Free Fireproof by Alex Kava Page B

out and was going to send it to voice mail when she saw the caller ID. She shot Tully a look. “You told Gwen?”
    “I haven’t talked to Gwen since midnight.”
    “Racine?”
    “Gwen Patterson is not on my speed dial.”
    “But Ben is?”
    Racine’s eyes went wide. Busted . Her head turned, hands went up in surrender. No denial.
    Maggie finally answered her phone.
    “Hey, Gwen.”
    “Are you okay?”
    “I’m fine. A few stitches. That’s all. How in the world did you find out?”
    “I’m watching the news. They were showing the fire. Then you were trying to take away some TV crew’s camera.”
    “They showed that on the news?” Maggie glanced at Tully. He pulled a small plastic cartridge from his pocket.
    “Just as you’re trying to ask them something, a building explodes into flames behind you. They said you were rushed to the hospital. Are you sure you’re okay? And why am I hearing about this on TV? Or do I need to wait for Jeffery Cole’s profile piece on you tonight to find out?”
    “Profile piece?”
    “An hour long. You either intrigued him or really pissed him off.”
    That’s when Maggie’s call waiting started beeping in her ear.
    “I’ve got another call, Gwen. I’ll talk to you later.”
    “Are you really okay?”
    She hesitated too long, and before she responded Gwen added, “Please be careful.”
    Maggie took the next call without looking at her caller ID.
    “This is Maggie O’Dell.”
    “O’Dell. I just heard what happened.”
    It was her boss. But Assistant Director Kunze didn’t sound angry. It was worse—he sounded concerned.

CHAPTER 18

    “You didn’t tell me anything about a profile piece.”
    Sam Ramirez paced the narrow space in the sound studio. Their feature on this morning’s fire had made the national circuit.
    “Big Mac loves the idea,” Jeffery told her from his perch beside Abe Nadira, whose long fingers were playing the computer keyboards as smoothly as if they belonged to a musical instrument.
    He was referring to Donald Malcolm, the bureau chief who had taken over programming when ratings dropped last year.
    To Nadira, Jeffery said, “You can search and use footage from our affiliates, right?”
    “Yes, I can. As well as any syndicated sources.”
    “Jeffery, the feds are already going to be pissed I didn’t give them this morning’s film. Do you really want an FBI agent gunning for you?”
    “She already has it bad for me, Sam. You saw her. She has a major hard-on for me.”
    “No, somehow I missed that.”
    Sam rubbed her hand over her face. She was tired. She wanted to go home. Her clothes and hair—hell, probably her skin, too—allreeked of smoke. Jeffery had showered and changed. He kept spare shirts and trousers in his locker, all of them immaculately pressed.
    The man was a neat freak when it came to his appearance. Probably an occupational hazard from being in front of a camera. Even in third-world countries he managed to have creases in his trousers and gel in his short-cropped hair. In fact, she had been surprised this morning when he showed up with a brown stain on his shirt cuff. He’d shrugged when she pointed it out, but she saw him tuck it up into his jacket later.
    Sam brushed at the grass and cinder stains on her jeans when she really wanted to peel them off and throw them in the washing machine. She shouldn’t have taken off her ball cap. Her unruly curls flew around her face, wild snakes of hair that smelled like burned toast. She wouldn’t blame Nadira if he threw her out of his editing studio, but Jeffery’s excitement could be contagious and Nadira had it bad. Though you’d never be able to tell. The man looked perpetually bored. His mouth remained a thin line. His knobby shaved head stayed put while his half-lidded eyes darted along from one computer monitor to the next in line, three rows of them, five screens in each row.
    In fact, neither man noticed her presence despite her pacing behind their captain chairs.