Gale Force Page 0,2

that the idea of calendars had been newfangled. He'd been around, my lover. The fact that he was hanging around here, letting me be bitchy to him, was kind of amazing.

Before I could apologize to him, the phone rang again. I picked up the cordless extension, pressed the button and said, "Paul, I swear, I'm not -- "

A businesslike voice on the other end said, "May I speak with Joanne Baldwin?"

"Speaking." I rolled my eyes at David. Another attempt to sell me flood insurance or steel hurricane shutters. I readied the I'm in an apartment speech, which usually served to put a stop to these things.

"Ms. Baldwin, hello, my name is Phil Garrett, I'm an investigative reporter with the New York Times. I'd like to speak with you about the organization known as the Wardens. I believe you're one of its senior members. Could I have your title?"

I blinked, and my expression must have been something to behold, because David slowly straightened up in his chair, leaning forward. "You -- sorry, what? What did you say?"

"Phil Garrett. New York Times. Calling about the Wardens. I have some questions for you."

"I -- " My voice locked tight in my throat. "Got another call, hold on." In a panic, I hit the END CALL button and put the phone down on the table, staring at it like it had grown eight legs and was about to scuttle. "Oh my God."

"What?" David asked. He looked interested, not alarmed. Apparently, I was amusing when panicked.

The phone rang again. I didn't move to pick it up. David took it and said, pleasantly, "Yes?" A pause while he listened. "I see. Mr. Garrett, I'm very sorry, but Miss Baldwin can't speak to you right now. What's your deadline?" His mouth compressed into a thin line, clearly trying not to smile at whatever my face was doing now. I could hardly breathe, I felt so cold. "I see. That's fairly soon. Miss Baldwin is actually on vacation right now -- maybe there's someone else you can -- " Another pause, and his gaze darted toward mine. "You were given her number."

I mouthed, blankly, shit! David lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. This could not be happening. I mouthed, by who? David dutifully repeated the question.

"Not at liberty to divulge your sources," he said, for my benefit. "I see. If you want my opinion, I think you're being used, Mr. Garrett. And you're wasting your time."

He listened. I felt my heart hammer even faster. Mr. Garrett wasn't going down easy.

"I'll have her call you back," David said, hung up, and put the phone back on the table. He leaned forward, hands folded, watching me. "You're scared."

I nodded, with way too much emphasis. "Reporters. I hate reporters. I hate reporters from little weekly papers in One Horse, Wyoming, so how much do you think I'm going hate somebody from the New York Times? Guess."

"You don't even know him. Maybe this is a good thing. Good publicity."

"Are you on crack? Of course it's not a good thing! He's a reporter! And we're a secret organization! Who the hell gave him his info? And my cell number?"

"Jo, he's a reporter. He didn't have to get your number from anyone inside the Wardens. He could have gotten it through simple research. As to what put him on to the whole topic ...." David shrugged. He was right. With all the disasters and potentially life-destroying events that we'd had the last few years, the Wardens had been a little more public than anyone liked.

And so had I.

I grabbed for the phone and dialed Lewis's cell. It rang to voicemail. "Lewis, call me back. I've got reporter troubles. Look, if this is your idea of a joke and you staked me out as the sacrificial goat for the media, I am not going to be the only one on the altar when they get out the knives -- "

David took the phone and hung it up, very calmly. "That's enough of the metaphor," he said. "Look, you don't need to flail around. You know