And then she decided to take matters into her own hands and stormed out, yanking open the door and running into Seamus O’Day on the threshold. The older reporter was juggling a half-eaten donut and a cup of coffee. A wave of hot coffee sloshed out of the cup to splash against the front of her jacket and drizzle downward, dripping onto the toes of her boots.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, flushing a bit beneath his woolen cap.

“Perfect,” she muttered, squeezing past him, which wasn’t easy as he was an ex-college football player who, over the past thirty years, had gone to seed and was nearly as wide as he was tall.

She didn’t respond when he said under his breath, “You know you should be careful when you’re opening doors.”

You fucking has-been!

But she didn’t say it out loud. Not this time. She’d save those parting words for the time when she could leave the Clarion, Riggs Crossing, and the likes of good-old-boy reporters like Seamus O’Day in her dust.

Wouldn’t it be perfect if she went down to San Francisco, got the story of her life, and didn’t bother reporting it through the rag here in Washington? As Earl had said, there was no HR department, nor did she have any kind of non-compete agreement. She was totally freelance, and therefore she could shop her story around. And she intended to do just that.

Take that, Earl Ray, she thought and smiled as she clicked on the remote to open the door of her van.

James Cahill was her one-way ticket out.

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 20

Son of a bitch.

Finally, they were getting somewhere, or so Rivers hoped. At his desk at the station, he checked to make certain he had his keys, shoved back his chair, and, with his blood fired up a little, made his way to Mendoza’s desk.

Nose to her computer screen, she was scrolling through reports but glanced up at him. “Yeah?”

“Guess who had an epiphany?”

Her eyebrows shot up, and she must’ve seen the gleam in his eyes. “Not James Cahill.” When he smiled, she said, “Really?”

“So he says.”

“Just like that?” She snapped her fingers. “He called to tell you?”

“Yep. He offered to come in later today, but I thought we’d go pay him a visit.”

She was already pushing back her chair. “You think he might run?”

“Not so much run as have a change of heart, maybe talk to an attorney.”

“What’re we waiting for? Let’s go.” She was already climbing out of her chair and heading for the locker room. After donning jackets and hats, they headed outside, where the sky was the color of steel, heavy clouds threatening, the temperature hovering just under freezing.

Mendoza glanced at the heavens. “Another storm on the way.”

Rivers climbed behind the wheel, and she strapped herself into the passenger seat.