Free Stay (Dunham series #2) by Moriah Jovan Page A

her,
especially through the filter of his guilt, embarrassment,
regret—whatever it was.
    “Gah.”
    His phone rang then and he looked at the ID. Annie.
“Hey, baby,” he said when he answered.
    “Where are you?”
    “Courthouse. Sifting through résumés. Where are
you?”
    “In bed, reading. Got a ton of review copies today
and I have about four reviews to write and post. Plus, you have not
serviced me in days. One more day, and I turn from bitch to
überbitch.”
    True enough, and Eric had an equally dire need for
some good sex. He looked at his desk and decided work could wait
another day. “Okay, let me—”
    “ Mister Cipriani!”
    Eric groaned at the sound of that voice from
the doorway.
    “Don’t tell me,” Annie said in his ear. “Glenn.”
    “Glenn, I was about to go home and fuck my future
First Lady. Can it wait until tomorrow?”
    “No. I have a paper to put to bed.”
    “Shit, Eric, just talk to the little cocksucker. You
can service me later.”
    Eric sighed. “All right. Night.”
    “So,” Glenn whined smugly as he settled into the
chair across from Eric’s desk. “Tell me about Simone
Whittaker.”
    “Are you going to the wake?”
    “Of course. So?”
    “And the funeral?”
    “Eric!”
    “What about her?”
    “I want to know who ratted her out and got you off
the hook.”
    “You know I can’t tell you that.”
    “You said you were going to be transparent. Simone’s
dead. LaVon’s still not talking. It’s been fifteen years. What
could it hurt?”
    Eric pursed his lips and stared at the little toad,
still unable, after all these years, to reconcile himself to
looking at a living, breathing stereotype of the Greasy
Newspaperman.
    “You covered Knox for fifteen years,” Eric finally
said. “You were the one who outed him as the most likely suspect in
Parley’s murder. You were the one who broke the story that Knox
kicked Nocek’s ass out.” Glenn preened in his chair. “You were the
one who found all the ‘evidence’ that Knox was on the take, but you
could never prove it. Oh, look. You weren’t any smarter than
anybody else was, but you kept your paper alive off him. Bye bye
Pulitzer for not catching on to the scam.”
    Glenn’s smugness turned into irritation. “The FBI
couldn’t do it and they had all the access in the world. Why would
you hold me to a higher standard?”
    Eric grunted. “Well, okay. You got me there. But you
have the answer to this problem right under your nose, buried in
your own morgue. All you need is about a week, a shitload of
caffeine, and some better deductive reasoning skills. I’m sure as
hell not doing your job for you, especially on this. Your cash cow
went on his merry way smelling like a rose. You can’t dig any more
dirt up on me because it doesn’t exist. You’ve turned Annie’s life
inside and out and came up with bupkis besides her crazy-ass
mother. You better find something pretty sensational to wank over
or your little rag’s going to die like the rest of newsprint. I’d
politely request that you not reveal this person’s identity just
for his or her own safety, but I highly doubt you can figure it
out.”
    The man stood with a huff and went to the door, then
stopped. “You don’t give me enough credit for what I know versus
what I don’t print. I’m a responsible journalist. I back up
my facts and then I print them.”
    “With a little editorial spin on the side.”
    “I know Knox murdered Parley, but I never printed
that because I couldn’t prove it. What I printed was that he was
caught on video at Texaco at 1:17 A.M. on June 9, 1994. I also
printed that the videotape mysteriously disappeared from the
property room, because it did. That’s a fact. I printed it. I can’t
help the conclusions people draw from the facts that I
print.”
    Eric had to concede that point, too, but that still
didn’t make him any less of a tool.
    “Get lost, Glenn.”
    The outer office door slammed hard enough to rattle
the