Free Falling for the Alphas: Part One by Cassie Wright Page B

that she was frightened. She'd been
chasing an interview with Jarod Stark for over three months; he was
implicated in a number of corruption scandals, and supposedly had
ties to the mafia and powerful people in Washington DC. People even
whispered that he was partially responsible for Fort Brixton's
attempt to declare bankruptcy. He was probably going to just try
and scare her off the story. Which in and of itself was a
story.
    Naomi lowered the car
visor and checked her face. A subtle and professional shade of
lipstick, just enough blush to accentuate her cheekbones (her best
feature), and a ghosting of mascara to bring out her long lashes.
She knew she looked striking. She'd heard that Stark talked more to
pretty women, and though some men didn't appreciate her full
curves, she knew that Stark would. It was the only explanation she
had for his having agreed to do the interview.
    Naomi got out of her car
and locked it. Smoothed her skirt down to her knees, adjusted her
scarf, and then buttoned her dove gray raincoat before opening it
once more. A little cleavage might help. Well, alright, a lot of
cleavage. She raked her long black hair back and turned to the
Gladstone Theater. It was time.
    She peered into the SUV's
windows as she strode past it. Nobody inside. The Gladstone had
been a baroque and very ornate affair, making its once sumptuous
exterior look incredibly sad by the years of neglect. She tried to
read the marquees, but it was too faded and covered with dirt. The
large doors stood open, and she stepped carefully through them and
into the ruined foyer. A rotten red carpet led up a slight incline
to the main lobby, where a dilapidated chandelier caught gleams
from the faint yellow light coming through the doors to the theater
space itself.
    "OK Naomi," she said to
herself. "Put on your Big Girl Pants. You're a professional. Let's
go." She raised her chin and walked forward authoritatively only to
stop at the door. "Oh wow," she whispered.
    She stood at the top
level, from which the seats descended in concentric rings to the
main stage. It had been a small theater by today's standards, but
the walls were so ornately decorated it looked like an underwater
grotto. Everything was covered in dust and fallen plaster. On the
stage stood Councilman Stark, a heavy flashlight in his hand. He
pointed it at her and she raised her hand to block the
beam.
    Run , whispered Illixy in her ear.
    "Ms. Daniels." His voice
was smooth, rich, used to command. And uncomfortably amused.
"Welcome."
    Naomi lowered her hand as
he lowered the light. He was dressed in an immaculate black suit,
black shirt, with a lurid neon green tie that almost glowed in the
dark. His black hair was combed back, and he was even more handsome
in person than she had imagined. Late thirties, with a predatory
smile and the body of an athlete. Councilman Stark.
    "Thank you for agreeing to
meet," she said, and began to descend between the seats toward the
stage. "Though this is... a little unorthodox."
    Stark raised an eyebrow. "Unorthodox?
Why would you say that? This setting fits my needs
perfectly."
    Run , whispered Illixy again in her ear, and this time goose
bumps flurried down Naomi's arms.
    Her stomach tensed. "Your
needs?"
    Stark nodded, unhurried,
almost casual. "Oh yes. I care nothing for your story. But that
little spirit companion of yours... He I care about. I'm afraid I
can't let you live. How tragic it will be when they find you dead.
Killed by what people will guess must have been a very, very large
stray dog."
    Naomi froze. Had he actually just said
that?
    I'll get help! She felt Illixy race away, and it was as if a
small light in her heart had gone out. "I - I don't know what
you're talking about." How did Stark know about Illixy? "And my
editor - he knows I'm here!" She took a step back as she dug out
her cellphone. Still no coverage. "You can't touch me." She wished
she believed it.
    "I never showed up." He loosened his
tie. "I'm officially at a