Love. Local. Latebreaking.: Book 1 in the newsroom romance series Read online

  Watching her in profile as the switching light from the monitors played over the planes of her face, watching as her face shifted from unselfconscious laughter at the mother’s boozy mincemeat and the hog’s infatuation with a sow to compassion for the aching attraction pulling the brother to the glamorous singer, Jake saw a shiver that could possibly reflect the urges that rose from his own depths. But the booth was kept cold to protect the equipment, so that frisson could have been a genuine reaction to the temperature.

  Karli’s enjoyment of the movie thrilled him at the conscious level, where uninhibited laughter lit her face and she swayed with the tunes as Jake sang along. Unguarded like this, moving without thought of how the viewing audience—which presumably meant the news directors at big shops in Chicago—would perceive her, Karli was vibrant and exciting, far from the smooth, sculptural rigidity she usually projected.

  Somewhere near the base of his spine, though, Jake’s body thrilled in an unconscious way that urged him to feel her skin and smell her scent and taste her lips and elicit soft sounds from deep in her throat.

  She ate hot pizza and swigged cold diet Dew through the movie, but she did not seem terribly affected by the movie romances, even when they fell apart. In the movie’s final scenes, Jake saw Karli’s biggest reaction: after the Des Moines Register reporter telephoned the heroine to tell her he’d landed a job as a columnist in Chicago and wanted to marry her, Jake saw Karli’s fist pump and quiet victory cheer. After that, the movie quickly tied up all the remaining loose ends and concluded.

  Jake raised the lights and lowered the sound as the closing credits rolled, then looked over at Karli with newfound interest in his eyes.

  “So...?” he prompted.

  “It was great. Really. Even the pigs were great.” Karli’s smile was interrupted by her loud impressions of the pigs’ grunts and oinks. Jake’s laugh was sudden and involuntary. Her pig impression was good, and it warmed him to her even more. He hadn’t been sure she’d like the movie, but the fact that she did made his heart lighter. He had seen many qualities in her in the field and writing and editing—she had a very keen mind—but he hadn’t seen much joy before this moment.

  He ejected the disc and they both picked up the mess they’d made, laughing as they nearly conked heads bending over for a napkin and bumping into one another as they pushed chairs out of the way to get out. Each bump ratcheted up the sensitivity of the nerves in Jake’s skin, and blood coursed ever faster toward and away from the warm spot in the small of his back.

  Outside the edit suite, the mid-evening newsroom was quiet and empty. Anchors, producers, and editors were out having their late supper, and reporters and photographers were scrambling to gather and assemble their reports for the late newscast, leaving the newsroom populated by ghostly voices from monitors and scanners.

  Karli smashed the pizza box into a trash can, laughing again at the pigs’ romance. Before he became consciously aware of what he was doing, Jake reached out with a napkin to wipe a dribble of pizza grease that trickled from the corner of her lips. As suddenly as the hole you can’t see until you’ve stepped in it, Jake felt an off-balancing shock run through his body; all of his blood suddenly surged to thrice its normal speed. Even as the dizzying sensation raced toward its peak, Jake saw a light flicker behind Karli’s eyes, and the darkness at the centers of her eyes grew, compressing the encircling blue into a deeper and more intimate shade. Holding the napkin gently under her jawline and holding her gaze with his own smolder, Jake leaned his face slightly toward hers and heard himself speak in a husky voice. “You’ve got a little grease right here.”

  Jake found himself moving close to Karli as though to kiss her, and felt faintly surprised, like he was somewhere outside himself watching it happen. Although he had spent an illuminating day observing and working with both her façade and a bit of her revealed inner life, he hadn’t consciously done anything to take them toward a physical encounter. But he felt all of his energies charging in that direction now; his veins thrilled as with high-tension electric current, his usually steady hands quivered, and his breathing was fast and shallow.

  All day he had seen her beauty emerge from the places where she usually hid it, and it had somehow twisted around his own hidden places.

  Karli’s reaction was new. Jake had closed the distance to kissing range with many women before: their readiness had been easy to read—Karli’s wasn’t. Her eyes and the smell of her skin and the pulse beating in her neck all told Jake that she was ready to be his. Her raised eyebrows and her erect, squared-off posture told him to stay away. He saw all of this in an instant, then fumbled for something to do that wasn’t kissing, in spite of the thudding pulse and the insistent twitch that urged him—now—to find the sweetness of her lips.

  Jake wasn’t thinking through the feelings, the urges, the choices. Evolution or God or something had equipped men—and Jake more especially than most—with a finely calibrated system to gauge a woman’s readiness. Something—the pheromone density in the air or her posture or the pace of her breathing or some combination of those things or some other primal indicator—wasn’t yet right. One more moment of intimacy, though, and they would both be ready. Instinct guided him to the movie’s moment of consummation.

  “When the heroine finds out that he really does love her and wants to marry her—that’s pretty powerful, isn’t it?”

  Jake knew immediately that he’d said the wrong thing. Karli shook her head slightly and turned her blue eyes from his. She reached up and took Jake’s hand and the napkin it held from her face.

  “Shut up,” she ordered him. “You think I was rooting for that insipid girl?” she asked. “No, Jake, I don’t identify with girls who need men to define them. I was cheering for the reporter. He had finally found his way to a real news job in a real market. He had escaped Des Moines.”

  Chapter Five

  Savery Hotel, downtown Des Moines

  Friday evening, August 9

  In spite of herself, Karli’s face split into a broad smile as she walked toward the Coda Lounge and saw Assignment Editor Vince Guzman prowling the sidewalk outside the hotel, smoking a thoughtful cigarette. He caught a glimpse of Karli as she approached and gave her a grin.

  “They’re mostly in there,” he rasped, tipping his head toward the hotel bar’s entrance. He took a long drag on his cigarette, then continued, smoke puffing out with each word: “Be careful with ‘em, sis. When the animals get off the leash, they can go pretty wild.”

  Karli saw the seriousness underneath Vince’s playful tone. His concern for her sprang from an avuncular kindness that warmed her heart. He was one of the few who had truly welcomed her into the newsroom, as it was his responsibility to send stories her way. In Vince, she had found her first ally at Three NewsFirst.

  Karli nodded her acknowledgement, patted Vince on the shoulder and said, “Thanks, Vince, but I think I’ll stay in the safari wagon tonight. I don’t want to get in the habitat and mix with the animals.”

  Vince snubbed out his cigarette with a smile and held the door. Karli braced her shoulders and marched into the bar. Many of the Three NewsFirst team’s members were arrayed at several tables and the bar. Thelonious Monk’s Straight No Chaser lilted smoothly in the background, beneath the journalists’ always-intense conversations. Vince walked around her to sit with News Director Jerry Schultz, who chewed his pen and leaned into his subject as frantically as he ever did in the newsroom—only now he did it while holding a drink. He was making some earnest point to the seldom-seen-in-public six o’clock producer, Holly Cacciatore, who nodded as patiently thoughtful as ever while sitting back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, a Birkenstock precariously hanging from her wiggling foot.

  The loudest table was populated by a group of handsome twenty- and thirty-something men who had obviously gotten off to a fast start with their drinking. The table was rattling all of its empties and threatening to spill the full drinks from the pounding it took
from the handsome blonde sports anchor Buzz Cziesla. Karli was able to overhear enough of the overlapping cries to understand that Buzz was protesting some heinous misconduct by director Chuck Teros in whatever drinking game they were playing. The darkly self-confident Scott Winstead, sports reporter and weekend anchor, spotted her as he looked up from the argument. He waved to her with a lascivious grin. “Gentlemen,” he announced, loudly enough to halt the dispute for a moment, “our reason for living has arrived!” He rose to his feet and gestured Karli grandly to their table. “Get out your wallets and pull over a chair so we can buy this lady a drink.”

  “Thanks, no,” Karli smiled. “This is kind of a girl’s night for me.” And as the boys protested loudly with promises of great laughter, free drinks, and only the most sincere sexual harassment, Karli headed to the bar where noon anchor Bailey Barber sat with production assistant Mary Rose Mayer, whose mostly platinum, partly blue hair and bare, tattooed arms contrasted sharply with Bailey’s tailored suit.

  Bailey always looked completely put together, Karli thought. Her straight red hair fell effortlessly around a porcelain-smooth pale face. Dark lashes curled around bright green eyes. And though she must have applied the horrible studio makeup at noon—makeup that even she would have to wear to look presentable under the bright lights—she now looked completely fresh and natural. A more serious, startlingly green-eyed, and slender-nosed Blake Lively type, Karli thought. And the tailored suit she’d worn all day still hung smoothly and without a wrinkle. In her early 30s, Bailey was not quite ten years older than Karli, yet the two had hit it off quickly. They shared the pretty woman’s experience of not being taken seriously—simply because they were pretty.

  “Hey, girls,” Karli said, taking a stool next to Bailey.

  Mary Rose reached for the full shot glass that sat on the bar in front of her and tossed back the drink with obvious relish. Karli saw that Bailey was just as appalled and impressed as she was at this display of drinking prowess. Mary Rose saw their reactions and cracked a naughty smile to herself before sticking her pierced tongue to the bottom of the empty shot glass, making it click. “It’s okay to have fun, girls,” she said, turning her sleepy-lidded eyes but not quite her subtle smile toward Karli and Bailey. She placed the shot glass back on the bar and tapped it with her index finger.

  Bottle in hand, the bartender came to refill Mary Rose’s glass and take Karli’s order. “An amaretto stone sour, please,” she said. “It’s been an extreme day.”

  “Really?” Bailey asked. “It seemed to me like it was a pretty routine day, at least up until I left.

  Did something break after the 6:00 started?” Bailey sounded puzzled and looked around the lounge, seeing the people who would be back in the newsroom if a big story had broken.

  “No, it wasn’t a work thing,” Karli said. “Well, maybe it’s kind of a work thing. It’s complicated.” She gratefully accepted her drink from the swift-handed bartender and looked into it thoughtfully.

  “Complicated can only mean one thing,” Bailey said, turning herself completely toward Karli and leaning eagerly toward her. “Man trouble.”

  “Well, I suppose you could call it that,” Karli mumbled into her drink, taking a too-big first gulp. She did not have Mary Rose’s composure at all, fairly gasping as she swallowed the cold, stinging sweetness. Mary Rose noticed, of course, and stood to make a large production of downing her own drink. “Ladies, I’m gone. My ride is leaving, and I have to go with it.”

  “Please, don’t leave on my account,” Karli said, feeling awkward and worried that she had broken up a friendly get-together.

  “Honey, don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Mary Rose said, patting Karli on the shoulder. “I really do have to catch my ride. And I’m sure we will have plenty to talk about other times.” As she and Bailey bid each other goodbye, Karli couldn’t help but notice that Mary Rose seemed as steady and sober as a judge in spite of her obviously earnest drinking.

  “She’s . . . impressive,” Karli said, watching Mary Rose’s retreating figure and then turning to the noon co-anchor.

  “Sure, Mary Rose’s impressive,” Bailey said. “But she has nothing on you, Karli.

  And she certainly doesn’t have a complicated situation to tell me about. So dish already! What’s going on? Who is he? What happened?”

  “I’m not sure, Bailey.” Karli began.

  “You’re not sure who he is?” Bailey teased. “C’mon girl, this is becoming uncomplicated much too quickly!”

  Karli rolled her eyes and then turned to Bailey to match her posture of intense interest. Coleman Hawkins’ Body and Soul came over the speakers and Karli took a deep drink before beginning. “Jake nearly kissed me tonight. At least I think so. It was confusing.”

  “Whaaaaat?” Bailey tucked her hair behind her ears to make sure she could hear everything. “What brought that on? I mean, I know you two work together a lot, but I thought that was because he wanted to work with a good reporter and you wanted a good photog.”

  “He is gorgeous, you know, and it’s exciting to think about him, you know, that way.” Karli reflected, remembering how confidently he had worked the machines in the edit suite and how his deft hands tweaked the tiny controls. Those same hands easily steadied the biggest equipment when they were in the field. And his spicy scent teasing her nose every time he’d leaned near her for a drink of his Coke or a piece of pizza. And that curly brown hair. She felt her nipples tighten and press against the fabric that restrained them.

  Karli shook her head sharply, trying to get her thoughts instead of her hormones to focus on the situation. “But he’s annoying, too. He thinks he’s all that, just because he can take pretty pictures. Like I have time for any of his nonsense, anyway. I’m a short-timer, Bailey, and I definitely don’t need a hometown boy who could tie me down here.” Karli heaved a sigh over a deep swig. “So he’s a great shooter who’s gorgeous. Whatever.”

  “But why were you two in make-out mode in the first place?” Bailey asked, intent on what was, to her anyway, the interesting part. “We are agreed that he’s gorgeous, but that doesn’t mean kissing happens.”

  “When I was at Missou, they told us that we should go somewhere that has a lot of news, not a lot of competition, and—if we’re lucky—people who can help us do the best work we’re capable of. That’s why I’m here, Bailey. To do great work and have top-flight photogs like Jake make it look as good as it can.”

  “Um. Your reporting isn’t very good at the moment, Karli,” Bailey persisted. “What got him to nearly kissing you? This is a breaking story, girl, and I want the scoop!”

  “I don’t see how he’s going to support my best work if he’s trying to kiss me, Bailey. It won’t work at all. He is supposed to shoot great footage to make my stories look great. He isn’t supposed to kiss me.”

  Bailey’s eyes rolled across the lounge’s ceiling and came to rest directly on Karli’s blue eyes. “Yeah. I can tell you aren’t into the kissing at all. That’s why your drink is already empty. Tell me. Now.” Bailey quickly caught the bartender’s eye and nodded significantly to their empty glasses; he caught the hint and began mixing.

  “It’s hard not to be interested in kissing. I mean, he isn’t just gorgeous; he understands what it takes to make a good story great. And he smells good, too—have you ever noticed that?”

  “Hmmmm,” Bailey recalled. “He always smells great, and I can’t tell what it is. Spicy, just like I imagine he’d be in bed.

  Nobody knows much of anything about his love-life, though, which is hard to figure. He must have to turn girls away, but I’ve never met one of the rejects—or one of the lucky ones.”

  “But it’s like he wants me to love Iowa like it’s my home or something, and I don’t want to,” Karli said. “And tonight it was like he thought he’d converted me or something.” Karli told Bailey about the pizza-and-State-Fair quasi-date they’d had in the edit suite. “And so he’d sung in that nice voic
e and we’d had a good time, and then he touched my face like he was entitled to—which was hot. Well, I thought it was, and then it turned out he was wiping pizza off my chin. Even then it felt like we were almost kissing—you know, the gaze into the eyes and then the stare at the lips.” Just recalling the moment, Karli felt her pulse throbbing between and just above her hip bones, where her drink had made things warmer and more ready. She licked her lips and tried to return to her story.

  “Oh, yeah—I know that moment,” Bailey gushed. “That’s hot.” She paused momentarily, with a distant look on her face. “So what happened? That’s a tipping point. So was there a fire alarm or something?”

  “No, he just got all Iowan on me. He started talking about the romance in the movie and stuff, and it sounded like I was some helpless little girl, and it was terrible.”

  Bailey put her hand on Karli’s arm and patted her gently. It was definitely time to tighten the bonds of sisterhood. The bartender placed fresh drinks on the bar, and the women raised them in silent toast to each other. “He’s just a guy, Karli. It sounds like it all worked out for the best.

  If you’d kissed him, then you’d have to deal with his attitude and all the rest. It would be messy, you know. It always is, isn’t it?”

  Karli nodded and wondered why her eyes were stinging so hard. “You’re right, Bailey. He would just be a big problem.” A big, gorgeous problem, she thought to herself. A big, gorgeous, stuck-in-Des-Moines problem.

  Chapter Six

  Southern Des Moines metro area

  Saturday morning, October 5

  The emergency response vehicles had left and the rain-slick pavement had been cleared, but Jake was still crouched by the windswept roadside, his body curled around his camera and his grief. In his peripheral vision he saw Karli’s high heels stumble over successive uneven joints in the sidewalk, but he didn’t lift his eyes from the frame.