Extreme Exposure (21 page)

“So it looks like a routine burglary to you?” She’d probably overreacted earlier when her imagination had tried to tie it to the phone calls.

Chief Irving met her gaze. “I didn’t say that. But come on in and tell us if you find anything missing. And be prepared for a mess.”

The chief’s warning did nothing to prepare Kara for the shock of seeing so much of what she owned broken and in a shambles. The television lay in shattered pieces on top of broken picture frames, shredded books, and cracked CDs. Her VCR, DVD player, and stereo were reduced to components and snapped wires. Papers and newspaper clippings from her filing cabinet were strewn everywhere, the contents of her desk drawers beside them. Wads of fluffy white stuffing from her couch lay like snow across this landscape of destruction.

The kitchen was a bit better than the living room. The window above the sink was shattered and pried open, glass littering the floor. And although some dishes lay broken, the intruder hadn’t opened her cupboards to smash all of them. An ice cream container sat empty on the counter next to the refrigerator.

She stared into the darkness of her backyard through the
open hole that used to be a window. “Well, I guess that new lock worked. He didn’t get in through the sliding glass door.”

Down the hall, she found her bedroom ransacked, as if someone had gone through every drawer looking for something. Clothes from her closet lay strewn across the floor. Her mattress was slashed open and lay sideways, half on the floor and half on the box springs. Her jewelry box, which had held nothing but earrings and a clip of baby hair from Connor’s first haircut, lay open on the carpet. The panic button, which she’d left behind, sat oddly untouched amid the chaos.

Then she spied purple. Humiliated, she kicked a sweater on top of her vibrator and prayed neither Reece nor the cops had seen it.

Reece’s voice startled her. “Whoever did this left Connor’s room alone. Have you found anything missing?”

She shook her head. “No. Nothing.”

She didn’t have to be a detective to realize what that meant. This was anything but a routine burglary. This was personal.

Chief Irving was waiting for them downstairs in the kitchen. One gloved officer was busy dusting for fingerprints, the black dust like ink blotches on the window, the refrigerator, the ice cream container.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Ms. McMillan? Can we get you anything? Something to drink?”

Kara swallowed and met the detective’s gaze. “I’m fine standing.”

“Here’s the way I see it, Ms. McMillan. Our guy shows up while you’re gone. He can’t get in through the sliding glass door so he breaks the window. He doesn’t steal anything. In fact, he makes himself at home—sits down with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, eats a few granola bars, a bag of tortilla chips, perhaps watches some television, maybe even takes a piss. You don’t leave the seat up, do you? Then he decides to break stuff. And when he’s done breaking stuff, he leaves. Now why does he do that, Ms. McMillan?”

Kara noticed the granola bar wrappers and the empty bag of chips on the floor and wondered why she hadn’t noticed them earlier.
Think, McMillan! You’re an investigative reporter, remember?
“He was searching for something and got hungry. He must have felt he had time enough to eat. Then, when he couldn’t find what he was looking for, he got angry and destroyed my belongings.”

“What would he be looking for, Ms. McMillan?”

“Whistleblower videotapes. State health department documents.”

Then Reece spoke. “Or maybe he hung around so long because he was waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

His hands cupped her shoulders. “For you.”

I
T WAS
almost midnight. The police had gone. The insurance adjustor had come and gone, promising a check by mid-week. Only Reece remained.

He’d stayed with her to help her clean up the place. Now the trash can outside was full to overflowing with the shattered remains of Kara’s belongings, several trash bags that didn’t fit sitting beside it. The couch and her mattress sat on the curb awaiting pickup by the city. Her clothes had been folded and put away or hung back in the closet. The floor had been swept and the kitchen floor mopped to remove glass slivers.

Behind Kara, Reece used his electric drill to tighten a bolt that held a sheet of wood in place over the broken kitchen window. “It’s not pretty, but it will keep out both thugs and cold air until the glass is replaced.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling strangely dull and chilled. “Thanks.”

Reece unplugged the drill and turned to find Kara standing in the middle of her almost empty living room, arms hugged tightly around herself, dark ponytail hanging down her back. She looked vulnerable, despondent. Apart from
her bout of temper while she was waiting for the police to let her into her own home, she had shown almost no emotion. It had been hard enough for him to see what the son of a bitch had done to her belongings. He’d felt enraged. If she and Connor had been home when the bastard had struck . . . He didn’t want to think about it.

He couldn’t imagine how she must be feeling. He knew that holding onto her emotions was her way of trying to be strong. But he also he knew he couldn’t leave her alone with this.

He packed the last of his tools away and clicked the toolbox shut. Then he crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m so sorry this happened, Kara.”

She gave a weak little laugh. “Me, too.”

He turned her to face him and pulled her against his chest. She felt small and soft, and a surge of protectiveness shot from his gut. “Get whatever you need for work tomorrow. You’re coming to my place for the night. You can follow me in your car.”

She stepped back from him and shook her head. “I can’t, Reece. I’m not going to let whoever did this intimidate me or drive me out of my own home. I have to stay.”

“I admire your courage, but I’m not leaving you here alone. Besides, you’ve been brave enough for one day. What you need is a good night’s sleep, and we both know you’re not going to get that here.” He could tell from her eyes that he was making inroads.

“I’ll just be running away. I need to stay and face it. That’s the only way I’m going to get over this.”

“Okay. I’ll get our bags and be right back.” He started for the door.

“What do you mean ‘our bags’?”

“I told you I’m not leaving you here alone. If you stay, I stay.”

“But there’s no place for anyone to sleep except Connor’s bed, and it’s a twin.”

“I’ll take the living room floor.”

She gaped at him for a moment, then stomped off toward her bedroom. “Fine. Have it your way. But I’m only going with you because I can’t stand the thought of you sleeping on my floor.”

“Whatever works.” He picked up his toolbox, flicked out the kitchen light, and grinned.

W
HEN
K
ARA
pulled into the parking lot at the newspaper the next morning, she was in a strangely good mood given what had happened last night. Maybe it was the fact that she would get to see Connor later today. She missed him terribly. Or maybe it was the delicious breakfast of blueberry crepes Reece had somehow whipped up while putting on his senator costume—starched shirt, silk tie, and tailored trousers that draped perfectly over his scrumptious butt. Or maybe it was the way he’d put her to sleep last night and woken her up this morning—one slow, sweet climax after the next.

Okay, that was definitely it. Even if her brain had a few cobwebs in it from lack of sleep, her body felt like spun silk.

She parked, grabbed her briefcase, and got buzzed through security. She hadn’t made any headway on the health department records over the weekend, of course, so she needed to catch up on that today. She also needed to get in touch with Scott Hammond at the state health department and find out how much he was willing to tell her. If Northrup really was behind the calls and the break-in, she needed to finish the story quickly.

Ink was a journalist’s best defense.

Somehow it felt easier to face what had happened to her house by the light of day. Though she hadn’t told Reece, she was grateful he had manipulated her into staying with him. She doubted she’d have been able to close her eyes alone in her strangely empty house. She knew what her mother meant now by “bad juju.” She hadn’t been able to shake the sense of malevolence she’d felt. She had arranged to stay at her mother’s place for the next few days until the insurance check
came. She didn’t want Connor to see his home this way.

She found her desk buried in press releases, her e-mail crammed with spam, and seven messages on her voicemail. Her morning got even brighter when none of the seven messages was a whispering voice threatening dire consequences. She’d just left another message on Mr. Hammond’s home voicemail when she spied Tessa making straight toward her, documents in her hand and a worried look on her face.

“We’ve got a problem, Kara.” Tessa handed her the documents.

Kara’s good mood evaporated.

It was a police report. It was date-stamped for last night. And right there on the first page was her name—and Reece’s. “Damn! Damn! Damn!”

The report detailed accurately what had happened, including the fact that the victim and the witness had been away for the weekend.

Tom was going to be furious. But how would Reece feel? It was his name, after all, and not hers that would catch reporters’ attention. He was likely to find himself getting phone calls from media eager to speculate on his love life—and any political advantage he was deriving from it.

How could Kara have gotten so sloppy? She was a reporter, for God’s sake! She knew what a police report entailed, what was likely to be included. Why hadn’t she anticipated this and done something to prevent it?

You were scared and angry, and you weren’t thinking.
Not thinking being the key factor.

Tessa gave a heavy sigh and shook her blond mane. “I don’t see how we can hide this from Tom. If any of the other papers pick it up first—”

“He’ll kill me.”

Tessa nodded. “If you’re lucky.”

“Thanks, Tessa. I guess I’ve got twenty minutes to figure out how to handle this. I need to warn Reece.”

Tessa leaned closer and whispered. “Did you at least have a good time?”

Kara couldn’t help the dreamy smile that spread across her face.

“I thought you would.”

S
HE WAITED
until the end of the meeting to bring it up. “Someone broke into my home over the weekend. Nothing was stolen, but most of what I owned was destroyed. The police have determined that it wasn’t a routine burglary. My theory is that someone wants the whistleblower videotapes and state documents. Here’s the police report.”

She tossed it to Tom, who spent a moment skimming it, then looked up at her through emotionless blue eyes. “Got a thing going on with a state senator, I see.”

Matt’s head whipped around so fast she was surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash. Syd looked up from her calculator. Joaquin’s eyebrows shot upward. Sophie gave her knee a reassuring squeeze under the conference table. Tessa rolled her eyes.

Kara met Tom’s gaze. “Reece . . . That is, Senator Sheridan and I only recently—”

Tom tossed the report back to her. “I don’t care whom you fuck, McMillan, as long as it doesn’t compromise this newspaper. Novak, get a blurb on this in our police blotter. I don’t want the other papers thinking we’re trying to bury our own shit. If you’re not in a sexual swoon, McMillan, get copies made of those tapes and documents. They’re too important to lose.”

R
EECE GLANCED
at his watch and motioned for Brooke to grab his file on the tire-burning bill. He was due on the Senate floor five minutes ago. “I think what we’ve got is workable and responsible. Lawmakers will hate it, but the taxpayers will love it, which is one way to know for certain it’s a good bill. I really appreciate your help.”

He’d spent most of the morning on the phone with legal,
working out the details of his new bill, which would change the way the state tracked money paid to lawmakers. If it passed, no one would be able to hide a dime earned at the taxpayers’ expense. Devlin was going to hate him.

Reece scrolled through the missed calls on his cell phone and saw that Kara had tried to reach him. “While I have you on the phone, I’ve got one other question. If I wanted a comprehensive list of open-records requests made over the past six months by a specific reporter, would the state’s attorney be able to produce that list?”

State health department documents, she’d said, but she couldn’t tell him anything more. But as a member of the Legislative Audit Committee, he wasn’t without resources. If someone within state government was threatening her or had any idea who might be behind the phone calls and the break-in, it was within the scope of Reece’s position to find out who it was—and to do something about it. It wasn’t an abuse of his authority; it was his job, even if there was a personal angle to it.

“That would be great. Thanks. The reporter’s name is Kara McMillan.”

CHAPTER 16

K
ARA LAY
back, eyes closed, and let the hot water engulf her. One of the perks of staying at her mother’s house was the huge sunken tub off the master bedroom. Her favorite lavender bath salts, a dozen candles, and it was the perfect place for Kara to relax and to think. As her mother was reading Connor a bedtime story—a child’s book about the prince who ran away from home, i.e., the Buddha—she actually had time to relax and think.

She’d read through a mountain of documents so far this week, so many pages that her shoulders ached and she dreamed in charts. What she and the others had found was a long trail of complaints from Northrup’s neighbors, including Ed and Moira Farnsworth and Dottie and Carl Perkins. There were also dozens upon dozens of copies of complaints that had been filed with the county health department and then passed on to the state. Talk about passing the buck.

There were also state inspection reports showing numerous violations of state air-quality laws, some relating to the plant’s smokestacks, the rest relating to dust emissions. In more than one case, the state inspector had caught Northrup employees doing funky math to make their toxic emissions fall below state limits—a serious crime. The odd thing was that if she followed the mountain of paperwork resulting from the inspections, she always ended up with nothing. No penalties. No major fines. The steepest fine she’d uncovered
so far was for six thousand dollars—hardly a drop in the bucket for a company that raked in ten billion each year.