top-heavy with writers. You’ve seen the stats. Folks are getting their news from the Internet. Subscriptions are down. The economy has problems. He’s walking a tightrope, trying to keep the paper up and running and in the red. Stu has some tough decisions to make in the days ahead.”
“You don’t mean cut staff?”
“That’s one option.”
Violet swallowed. She needed this job.
Quinn leaned over her desk and patted her hand in a fatherly sort of way. “Just work hard and you’ll be fine. Stu knows you’re a strong writer.”
Glancing over his shoulder, his eyes keyed on Jimmy’s desk. “Some others may be in a less advantageous position.”
“Are you talking about Jimmy?” Her old friend needed his job as much as she did.
“I’m not mentioning names. But since you brought him up, Jimmy’s work sometimes falls short. Plus, you’ve seen how he and Stu butt horns.”
Actually, she hadn’t seen anything of the kind, but her desk was in the far rear corner. No telling what happened in the upper-echelon cubicles, closer to the windows and within earshot of Stu’s office.
Quinn sniffed. “I know you two go back a long way, but watch your step. Jimmy knows Stu’s thinking about making cuts. Stu asked me to rework the last story Jimmy submitted.” Quinn pursed his lips and shrugged. “I’d hate to think you’d be caught in the middle.”
“Middle?”
“That’s right,” Quinn said. “Between Jimmy and Stu.”
Quinn pointed to his cubicle. “I’ve got a few leads to follow up on. Don’t work too late.” He smiled and walked away.
Violet shook her head, wondering what to make of the latest turn of events. After what had happened yesterday, Stu could easily decide she was the weak link in the editorial chain. Jimmy seemed to be standing on firmer ground.
Violet closed down her computer and grabbed her purse. She didn’t want to think about decreased subscriptions and a declining economy and staff cuts that loomed on the horizon.
She needed the security of her home.
The thought of last night’s intruder played through her mind.
Okay, her not-so-secure home. She’d follow Clay’s advice and make some changes. Install a couple dead bolts, maybe an extra floodlight or two.
Glancing at the darkening sky outside, she tried to remember if she’d turned on a light this morning when she left for work.
Of course not.
Hopefully, Clay wouldn’t be hanging around to rub her nose in her mistake.
A tingle of regret settled over her. Deep inside, she liked having the cop underfoot.
Stupid hormones, no doubt, which could get a girl in trouble. And that’s exactly what Clay West was—trouble.
As night fell, Clay kept his eyes peeled on the Plaza Complex, waiting for Violet to leave the paper. He’d followed her back to work after their run-in at the coffee shop and parked on the street where he could see the front door of her building and the adjoining parking deck.
Grabbing his phone, Clay opened the photo file to the picture he’d taken of the woman leaving the coffee shop. Violet wasn’t the only one with a camera phone.
He sent the photo to Jackson’s e-mail, then called the FBI agent. When he answered, Clay told him about Violet’s aborted rendezvous with the woman on the run.
“I sent you her photo,” Clay said. “See if you can identify the woman.”
“Any idea who she is?”
“No clue. And she didn’t hang around long enough for Violet to talk to her.”
“We’ll run the photo and let you know if we come up with anything.”
“Thanks.”
“Did Missoula P.D. find out anything about the punk you apprehended on Violet’s street?”
“The guy played dumb for most of the morning. Officer O’Reilly said he broke shortly after noon.”
“Hunger probably helped.”
Clay chuckled. “No doubt. Jamie claims he was taking a circuitous route to meet up with a dealer who lives on the next block. Missoula P.D.’s had an influx of perpetrators come in from
“You don’t mean cut staff?”
“That’s one option.”
Violet swallowed. She needed this job.
Quinn leaned over her desk and patted her hand in a fatherly sort of way. “Just work hard and you’ll be fine. Stu knows you’re a strong writer.”
Glancing over his shoulder, his eyes keyed on Jimmy’s desk. “Some others may be in a less advantageous position.”
“Are you talking about Jimmy?” Her old friend needed his job as much as she did.
“I’m not mentioning names. But since you brought him up, Jimmy’s work sometimes falls short. Plus, you’ve seen how he and Stu butt horns.”
Actually, she hadn’t seen anything of the kind, but her desk was in the far rear corner. No telling what happened in the upper-echelon cubicles, closer to the windows and within earshot of Stu’s office.
Quinn sniffed. “I know you two go back a long way, but watch your step. Jimmy knows Stu’s thinking about making cuts. Stu asked me to rework the last story Jimmy submitted.” Quinn pursed his lips and shrugged. “I’d hate to think you’d be caught in the middle.”
“Middle?”
“That’s right,” Quinn said. “Between Jimmy and Stu.”
Quinn pointed to his cubicle. “I’ve got a few leads to follow up on. Don’t work too late.” He smiled and walked away.
Violet shook her head, wondering what to make of the latest turn of events. After what had happened yesterday, Stu could easily decide she was the weak link in the editorial chain. Jimmy seemed to be standing on firmer ground.
Violet closed down her computer and grabbed her purse. She didn’t want to think about decreased subscriptions and a declining economy and staff cuts that loomed on the horizon.
She needed the security of her home.
The thought of last night’s intruder played through her mind.
Okay, her not-so-secure home. She’d follow Clay’s advice and make some changes. Install a couple dead bolts, maybe an extra floodlight or two.
Glancing at the darkening sky outside, she tried to remember if she’d turned on a light this morning when she left for work.
Of course not.
Hopefully, Clay wouldn’t be hanging around to rub her nose in her mistake.
A tingle of regret settled over her. Deep inside, she liked having the cop underfoot.
Stupid hormones, no doubt, which could get a girl in trouble. And that’s exactly what Clay West was—trouble.
As night fell, Clay kept his eyes peeled on the Plaza Complex, waiting for Violet to leave the paper. He’d followed her back to work after their run-in at the coffee shop and parked on the street where he could see the front door of her building and the adjoining parking deck.
Grabbing his phone, Clay opened the photo file to the picture he’d taken of the woman leaving the coffee shop. Violet wasn’t the only one with a camera phone.
He sent the photo to Jackson’s e-mail, then called the FBI agent. When he answered, Clay told him about Violet’s aborted rendezvous with the woman on the run.
“I sent you her photo,” Clay said. “See if you can identify the woman.”
“Any idea who she is?”
“No clue. And she didn’t hang around long enough for Violet to talk to her.”
“We’ll run the photo and let you know if we come up with anything.”
“Thanks.”
“Did Missoula P.D. find out anything about the punk you apprehended on Violet’s street?”
“The guy played dumb for most of the morning. Officer O’Reilly said he broke shortly after noon.”
“Hunger probably helped.”
Clay chuckled. “No doubt. Jamie claims he was taking a circuitous route to meet up with a dealer who lives on the next block. Missoula P.D.’s had an influx of perpetrators come in from
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