bleeding.
Her idea could get both of them in way more trouble than the reporter knew. Maybe she should take it back.
But maybe it was her only hope.
She pushed a button on her phone to check the time. 1:38. Giving up on sleep, she turned on her lamp and got out of bed. Rummaging through the bins in her closet, she found a box of too-small clothes she’d set aside to donate. She pulled out two pairs of jeans and three shirts. The pants would have to be shortened, but they should fit. She fished a handful of earrings out of the pile on her dresser. Another piercing or two would help. What kind of reaction would that suggestion get?
If she did back out, would Dani go to the cops or to Nicky? She hadn’t shared all that much, but the girl with all the questions could figure things out.
What if she went ahead with the plan and Jarod figured it out? Or a story came out in the paper that brought cops crawling all over the neighborhood? Would things get better? Or way, way worse?
Like the wolves in a nightmare she’d had after that horrible night a year ago, fear circled.
Closing in on a wounded animal.
Dani opened one eye and stared at the clock. After three hours of fighting with her sheet, she’d apparently won the battle. It lay on the floor in a twisted mound.
She pressed the heels of both hands to her temples, wishing the pressure could stop the thoughts.
You gotta draw a line between reporting and social work.
Yes, she wanted to help Rena get out, but the bottom line was still the story. Lots of reporters went incognito to get the scoop. In college she’d spent a day at the mall in a wheelchair, recording people’s responses to her. This was no different. It wasn’t a lie, it was research. She was an actress on the stage of life. An actress for a cause. The more awareness she brought to the lure and danger of gangs, the more chance there was that someone would do something about the problem.
And she wasn’t doing anything illegal.
She exhausted every possible rationalization and still didn’t have an ounce of peace, but turning back didn’t seem the right option either.
Maybe Rena would change her mind and call. Maybe Evan wouldn’t answer the message she’d left him. Or maybe he’d say no to what she was going to ask and then that would be her answer, too. No.
Sorry, Rena. Thanks but no thanks. Not going to risk my life for a story.
Sometime after three she fell asleep. In one of many disjointed dreams, Nicky Fiorini took Agatha’s keys from her and baked them inside a spinach calzone.
Dani’s phone rang at five-thirty in the morning. Sitting bolt upright, she fumbled for the phone. Evan. Flopping back on the pillows, she answered in a barely audible croak.
“Rough night?”
“Mostaccioli. Cannoli.”
“Ah…the oregano morning after. Thought your message sounded a little weird. Sorry I didn’t return your call. Had my phone on vibrate, and it was after midnight when I saw it. So what’s up? What are you getting me into now?”
“Do you know what time it is?” She flipped a pillow onto her face. “I’ll tell you at work.”
“No. You’ll tell me in twenty minutes when I pick you up.”
“Evan. No. I had a horrible night and—”
“Okay, fine, if you won’t do a favor for me I guess I can’t do whatever it is you want me to do on Fri—”
“I’ll do it.” She sat up again. “What am I doing?”
“It’ll only take about an hour. I’ll get us to work on time.”
“Sure.” Whatever it was, she wasn’t in a position to refuse.
“I’m making coffee for you. Hazelnut. Smell it?”
“Hurry.”
“I’ll be there in twenty.”
Ten minutes into a hot shower, Dani regained full consciousness. Hazy snips from another dream surfaced in the steam, sending chills skittering down her back. She was sitting at a picnic table by the lake, watching the sailboats. She could even remember the colors—a striped red and yellow sail dipping and rising on surreal vibrant blue
Her idea could get both of them in way more trouble than the reporter knew. Maybe she should take it back.
But maybe it was her only hope.
She pushed a button on her phone to check the time. 1:38. Giving up on sleep, she turned on her lamp and got out of bed. Rummaging through the bins in her closet, she found a box of too-small clothes she’d set aside to donate. She pulled out two pairs of jeans and three shirts. The pants would have to be shortened, but they should fit. She fished a handful of earrings out of the pile on her dresser. Another piercing or two would help. What kind of reaction would that suggestion get?
If she did back out, would Dani go to the cops or to Nicky? She hadn’t shared all that much, but the girl with all the questions could figure things out.
What if she went ahead with the plan and Jarod figured it out? Or a story came out in the paper that brought cops crawling all over the neighborhood? Would things get better? Or way, way worse?
Like the wolves in a nightmare she’d had after that horrible night a year ago, fear circled.
Closing in on a wounded animal.
Dani opened one eye and stared at the clock. After three hours of fighting with her sheet, she’d apparently won the battle. It lay on the floor in a twisted mound.
She pressed the heels of both hands to her temples, wishing the pressure could stop the thoughts.
You gotta draw a line between reporting and social work.
Yes, she wanted to help Rena get out, but the bottom line was still the story. Lots of reporters went incognito to get the scoop. In college she’d spent a day at the mall in a wheelchair, recording people’s responses to her. This was no different. It wasn’t a lie, it was research. She was an actress on the stage of life. An actress for a cause. The more awareness she brought to the lure and danger of gangs, the more chance there was that someone would do something about the problem.
And she wasn’t doing anything illegal.
She exhausted every possible rationalization and still didn’t have an ounce of peace, but turning back didn’t seem the right option either.
Maybe Rena would change her mind and call. Maybe Evan wouldn’t answer the message she’d left him. Or maybe he’d say no to what she was going to ask and then that would be her answer, too. No.
Sorry, Rena. Thanks but no thanks. Not going to risk my life for a story.
Sometime after three she fell asleep. In one of many disjointed dreams, Nicky Fiorini took Agatha’s keys from her and baked them inside a spinach calzone.
Dani’s phone rang at five-thirty in the morning. Sitting bolt upright, she fumbled for the phone. Evan. Flopping back on the pillows, she answered in a barely audible croak.
“Rough night?”
“Mostaccioli. Cannoli.”
“Ah…the oregano morning after. Thought your message sounded a little weird. Sorry I didn’t return your call. Had my phone on vibrate, and it was after midnight when I saw it. So what’s up? What are you getting me into now?”
“Do you know what time it is?” She flipped a pillow onto her face. “I’ll tell you at work.”
“No. You’ll tell me in twenty minutes when I pick you up.”
“Evan. No. I had a horrible night and—”
“Okay, fine, if you won’t do a favor for me I guess I can’t do whatever it is you want me to do on Fri—”
“I’ll do it.” She sat up again. “What am I doing?”
“It’ll only take about an hour. I’ll get us to work on time.”
“Sure.” Whatever it was, she wasn’t in a position to refuse.
“I’m making coffee for you. Hazelnut. Smell it?”
“Hurry.”
“I’ll be there in twenty.”
Ten minutes into a hot shower, Dani regained full consciousness. Hazy snips from another dream surfaced in the steam, sending chills skittering down her back. She was sitting at a picnic table by the lake, watching the sailboats. She could even remember the colors—a striped red and yellow sail dipping and rising on surreal vibrant blue
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