Darlene. Arrange for her to have a session at the firing range. Today, if possible. Tell them it’s on my authority.”
“You got it,” Luke said.
Blazer turned back to Harper. “I’ll pull some strings—get you a permit. I want you ready in case you need to use it.” He gave her a hard look. “And do me a favor, McClain. Don’t get yourself killed.”
21
Harper left the police station with the gun strapped in place. She was halfway to the newspaper before she realized with a sudden sense of horror that everyone in the newsroom would see it as soon as she took her jacket off.
Whatever Blazer thought, however dangerous things were, she couldn’t wear a gun at work.
On impulse, she parked the car in Chippewa Square and ran into the Pangaea coffee shop, dashing straight into the small, one-seater bathroom at the back. In the harsh fluorescent light, she slipped off her jacket and looked at herself in the chipped mirror. The black straps holding the gun made her look like a character in a TV crime drama.
Carefully, she unsnapped the strap that held the pistol in place and pulled it out. She held it for a second, feeling the grip, before stuffing it into her bag. The she stopped and rested her hands on the cool porcelain sink, letting her head drop.
Blazer’s reaction had scared her. Nothing ever got to him. But he’d seemed genuinely disturbed about Martin Dowell.
How was she going to fight someone like Dowell? She didn’t even know how to shoot. Taking a deep breath, she straightened.
“You’ll figure it out,” she told herself.
But even as she said it, she didn’t believe it.
* * *
DJ arrived at the paper at the same time she did, and the two of them walked in the building’s back door together, Harper clutching an extra-large, black coffee.
“This is good timing. I’ve just been down to Forsyth Park to talk to some people organizing a vigil for Xavier Rayne,” he told her.
Harper glanced at him as they turned in to the stairs. “What are they like?”
“Really earnest art students.” He paused. “Actually, a couple of them are super hot. I’m going back later to hold a candle and look as sad as possible.”
Despite everything, Harper laughed. “That is disgusting.”
He gave a rakish grin. “Hey, I liked Xavier Rayne, too. It’s not all fake.”
When they reached the newsroom, he paused in the doorway, glancing at her face. “You okay? You look tired.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Just feeling a bit like a hamster on a wheel, you know?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s the first line of my job description,” he said.
As soon as they walked into the busy room, Baxter appeared in the doorway of her glass office and motioned for them to join her. “About time you got here, McClain,” she said. “What have you got?”
“Basically nothing,” Harper admitted. “The cops aren’t talking but I don’t think they’re getting anywhere with the case.”
“Well, great,” Baxter grumbled. “We’ll just change the front page to ‘Nothing New Today, Folks!’” She turned to DJ. “Tell me you’ve got something.”
“Rayne’s fans are unified in believing the evil girlfriend is a jealous murderess who should be hanged,” he reported.
Baxter gave Harper a look. “We should try to get a comment from her. See if she wants to say more.”
Talking to Cara was the last thing Harper wanted to do right now, but she didn’t argue.
“I’ll call her,” she said. “But, I don’t think she’ll talk. Not now.”
“I don’t want you to think. I want you to call her and humiliate yourself if that’s what it takes to get the best quote.” Baxter looked at her watch. “I need as much as you can get me by seven for the website.”
Standing, DJ headed for his desk. When Harper didn’t move, he glanced back at her. “You coming?”
“Two minutes,” she told him.
Harper had already decided not to tell Baxter what was going on with Martin Dowell. It would muddy the water at work, and she had enough problems right now. But there was something else she had to confess.
After DJ closed the glass door, Harper turned to Baxter.
“I had lunch with Paul Dells today.”
“Oh, really.” Baxter’s expression grew guarded. “I heard he was back in town.”
“He’s going to be head of news at Channel Five.” Harper paused. “He offered me a job.”
Baxter dropped the silver Cross pen she was holding. “I suppose he offered you more money?”
“Twenty-five percent.”
“And?” Baxter’s tone was frosty.
Harper held up her hands. “And … I’m thinking about it.”