The Last Guy
“They’re setting up the podium in the central courtyard near Forever 21,” I read aloud. “Mayor Newson will speak for approximately fifteen minutes then do a brief Q&A.”
I’m scanning my questions, which cover increased police presence, business hours, tourism, when I glance up to see we’re right in front of the elaborately designed parking garage.
“Get some B-roll of the garage,” I say, sliding out of the seat. “I think the last attack happened on the second level.”
“On it.” Kevin takes off with his small Avid camera, and I’ve got my makeup bag on the passenger’s seat. No mistakes this time.
Earlier, the crisp fall weather had helped my hair and makeup, but as the afternoon progresses, the heat and humidity continue to rise. We might have started the day in the fifties, but we’ll finish closer to eighty.
“Why hello, Rebecca.” Brad Simpson from KLIV, our competing station, sidles up to me. “Great work on that petting zoo story last week. Although, it seems they edited later broadcasts of your . . . eye-popping report.”
“Shut up, Brad,” I snip, which only makes him laugh.
“You and I should go out for drinks sometime.”
I can’t help it. I have to pause and glare at him. “Has anyone ever told you subtlety is not your strong suit?”
“I noticed Matt’s doing every news show these days. Thought I might toss my hat in the ring for that weekend spot.”
Ice filters down my spine. Marv would love another guy on staff. “Sick of being at the number two station in town?” I cover, hoping he doesn’t notice the color rushing from my cheeks.
He only grins. “I’m serious about those drinks. I’ll call you later.”
“Don’t waste your minutes,” I mutter, turning away, more determined than ever.
“My plan is unlimited,” he quips.
I’m sure it is. My heart’s beating faster, but this time, it’s not the excited nerves I love. This time, it’s straight-up fear. I’ve got to nail this.
One last check in the mirror, and I step back, closing the door and smoothing my hands over my sweater and down my skirt. I couldn’t look any more put-together, and my recent efforts at exercising and eating right—Saturday night excluded, although all that wild sex had to burn some calories—seem to be working.
Kevin’s back, setting up the antenna and the monitor box for the live feed. I make my way through the mob of reporters to a reserved spot near the front. I catch Mayor Newson’s eye, and I don’t miss his attempts to stifle a grin. Everybody has seen my boob. I have to own it, and put it behind me. With a lift of my chin, I get ready to process what this politician has to say.
“Ready when you are, Becks,” Vicky says in my earpiece. “I’ve managed to snag you first question.”
“You’re a rock star,” I say under my breath to my producer back at the station.
It’s a similar setup as at the zoo. We’ll break in on scheduled programming to cover the mayor’s speech live. Kevin is on my left and to the front in the bank of cameras, and he’ll zoom in on me for my questions.
“What show are we breaking?” I ask her.
“We’ll cut in at the end of Jeopardy.”
“They’re going to love that . . .”
And we’re live. I’m listening closely to the mayor’s speech for any answers to my planned questions. Fifteen minutes passes fast, and I’m praying for no surprises.
“Start with the increase in police force,” Vicky says in my ear. I’ve sent her a copy of my questions, and I know she’s jotting notes to use in voiceover for the anchors to read in later broadcasts.
“I’ll now answer questions,” Newson says. “Miss Fieldstone.”
“Thank you,” I speak loudly and clearly. “What are the plans for increasing police patrols until these muggers are caught?”
He proceeds to answer, and I won’t have another chance for at least two more questions. Kevin’s recording, but I’m momentarily distracted by a kid in a gray hoodie lurking at the edge of the press pool.
“Vicky,” I say softly once the mayor moves to the next reporter. “What would make the grabber happiest right now?”
Seconds pass, and I listen with one ear to Brad asking if businesses are planning to reduce their evening hours. Scratch that one off my list.
“What would make the grabber happiest?” Vicky repeats my question aloud. “I guess the notoriety, the media coverage.”
The girl from cable is asking her question, and I know it’s my turn to jump in next. Still, I can’t take my eyes off the tall, skinny kid with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. An inappropriate smirk is on his face, and that little tickle is in my stomach.
“You’re up,” Vicky says. “Go with tourism numbers.”
My hand shoots up, and Newson acknowledges me. “Have we seen any decrease in the number of tourists visiting downtown Houston as a result of these burglaries?”
Newson launches into his “the sky is not falling” prepared answer, but again, I’m only half listening.
“Vicky,” I say softly. “How much money have these guys, or this guy stolen from any one victim?”
“Not much,” she says, as if she’s catching on to what I’m saying. “I think the most they got was fifty dollars from the little granny Saturday night.”
The mayor is saying his final words, and everyone’s on their feet. My eyes are on Skinny, who’s glancing toward the parking garage and back to our group.
“He’s not doing it for the money,” I say. “We’re going to be here a bit longer.”
“Rebecca!” Vicky shouts. “I need you to do the tag.”
“Trust me, Vicks. Pitch it to Matt!”
The reporters move toward their respective photographers, but I signal Kevin to come with me. He frowns. Still, we’ve worked together long enough that he makes his way around the perimeter of bodies. I’m slowly drifting toward the parking garage, keeping my guy in sight.
“What’s happening, Becks?” Vicky is still in my ear, and I decide to just say it.
“I think he’s here. I don’t know for sure, but I’ve spotted a suspicious kid keeping his eye on everything. He’s headed toward the parking garage now.”
“No way, Rebecca! It’s too dangerous.”
Her voice is loud, and I know the anchors can hear her as well as I can. She’s in all our ears during the shows.
“What’s going on?” Cade’s deep voice in my ear surprises me.
“Cade!” I whisper. “What are you doing?”
“What are you doing?” His stern tone sends a simmer through my stomach.
“I’ve got him, Cade, I just know it.”
“Do not follow that guy, Stone. Do you hear me?”
“Settle down. Kevin’s with me.”
“Stone!”
I pull the earpiece out of my ear and stick it in my pocket just as I spot my doughy partner emerging from the bodies near the entrance to the garage. Our target has already disappeared into the stairwell. My chest is tight, but that flutter is in my stomach. I know we’re onto something big.
“What’s happening?” Kevin meets me, and I motion to the metal door.
“A kid in a gray hoodie and jeans just went through that door. I want to follow him.”