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“You’re right.” He rubbed his big hands together. It was hard to imagine how he fitted them on a keyboard. “Let’s keep this professional. Jack is running the team through the big exposé he’s working on. You should come and listen in. He’s brushing you off because he’s a rude bastard and he’s on a big story and they kind of take over your life.”
Like her little story was doing.
“Don’t imagine that was the first time he told you he wasn’t on your team,” Spin said.
“He didn’t have to be so rude.” He’d looked through her like she was part of the city, made of glass, nothing but sidewalk to be trodden over. It was a long way from kissing her, even if there was now zero doubt in her mind that it really had been just about the story for him. She might as well go and see how his investigation was coming along. It would be instructive.
Hours later, she tracked Jack down to a meeting room that had been turned into what looked like a scene from a police procedural drama. There were two whiteboards covered with what looked like evidence. One had photographs, and she could identify Bix, Whelan and Noakes. The other had a scrawled headline that said Money Trail. Nothing she’d ever written had this amount of research and preparation. It was awe-inspiring.
The room was packed, with faces she only vaguely knew and some she didn’t. No one in this room wrote for the website only. She had to hover in the doorway, which was just as well because she felt out of place. The other business writers sat around a table. Phil leaned up against a wall with another man who wore a suit. Jack stood at the front of the room.
“Everyone here is sworn to confidentiality,” said Phil. He pointed to the man beside him. “This is Gerry Roscoe. He’s the Courier Group’s legal counsel.” He aimed his attention to the doorway. “No tourists. Get out.”
Four people standing in front of Derelie pushed past her to scramble away. She caught Jack’s eyes, but his flickered off before he could make her feel like glass again.
“Honeywell can stay. She helped me on a reconnaissance mission.”
Was she hearing things? She glanced at Phil, but he was focused on Jack, so she stayed and for the next ten minutes listened as Jack outlined the evidence against Keepsafe and the role played by Bix. He didn’t acknowledge her again, but she forgot to be angry with him as the depth of his investigation unfolded. It made the stories she wrote seem insubstantial and pointless, forgettable, vacuous entertainment rather than news. Jack’s reluctance to spend time on the love experiment was framed in a whole new light.
“He’s going to smash this. Bring the whole thing down.”
She tipped her head up to see Spin standing behind her. “I get why he brushed me off now.”
“Get out, Spinoza!” yelled Phil.
Spin blew Phil a kiss. “Love you too,” he said, and backed off to laughter, but only far enough that he was out of Phil’s line of sight. He put his finger to his lips in a shhh gesture and motioned to Derelie to turn around so she didn’t give him away.
She tuned back in to Jack, who was now talking about the victims. He motioned to Annie and she recounted a story about the Shenkers, injured in a car accident and denied their insurance, forced to sell their home and move to a trailer park to pay for medical care.
“Questions,” said Jack, then answered questions about Bix’s professional background and how they’d pieced together the money trail.
“What if your whistleblower is lying?” Derelie said, before she stopped to think that everyone would look at her.
Everyone looked at her, including Jack.
“This is not ‘Ten Best Looks for Summer,’” he said, and there was a rumble of laughter, which he acknowledged with a smile. “We vet all our sources.”
Not even the barn-like presence of Spinoza blocking the corridor stopped Derelie from fleeing the scene of the crime as if she were the one Jack was intending to expose.
Chapter Twelve
Too many people wanted to talk to him, including Roscoe, so it took forever for Jack to get clear of the conference room, and when he did it was to run into Spinoza.
Spin stood there, stance wide, arms folded, a bad-smell look on his face. “You feeling good about that?”
“Would feel better if you got out of my way.”
“You’re not going back to your desk.”
It wasn’t a question and the man blocked his way to anywhere. “I didn’t mean it to be like that.”
Spin shook his head. “That’s what they said about the Cubs.”
“What do you want?”
“Me? Nothin’.” He let Jack shove past, but only because it was clear he was headed for the web team. “Good decision, friend,” Spin said.
As if Jack needed Spinoza as his conscience. This was exactly what he’d wanted. Honeywell had opened herself to a couple of cheap shots and he’d taken them. He didn’t have to think about it. She was soft, fresh and defenseless, and he’d used her weaknesses against her with no more effort than rolling a cigarette. His participation in the love experiment was over, if only because he’d seen her face and he’d left her cut up and bleeding.
