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“Not a chance. The only one he wouldn’t have to pay out-of-pocket is the one associated with the MCU. And if he pays out-of-pocket and tries to get reimbursed, the chief is going to know about it and start asking questions. I don’t think Middleton wants that.”
He pulled up in front of the hotel. Lori turned to him. “There’s a break after the afternoon panel. It’s a meet-and-greet with the VIP readers. It starts at about three. Do you want to be my plus one again?”
He kissed her cheek. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do, except perhaps find some place I can ravish you before we go in, so I know that as you’re talking to some reader my cum is dripping out of your pussy.”
She could feel her cheeks turn pink. “As lovely as that sounds, we’re going to have to put that on the couple’s bucket list.”
“Do we have a bucket list?”
“Most definitely, and points for not questioning whether or not we’re a couple.”
“There’s no question in my mind about that. I told you, I’m in for the duration—and I don’t mean just until we find Cobain’s killer.”
She wasn’t sure which was the stronger emotion: arousal or the warmth of knowing he was feeling the same way she was.
“Am I okay as dressed or should I get a sports coat?”
“You’re fine. I’m going as dressed.”
She didn’t wait for him but hopped out of the car and rushed into the hotel lobby, only to be greeted by Jonathan Lockwood.
“I was worried you might not return,” he said.
Lori glanced at her watch. She had ten minutes until the panel started. “I’m ready to go, and the schedule said nothing about being needed for lunch. Mr. McKay asked me to go with him, as he’s writing an article about poor Antony’s murder.”
She used the term murder deliberately and was rewarded by Lockwood blanching.
“I hadn’t heard it had been classified as murder.”
“I saw someone who appeared to be strangling Cobain. When I ran down to see if I could help Cobain, he was dead, and it appeared his assailant had used a typewriter ribbon as a murder weapon. So I don’t much give a damn if that idiot Middleton has had it declared a murder or not. I know what I saw. Now if you’ll excuse me, I don’t want to be late to the panel discussion.”
She spun on her heel and headed for the room where the discussion was being held. It was a general question-and-answer session for people to be able to follow-up on previous presentations. As she sat down, she saw Lockwood slip into the room and take a seat at the back.
* * *
RYKER
Ryker watched her disappear into the hotel. There was something inordinately sexy about Lori in everything she did. He loved that she was wearing his sheepskin coat. It was distinctive, and a lot of people would recognize it as his, which he liked far more than he thought he should.
He drove back to the paper, went inside, and answered messages and emails. Most of the work of getting out the paper was done, so he hopped on his computer and began to research companies that created cloak and dagger games that involved more than one city in Europe. They weren’t cheap, but he could afford it. It would be worth it, especially if they did that for a honeymoon.
Honeymoon? Where did that thought come from? He realized it had been lurking at the back of his mind, probably from the time he had met her. There had been something magnetic about her. Like he was a compass, and she was true north. If she didn’t want to live here in Bleak Ridge or in Maine, he could move to Chicago and sell the paper to one of the media conglomerates. He knew his uncle would roll over in his grave, but Ryker didn’t care. Being with Lori and making sure she was happy came before anything else. And if Chicago didn’t suit them, they’d find someplace else to live and work.
He booked the trip for the fall—far enough away to give him time to persuade her that they were in love and should get married, but close enough to satisfy him and let her plan whatever size wedding she wanted.
That settled, he hopped on the internet and downloaded a copy of Cobain’s latest book, called Liar’s Game. For some reason he didn’t just jump to the first chapter, but read the dedication:
For all those who are
awaiting Karma’s bite…
Rest assured; it’s coming.
He had to admit, Cobain could write. The man had a knack for storytelling, but his language was a little flowery and his books had become formulaic. He found himself getting lost in the story and was intrigued by the premise. The plot was captivating and grabbed the reader from the first paragraph and didn’t let go. Ryker read far more of it than he had intended. Its popularity was evident in the sales and accolades that had been heaped on it, but at the same time it wasn’t at all what Ryker had thought it would be.
For one thing, the protagonist was a strong, intelligent woman, which seemed an odd choice for a misogynist like Cobain. The story had a distinctly feminine voice and point of view. It centered around a scorned author, a pseudo ‘editor’ who ended up basically writing a book for an author and was then never given the promised credit or acknowledgement. The author was depicted as rich and famous and clearly using the protagonist. One phrase that caught his attention was the editor and the author being at a book convention and the editor seeing how rich the author had become using her work. It was a realization of how wealthy he was and how wealthy she wasn’t.
The book had a feel of having been written as a pale and thin imitation of something real, and Ryker wondered if that might be the truth, and if so, who? Was Cobain talking about himself in the guise of the editor or the rich author? And what the hell was up with that dedication?
