again.
Chapter Four
The incessant ringing alternating between her home phone and her cell phone finally stirred her from where she’d fallen asleep on the sofa. Eyes blurry, she glanced at the caller identification. Devon.
“What’s up, Dev? It’s five in the morning.” She shoved hair from her face and wondered why she felt hung over when she hadn’t consumed any alcohol.
“Marion called. There’s breaking news that he thinks is part of our story. A car chase from Glenwood Springs just ended in a wreck outside of Golden. We need to go now. I’m on my way with the van. He wants you to do a live shot.”
Shaking off the ill feeling that shrouded her brain, she stumbled toward her bedroom. Live shot. She needed to wash her face, grab some make-up, and brush her teeth. In that order. Damn, she couldn’t think.
“Hope? You didn’t fall back to sleep did you?”
“No, no, just give a minute.” She leaned against the sink in her bathroom. “I’ll be down. I have to bring Dude with me. He won’t be trouble. I just don’t have time to walk him.”
“Marion won’t like that.”
“Marion will never know about it. See you in a few.” She clicked off the phone, filled the sink with cold water, bent over and submerged her face for as long as she could hold her breath.
After a flurry of motion, she and Dude jogged to the waiting van. In silence, she accepted the coffee from Devon while adjusting the volume on the police radio. Jason, the audio man, filled her in on the background of what was happening. Concentration came at a price this morning. Nothing clicked. An annoying whisper played on a loop through her mind saying, “you need a break, you need a vacation, you’re going to snap.”
The scene on the mountain road above Golden sickened her. A white, windowless van had flipped upside down over a steep drop off along the canyon road. Illegal immigrants—men, women, children—stumbled and slumped against boulders. Most were bleeding and crying and wandering. Some were unconscious. Some were dead.
Police and news helicopters flew low over the treetops looking for the missing driver of the unregistered van. Paramedics crawled down the narrow passage. Traffic backed up for miles winding up the mountain. Pedestrians stood outside the cars at a distance, trying to see the cause of the chaos.
“FBI just showed up,” Devon whispered from behind the camera as she shot footage of the overturned van below them.
Still silent, Hope observed the men with FBI jackets consulting with local police. She sipped her coffee and thought of the key she had left on her kitchen counter. Gannon Construction. She needed to make nice with a few feds.
She tossed the empty coffee cup into the news van, gave Dude a pat on the head, and checked her make-up in the side mirror.
“Shane.” Mark Jensen, a competing reporter from Channel 7, greeted her. “Figured you would be here. Have any inside information on this?”
She took her time wrapping her hair into a loose knot at the base of her neck before greeting him. “You’re too good to be waiting for my scraps, Jensen.”
“Your scraps are priceless, Shane.” He leaned against the van, all blonde hair, big teeth, sunglasses and charm. “Why don’t you let me take you out to dinner tonight and we’ll talk about it?”
“Why don’t you find a source and get to work? I have a live shot in ten minutes.” For the hell of it, she reached out and zipped up his jacket. “Chilly morning, feels like snow. I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.”
“You’ll go out with me. I’ll grow on you. You’ll see.” He pushed away from the van and walked toward his own.
She watched his six-foot plus athletic frame walk away and hated that she enjoyed the flirtation. Michael used to flirt…now he couldn’t stand the sight of her. She shrugged off the tension and moved her gaze over
Chapter Four
The incessant ringing alternating between her home phone and her cell phone finally stirred her from where she’d fallen asleep on the sofa. Eyes blurry, she glanced at the caller identification. Devon.
“What’s up, Dev? It’s five in the morning.” She shoved hair from her face and wondered why she felt hung over when she hadn’t consumed any alcohol.
“Marion called. There’s breaking news that he thinks is part of our story. A car chase from Glenwood Springs just ended in a wreck outside of Golden. We need to go now. I’m on my way with the van. He wants you to do a live shot.”
Shaking off the ill feeling that shrouded her brain, she stumbled toward her bedroom. Live shot. She needed to wash her face, grab some make-up, and brush her teeth. In that order. Damn, she couldn’t think.
“Hope? You didn’t fall back to sleep did you?”
“No, no, just give a minute.” She leaned against the sink in her bathroom. “I’ll be down. I have to bring Dude with me. He won’t be trouble. I just don’t have time to walk him.”
“Marion won’t like that.”
“Marion will never know about it. See you in a few.” She clicked off the phone, filled the sink with cold water, bent over and submerged her face for as long as she could hold her breath.
After a flurry of motion, she and Dude jogged to the waiting van. In silence, she accepted the coffee from Devon while adjusting the volume on the police radio. Jason, the audio man, filled her in on the background of what was happening. Concentration came at a price this morning. Nothing clicked. An annoying whisper played on a loop through her mind saying, “you need a break, you need a vacation, you’re going to snap.”
The scene on the mountain road above Golden sickened her. A white, windowless van had flipped upside down over a steep drop off along the canyon road. Illegal immigrants—men, women, children—stumbled and slumped against boulders. Most were bleeding and crying and wandering. Some were unconscious. Some were dead.
Police and news helicopters flew low over the treetops looking for the missing driver of the unregistered van. Paramedics crawled down the narrow passage. Traffic backed up for miles winding up the mountain. Pedestrians stood outside the cars at a distance, trying to see the cause of the chaos.
“FBI just showed up,” Devon whispered from behind the camera as she shot footage of the overturned van below them.
Still silent, Hope observed the men with FBI jackets consulting with local police. She sipped her coffee and thought of the key she had left on her kitchen counter. Gannon Construction. She needed to make nice with a few feds.
She tossed the empty coffee cup into the news van, gave Dude a pat on the head, and checked her make-up in the side mirror.
“Shane.” Mark Jensen, a competing reporter from Channel 7, greeted her. “Figured you would be here. Have any inside information on this?”
She took her time wrapping her hair into a loose knot at the base of her neck before greeting him. “You’re too good to be waiting for my scraps, Jensen.”
“Your scraps are priceless, Shane.” He leaned against the van, all blonde hair, big teeth, sunglasses and charm. “Why don’t you let me take you out to dinner tonight and we’ll talk about it?”
“Why don’t you find a source and get to work? I have a live shot in ten minutes.” For the hell of it, she reached out and zipped up his jacket. “Chilly morning, feels like snow. I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.”
“You’ll go out with me. I’ll grow on you. You’ll see.” He pushed away from the van and walked toward his own.
She watched his six-foot plus athletic frame walk away and hated that she enjoyed the flirtation. Michael used to flirt…now he couldn’t stand the sight of her. She shrugged off the tension and moved her gaze over
Similar Books
