Hand of Fate (20 page)

Palming his chest, Jim mimed taking a bullet. "Ouch, Cassidy! You just shot me down without even hearing me out. Are you saying that my show is frivolous? I've seen the kind of stories your station has been running. The last broadcast Isaw showed a water-skiing squirrel. Is that really news? You may be a serious journalist, whatever that means, but you're also a woman who has opinions and who never gets a chance to air them."

The waiter slid their plates in front of them. Jim picked up his knife and fork and began to attack his steak with the same ferocity he brought to the microphone.

"I do get to." Cassidy crossed her arms, realized she looked defensive, uncrossed them, and picked up her own silverware. "The shots I choose, the quotes I use--it can all go a long way to telling the story I want to tell. Just because I don't come right out and say what I think doesn't mean I don't try to shape it."

He gave her an indulgent smile. "But if you join The Hand of Fate, you won't have to disguise how you feel. You can just come right out and say exactly what you think and why. And people listen. And if you join the show, they will listen to you." He cleared his throat. "Besides, Cassidy, maybe you and me--we could be something more."

He was definitely teasing--wasn't he? "We tried that, Jim--remember?"

They had been lovers for a short time the year before, long enough for Cassidy to realize that they had the wrong things in common. Both of them, at heart, were hustlers. Both of them were looking out for number one. And then she had met Rick, and he seemed to be everything Jim wasn't: romantic, impulsive, adoring. Jim hadn't protested when Cassidy said she had met someone new. Somewhere in the depths of her purse she still had the key to his condo he had given her the first night they slept together, back when they both thought their relationship might be the real deal.

"That was then," Jim said. "This is now."

Deciding that she had better stick to one gin and tonic, Cassidy followed Jim's example and took a sip of her water. "I'm done with men, Jim. You might have heard what happened to me with the guy who followed you." Thinking of Rick, she remembered the flowers.

The bruises on her wrists. The apologies. And then the night he had pulled a gun on her.

"And the station is letting me tell my story. I'm doing a special report on domestic violence just before Valentine's Day. It's a pretty big deal." Cassidy suspected they had thrown her a bone after not living up to their promises, but it was still airtime that was hers and hers alone. "After what happened, I've decided to take a break from men:'

Jim never took anything seriously. "You know I'd be gentle," he said, and gave her a wolfish grin. He had ordered his steak rare, and with every bite he sliced off, the pool of bloody juices on his white plate grew.

"Not interested," Cassidy said, although she was. In a way.

"Even if you're not, you and me, kid, we could go places together. Strictly on a professional level. We would make a great team. We could bill it as Beauty and the Beast."

Cassidy was beginning to think Jim was serious. "Aren't you forgetting something? Or should I say someone? What about Victoria Hanawa?"

He snorted. "That's not working, and it never has. Not from day one."

"What are you talking about?" Cassidy didn't want Jim to see that there was something about the idea that intrigued her. "You guys have great chemistry."

"Don't give me that. It's not great chemistry when someone's main contribution is to laugh or say, 'Oh, Jim!"'

She gave him a skeptical look. "Or do you mean it's not great chemistry when someone doesn't go along with what you're saying? I heard about you cutting her mike when she disagrees with you too much."

He lifted his open palms, as if to show he had nothing to hide. "Look, the problem is that Victoria and I are too much alike. We'r
e a
lways fighting for the microphone. The result is barely listenable. What the show needs is two different kinds of people. One person like me: someone with a million ideas, even if, I admit, they might not all be good ones. And someone like you, who, once you give them an idea, always comes back and says something funny or thought-provoking or just generally wonderful. I've seen you do it time and again on Channel 4. You can think on your feet. You can put disparate facts together and tell a coherent story. Cassidy, together you and I could be magic. If not personally, then still professionally."

She broke his gaze and looked down at her plate. Half of her steak was already gone. How had that happened? She would just have to leave her baked potato untouched. Everyone always said the camera added ten pounds. She couldn't afford to look fat. Not now. Not when she had to sit next to Jenna in story meetings.

"Yeah, but it would still be The Hand of Fate show, right?" He shrugged. "You can only have one top dog."

Jim was like a force of nature. Cassidy didn't relish getting caught up in the whirlwind. "No, thanks. I'm my own person. I'm not meant to be anyone's order taker."

"But what are you at Channel 4? You're not coanchoring with Brad, even though they promised you. And I see they're even giving airtime to that young thing they've got there--Juno or whatever her name is."

"Jenna." Cassidy said her name reluctantly. Jim had a knack for finding her painful places and then poking them.

"At KNWS I have an intern, but you won't see me confusing her youth and beauty with talent. Channel 4 is getting desperate because they know their average viewer is eighty plus. I mean, look at the ads you guys run during the news. It's all motorized scooters, Viagra, and `you can't be turned down for our insurance.' So in a desperate bi
d f
or attention, TV news is now all about eye candy. Radio still has some gravitas." Jim slid a fork piled high with baked potato, sour cream, chives, and bacon bits into his mouth. He obviously had no qualms about his waistline.

"I'm surprised you can say that with a straight face. I've heard your program. It can be pretty one-sided. You work someone over until they're the consistency of mush."

"Okay--how about this aspect? You never have to worry about aging out of the radio market. Whereas on Channel 4, one day it might be Jenna sitting in the anchor chair, right next to Miss Connecticut. And you'll be out on assignment. Someplace where it's raining and it takes you three hours to drive there. One way."

The sickening thought of Jenna in the anchor's chair was not as far-fetched as it might have sounded even a month ago. "I don't know," Cassidy said slowly.

Working in TV was like a drug. You got addicted to the action and the recognition. But the business was so small that once you lost or left an important job, it was difficult--if not impossible--to go back. But did she want to jump into something new, or did she want to wait until she was pushed out?

"Tell you what. Why don't you come by my condo after dinner?"

He certainly had a one-track mind. Oh, well, at least she still had it, as far as Jim Fate was concerned. Cassidy lifted one eyebrow. "What--and see your etchings? Haven't you already shown me those?" She allowed herself one bite of baked potato. One bite had never killed anyone.

"No. A couple of months ago I put in a small studio setup. Just try practicing with me, and I'll record it and give you a CD. Once you hear for yourself how great we can be together, you'll know why I want this."

"I don't know, Jim." The second forkful slid into her mouth before she could stop it.

"That's not a no. Come on. Just give it a try. And if you don't think it's right for you, then no blood, no foul."

"Mm, maybe." She ate another bite of baked potato. Weren't potatoes a vegetable? And didn't she need to eat more vegetables?

Forty-five minutes later, she was sitting in Jim's condo, wearing headphones and staring at a black mike. "How are we going to do this?"

"It's easy." Jim smiled at her. One earpiece of his headphones was pushed back, as was hers. "This is your microphone. Stay about six inches away, and speak directly into it. All you need to remember about radio is: no last names, no brand names, no phone numbers over the air. Other than that, speak normally."

Cassidy's palms were damp, and her stomach felt sour. She hadn't felt this anxious in a long time. With Rick, sure. But not when it came to work. She was good at her job. And this was just like her job, only minus a camera.

"Just follow my lead. I'll start talking about something, and you chime in." Jim slid his headset back into place, flipped a switch, and then leaned toward his mike. "Now, I don't know how many of you have read it, but there's a B-list actress who has just come out with a book that says aliens are living among us. What do you think, Cassidy?"

There was no audience here but Jim and the microphone. Still, she heard the faint tremor in her first few words. "Well, I'm not sure I believe in aliens." Her voice steadied. "But I will say her theory would go a long way toward explaining a few of our politicians."

Jim laughed, a little theatrically, and shot Cassidy a thumbs-up. They went on for about twenty minutes, Jim rifting on curren
t t
opics, and Cassidy following his lead. Then Jim copied the file he had made and handed her a CD.

"Just listen to this in the car on the way home. And tell me you don't think we could blow everyone else out of the water."

She looked at her watch. It was nearly midnight. She had to get home. Get home to her Somulex. All of a sudden the water she had drunk in between sips of gin and tonic in a bid to stay sober caught up with her.

"Could I use your bathroom?"

"Of course."

The nearest one was off Jim's opulent and masculine bedroom. The bed was made with the same red and gold silk coverlet she remembered from last year. Nothing was out of place. Nothing had ever been out of place any of the times she had been here before. Jim must either be a neat freak or have a housekeeper. Cassidy's guess was both.

When she came out of the bathroom, Jim was waiting for her. He put his arms around her. His mouth was covering hers, his body insistent, his hands on either side of her head.

For a moment, Cassidy's body answered him. For a moment, her body betrayed her, as it had so many times before. And then she twisted her head and pushed on his chest.

She stepped back. The sound of their breathing hung in the otherwise silent room. "No, Jim. I can't do this again. Not now." She had always been a sucker for blue eyes and black hair. She had always been a sucker for pretty much anything in trousers.

"Can't you see? It's like yin and yang. You and me, we would fit together like puzzle pieces." For a second-he pulled her to him, demonstrating, and then slowly released her.

"That might be true. Maybe. But I don't think I want to go back there."

"Let's just leave that door open for a while, then, why don't we? We can be whatever kind of partners you like." He walked with her out into the foyer, helped her into her coat. It was funny to see him acting like such a gentleman now. Cassidy kind of liked that there were two sides to Jim, and he wasn't ashamed of either one.

His face turned serious. "Look. There's another reason I wanted to talk to you tonight?'

Cassidy wondered what it could be. He had already offered her a job and a place back in his bed--what else was there?

"If I remember correctly, you have friends in law enforcement."

She kept her face smooth. "I went to high school with Allison Pierce and Nicole Hedges. Allison is a federal prosecutor now, and Nicole is a special agent with the FBI."

"Can you give me their cell phone numbers? I'd like to get in touch with them."

"Why?"

Jim shook his head. "I'd rather not say."

"I'm not handing out their personal numbers if I don't know what it's for. They would kill me if they got a call from the show and ended up being broadcast."

"This doesn't have anything to do with the show. Well, it probably does, but not the way you're thinking. I don't want them as guests. I want their advice. I've been getting some threats."

"Don't you get a lot of threats? Whenever I turn on the program, you're handing out that NOD award."

"These are different," Jim said, and wouldn't elaborate much further.

Finally, Cassidy wrote down their numbers and gave him a kiss on the cheek before she left.

It was only later that she realized one of her earrings was missing.

Chapter
28

Portland Field Office, FBI

The cop sitting next to Allison in the FBI conference room had recently eaten onions. Raw ones, she guessed, as he exhaled again. Her stomach pressed up against the bottom of her throat. As if lost in thought, she cupped her hand over her mouth and tried to concentrate on the neutral smell of her own skin. In another ten days she would officially be in her second trimester, and Dr. Dubruski had said the bouts of nausea might fade away.

The task force had thinned considerably since sarin gas had been ruled out. Yesterday, the bigwigs had flown back to DC. Now it was down to local representatives.

"What have you learned about Jim McKissick?" Nicole asked Rod Emerick.

"Well, a lot more than about Jim Fate, that's for sure." Looking down, Rod began to read from his notes. "James Robert McKissick. Only child. Dad a drunk. Mom died in a car accident when he was nine. Dad was driving, but wasn't charged. It's not clear why. A few months after that, the state took custody after a teacher reported seeing welts on the kid's back. Dad died of liver failure about two years later. Meanwhile, the kid was bouncing from foster home to foste
r h
ome. Reading between the lines, there may have been some physical abuse."