he said quietly looking up at her. This brought the life back into her.
“What?!” she said practically jumping off the couch and the disc fell onto the floor. She picked up the shiny circle and held her work between her thumb and index finger.
“If you’re walking around with your story stuffed under your clothes and turning on background noise, you obviously think there’s some sort of danger,” he said taking her arm and pulling her back down on the sofa. “Why?” She searched her mind for something to say. “Tell me why or I’m completely killing the story,” he said.
“Okay, just don’t kill the story,” she said unconsciously putting her hand on his leg. She realized where her hand was and drew it away quickly. “Sorry,” she said as she felt her face grow warm. “I noticed the lock on my desk broken one morning when I came into the office.”
“And?” he replied. Kristine wondered if he had some sort of magic powers that let him read her mind - like a Jedi or something.
“And someone may have broken into my apartment.”
“And?”
“And someone may have tried to run me down in a crosswalk,” she said putting extra emphasis on the word “may.”
“Run you down?” he asked shocked and panicked. “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about it?”
“Hey, this is New York. People get nearly run over in crosswalks every day,” she said somewhat surprised at his reaction.
“This isn’t a joke, Krissy. No story is worth losing your life.”
“What life,” she said sarcastically. “Will, in case you haven’t noticed, this job is my life.” They stared at each other for a moment.
“You’re driven,” he said comfortingly. “This is my fault. A lot of pressure came with the job offer, but you’ve surpassed even my expectations as a reporter. You’re young. You have a lot of life left to live.” He didn’t sound like an editor. He sounded like a friend. She didn’t know what to say to this.
“I really want this story, Will.”
“I know you do. But you don’t want it for the right reasons. You don’t want to uncover some truth to right a wrong. You want to win. You want to be first,” he said now sounding more like a father - or worse…a psychiatrist. Still, there was truth in his words. “Let me give the story to someone else.”
“No, you can’t do that to me,” she nearly shouted gripping the disc tighter. “I don’t want you to understand my motives. I’ve done a hell of a lot of work on this, and it’s mine. Giving it to someone else will only take the focus off of me and put it on someone else. Do you want that?” She knew she had a point, but now she was afraid he’d totally kill the story. “Will, if you take away my story, I’ll quit and sell it to someone else,” she said without thinking. She couldn’t tell if he was impressed, hurt or disappointed by that threat.
“You’re not leaving me much choice here,” he said. They sat in silence, the only noise coming from an update of the stock market on the news, for what seemed like a few minutes. “How close are you to getting what you need?”
“Close,” she said. She didn’t know this for sure, but it was a gut feeling she had had for a few days.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said standing. He paced for a few seconds (he did this when he was deep in thought) before he sat down again. “Okay. We’re going to put you into a higher security apartment. You’re to do as much as you can via email and phone calls. I don’t want you to leave the building unless it’s absolutely necessary, and you will not leave alone. I’ll hire around the clock security.”
“Will, don’t you think that’s overkill? I don’t need a bodyguard,” she said uncomfortable at the thought someone would be babysitting her but curiously finding it intriguing that he wanted to take care of her.
“No. I don’t,” he said. She knew she wouldn’t win an argument with him. Her mind raced as she feigned listening to him as he continued to give her instructions about how to live her life. She spent most of the day in his office going over story details with him, and he received a delivery of a large sum of cash. He gave it to her so she wouldn’t have to use credit cards should the need arise for her to leave town. He also received a delivery of a new cell phone which he gave to her. By the time 6:00 arrived, she didn’t know if she felt safer or more panicked with him helping her. The only thing left for her to do was get some of her stuff out of her apartment, but Will told her he had someone run out to buy her what she needed, and everything would be waiting for her.
Will led her from his office, and she nearly had to run to keep pace with him. He led her to a set of elevators she had never ridden before today. After a walk down a strange hallway and another elevator ride, she was in a parking garage. It was dark - probably underground, she thought. Will was quiet as he concentrated and looked nervously around the garage.
“Remind me to get someone to take care of the security footage,” he said without looking at her.
“Right,” she replied and rolled her eyes. Total overkill, she thought.
Will pushed a button on his keychain and the hazard lights on a black Lexus LS sedan flashed. He walked to the passenger side. She followed, but he opened the back door.
“Get in,” he ordered, and she realized she was waiting for him to open the front door. She opened her mouth to say something, and he added, “Please.” She got into the backseat of the car. He closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side of the car. She looked around. The car was spotless inside and out. The leather was cool, even through her clothing. He turned the key in the ignition, and the car was so quiet she wasn’t even sure it started until he pulled out of the parking space.
“Stay down,” he ordered again.
“Will, the windows are tinted,” she said in a deadpan tone.
“Humor me,” he urged. She curled up on the backseat. Traffic in the city was bumper to bumper. Will nervously watched the rearview mirror. After a half hour of being curled up, she started to feel achy. She sat up slightly.
“Look, this is crazy,” she said. He didn’t respond. “Are you ignoring me?”
“I don’t want it to look like I’m talking to anyone,” he said. She thought he was kind of silly playing this cloak and dagger spy game. She humored him and put her head down on the seat. She closed her eyes and imagined how this was probably the most excitement he had seen in years.
Kristine met his wife Emily Wentworth-Montgomery once when she brought the twin girls in for Will’s 25th anniversary working at the paper. She seemed as uptight as her name. She had blonde hair cut into a shoulder length bob with a headband holding her hair away from her face. Not one hair was out of place. Not even a fly-away. “How do you control fly-aways?” she thought. Never mind. Emily smiled at all the right times and intensely monitored the kids as they ate their cake. Heaven forbid they get blue icing on their white, wrinkle-free dresses.
The girls looked like dolls. They barely spoke a word and smiled at the right times, too. When they posed for a family photo, it looked like something you’d get when you bought the frame. Picture perfect - too perfect. Kristine wondered if Emily Wentworth-Montgomery
