I never did find anything story worthy from the crime angle to launch an investigation into Counts, but I knew Garcia covered him extensively. Counts’s cryptocurrency exchange seemed to rise out of oblivion, along with his coins which were currently ranked in the top twenty. It meant nothing to me, and I wondered if that was the problem.
I reeled my hands away from the keyboard and fell back into my chair, thinking maybe that was the reason someone had dug up Donny’s folder. I didn’t have any dirt on him, and he certainly wasn’t on my radar with all that I had going with the Thompson story, but maybe it was worth revisiting.
Suddenly, I was dizzy with thoughts that Thompson’s story was only the beginning.
It was time I talked to Dawson.
Closing out my computer, I made sure to lock the screen before leaving. Gathering my important files and drives, I turned and exited my cubbyhole only to immediately collide into the breastplate of a white t-shirt being worn by a man who was peering down on me.
Bouncing back, I regained my balance and flicked my gaze up into his indifferent eyes, apologizing for not watching where I was going. He shrugged like it was no big deal, sidestepping around me. I watched him enter my workspace as if it was his own.
My brows knitted with a twist of confusion as I studied his face.
I didn’t recognize him and it wasn’t like we had a lot of new faces around with the way journalists and staff members were being asked to exit their careers faster than leaves falling from trees. But that didn’t mean he didn’t belong, either. He certainly looked like he did, I thought as he turned his head and stared.
He had the confident gaze of youth, taking what he wanted without asking, and lowered himself down into my chair as if wanting to rub salt into my damaged ego. I watched him swivel around and reach for a pen. He jotted something down that I couldn’t read, and then he did something I couldn’t believe. He logged into my computer, by passing the protected password with extraordinary ease.
“Whoa. Wait a second.” I leaped forward and put my hands on my keyboard. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He’d already logged himself on. It happened so fast, I could barely keep up.
“Working,” he casually said as he stared back.
“No. Not here, you’re not.”
He didn’t seem too concerned, leaned back, dropped one set of slender fingers into his lap, and wrapped his lips around the bright red straw sticking out of his soda and slurped his drink while looking at me like I had interrupted him.
“This is my computer and you’re trespassing.”
“I’m nearly finished.” He twisted around and set his soda back on the desktop.
“Finished?” My eyes bounced between him and my computer. “Finished with what?”
“Installing a new security update.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
“I’ll handle it from here,” I said. “Now, please leave. There are important files on that computer that aren’t meant to be shared.”
“Samantha.” I heard Travis Turner from IT call my name from behind. “Everything all right?”
“No. Everything is not all right. Do you know this man?”
“Brett Gallagher.” Travis stopped outside my office and stood with his hands rooted into his sides. “My summer intern.”
“You let an intern on my computer? Travis,” I gave him my best angry look, “he had a secret folder opened.”
“I’m just updating the software like you asked,” Brett said to Travis.
I snapped my neck and bore my eyes into the bridge of Brett’s large nose. “A folder was opened, and you know as well as I that you opened it.”
“I’m sure it was nothing, Samantha,” Travis said, hoping to ease my worries. “We’ve detected malware and believe our private data may have been breached.”
“By who?” I asked.
“Can’t say for sure, we’re still looking into it ourselves, but in the meantime we’re going around the building and looking for vulnerabilities.”
“When did this happen?”
“Again, tough to say, but one thing is certain, our entire system is dated and I’m not convinced that we have the resources to bring it up to where I believe it should be.”
It was a real drag to hear Travis discuss the dilapidated tools we all relied on daily to get our work done as efficiently as possible, but no wonder we were attacked. At least I wasn’t making this up. I knew it all too well. It was a living nightmare. There had been so much change around the newsroom in the last year I couldn’t make what was heads from tails.
We all turned to face my computer when it chimed.
“There. All finished,” Brett said. “Make sure to do the software updates when the notifications arise.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“It’s the least you can do to protect yourself from hackers.” Brett stood and skirted past me, heading to the cubbyhole next to mine. “And don’t click on everything for fear of missing out. That’s when real trouble begins.”
I turned to Travis. “Is he serious?”
Travis pointed to my laptop. “Got good security on that thing?”
I knew I did because of Allison. “The best,” I said.
“I’ll take a look at it if you want,” Brett called out.
Travis grinned and shrugged.
“Not a chance,” I said. “And I’ll be changing my password as soon as you two are gone.”
Chapter Fourteen
I marched straight to Dawson’s office to ask him what the hell was going on only to find him stuck in a meeting. Circling the fishbowl like a vulture with hopes of drawing him out, Dawson knew he had no choice but to excuse himself and come talk to me.
“Sam, what is it?” he asked in a hushed tone, stepping away from the dozens of eyes watching from behind the window glass.
“You know Travis Turner has a new summer intern?” I felt the fire in my belly still raging hot.
“Yes, Brett.” Dawson placed his hand in the center of my back and nudged me into his office where he shut the door. “Did something happen?”
I kept pacing in tiny circles. “They were on my computer going through secret files without my permission.”
Dawson told me about the attempted hack and how they were still trying to learn if it was successful and if anything was taken.
“I heard all about it,” I said. “Received the same lecture from the Skinny Tree Brett Gallagher.” I stopped shuffling my feet and turned to face Dawson. “Is that what your meeting was about?”
“It was part of today’s docket.” Dawson leaned back in his high-back chair with one hand up close to his mouth. “Don’t take it personally, everyone is having their software checked.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear me when I said they were poking around in files they shouldn’t have been looking in.”
“I heard you,” Dawson said. “It’s a serious security breach we’re dealing with here, Sam. This place if full of great reporters, but even those great journalists aren’t so great at keeping their software up to date.”
“Are the police involved?”
“Not yet, but I wouldn’t rule it out.” Dawson held my eyes. “Travis is certain that it was the reason your Thompson file didn’t properly sync last night.”
“What else did he say?”
Dawson shook his head. “That he’s investigating.” A pause in our conversation brought quiet to the office. “You never did say what you found last night when visiting the Thompson residence.”
“You promised me the front page.”
“I’m sorry, Sam, but I wasn’t convinced you were even going to want to run the story.”
I folded my arms and stared through the glass into the newsroom. “Have you talked to Garcia today?”
“He’ll be in shortly.” Dawson leaned forward and brought his elbows to his desk. “It wasn’t his decision. Don’t take it per
sonally.”
“It’s not that.”
Dawson lifted a brow.
“Intern Brett had Donny Counts’s folder opened.” Dawson looked confused so I explained who Donny Counts was, the reasons for my concern, and my need to ask Garcia about it.
“Ah, I see,” he said. “Look, Sam, don’t beat yourself up. Your piece on Thompson is some of the best work I’ve seen from you.”
“But it doesn’t make me feel any better about kicking the man after he died.”
“That’s not what you’re doing.”
I gave Dawson an arched look. “Matt Bales was one of the fireman called to Thompson’s house last night. Remember him?”
“From the tanker truck inauguration?”
I nodded and relayed the message Matt shared with Erin and me. “Thompson was awake, Dawson. He had all the security in place to warn him of the silent danger slowly killing him. Yet he still died. Now tell me, why didn’t he open the door and just leave before it was too late?”
Dawson’s half-mast eyes stared from beneath a heavy brow. “What are the police saying?”
“Not much. But I know his death is being ruled an accident.”
“You’ve got to let this go, Sam. It isn’t your fault that he died.”
“Maybe not, but there is something I didn’t tell you.”
Dawson’s head floated up when he perked an ear.
Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled the folded piece of paper I’d kept from the email that was sent to me and showed Dawson the threat I received the night before Thompson died.
Dawson pinched the paper with both his hands and read the text. “Thompson sent this to you?”
“I don’t know who did, but I assumed it was him.”
“Have you received anything else like this recently?”
I shook my head no. Dawson scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed heavily as he pushed the small rectangular paper back to me. “I’d like to think that Thompson sent it, but what has me worried is that maybe he didn’t.”
Dawson’s brow pinched with concern. He understood what I was saying, and the outlook wasn’t pretty. “Any way you can find out?”
“Only if I can get myself into Richard Thompson’s house.”
Dawson gripped his desk and pushed his shoulder back into the chair. Raising his brows, he said, “Then I suggest you hurry before the window of opportunity closes.”
Chapter Fifteen
Donny Counts was outside lounging by his pool, basking in the sun and thinking about Josh Stetson when he received a text message from an unknown number.
You can’t ignore me forever. We can do this now, or I’m taking it public. Your choice.
Donny squeezed his phone inside the palm of his hand, willing it to break. The ride he had been on this last year was coming to a close. He could feel it. It was a similar feeling to when Stetson went down for running his SIM swapping scam. The walls were closing in and everyone around Donny seemed to be wanting a piece of the pie. Donny didn’t know how many more slices he was willing to give up just to keep them quiet. Even those closest to him he eyed with suspicion, unsure anymore who he could trust.
Closing his eyes, his arm fell lazily over the lawn chair. He uncurled his fist and heard his phone drop to the hot concrete below. Soaking up as much sunshine as possible, he knew he needed to act quickly. There were too many questions being asked, too much speculation into how he managed to grow his company as quickly as he had—and get his early investors’ money back in record time. Then there was the man who followed him out the doors after his speech at Denver University yesterday.
Donny rubbed his face and felt his puffy eyes sag. He dove his hand inside his shorts pocket and retrieved a circular white pill of OxyContin. Popping it into his mouth, he felt better almost instantly. But the memory of the look on the stranger’s face told Donny everything he needed to know, and it was a problem that needed to be dealt with. Donny didn’t know how much he was willing to give to make it go away.
Suddenly, Donny heard the glass doors to his patio open and slam shut. He rolled his head to the side and found his girlfriend, Rose Wild, hurrying over to where he was relaxing. Her silky white robe flared behind her like a cape and she had a look that Donny knew well. Pushing himself up on his elbows, he prepared for the collision heading his way.
“Rose, baby, what’s going on?” he asked.
“This.” She shoved her cell phone into his face. “This is what’s fucking going on.”
Donny gripped the phone with one hand and pushed his sunglasses to the roof of his head with the other. He squinted at the small screen, asking, “What the hell is this?”
“Dead, Donny, dead,” Rose growled.
Donny scrolled through the news about Richard Thompson—his death and the charity fraud scheme the Colorado Times had uncovered. It was the first Donny had heard about it. Remaining calm, he said, “We barely knew him.”
“That’s not my point, Donny.” Rose swiped her hand through the air and stole her phone back. “My point is, how is what you’re doing any different than what this guy did?”
“Chill, baby.” Donny clamped his hand around her small wrist. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
“Don’t tell me how to feel,” she spat.
Donny pulled her into his lap. Cupping her ass with one hand and cradling her with the other, he peppered kisses down her bare arm until he felt her body melt into his. “He died of CO poisoning. You’re thinking too much into this.”
Rose flicked her angered gaze over to him. “And you expect me to believe that?”
Donny gazed up into her gorgeous eyes full of flames. Running his fingers up her thigh, he murmured, “I love it when you’re on fire.”
She slapped his hand away and squeezed her thighs together. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.” She turned and cast her eyes to the depths of the pool. “Our time is running out,” she whispered.
“It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be,” Donny said. But even he knew it was a lie. Rose was right. Donny felt the end coming, too.
“The reporter keeps calling,” she said. “I don’t know what else to say to get them to stop.”
“Stop answering.”
“I can’t. Not if you want to pick and choose which reporters are friends and which are enemies.”
“That’s how this works. It’s the game we’ve been playing since the beginning.” Donny swept his hand from the house to the pool. “Look how well it’s working.”
“This reporter is different.” Donny could hear the concern in Rose’s voice. “I know they know, but I don’t know how much they know or who else they’ve told.”
“Did you write down their name?” Donny asked, even though he already knew the reporter’s name.
Rose turned to face Donny, shoving her fingers through his hair. “On the kitchen counter next to the phone. But what are you doing to say? And how long will this go on?”
Donny hooked her chin and gazed into her eyes. They were living in an era where the fall was enjoyed more by the public than the rise to the top. It scared the hell out of him, but he would never admit it to Rose. He’d risked everything knowing the consequence of getting caught. Yet the promise of easy riches was too good to pass up, even if he believed he might have pushed the limits a little too far.
Rose pressed her hand against his chest and slid her palm down his washboard abs before stopping on his insulin pump attached to his side. “Promise me you know what you’re doing.”
Donny smiled and kissed her. “I’ll take care of the reporter. You have nothing to worry about.”
Chapter Sixteen
Detective Alex King opened his car door from the driver’s side and had one foot on the ground when he heard Alvarez grumble again about this visit to the coroner’s office being a complete waste of their time.
“Would you prefer we just go to Thompson’s residence and take a look around ourselves?” King looked his partner in the eye and
asked.
Alvarez showed King his empty palms. “All I’m wondering is why you can’t accept the fact that the man died of CO poisoning.”
King stared at his partner. Counting off on five fingers, he listed reasons that kept him suspicious. When he was finished, he asked, “Should I go on?”
“I get it.” Alvarez exited the car and rounded the back, meeting up with King on the other side. Together, they entered the coroner’s office still discussing King’s reasons why they were here. “I just don’t understand why a rich man’s death should take precedence over the dozen other cases we’re working.”
King slowed his step. “I want to know why his detectors didn’t go off, and why he didn’t just leave when he could have.”
“Or maybe there is something you know that I don’t.”
King glared and kept walking. He pulled the door open, checked himself in at the front, and made his way to the back, Alvarez grudgingly trailing him. The coroner’s office was quieter than most days of the week but they found medical examiner, Leslie Griffin, in her lab coat and busy working.
“Why am I not surprised to see you two here on a Sunday?” Leslie greeted King and Alvarez with a warm smile.
“We can’t let you work alone.” Alvarez had his hands hiding in his pants pockets as he rocked on his heels at the table.
“What can I help you with today?” she asked.
“We’re hoping to hear your analysis on Richard Thompson.” The scent of formaldehyde and other chemicals hung in the air that went straight to King’s head.
Leslie’s eyes moved behind protective glasses. “Victim of carbon monoxide.” She paused to look at them both. “Unless you have reason for me to take a second look?”
“No, no, no.” Alvarez lifted a hand and shook his head. “I trust your conclusion, my partner, on the other hand, can’t seem to accept the result, thinking the victim should have simply walked out of the house before succumbing to the poisonous gas.”
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