Reality (The Girl in the Box Book 52), page 7
“I also like how you took a shot at my love life while we were in that meeting,” I said.
“Ah, calm your teats, no one heard that but me,” Eilish said, a little too cheerily. “And if the truth hurts, maybe do something to put the lie to it instead of just going to bed at six at night and lying there like you're waiting for the undertaker to throw the first shovel on you.”
“Love's not in the cards for me,” I said, white-knuckling the wheel as I came around a hard corner, the road hugging the piney mountainside.
“You make it sound like you have no control over your life.”
“We can't all bend men to our will.”
“It's not even about that,” Eilish said. “You're supposed to be the most powerful woman in the world. If you can't bend reality a bit in the direction you prefer, I have to question whether you're putting in any effort.” When I sent her a searing glare, she elaborated. So helpfully. “You know how many people out there, if you say, jump, won't even bother asking 'How high?' They'd just jump, maybe even off a cliff.”
“Please go jump off a cliff.”
“Go soak your head.”
“See?” I asked. “I can't redefine reality. People don't obey my every command.”
“I didn't say they all would,” Eilish said. “They don't obey my every command either–”
“No, only all the men. Which gives you a significant advantage since men–”
“Don't say they 'run the world.' Because last I checked, it was a female president sitting in the Oval, and that'd make it a wee bit difficult for me to launch nukes if I were of a mind.”
“Just go down the chain to the general with a dick in charge of them and boom, we'll all be ducking and covering in no time.”
“And see, that's my point,” Eilish said cheerfully. “Yeah, you cannot control everything. But there are things you can control that you make no effort on. Like this press business with this governor. How hard is it to say to the man, 'Hey, I'll do some wee interviews with your local stations when I get back into town? I'll go out on patrols with the Denver police for a couple days–'”
“I don't know how long my manhunt is going to take.”
“It doesn't matter,” Eilish said, that lilting accent really coming out. “These people are politicians; they're not looking for solid promises and they wouldn't trust it if you made them anyhow. They're looking for the illusion. They could give less of a shite if you solve the problem so long as you make it look like they're doing so. Have you learned nothing from your time in Washington?”
“That's cynical,” I said, grudgingly admiring her view.
“Tell me I'm wrong,” Eilish said. “Because from this outsider's perspective, it looks like your politicians spend little to no time actually trying to solve problems and more time trying to figure out how to tell people it's not a bloody problem in the first place, and how if it is, well they're doing all they can with the sitting on their thumbs and rotating and all.”
I laughed. “You may have a point.”
“Yeah, I'm full of all sorts of useful wisdom – say, what's that?” Eilish asked.
I hit the brakes. What looked like a news camera truck was parked on the narrow shoulder right next to the sign that proclaimed, “WELCOME TO STEELWOOD SPRINGS – Elevation 7,895 – Population 6,749.”
“I don't know,” I said, slowing down because thanks to this beast sitting on the road, it was down to one lane. “But I don't have a great feeling about it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Scott
Hanging around Scarlet's mansion didn't provide much in the way of stimuli, but it did provide one insight: keeping an eye on Scarlet was going to be too big of a job for Scott alone, and he knew it within minutes.
“You don't have to just hover,” Scarlet said, fussing with her makeup. She'd been silent for a few minutes, but was looking at him in the mirror with growing irritation. “Why don't you wait outside the door?”
“Sure, but keep it open,” Scott said, retreating from the bathroom – which she immediately shut. “Dammit.”
He still hadn't secured the house, but with her alone in there, a broken transom window just over her, the path was clear for a meta to just leap right in. And what if he was gone inspecting the upstairs while that was happening?
Well, she'd be dead.
And so, with great reluctance, he pulled out his phone and the list that Augustus had given him. He skipped Traverton and put Veronika first, and she answered immediately, “Hey, Scotty boy. What's up?”
“First off, I'm amazed you know my number,” Scott said.
“I have all your numbers. Mostly so I can ignore you if need be. But in this case, Augustus warned me you might call and I have to say...sorry. I can't do your bodyguard job.”
“Is it below you?” Scott asked.
Veronika laughed, almost a cackle, really. “Everything is beneath me, sweetie. But no, I am actually busy for once. Personal issue of the family variety. Which I told Augustus, and which he should have told you.”
Scott glanced down the list. “Even if he had, I would have called you anyway to confirm. You know who he's got me talking to after this? Friday.”
“Ooh,” she said, sounding genuinely pained. “You have my condolences, and if I could help you guard dear Scarlet's body – dear God, that body – I would be all over it. But alas. On your own on this, blondie-bear.”
“Thanks,” Scott said, but she was already gone. He looked at Friday's name and number, and made an executive decision. “We'll just skip that one for now.” He didn't even know the next one.
Still at the top of the list? Owen Traverton.
His expression darkened merely looking at the name. He remembered Traverton as Sienna's dog, the spy sent to report on her by the Clary family and Cassidy Ellis, back when she was troublesome and evil(ish). “What the hell good is this guy going to do to earn his money?”
But with a look at the bathroom door, he knew he needed help...and so he dialed the number, and waited for an answer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Heidi
All it had taken was a call to the governor's office to get the truth out of a low-level aide. Heidi hadn't had to work particularly hard for it, even to find–
Sienna Nealon wasn't just in Colorado.
She was coming right to them in Steelwood Springs.
After that it had just been a matter of parking a camera truck on the narrow two-lane road into town and then she'd settled back to wait, watching on the monitors. It wasn't like Steelwood got a lot of traffic in the off season; snow was on the peaks, sure, but the air temp right now was a balmy seventy-two degrees. Not exactly optimal skiing weather.
Now as she watched a car coming up the road, with falcon-like eyes she stared at the slowing vehicle. Texas tags; likely a rental. A dark-haired female at the wheel, another, lighter-haired one in the passenger seat–
“I think this is it,” Heidi announced to Sarah and the cameramen. “Get ready.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Sienna
“You're thinking it's an ambush, aren't you?” Eilish asked as I slowed the car to deal with this unexpected obstacle. I hadn't seen another vehicle in almost half an hour.
“Past experience would suggest getting my morning oatmeal could result in an ambush.”
“You're so paranoid.”
“I'm paranoid until the shooting starts,” I said, easing the car closer to the halted truck. “Then suddenly I'm an effing prophet.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Heidi
“Let's get out slowly,” Heidi said, giving instruction to Sarah and the camera crew. “She lives in a different world than us, one where she's constantly being ambushed by people who want to hurt her. I want to reassure her, give her a chance to see that Steelwood Springs can be a different place for her.” Heidi touched her hands to her heart. “A safe place. A place where she can feel...love.”
“You brought a tear to my eye, boss,” Sarah said, mopping her eye with her sweater sleeve.
“All right, let's go,” Heidi said, opening the truck door. “Nice and slow. Let her see we don't mean any harm.” And she stepped out into the chilly mountain eve.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Sienna
“Someone's coming around the truck,” I said, hearing the faint noise of a door opening over the engine and the wind rushing through the dark, autumn, Colorado night. It was really coming down off the mountain.
“Dammit, I hate that you might be right,” Eilish said, stiffening in the passenger seat. “But hey, maybe it's the driver. Could be a flat tire.”
“Truck's too level for that,” I said, shaking my head. I hit the button and the window started to auto roll-down. “Get ready to take the wheel. If they come out shooting, I'll go out and draw their fire while you – what the f–”
Two women came walking around the front of the truck, lit by my headlights. Each carried a stick above her head, with a banner they started to unfurl between them. Behind them came a camera crew, with their lens focused on–
Me.
WELCOME, SIENNA! the banner read once it was all the way open; the two women blocked the road so I couldn't get by.
“Awww,” Eilish said. “It's a welcoming party. That's sweet.”
“They've got a camera. They're press,” I said, my eyes narrowing, “I'm running them over.”
“What?” Eilish reached over and grabbed the wheel. “You cannot run them over! The governor would be very upset.”
I paused, my foot inches away from the gas pedal. Maybe I was gonna hit it, maybe I wasn't. Either way, I made a show of thinking things over. “I suppose you're right,” I finally, grudgingly conceded.
One of the women – the one on the left side, dark haired and smiling, threw a little burst of confetti that sparkled in my headlights. She looked...genuine, as press people went. Like she might be actually happy to see me. As one is when they believe they're faced with a career-making opportunity to interview Sienna Nealon.
“I don't think they're going anywhere,” Eilish said. “We might as well get out and talk to them, otherwise I reckon we'll be sitting here all night.”
“You could yell at them,” I said, “get them to get out of here.”
She peered into the dark. “Not a man among them except he who's on the camera. I don't think they'll be heeding my advice. We'll have to persuade them the old-fashioned way if you want them to move.”
And I did. Without killing the ignition – in case I was wrong about this being an ambush – I put the car in park, opened the door, and stepped out to face whatever these people had to say to me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“You're obstructing traffic,” I said, standing exposed with my car door open, the wind rushing down in a chilly current off the mountain to my right, the darkness of the road cut only by my headlights and the distant glow of Steelwood Springs ahead down the valley.
“Sienna!” the dark-haired, smiling woman at the left side of the unfurled banner said. “We're so glad to see you!” She waved the stick that held up the banner. “Steelwood Springs welcomes you!”
“That's sweet,” I said. “Now get out of the road before I run you over.”
The blond woman on the right side of the banner started to get clear, but she encountered some resistance when the brunette did not move. Even the camera crew started to skedaddle, but the brunette just laughed and said, “But we're here to welcome you. Would you really run us over for that?”
I almost said yes. Almost.
“No, of course not,” Eilish said, clearly too kind-hearted for her own good. Damned placid Europeans. “But we do need to get through. We have business in town.”
“Of course,” the brunette said, and she started parading toward us, slinging the stick holding the banner aloft behind her like a rifleman on parade. “And I can help you with that – well, we can.”
Ah, here it was. The offer. Just do this little interview for me, and I'll get you whatever you need. I'd heard some variation of this bullshit from every cub and veteran reporter from San Diego to Bar Harbor. And it was always bullshit, because while reporters were connected to sources, their actual ability to deliver favors was, by the necessity of keeping their sources secret, rather limited. If you needed tickets to a ballgame, they might be able to deliver for you. If you needed police protection in a given town, you were better off just going straight to the source. Figuratively speaking.
“Oh, really?” I asked, my desire to sarcasm outrunning my urge to finish this quickly by calling BS and then blazing past at 100 mph in my car.
“We're hunting a fugitive,” Eilish said, causing me to swivel my head because she was volunteering way more than I wanted her to. “How would you be able to help us with that? And who even are you? Local news?”
“No,” the brunette said, placing a hand over her heart, like that was some mark of sincerity. “We're not press. I'm not looking for an interview. My name's Heidi Hutchinson, and I'm the producer of a local show – a runaway smash hit in this television market, by the way. Everyone knows us, everyone loves us. Which means we can open doors for you. Give you the space and the reach to get out any message you want in this area.”
“Oh, gyah,” I said, making a sort of vomiting noise, “you're a producer. That's worse than a reporter.”
“Now, hang on a minute,” Eilish said. “You have a TV show?”
“Number one rated,” the woman said. “In Steelwood Springs, we beat literally everyone, including the top-rated national shows. Everyone around here watches us.”
“Fan-frigging-tastic,” I said, still committed to my sarcasm. “I'll let you know if I want to broadcast myself while I'm here–”
“But you do want to broadcast yourself while you're here,” Eilish said, not bothering to lower her voice so that Heidi and crew couldn't hear. “That's part of the deal, remember?”
I plastered a smile on my face – very thin – to take away some of the menace from the fact I was pretty sure I was baring my teeth like Cali just before she attacked a bone. “I don't need to be the guest on a local cable access show to impress the governor of Colorado. I can appease him later. I doubt this would make him happy anyway.”
“You don't think having your face on the number one rated show in this market will give you adequate press coverage?” Heidi asked. She was still smiling, and it was a little disarming, not going to lie. There was something so sincere about her; she reminded me of a slightly more serious Zooey Deschanel. “I mean...if you're looking to appeal to his voters, I don't know how much wider of a reach you could get around here.”
Eilish gave me a look. The sort of look that made me wish I could flick her in the ear to make the look go away. But I didn't. Instead, I said, “But see, I have a job to do, and being on your show is not compatible with–”
“You're here on a manhunt, right?” Heidi asked, she brushed her hand against her heart. “We can help with that. Watch–” She pulled out her phone and was already dialing a number. She clicked the speaker button so we could hear.
A man picked up on the other end. “Hey, Heidi,” he said, his voice a little gravelly. “How's it going? New season starting tomorrow, right?”
“You know it, Jeff,” Heidi said, then sotto voce, “It's Jeff Cordle. He's the Police Chief for Steelwood Springs.” She went back to normal volume. “Say, can you do me a favor in your official capacity?”
“You know I can and will. You name it, I'll do it.”
She made a gesture to the phone for me. “I'm standing here with Sienna Nealon, and she's come to town looking for a wanted fugitive. I'd like to help her out, so maybe you could meet up with us back at the house, take the info she has on this guy, and start looking around, asking questions. Give her a Steelwood welcome by helping her find this guy.”
“I can absolute do that,” Cordle said on the other end of the line – and not only said it, he sounded genuinely excited about it. “Anything for you, Heidi. Leave it with us, we'll track this fellow down in no time flat.”
“Thanks, Jeffrey,” she said. “See you in a few.” Once she hung up, she looked back at me, that banner stick waving behind her gently as she shrugged. “What do you say? I assume you were going to talk to the police chief anyway. Why not do it back at our compound? I'll get you all the cooperation you can handle. Jeff will do all the work for you, and you can show up at the end to collect the credit.”
“That's not really how this world works,” I said, feeling a real uncomfortable suspicion about how this was playing out.
“It's how it can work here,” Heidi said. “Don't you want a little break? Don't want you want to do things a little differently, for once, other than hunt men who did bad things and clobber them into submission?”
“Don't underestimate how much fun it is to hunt a man and clobber him into submission,” I said. “As far as games go, it beats the shit out of Parcheesi.”
“What kind of show do you even have?” Eilish asked, bringing up an important question...if you were considering going along with Heidi's madness. Which I was not.
“It's a dating show,” Heidi said brightly, easing ever closer. She did not remotely feel like a threat and – somehow, in spite of every answer she gave bending in the direction of being so incredibly not of interest to me, bordering on nuisance-y – I...
