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“Why haven’t you come forward before now?”
“Do you know what caused it?”
She held up her hand to stop the barrage. “As to the cause, I’ll leave those answers to the authorities.”
“Do you think it was an accident?”
She looked quizzically at the reporter, as if his question were absurd. “Of course it was an accident. What else could it be? When the investigation is complete, I’m sure there’ll be a logical explanation.”
Gray had said that Spencer Martin would have made certain of that.
“Now, please, if you’ll excuse me…”
They trailed her to her car, which was still parked where it had been when the explosion occurred. A few diehards even followed her to WVUE, but she dodged them in the parking lot, refusing any further comments. The rent-a-cop at the door barred them from following her inside.
An hour earlier, she had rejected Gray’s and Daily’s advice to keep out of sight. “I’m not about to go underground,” she told them heatedly. “First of all because I don’t think it would do any good. If Spencer Martin’s intelligence system is as pervasive as you say, I’d be found anyway.
“Second, my job is reporting news. Ironically, I’ve made news. I’d be crazy not to make the most of my present notoriety.
“Third, the more visible I am, the less likely it is that another fatal ‘accident’ will happen to me. Just as you said about yourself earlier, Gray, Merritt won’t make a move as long as I’m in the limelight.”
“Way to go, Bondurant,” Daily had said sourly.
“Whatever else he is, Merritt is no fool,” Barrie had continued. “He can’t make a second attempt on my life without it looking awfully fishy to even the most naive mind. No, gentlemen,” she’d declared, “as long as I’m seen, I’m safe.”
Now word spread like wildfire that she was in the building. Howie made it to her cubicle faster than usual and shooed everybody else away. His opening line was, “Jesus, Barrie, we thought you might be charcoal.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
“I’m trying to be nice.”
Maybe he was, because he looked truly crestfallen over her remark. “How would you like an exclusive for the evening news tonight?” she asked. “An interview with me, just as I am.” She’d had to dress in the same clothes she’d worn the night before. “Looking pitiful and pathetic. I might even be able to eke out a tear or two for a close-up.”
His little eyes lit up. “That’d be great!”
“Tomorrow, I’ll do a follow-up story, something to do with near brushes with death, confronting one’s mortality—something along those lines. I’ll try and get sound bites from clerics and psychologists who deal with trauma victims. Maybe by the end of the week, the investigators will have determined the cause of the explosion.”
“That soon?”
“I doubt it’ll be a lengthy investigation,” she said with a wryness that escaped him. “Anyway, once I get their ruling, I’ll do a story on how they piece together the evidence to re-create the scene and find the cause.”
“Jeez, you’re hot. No pun intended.” Taking a precautionary look over his shoulder, he whispered, “Any chance that it was intentional? Did somebody get wind of the exclusive you’re working on? Could your story and the explosion be connected?”
“You’ve seen too many Sylvester Stallone movies, Howie. There couldn’t possibly be a connection. That big story of mine?” she said with a deprecating laugh. “It was nothing compared to having my house explode in front of my eyes. So you and Jenkins can relax. I’ve looked death in the face. Believe me, that changes your perspective like that!” She snapped her fingers. “From now on, you’ll see a very different Barrie Travis around here.”
Gray had said she made a poor liar. She hoped he was wrong.
“Well, I’m mighty glad to hear that,” Howie said, expanding his chest. “I knew if I stayed after you long enough, I’d whip your cute little butt into shape.”
Behind her ingratiating smile, Barrie was grinding her teeth.
Chapter Eighteen
The President was working out his frustration in his private gym inside the White House. He viewed the Stairmaster and other equipment as enemies that must be conquered. Sweat dripped from his nose, earlobes, chin, and fingertips. Well-toned muscles bulged as he pushed them to their limit.
The errand boy he’d dispatched to check out the situation in Wyoming had contacted him earlier that morning via computer. His report wasn’t what Merritt wanted to hear. It appeared that Spence had never been to Gray Bondurant’s place. When asked what Bondurant had to say about it, the gofer had dropped the second bomb—there had been no trace of Bondurant either.
