“Take a seat,” he says. “We have a lot to go over.”
I do as he says but he himself doesn’t sit down. Instead, he stands by the long, vertical window, gazing outside.
“Why the formalities?” I say, getting antsy about what he has to say.
He finally turns to me. “I thought we had an agreement, Ella. You were supposed to cover the investigation and give your personal account of it as someone closely related to the victim and I was supposed to promote you to an editor. What happened?”
What happened… right, it’s a fair question. Except I don’t even know where to begin, or how much I should say, or how much he knows already. I decide to start with the obvious. “Things changed when Jaxson Cole was arrested for Madison’s murder. It came as a total shock. I didn’t know how to write or even how to feel about it.”
“You could have called. Better yet, you could have chronicled the arrest, don’t you think? I’d have given you the top post on the site.”
So he knows I was there during Jaxson’s arrest. Esposito did not keep his word to hide that detail. It makes sense that he’d change his mind and report my presence at Jax’s condo. I wonder, does the whole country now think I screwed Madison’s alleged killer and boyfriend?
Jax is neither—in my heart of hearts I know that, but I don’t know what good can come from what my heart feels.
“You’re being cruel, Mark,” I say, my voice barely clawing its way out of my throat. “Did you have someone else write the piece and get the top post of the day at my expense?”
Mark shakes his head. “I see you don’t even check the website. How do you expect to make a career here?”
I want to inform him that I don’t expect to make a career here, but that’s not at all important right now. “Like I said, I’ve been out of town and trying to console my mother,” I say as calmly as humanly possible. “I’m begging you to tell me what was said about me on the news.”
Mark takes his time to scratch his upper lip while he locks his eyes on mine. “What makes you think there’s anything on the news about you?”
God damn it, is he playing games with me? “You just said,” I say but then stop. All of a sudden I’m not even sure what he said.
He finally takes pity on me. “Relax,” he says. “Nobody knows you were found at Jaxson Cole’s place when he was arrested. Detective Esposito specifically told me I could not use that piece of information.”
“But he told you?” I say, confused. “Why?”
“So I could explain why you’re officially off this investigation,” a voice behind me says.
Rick has materialized out of thin air, his light-colored jacket hugging his impeccable body, his dark hair carefully sculpted back.
“Speak of the devil,” I say. As much as I hate being in this situation, I’d have to face him sooner or later.
“Miss Wade,” he says, nodding.
So we’re back to being formal and maybe that’s how it should be. “Detective Esposito,” I say, “I’m glad you’re here. I owe you an apology.”
That probably surprises him because he clears his throat before he speaks. “What are you apologizing for?”
“The other day, when you arrested Jaxson, I overreacted and I had no right to. You were doing your job and I was getting in the way. I’m sorry if I let emotions cloud my judgment.”
“Apology accepted,” he says, but the distance and disapproval in his tone are too strong to miss.
“Thank you for keeping your word,” I go on, not sure why I need his approval.
“My word?”
“Yes, about keeping my name out of your report.”
“Not a problem,” he says. “It’d just cause unnecessary scrutiny from the press. Not much to be gained.”
I nod, feeling like a complete idiot. Rick Esposito despises me now and there’s nothing I can do about it. I quickly decide it’s for the best.
“I guess that’s the end of the line for our little collaboration,” he says, offering me his hand. “I wish you good luck. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to have a word with Mr. Devlin.”
I shake his hand and turn to go but then I change my mind. “Can I ask you one last question?”
“You can ask.”
“What evidence do you have against Jaxson? What led to his arrest?”
For a moment, I think he’s not going to answer. He proves me wrong and offers me a little insight into what’s going on. “It’s called DNA.”
I repeat the initials in my head. DNA. His response has opened up dozens of questions instead of closing them. “What does that mean exactly?”