“Where are we?” she rasped, trying to look around.
“On the floor in the parlor.”
“Please tell me the cameras aren’t rolling.”
His dimples nearly blinded her. “No cameras. About a minute into the show, both cameras overheated. Then you and Gabe fainted. Your grandmother called it a night.”
She tried to sit up, but Nick pressed her back down, and she realized she was cradled in his lap. It was nice. She managed to turn her head to see Wander and Lily plying the prone Gabe with water and damp towels for his forehead.
As if sensing her attention, Gabe turned his head in Wander’s lap and smiled at Riley.
“You okay, Gabe?” she asked.
“I am wonderful,” he said with a happy sigh.
Riley made a note to talk to Gabe about how he ended up in the closet with her and Bianca the Boobed.
“You had me worried, Thorn,” Nick said, drawing her attention. “I thought you got psychically kidnapped or something.” He brushed her hair away from her face.
“I was kind of held hostage by a moron.”
“Oh, good. She’s awake.” Riley’s mother came into her line of sight. “Here, sweetie. I brought you some water.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“I’m sorry for making you do this, Riley,” Blossom said. “If it’s any consolation, your grandmother was not humiliated.”
Not humiliated.It was a gold star and a thumbs-up.
“It’s fine.” Riley drained the glass, spilling half of it on herself. “And she should be impressed. I interviewed a vapid murder victim.” She winced and looked up at Nick. “I realize how weird that sounds, and if it’s too much, I don’t blame you for running off to Costa Rica by yourself.”
“Never a dull moment with you, Thorn. Why would I want to walk away from that adventure?” he said, rewarding her with dimples.
She managed a weak smile before rolling over to barf under the table.
“Baby.” He sighed, holding her hair back.
“I need a shower, a sports drink, and a conversation with Kellen.”
25
8:42 a.m., Monday, August 17
Channel 50’s broadcast studio was housed in an unattractive building on Sixth Street in Harrisburg near the rumbling railroad tracks. Riley winced as memories of her years there punched her in the face when Kellen pulled his cruiser into the rear parking lot next to the dumpster.
She was still feeling raw and wobbly over the whole conversation with a corpse thing and sweating out three pounds of water weight.
Being forced to literally walk back into her past less than twelve hours later seemed like lemon juice on top of a dozen paper cuts.
“Come on, Cleo,” Kellen said, looking annoyingly handsome and confident behind his aviators. “You’ll be fine.”
“I am not accepting that nickname,” she groused, getting out of the car.
The humidity blasted her as soon as her shoes hit the asphalt.
She’d taken a little—okay, a lot—of extra care with her appearance today. Not because she was trying to impress anyone named Griffin “Stupidface” Gentry. But because she’d left these offices humiliated. This was an opportunity to give them a different last memory of her.
Kellen led the way around the building to the front door, where the frigid air conditioning met them like a French kiss from a polar bear.
