“You have a voice. I’m no one,” he said.
“You could make your own podcast or blog,” Celia countered. “Build your own voice.”
“It’s not that easy.” For starters, if anyone at work found him with a conspiracy blog that wasn’t part of a cover, he would wind up transferred to a remote location. Assuming, of course, they didn’t bully him into quitting or outright fire him.
Jesse pushed the folder closer to her. “Please. Take a deeper look.”
Celia sighed and took the folder into her lap. “I can’t promise it’ll make it onto the show. Would you be interested in headlining the piece if it came to that?”
Jesse’s throat tightened. His Ephraim O’Shay persona wasn’t a fool proof smokescreen. “I can’t.”
Celia pressed her lips together. She’d probably toss his folder in the garbage on her way out the door.
He didn’t have any more time to plead with her. If she wouldn’t take up the investigation, he’d have to keep digging by himself. Either he would find enough evidence to convince her, or he’d find another program that was willing to believe him.
Resolute, Jesse grabbed his messenger bag and his coffee, and stood. “You have my email. If you find a new lead, I might be able to use it to find out more.”
“You’re going to keep looking?” Celia asked.
“I have to.”
Celia gazed up at him, a careful scrutinizing expression on her face. Any hint of flirtation was gone, and Jesse wondered how much of her behavior had been an act. Did he need to worry that she would snag the story and give him zero credit?
Screw taking any glory for discovering the truth. He didn’t need it. He needed someone to do something about the monster lurking in his neighborhood.
Celia tightened her grip on the folder, and nodded. “I’d be interested in what you find, especially if you discover exactly what they’re doing. Keep me up to date and I’ll share what I can.”
That was an unexpected shift toward his way of looking at the case. Jesse tried not to sound too eager as he said, “Good.”
“Stay in touch.”
“I’ll be sure to.”
Jesse headed for the door. The man in the dingy black hoodie shoulder-checked Jesse and beat him to leaving the shop. Despite Jesse doing nothing challenging, the man glared over his shoulder at him. He muttered either a curse or a random burst of syllables. His words weren’t distinct or loud enough to make out.
Mental illness ran in Jesse’s family, which was one reason he didn’t share his alien conspiracies with them. At least one cousin usually suffered through an episode during the massive family reunions and holiday events. From training and experience, Jesse knew the difference between someone having a bad mental day and someone on the edge of becoming dangerously unstable. He followed the man out of the shop and couldn’t shake the feeling that he fell into the second category.
Just a bad day in the neighborhood. Sure. And Batman wore a bright sparkling pink cape.
Actually, Jesse would pay to see that. That mental image was kind of fun.
As he went to turn his head away from the man, he ran into someone. Coffee splattered between them, soaking into his dress shirt. He backpedaled, but the man he’d run into caught him by the arm and stopped him.
And what a man he was, too. He had brown eyes the deep color of buckeyes, short black hair, and a dazzling smile. He was a couple inches taller than Jesse, putting him over six feet tall. He was just shy of broad-shouldered, and he was muscular. Jesse had felt that when they collided, and in the easy strength the man used in pulling him to a stop. His dark blue dress shirt fit him well, and drew Jesse’s attention downward. His physique definitely came from training often and seriously. Half the guys at Quantico hadn’t looked so good.
Unfortunately, the man had a coffee stain matching Jesse’s, which was entirely Jesse’s fault. As if that weren’t bad enough, the door behind him opened and two women left the shop, meaning the man had rescued him from causing a bigger disaster. On top of that, Jesse was gawking instead of moving or apologizing. The man was a magnet, tugging through Jesse’s core with no more than a smile. He had an obvious confidence in his smile, and the way he held himself, that put Jesse at ease. His grip on Jesse’s arm loosened, and he slid his hand down to cup Jesse’s elbow instead.
He seemed like the kind of guy who would be down for a copious amount of sex and then sticking around the next morning to make pancakes. Maybe omelets.
Jesse liked sex. And pancakes. A lot.
One caring touch didn’t typically send Jesse off into fantasyland about a complete stranger, no matter how attractive he was. He blamed his lack of a dating life, and the seeming lack of gay night life in St. Louis. The city just didn’t have anywhere near the massive population Manhattan had, and he didn’t have friends to invite him out to queer bars. Between his break-up, move, and settling into his new office, he hadn’t made time to explore the local dating scene.
He really hoped this man was available, and interested in men.
The stranger chuckled under his breath, and Jesse prayed he was a cuddler, which was putting the cart lightyears ahead of the horse.
“Are you okay?”
