evil that surrounded them all.
With Thompson out of the picture, he wondered if Samantha also knew about the crimes Donny Counts was committing. He was certain she did. Samantha was as smart as he was—certainly cleverer—but Loxley amused himself in thinking that he would be the one to tell her.
The woman reading the paper caught him staring and scowled. It was an ugly frown and a glare that would push most men away
. But not Loxley. Instead, he gave his best smile and even tossed in a friendly wave. She didn’t bother reciprocating, only raised her paper higher to keep her face from being seen.
Loxley grinned.
If only she knew he wasn’t after her, but had his mind set on one woman in particular—a beautiful woman that filled his dreams with flowers—then maybe she would realize he was only wanting to learn today’s news.
The front door jangled as it opened.
Loxley shifted his attention to the front. A well-dressed career woman stepped through the threshold sweeping in the morning sunshine with her. Loxley watched as her eyes traveled to the menu above the counter. He took her in and watched the woman who was just reading the paper pass in front of his field of vision on her way out the door. He turned to where she was sitting and, to his delight, found the Times waiting for him to take.
“What a nice thing for you to do,” he said, retrieving it. With Thompson gone, the world was already a better place, he thought. I can only imagine what a great place it will be once Donny Counts is gone, too.
Chapter Nine
Dr. Benjamin Firestone retrieved his luggage from the back of Susan Young’s car. Placing it near the curb, he turned and faced his girlfriend of less than a year. “Goodbyes are always the hardest,” he said, hooking her chin with his finger and bringing her gaze to meet up with his.
Susan stared up into his chocolatey eyes, cursing herself for feeling so selfish for not wanting him to go. He’d spent the night with her, consoling her as she came to grips with the sudden death of one of her clients, and then the evening inevitably turned into something more.
Their night was filled with passionate intimacy that they had cherished since the inception of their rather short relationship. Yet, to Susan, it still didn’t feel like it was nearly enough.
“This isn’t goodbye,” she murmured. “You’ll come home.”
Benjamin responded with only a gentle kiss. His lack of words didn’t make her feel any better about the situation, but she melted into his kiss, curling her toes deep into the soles of her heels as she felt the electric buzz shoot pleasant waves of heat up her spine.
Taking her by the hips, Benjamin pulled her body into his. Susan wrapped her arms around his tight waist and let her head come to rest over his heart. She listened to it beat, ignoring the hustle of other passengers getting dropped on the curb around them.
Benjamin held on to her, saying, “It’s only for two nights.”
“And I’ll miss you every second that you’re gone.”
Benjamin pulled back. “I’ll call you as soon as I land.”
Susan nodded, hugged, and kissed him one last time before letting him go. It was a kiss designed to make him remember who was waiting for him back in Denver; a kiss to tell him how much he meant to her.
Benjamin stepped away, took the luggage handle with his right hand, and blew one last kiss with his left before heading inside. Susan watched him enter the terminal, pushing down the immediate feelings of loneliness as something inside her told her that this was it. She was certain Benjamin would take the job at Dartmouth. She could still hear the sound of excitement fill his voice the day the recruiter called asking him to come to New Hampshire for a visit.
Sliding behind the wheel of her car, she was already late for work. Punching the gas, Susan sped west trying not to worry about the future. It was out of her control what Benjamin decided—or if he would even be offered a position at the teaching hospital he seemed so eager to get.
Tightening her grip on the wheel, Susan found herself doubting she was more important to Benjamin than his career. Again, it was a selfish thought, but one Susan couldn’t stop thinking. She tried to put herself in his shoes, reversing the role, and asking herself if she would sacrifice her career for him. She wasn’t so sure she could. Not after working so hard to achieve all she had.
They hadn’t been together long, but what they shared had been incredible as they seemed to be a perfect fit for each other—both driven and married to their careers—it was a match made in heaven. Susan had initially thought.
Approaching the Colorado Boulevard exit, Susan put a call in to her employee, Carly McKenzie, to say she was running late. Carly assured Susan she had things handled at the office, so Susan pulled off and swung into a nearby coffee shop wanting to bring Carly and the rest of her staff breakfast.
As soon as Susan stepped inside, she heard her name being called.
“Susan, over here.” Susan smiled at her friend Maggie Brissay. “What are you doing this side of town?” Maggie asked.
“I was just dropping a friend off at the airport.” Susan hugged her friend.
“Hey, I’m sorry about Richard Thompson.” Maggie released Susan and took one step back. “He was a client of yours, if I recall.”
Susan nodded. “Thanks. It’s sad. Richard did lots of good for our community.”
Maggie gave her a funny look. “I guess you didn’t see?”
This time it was Susan who had the puzzled look. She titled her head to the side, drawing her eyebrows together, at the same time wondering what it was her old friend was referring to.
“Your reporter friend, Samantha Bell,” Maggie raised her sharp eyebrows high on her head, “wrote a very eye-opening piece on Richard Thompson in today’s paper.”
“She did?” Susan sounded surprised.
Maggie blinked and angled her head to the opposite side. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”
“No. I wasn’t aware.” Susan spoke with a light touch.
“It’s sad indeed,” Maggie looked down and to the left, “but the universe has a way of balancing out the world, I suppose.” She swept her eyes back to Susan’s. “Perhaps it’s for the best.”
Susan felt like the room was spinning around her, too afraid to ask what Samantha had written and why she hadn’t bothered mentioning it at all to Susan.
Maggie gathered her purse, slung it over her shoulder, and turned to the exit. “It was really good seeing you,” she said before leaving. “We should plan it next time.”
Susan agreed and watched her friend leave when suddenly today’s paper was being handed to her. She glanced to the paper that seemed to have come from nowhere and then up to the man holding it out for her to take.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation and thought maybe you’d like to read it yourself.”
Susan didn’t know what to say to the man whose smile beamed back with a familiar radiant glow.
“Go on. Take it.”
Susan forced a smile and muttered, “Thank you.” He smiled, held her eyes for a second longer than what was needed, but something about him made Susan feel comfortable, like she might have met him before. “I’m sorry, is there something else I can help you with?” she asked.
His eyes glimmered like he had something important to say. Then, to her surprise, the stranger said, “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”
Chapter Ten
Morning couldn’t come quick enough. I was out the door and heading to the newsroom early Sunday morning with the intent of putting my doubts about Thompson to rest.
All last night, sleep escaped me. Thompson haunted my thoughts unlike any other story I’d worked before. King left just before midnight, not long after Mason arrived home from the movies. I still hadn’t made the commitment to him sharing a bed with me when my son was home. King understood my hesitation, and I liked that he was patient with my decision. I couldn’t have it any other way. I wanted to be a healthy example of what a relationship should look like to my son, even if I knew Mason already understood what was happening when he was gone.
Finally, I had enough tossing and turning and decided to take Cooper for a run. We hit the streets before 6AM and kept at it for a solid hour. The run did little to ease my anxieties and I still doubted my decision to go through with publishing Thompson’s story in today’s paper, even after King told me it was the right thing to do. But I had to tru
st that my reporting would speak for itself—just like Erin said it would. By 8 o’clock I was entering the newsroom with the intention of avoiding today’s paper at all cost.
Phones rang and keyboards clacked, and it didn’t matter that today was Sunday. The newsroom activities were the same as any other day. Nearly everyone was putting in more and more hours just to keep up, proving their worth and dedication to our loyal readership, but mostly to the new faceless owners who recently purchased the rights to our paper and whom we all assumed cared nothing about the current state of journalism or its future.
I swung by Joey Garcia’s desk on my way to my own with hopes he would know better than me who might benefit from Thompson’s death. I was after closure and, if I could have this one question answered for me, then maybe I could accept the medical examiner’s ruling that Thompson’s death was in fact an accident. Until then, I wasn’t sure I could let this one go.
I took a pen from the jar and scribbled down a quick note asking Garcia to call me as soon as he was in, and stuck it on the side of his computer monitor with hopes of him not missing it. His desk was mostly clean and a quick assessment gave me nothing about what stories he was currently working, but Garcia had covered Thompson before and attended more of the same social and political gatherings than anyone else I knew. If anyone might know Thompson better than me, it was definitely him.
Trisha Christopher caught sight of me as soon as I exited Garcia’s pod and I kept walking as she hustled between the work desks, telling me to wait up. I shortened my stride and could only imagine what this could be about. Trisha was the source of all bad news and was the one person everyone in the office sought when needing to catch up on gossip that mostly involved office politics, which I cared little about.
“No. I don’t want it,” I said, stiff-arming my hand in her direction and brushing past her when catching sight of the paper she was holding out for me to take.
Bell to Pay Page 3
