All Wrapped Up (A Pine Mountain Novel) (4 page)

“This was seven years ago, remember? Anyway, I did look for her, online and in
person. Her roommate had no clue where she’d gone, and her cell had been disconnected. There was no trace of her, not even in her hometown. I looked everywhere I could think of, but nobody had ever heard of her. It was as if she didn’t even exist.”

Except in his memory, and there, Ava had been all too real. Glittering, bright green eyes, the brown-sugar smell of her skin, a smile so sexy and
sweet he’d get half hard just thinking about it, the seductive, velvety sighs she’d make underneath him that took him the rest of the way there . . .

No. No more. Ava Mancuso was in his rearview, and he needed to slap a big, fat
ROAD CLOSED
sign over memory lane and reroute this shit, permanently.

“Anyway.” Brennan cleared his throat, then did it again just to make sure his vocal cords got
the message to put some extra indifference on his words. “After a couple of weeks, I figured she didn’t want to be found. So I took the hint and stopped looking.”

“And now she’s here looking for a story?” Adrian jerked his stubble-covered chin toward the beer on the shelf in front of them.

Relief swirled in Brennan’s gut at passing the I-really-am-fine muster. He hefted a case of summer ale
from the rack, even though his back protested heartily under the sudden added weight. “Along with half the other reporters in the Blue Ridge. Too bad for them I’ve got nothing to say.”

“Hmm.” Adrian slid a case of beer of his own to his shoulder, flipping his tree trunk of an arm over the cardboard to balance it one-handed while he popped the walk-in handle with his other palm. “You tell her
that?”

A tiny kernel in Brennan’s subconscious flinched, but no way. He might’ve been a little colder to Ava than necessary, but she’d earned every frost-encrusted syllable.

“Yeah,” Brennan said, following Adrian through the now-quiet kitchen toward the pass-through. He’d made it wildly clear he wasn’t giving Ava what she’d come for, and she’d had plenty of time to gather her purse and her
pride and walk out the door. Now,
finally
, Brennan could get on with his night and his life. “All I want to do is tend bar. I’m not interested in anything else.”

Wait . . . had the crowd gotten even bigger in the ten minutes he and Adrian had been in the kitchen?

“Looks like you’re gonna get your wish,” Adrian half hollered over the wide expanse of his shoulder, and even then Brennan had to
strain to hear him over the loud thrum of voices and music. He moved toward the alcove at the midpoint of the overly crowded bar, intending to get these beers on ice so he could start serving up drinks, stat, but Adrian stopped him midstride.

“You sure you’re really good to go?”

Brennan nodded. “Absolutely.” Christ, he was more than ready to loosen the death grip of this day with some good,
old-fashioned, bone-numbing work.

“Good.” His buddy stood to the height of his six foot, five inches, scanning the bar with a crooked smile before saying, “Because your reporter is digging in as hard as you are. And it looks like her drink is empty.”

Chapter Four

After the fourth time Ava reread the same ho-hum line from the Pine Mountain Fire Department’s press release on the blaze at Joe’s Grocery, she gave in and let her eyes drift shut. Okay, so it served her right for letting her stubborn pride keep her ass glued to her seat at the Double Shot’s bar until last call a mere eight hours ago, but come on. Her worth was on the line. She
didn’t care how much sleep she had to sacrifice, she was going to get this story.

No matter how many hard-edged, silent stares Nick sent to the end of the bar along with her drink refills.

And there had been a
lot
of them.

“Hey.” Layla leaned against the flimsy entryway to Ava’s cubicle, a stack of photo printouts tucked in the crook of her arm. “Did you talk to the hero guy?”

“Good morning
to you too,” Ava flipped back, arching a brow to take any potential sting off the words. She’d always admired Layla’s propensity for cutting to the chase. Took one to know one, and all that rot. “I’m working on the, uh, hero guy. But nothing solid yet.”

“Sounds like a tough source. I bet half the Blue Ridge wants a shot at him after yesterday.”

Ava stiffened against the back of her creaky
old desk chair. “I can handle a difficult source.”

Layla winced and twisted the end of her white blond ponytail between her fingers, and great—here came the kid gloves. “Crap, Ava, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. You’re a great reporter. Gary’s totally giving you the raw end of the deal with all these lame assignments.”

“To an extent, I get it.” Ava dialed down her voice to its lowest
setting to avoid being overheard, because Gary’s hearing bordered on superpower freakish. “I fully admit that I screwed up that first really big assignment he gave me by not double-checking my source.”

Okay, so “screwed up” was putting it a bit mildly. But she’d been really gung ho to break her first meaningful story, and the allegations of misconduct in the workplace at a prestigious local
law firm had seemed very legit. Until Ava’s source admitted after the fact that she’d made up her story after an argument with her boss, and said boss had come within inches of suing the
Daily
for libel, even after they’d printed a front-page retraction.

And Ava had been at the bottom of the career ladder, with Gary absolutely convinced she couldn’t properly work a source ever since.

“Still,”
she continued, leaning closer to Layla. “it’s been long enough. Fact-checking myself to death and covering nearly nonexistent stories while my colleagues get the lion’s share of great assignments isn’t what I signed on for.”

Layla transferred the photos in her arms to the corner of Ava’s desk, sliding into the seat across from her and dropping her voice to a hushed murmur. “Look, Ava, don’t
get me wrong. I love working with you and don’t want you to leave, but not all newspapers are run by managing editors like Gary. If he’s still giving you crap assignments after all this time, maybe you should just move on to greener pastures.”

A heavy ache settled in behind her breastbone, and Ava reached for the supersized container of Tums she’d been using as a paperweight. “I can’t. Gary
might be putting me through the wringer, but I’ve got five years under my belt here. If I go somewhere else, I’ll lose my seniority and have to start all over again. Plus, it’s not as if there are a ton of prime reporting jobs in the Blue Ridge.”

“You’ve got a point there. The paper in Pine Mountain is even smaller than this one,” Layla admitted.

“All I need is one chance—one big story to
prove what I’ve got—and Gary won’t have any choice but to give me more plum assignments.”

“That’s true,” Layla said thoughtfully. “Even Mr. Royce would notice if you broke something huge and didn’t get bumped up to some better stories, especially with newspaper sales kind of flagging lately.”

Ava nodded at the mention of the
Daily
’s owner. “Which is exactly why I need to break this story on
the fire at Joe’s, no matter what.”

Well, that was the main reason, anyway. Copping to the fact that she also didn’t want to leave Riverside because her brother Pete lived a hop-skip away in Pine Mountain wasn’t in Ava’s game plan. After all, most people would find it utterly strange that she and her older brother went to such great lengths to stick together.

And explaining that it was a deeply
ingrained survival tactic as the children of two raging alcoholics didn’t really make for lively conversation.

Layla reached out to squeeze her shoulder, and the move anchored Ava back down to her overstuffed cubicle. “Okay. What can I do to help?”

Ava opened her mouth to dive into what she’d uncovered so far on the fire—and more importantly, what she
hadn’t
been able to uncover on Nick Brennan—but
her words fell prey to the sound of a very gruff, very irritated throat being cleared.

“You’re late, Mancuso.”

Ava’s heart hit her breastbone, and she winged around in her cubicle just in time to catch her boss’s trademark scowl right in the chest. For as often as Gary wore the expression, she’d swear it had to be permanently etched on his beefy face.

“But I’ve been here since nine o’clock,”
she said, twisting in her desk chair to double-check the time stamp on her laptop. Not even an extra slap to the snooze button was worth the beady-eyed wrath she’d incur for walking in at 9:08. And considering she was probably a dead ringer for a cast extra in a zombie movie right now, that was totally saying something.

Gary, however, was clearly unimpressed. “The weekly reporter’s meeting was
supposed to start in the conference room three minutes ago.” He paused to give his gold-plated watch an exaggerated tap, crossing his arms over his considerable paunch as Ava’s confusion multiplied.

“But that’s not until noon.” They’d done their weekly wrap-ups at lunch on Friday for the last five years. Ava knew, because she’d never missed a single one.

“Not today,” Gary said, his frown traveling
upward to land in a crease between his brows. “Now did you want to join the rest of us for the reporter’s meeting, or are you in over your head with your copy edits?”

The question was laced with just enough suggestion that Ava’s belly went tight, and she lifted her spine to its full height. “Nope,” she said, not balking but not breaking their eye contact either. “Not at all. I’m ready whenever
you are.”

Giving Layla a quick nod, Ava grabbed the blue-fabric-covered notebook she’d been using to gather her research on yesterday’s fire and followed Gary into the tiny conference room at the end of the hall. Of course, the other three reporters on staff were already seated at the four-person table, leaving her to drag a chair from the perimeter of the room and squeeze into a self-made spot.
Part of her was irritated as hell to have to wing her way through this meeting two hours early, but Ava had learned ages ago to be prepared for anything as far as Gary was concerned. Ironically, it made her a better reporter. Provided she could actually snag an assignment of value, anyway.

Cue the segue.

“Right. Now that we’re all finally here—” Gary’s squinty gaze landed on Ava with all the
subtlety of a hand grenade, but she met it toe-to-toe. She might be willing to prove her worth by working her buns off, but she wasn’t anybody’s rag doll to be tattered or tossed around at will.

Not anymore, at least.

“Let’s get started,” Gary continued, testing the limits of his desk chair as he pushed back to look at the group. “Where are we on this fire in Pine Mountain yesterday? We’re
losing sales to Bealetown by the week, and I don’t want that jackass Trotter from the
Bugle
scooping us on this.”

Well, at least there was one thing she and Gary could agree on. Mike Trotter was a dick and a half.

“Can’t get scooped on a story that isn’t there,” came a wry voice from across the table, and Ava zeroed in on its owner. Of her three fellow reporters, she liked and respected Ian
St. Clare the most, even though she knew Gary did too.

Ian pushed at his already rolled up shirt sleeves, shaking his head as he added, “Both the PMFD and the RFD are giving the standard just-the-facts press release pending investigation, but at first glance, it doesn’t look like arson. As far as the rescue goes, the little boy’s apparently fine, but his mother put out a statement at the hospital
refusing all interviews. So that’s a dead end.”

Gary frowned. “Goddamn overprotective parents. What about the guy who ran in to save the kid, this hometown hero? Feel-good stories sell a shitload of papers, Ian. Tell me you at least talked to him.”

Ava’s heartbeat ratcheted all the way up despite her titanium-strength effort to stay cool. Just because she hadn’t seen Ian at the Double Shot
last night didn’t mean he hadn’t been in touch with Nick. And even though she’d seen Nick blow off all the other bids for attention last night, he hadn’t left any doubt as to who his least favorite reporter in the Blue Ridge was at the moment. If Nick had spoken to Ian and given him information pertaining to the rescue, Ava was screwed. Yes, she was desperate for the story, and oh
hell
yes, she’d
do nearly anything to get it, but scooping an in-house reporter was hugely frowned upon in journalism, not to mention being a bitch move of unrivaled magnitude. But if Ian hadn’t made any headway with Nick, there was still a chance she could land this story.

“He hasn’t returned my calls or e-mails,” Ian said, and
Ava exhaled in a
whoosh
of relief. “As far as I can tell, the guy’s not talking to anybody at all. I’ve been watching local outlets, but word on the wire is his favorite response is
no comment
.”

“Come on. The guy—Brennan, right? He risks life and limb running into a fire, but doesn’t want any credit for it? No spotlight at all?” Gary snorted. “I need a freaking story here. Can’t we lean on him?”

“We could.” Something flickered behind Ian’s eyes, and wait . . . was that unease? “But that hasn’t really worked for anyone so far, and nearly everyone in King County has tried. I get that this fire is the biggest thing to go down in Pine Mountain in a while, but to be honest, unless it turns out to be arson, I don’t think there’s much of a story there.”

“Actually, Ian, I respectfully
disagree,” Ava said, swinging her gaze between Ian’s surprise and Gary’s thinly veiled disdain. “I was on the scene at Joe’s yesterday, and I’ve been taking a look at some of the facts. There might be more to the personal-interest part of this story than we think.”

“More to the hometown hero than meets the eye, huh.” Gary’s brows folded hard beneath his receding hairline. “You got some kind
of angle on the guy I don’t know about?”

Ava’s pulse pitched. Okay, so she was probably the only person who knew Nick had planned to become a career firefighter seven years ago, but her cursory search this morning had come up eerily empty, so she couldn’t prove he’d actually done it. If she shot her mouth off with facts she couldn’t back up again, Gary would have her job on a silver platter.
No matter how questionable his story-
getting
ethics were, the story-
printing
had to be ironclad.

Plus, her “in” with Nick was more like an “out” right now, and anyway, she didn’t want this story because she knew him. She wanted to be the best reporter for the job.

“I don’t know about an angle,” Ava said, choosing her words with extreme care. “I’ve been watching the story like everyone else,
and I’m familiar with the facts. I think a spotlight would be a great personal interest piece with a focus on the positive, and an exclusive interview would certainly sell a lot of newspapers, both locally and in bigger markets.”

“An exclusive,” Gary echoed, jabbing one sausagelike finger in her direction. “You really think you’re tough enough to squeeze something useful out of this Brennan
guy when he hasn’t let out a peep to anyone else?” The only thing more unmistakable than the challenge in his voice was the doubt.

But Ava answered him with even more unmistakable certainty. “I’m confident I know how to work a source to break a great story, yes.”

For a second, Gary looked like he was going to argue, but then his expression went cold and flat. “Fine by me if you want to waste
your time trying, Mancuso. But if there’s a story there, it had better be big, and you’d better be the one to get it. This Brennan guy gives an exclusive interview to another paper? You won’t even get a shot to cover a junior varsity football game.”

 

 

Ava sat in the driver’s seat of her Volkswagen, her arms knotted over her chest and her eyes on the Double Shot as if she were three
paces away from a shoot-out. Just because she’d spent five hours here last night—to no avail—didn’t mean she had to like the place. She normally avoided establishments like the Double Shot at all costs, but right now, the bar was a means to an end.

A really broody, smoldering-in-the-best-possible-way, clearly-still-mad-at-her-for-the-past end.

“Okay.” Ava smoothed a hand over her blouse, straightening
the green silk beneath her coat before grabbing her huge leather tote from the passenger seat and abandoning the comfort of her car. Gary had given her this assignment, and now her pride
and
her job depended on getting this story. If she had to sit in a bar in order to get a word in edgewise with Nick Brennan, so be it.

But God, did the bitter smell of liquor have to permeate
everything
?

Ava set her shoulders, brushing off the thought as she crossed the Double Shot’s gravel-strewn parking lot. Objectively, the place was nicer than most, with its weathered clapboard siding and whitewashed shutters surrounding the gleam of bright, clean windows. Lantern-style light fixtures hung at even intervals along the building’s narrow wooden porch leading to the front door, and the tiny white Christmas
lights lining the railing added extra glow. Even the polished brass door handle felt warm in her palm from the remnants of slanted sunlight peeking past the pines and evergreens dotted around the parking lot.