Deadline. Maggie K. Black
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I do know one thing for certain—I have more than enough to deal with in my life right now. So if you start going around stirring up trouble for me and my brother, please believe me when I say I won’t have anything to do with you.”
Fire flashed in her eyes. Jack felt his chest tighten, as the depth of her emotion tugged at something deep inside him. Compassion? Concern? For the first time in his career, the journalist found himself struggling to find the right words to fit his thoughts. All he knew was he could feel the urge to wrap his arms around her surging through his veins, making him want things he could never have. Like the feel of her head tucked safely into the curve of his throat as he promised her he’d never do anything that would ever hurt her.
Don’t let yourself get emotionally compromised, Jack. You still have a job to do and your future depends on your ability to stay objective. Even if you did just save this woman’s life.
His career was hanging by a thread; he’d just witnessed an attack he believed to be by the very serial killer whom he’d risked everything to expose. Plus, he’d promised the Lord, years ago, he’d never again let his feelings compromise the truth of a story. No matter how strong those feelings might be.
“My little brother is one of the kindest, most generous, most bighearted men you’ll ever meet.” She was practically hissing. “Benji loves God and other people more than anyone I know. He’d practically treat our home like a free hotel to every sports nut coming through the island if I let him.”
Oh, if he had a nickel for every woman he’d heard arguing that her brother, son or husband was really a good guy, while the man was being dragged off by the police for committing some violent crime for the umpteenth time.
He took a step back and crossed his arms. “I’ll ask you again, does your brother have a criminal record?”
“No!” Her voice rose. “Years and years ago, when Benji was only fifteen, he and a friend named Chris Quay were in a terrible snowmobile accident. Chris died. Benji just barely managed to pull through. Yeah, the police questioned him, because that’s what happens when a kid dies. The fact that they followed procedure doesn’t make it anything other than what it was—a horrible, tragic accident. But in the minds of some people, that was enough to taint his reputation for the rest of his life.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t! You’re from the big city, where nobody knows their neighbors’ business, let alone cares if the person filling up their gas tank ever got questioned by police for reckless driving.” She ran both hands through her hair and let it fall back around her heart-shaped face. “But it’s a whole other world on the island. Do you know how many people live in most of these towns? Hundreds. That’s all. And most of the families have been here for several generations. Reputations run deep, because families tend to know each other through work, or school, or because their grandparents built some important building.” She pressed her hand against her chest and took in a deep breath.
“So, you’re saying your brother wasn’t arrested for stealing a dog?”
Both her hands shot up in the air, as if she were fighting the urge to punch an imaginary enemy. “No! My brother’s a bit scatterbrained sometimes. But he’s never been arrested for anything. Including stealing.”
“But the young man just said—”
“I don’t know what Benji did today. I haven’t seen him since breakfast. But I guarantee he did not steal anyone’s dog. Especially not Bert McCarthy’s! The man’s in his eighties and probably made it through his whole life without once giving anyone the benefit of the doubt. Three years ago, we had this really heavy, unexpected snowfall in October. Benji was coming home from the shop and didn’t have his snow tires on. He got halfway down the hill by McCarthy’s, hit black ice, and spun out. Took out a huge chunk of the fence. Benji apologized several times. He felt absolutely terrible. He paid for all the repairs and then some. But still, McCarthy wanted the police to charge him. The police wouldn’t. So McCarthy took it through civil court. When the civil court determined Benji had more than paid what he owed, McCarthy took it up through the court of public opinion.”
Jack frowned. If she was being honest, then this would be on public record. All it would take was a quick background check. “Well, I’m sure your brother will tell me his side of the story when I interview him.”
She barked out a laugh. “No. I’m sorry, Jack. But you will never interview Benji. I already told you, I don’t want you writing about us. Not because I’m not grateful for the way you helped me, but because I’m not about to open myself up to gossip any further than I already have. I just want to put this whole thing behind me. Not have every nervous bride who searches my name online, for the rest of my life, wondering if she really wants someone linked to a murderer as her wedding planner.
“If you want to incite mass panic by announcing there’s now a serial killer on the island, I can’t stop you. But you’re just a reporter, not the police, and as far as I’m concerned, what I need right now is a cop.” She started past him, then stopped again. “And while you’re at it, please leave the life ring here. I appreciate that you didn’t want to leave it in the woods. But it’s bad enough that we’re walking through town wet and muddy, without having to look like the survivors of a shipwreck.”
* * *
Jack watched her walk away, across the street toward the striped awning of the diner. Frustration boiled in his veins. Who was she to doubt his professional ethics? Or to tell him what he could and could not write? He sighed. This whole mess was so much more complicated than she realized. The fact of the matter was he didn’t need her permission to write about what had happened on the ferry. He’d been there. He’d seen it. He’d come face-to-face with her would-be killer.
And he’d already risked his career to see this killer exposed.
No, her reluctance to see her name in print wasn’t actually going to stop him from writing this article. It didn’t matter, couldn’t matter, how beautiful her face was, or what kind of heartstrings it tugged in him when she looked up into his eyes. He had a responsibility to report the truth, and that’s what he was going to do. Besides, it wasn’t as if he needed quotes from her. Once they both filed their police reports, all he had to do was report whatever the police said, and then he had a story.
Dear Lord, please help her to understand it isn’t personal. I’m just a man with a job to do.
He checked the life ring for damage and found a crack as long as his palm. The ferry wouldn’t want it back. He tossed it into the Dumpster. Then he followed her across the street.
She was standing in front of the diner window. When he noticed that her shoulders were shaking, his heart dropped. Was she crying? Had he really upset her that deeply? He stepped closer, his heart lifting unexpectedly as the bubbly sound of laughter filled his ears. Her eyes were alight with joy at a joke whose source he couldn’t begin to guess.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “You know how Kenny said my brother was arrested for stealing a dog?” She tapped her fingers on the glass. “Look.”
Two men were sitting in a booth by the window. One was a middle-aged, uniformed cop with a bushy red mustache. The other was built like a lumberjack with a short brown beard and blue eyes that twinkled as he glanced up and saw Meg. Her brother? Probably. A Siberian-husky puppy sat on the seat beside him. The men took turns feeding it bits of donut.
“Come on. Come meet my brother.” She ran through the doorway, sending the bells chiming and crashing as she went, and Jack had to grab the door with his fingertips to keep it from closing on him.
Benji pushed the dog onto the floor, where it slid under the table. Meg dropped into the booth beside her brother.
“Sis!” Her brother’s voice boomed through the room. “You look half-drowned.