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By the time everyone was in place for the news two hours later, the sludge of fatigue tugged at her. She swallowed a yawn. The dead weight of fear Robbie would track her down again kept her up at night. Freaking psychopath Robbie. The ridiculously early wake-up call for her first day of work didn’t help her fatigue.
“Three minutes, boys and girls,” Reid said from the director’s desk. “Let’s see if Anderson can go a whole hour without sticking his finger in his nose. Who’s up for that wager?”
Anderson, one of the morning news anchors, flipped him the bird.
“C’mon guys. I only need you to behave for an hour,” Lucy chimed in.
“Listen to the lady in charge, Anderson.” Reid punched at a couple of buttons on the control panel in front of him. “Sorry, Lucy. We’re not used to a real producer keeping us in line.”
“What do you think my odds are of getting Lucy to go to dinner with me tonight?” Anderson asked.
“Slim to none,” Reid replied. “She’s out of your league.”
Lucy smiled at him and swiped a highlighter across the top of her script, color-coding the times she’d need to track. “Two minutes.”
Reid leaned back in his chair, his fingers threaded behind his head.
The milk from the bowl of cereal she had forced herself to eat curdled in her stomach. Maybe this whole experience of hiding in a small town into a good thing. Maybe if she said it enough, she’d believe it. Confluence would simply be a brief stop on her flight to the big leagues. A layover weaved into the journey of her life.
Layovers weren’t always awful. You could meet new people, have a drink at the airport lounge, and maybe even buy a souvenir mug in the gift shop. Most of all, Confluence was the place where she could work off-camera in a town few people knew existed. Keep her head down and her past concealed—and stay away from William. The award for avoiding attractive neighbors definitely went to Lucy. She’d managed to keep away from him so far.
“Any words of wisdom you’d like to impart?” Reid pierced the silence through her headset. He turned from the director’s seat in front of her perch and peered up.
Blood thrummed in her temples as Lucy glanced at the stack of papers comprising the hour-long news script.
The headset crackled when she pulled the microphone to her mouth. “I think as long as Anderson doesn’t go knuckle deep in his nostrils we’ll be fine.”
The staff erupted in laughter.
“Thirty seconds,” Reid said through a husky chuckle. He turned back to the bank of monitors against the wall, leaving her with a view of his thick dreadlocks. “She’s a keeper.”
The anchors moved onto the lead-in for the meth story, and Lucy’s smile faded. The intense craving to be a reporter again took hold. What wouldn’t she give to go back in time, to be behind the anchor desk again, fighting for the truth. Anywhere but in the dark control room, in a small station, where no one would ever know she existed.
* * *
Anderson finished reading the kicker, and the national morning theme song played over the monitors. Lucy slipped off her headset.
“Lucy’s in charge of the coffee run today,” Reid announced. “I’ll get you a list. Shop’s up the street.”
“Because I’m the new girl?” She stretched her arms over her head.
“Initiation.” He winked.
Whatever. She wasn’t above playing coffee gofer.
Lucy grabbed her jacket and headed through the lobby to the street. Daylight crept along the mesas, sandstone canyons, and desert mountain rock formations surrounding the Confluence valley, but the early morning sunrise had not quite erased the shadows of night. She made her way through the quiet town square. Her high heels tapped an increasing clickety-clack on the pavement as she hurried.
She glanced over her shoulder every few seconds—phantom footsteps always chasing her. With two more blocks to the coffee house, a coil of anxiety squeezed her chest.
Nearly there.
Her shoulders slumped when she entered the sanctuary of the little shop. Rich coffee, cinnamon, and fresh-from-the-oven bread permeated the air. The tiny café had room for the barista, a bakery case, and a few stools along a window bar.
A young woman in a maroon apron stood behind the counter.
“Hi, I’m Lucy from KDVX. I have a list?—”
“Same list every morning,” The woman’s mouth curved into a smile as she steamed milk, poured chocolate syrup, dripped espresso, and sloshed froth into the cups. “I memorized it months ago. Haven’t seen you before. What can I add for you?”
