Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 38307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
The other man’s tone stays calm. “Violence is a strong word. We applied pressure. Your reporter is stubborn.”
“She’s not just a reporter,” Randy snaps, then reins it in. “She’s… she’s talented. She’s earned her place.”
“And she’s about to burn down a corporation that employs thousands of people,” the man replies. “Do you understand the scale of what she’s poking at? This story dies, Randy. Or you do.”
Silence.
Then Randy says, smaller, “You said you’d erase it.”
“You give us what she has,” the man replies. “All drafts. All notes. All contacts. Then we erase your mistake. You go back to being respected, and she goes back to writing fluff pieces about charity galas.”
Rowan’s eyes flash. She looks like she might lunge. I catch her wrist, firm this time, and shake my head once. “Not yet,” I mouth the words.
Randy’s chair scrapes. “She has backups. She’s paranoid.”
“Good,” the man says. “Paranoia is predictable. It means she hides things close. On-site. In her workspace. Sometimes people keep secrets where they feel safe.”
My stomach tightens. Rowan’s face goes pale. She understands it too.
The man continues, voice almost conversational. “You’ll bring me her access. Her keys. Her passwords. If she resists, you’ll lure her. If she refuses, we take the problem off the board.”
Rowan’s throat works. She whispers, barely audible, “He wouldn’t.”
I keep my voice low. “He already did.”
A new sound cuts through the hall. A soft click. Footsteps. Not from Randy’s office. From behind us. I turn my head slightly, just enough to catch movement at the end of the corridor. Two men in dark jackets, moving with purpose, not lost employees. One of them holds a small case.
They stop when they see the back door light on the far end flicker. Their heads tilt like dogs catching a scent. They’re not here by chance. They’re sweeping.
My pulse spikes. I shift closer to Rowan, keeping my body between her and the hall. I whisper, “We’re leaving. Now.”
Rowan’s eyes lock on Randy’s door. Rage fights with logic.
“Rowan,” I warn.
She swallows hard and nods once.
We move back the way we came, silent and fast. The footsteps behind us pick up pace. We pass the newsroom again, and my skin prickles. Too open. Too many angles.
Rowan stays close, doing exactly what I tell her, and it makes something in my chest twist. She’s being so brave. Smart. Trusting. We’re almost to the service hall that leads back to the door when Randy’s office door swings open down the corridor. A shaft of warm light spills into the dark hall. Randy steps out, shoulders tense, rubbing a hand over his face like he’s trying to scrub off guilt. Behind him, the other man follows.
Now I get a look at him through the glass panels that line the corridor.
Mid-forties. Clean-cut. Tailored suit. Not dressed like someone who should be in a newspaper office at midnight. His posture is too relaxed, his gaze too sharp. A man who has never been told no in a way that mattered. He lifts his head slightly, eyes scanning, as if he senses a shift in the building.
Rowan freezes.
I grip her elbow. “Move.”
She does, but her gaze stays glued to Randy. That second of hesitation costs us. The man’s eyes catch movement near the newsroom. He smiles. Slow. He knows.
Then he raises his voice, calm and clear. “Ms. Sands.”
Rowan stops dead.
I yank her forward. “Don’t.”
But she turns her head, eyes blazing. “You,” she whispers, like it’s a curse.
Randy’s face drains of color. “Rowan… what are you doing here?”
The other man steps forward into the light, hands open in an easy gesture. “This is perfect. Saves us time.”
I move without thinking, pulling Rowan behind me, my body going hard and ready. “Back up,” I say.
The man’s gaze flicks over me, assessing. “And you must be Hawthorne.”
I don’t answer. I step sideways, trying to angle us toward the exit corridor. Behind us, the two men from earlier are closer now, closing the distance in the newsroom walkway.
We’re boxed.
Rowan’s breath comes fast. “Randy, tell him to stop.”
Randy looks wrecked. His eyes flick to the men behind me, then to the man beside him. Fear wins. “I can’t,” he says, voice breaking. “Rowan, I can’t.”
Rowan’s face crumples for half a second. Then fury snaps it back into place. “You did this to me.”
Randy flinches like she slapped him. “They have me. You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly,” she spits. “You sold me.”
The other man sighs, as if we’re inconveniencing him. “Enough. Bring her.”
One of the men behind us moves first. I pivot and drive an elbow into his throat before he can grab Rowan. He drops, gagging. The second man goes for his belt. He’s got a gun.
I slam into him, shoulder first, knocking him into a desk. A monitor topples. Keys clatter. The noise explodes in the quiet newsroom. Rowan stumbles back, eyes wide, but she doesn’t run the wrong way. She stays behind me, exactly like she was trained.