you for so candidly sharing your traumatic confrontation. I suspect you could use a little R & R right now.” A sympathetic smile crossed his face.
“That’s right, Vince. I plan to spend a quiet evening with friends, but I won’t rest easy until Damon Lange is in custody.”
“Understandable, Hallie.” He turned his face toward the camera. “This is Vince Graham of WDJN News reporting live from the scene of the crime.”
The red light flashed on Stan’s camera, and they were off the air. Weariness flowed through Hallie’s limbs. “I’ve got to get out of here,” she told the guys.
“Let’s boogie.” Stan lowered the camera from his shoulder.
The crime reporter leaned close to Hallie’s ear. “Brody’s on the warpath over Damon.”
Hallie suppressed a snort. Of course, that man would be. What was this? Some kind of sick jocks-must-stick-together thing?
Vince waved and headed toward the perimeter of crime scene tape where forensic technicians and police officers worked. The screech of brakes and the slam of doors announced the arrival of three news vehicles, adding to congestion on the road. Slipping away in the WDJN van was going to be tricky. Hallie recognized logos from two newspapers and a rival television station. In seconds, she was swarmed by microphones and questions shouted from eager faces.
Hallie lifted a hand for silence. “I saw Damon Lange holding what I believe to be the murder weapon and Alicia Drayton lying dead on the floor. Mr. Lange is currently on the loose. Anyone who knows where to find this man should contact their local police department. That’s all I have to say. Exclusive details have already been given to Channel Six news.”
She barged between the microphones and lunged through the van door that Stan had thoughtfully opened. They eased away from the scene, the cameraman threading the van between vehicles with inches to spare.
Hallie slumped. “Now I know what it feels like to be the media entrée du jour.”
Stan chuckled. “Things have just started to get interesting. Wait until the case goes to trial, and you’re the main witness.”
“They have to catch Damon Lange first. The world will be a safer place when he’s behind bars.”
Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot behind WDJN’s headquarters in downtown St. Paul. The four-story building blended in with other early 1800s brick structures in the renovated neighborhood of restaurants, condominiums and businesses a few blocks from the Mississippi riverfront. The granite and glass face of the bank up the street announced that time had marched into the twenty-first century, but few would guess that the Channel Six building from a bygone era housed the latest gizmos and gadgets for electronic communication.
“You coming in?” Stan shut off the engine.
Hallie shook her head. “Places to go and people to see.”
“Oh, yeah, that ‘quiet evening with friends.’” He snickered.
She punched his shoulder. “I’ll have you know I’ll be addressing wedding invitations. Wonderful, boring job, and that’s about all I can handle right now.”
Stan’s eyes widened. “You’re getting married?”
“Not me, goof. One of my best girlfriends, Samantha Reid, is tying the knot with a great guy in five weeks. I’m the maid of honor…well, one of them. You see, Sam couldn’t possibly pick between Jenna and me so—”
“Spare me.” Stan presented his hand, palm out. “Wedding stuff gives me the willies.”
“How come? You’ve never been married.”
“My point exactly.”
A tiny laugh seeped between Hallie’s lips. “Well, when the love bug bites, you’ll make a beeline for the altar.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“Uh-oh!” Hallie’s gaze narrowed on the dark head that had popped out the back door of the WDJN building. Brody was looking for something…or, more likely, someone.
“What?” Stan looked around.
“I so cannot handle a grilling by the champion of all things jock and jockette. See you tomorrow.” She slipped out of the van and hurried across the lot, keeping vehicles between her and the hunter sniffing her trail.
Every once in a while, Brody’s wry humor at a staff meeting surprised a laugh out of her, but most of the time he seemed to make a project out of establishing fresh roots as a nettle in the garden of her life. Female viewers might go gaga over those storm-gray eyes and the trademark one-sided dimple, but the charming facade didn’t work on her.
She never forgot what she overheard him say to the station manager about her the day she started at WDJN. Cheerleader type, indeed! He might as well have pasted a couple of pompoms to her hands, because she’d been doing mostly feature fluff ever since—such as the Minnesota model story she was working on today. She had become so well-known for that type of reporting that the modeling agent who had intrigued the station with the story idea had asked for her by name to do the coverage.
Scowling, she continued up the sidewalk toward the corner of the block, heels clickety-clacking against the cement. A year ago she’d landed a big story about labor union corruption, but she’d had to freelance that one on her own time. She got the scoop, all right. Then Brody had the gall to seem mad at her about it. Okay, so maybe he’d been a little right. She should have arranged backup for herself when she went undercover, but everything had turned out great anyway. She’d do it differently now if the station would give her more hard-hitting stories. Not likely if Brody kept using his influence against her with his buddy Wayne Billings, the station manager.
Hallie joined a group of people at the crosswalk. A few of them glanced at her and sidled away. She probably looked ready to take a bite out of someone. Smoothing out her expression, she nodded to several who lived in her building. The signal changed, and the group surged across the street in a tight little herd that dispersed as soon as their feet touched the sidewalk. Hallie trailed a pair of chatting women carrying briefcases and a man with an iPod in his hand up a set of stairs onto a wide, cement landing shaded by a canopy. They skirted a cast-iron sculpture of a boy and a girl playing leapfrog. The man pulled out his building key, opened the front door, and they all filtered inside, Hallie bringing up the rear.
The still coolness of the lobby welcomed her. The rent rate insured that she drove an economy car, but living across the street from work was priceless in her business when time often counted in getting the scoop. Right now, she’d just as soon close the blinds and take the phone off the hook for about the next decade. Maybe she should forget about addressing invitations tonight. Jenna and Sam would understand better than anyone why today’s tragedy turned her inside out. Then again, maybe she should be with close friends.
The elevator door whispered open in front of the little group just as Hallie’s cell phone vibrated inside her blazer pocket. She checked the caller ID and smiled. Letting the others board the elevator, she turned away and sat in a lobby chair.
“Hi, Jenna. No, I haven’t forgotten. It’s been a day like you wouldn’t believe.”
A laugh trilled
