exactly hit it off in the three years since she’d joined the staff. Not that he didn’t find her attractive. Who wouldn’t? The camera loved that glossy, raven hair, those big, brown eyes and the gleaming, white smile against her smooth caramel complexion. She was all grace and wit. She was also openly disdainful of sports figures she considered “arrogant jocks.” And according to the cameraman who’d quit the station before Stan came on, she expected the moon from herself and everyone who worked with her.
Exactly the kind of high-maintenance trouble this thirty-five-year-old divorcé needed to avoid. After his experience with Deborah, only God’s unexpected grace saved him from becoming a bum on skid row rather than a man with a career he loved.
Brody flipped the invitation over and read the details about when and where. He’d really rather stick his hand into a piranha tank, but it looked like he was going to a party after all.
TWO
“Vince is here to do the story.”
Stan’s voice brought Hallie’s head up from the backrest on the news van’s passenger seat. A metallic blue sports coupe glided into a spot at the curb in front of the van. The crime reporter thrived on drama, even in his choice of vehicle. She flipped down the sun visor and used the attached mirror to help her readjust the enameled pins that partially tamed her mop of black waves, and then refreshed her Perfectly Plum lipstick. She frowned. Her eyes were almost as red as they were brown.
Giving a statement to the police had about turned Hallie into blubbering mush. In her head, Teresa’s dead white face kept popping up alongside Alicia’s battered features. Could she get through this TV interview with the tiniest shred of dignity? I’m going to need a boatload of strength, Lord. Grimacing, she climbed out of the van and smoothed her mocha colored pantsuit.
The sun shone just as warmly as it had when she and Stan first arrived at the house, so why did a quiver shoot through her stomach. Maybe it was the sight of a white-sheeted gurney being wheeled out the front door. The outline of the human form beneath the covers betrayed its grizzly burden. Stan was busy capturing the moment on film.
Hallie turned away toward the WDJN crime reporter.
“Busy afternoon for the cops in the Twin Cities metro area,” Vince said. “Three-car pileup on I-94, a convenience store robbery on Highway 100, a gang shooting near Hennepin Avenue in Minneapolis, and an apparent suicide in south St. Paul. But our top story—Golden Gophers star strangles girlfriend.” He let out a low whistle. “You ready to give Channel Six the scoop before every media hound with a police scanner descends on us?”
Hallie’s manicured fingernails jabbed her palms. “I need to do whatever I can to make sure Alicia Drayton’s killer gets what he deserves.”
Vince winked then motioned toward Stan, who took up a place in front of them, headphones on and camera ready. The crime reporter looked at his watch. “This’ll be live feed as the lead news story for the six o’clock broadcast.”
Hallie gasped. “Is it that late already?”
“Why? You got someplace else to be?” He shot her a one-sided grin.
“I do, but I’ll just have to be late, as usual.”
Stan began counting off seconds with his fingers. Vince squared his shoulders, and Hallie cleared her throat. Stan signaled they were on.
Iron-faced, the crime reporter introduced the location and the situation then turned toward Hallie. “When you came here today to interview Alicia Drayton for a story on Minnesota fashion models, you hardly expected to find yourself in the midst of a murder.”
“That’s very true, Vince.” Hallie’s voice cracked, and she swallowed. “Today was supposed to be a good publicity break for a young woman with talent, intelligence and a life of endless prospects before her, not her last day on earth.”
Vince’s hazel eyes glinted approval of her dramatic answer. “Tell us what you saw.”
Hallie opened her mouth, closed it, and then licked dry lips, tasking her lipstick. She could do this. The soft whir of the camera, the familiar microphone near her mouth, Stan’s homely, expectant face—this was her life, her career, and a fresh chance to use it to right a wrong, just as she’d intended when she became a reporter. A knot unraveled in the core of her being, and she lifted her chin.
“I’ll share with our viewers the same information I gave the police. When I approached the house, I heard strange noises from inside. I thought maybe someone was hurt and needed help. Since the front door was ajar, I hurried inside. Alicia lay on the living room floor, dead, and Damon Lange stood over her with a braided rope in his hand. A curtain tie, I think. The police will probably discover it was the murder weapon.”
Vince pulled the mic away from Hallie’s mouth and put it to his own. “There you have the testimony of Channel Six’s own feature reporter, Hallie Berglund, who this afternoon was an eye witness to murder. Golden Gophers player Damon Lange is currently being sought in connection with the death of his girlfriend, college student and fashion model Alicia Drayton. Anyone with information as to his whereabouts should call the number on your screen.” Vince turned toward Hallie again. “What went through your mind when you walked in on such a tragic situation?”
“Disbelief…Horror…Fear for myself.” Hallie crossed her arms, barely containing a shudder. “Lange chased me, but Stan, my cameraman, came into the house so Mr. Lange only shoved us down and escaped. I don’t know what he would have done if Stan hadn’t been there.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Ever since I confirmed Alicia was dead, I’ve been furious and…and just sick. I despise abusers. It looks like another life has been lost to one today.” Hallie blinked against a prickle behind her eyelids.
“Thank you for so candidly sharing your traumatic confrontation. I suspect you could use a little R & R right now.” A sympathetic smile crossed his face.
“That’s right, Vince. I plan to spend a quiet evening with friends, but I won’t rest easy until Damon Lange is in custody.”
“Understandable, Hallie.” He turned his face toward the camera. “This is Vince Graham of WDJN News reporting live from the scene of the crime.”
The red light flashed on Stan’s camera, and they were off the air. Weariness flowed through Hallie’s limbs. “I’ve got to get out of here,” she told the guys.
“Let’s boogie.” Stan lowered the camera from his shoulder.
The crime reporter leaned close to Hallie’s ear. “Brody’s on the warpath over Damon.”
Hallie suppressed a snort. Of course, that man would be. What was this? Some kind of sick jocks-must-stick-together thing?
Vince waved and headed toward the perimeter of crime scene tape where forensic technicians and police officers worked. The screech of brakes and the slam of doors announced the arrival of three news vehicles, adding to congestion on the road. Slipping away in the WDJN van was going to be tricky. Hallie recognized logos from two newspapers and a rival television station. In seconds, she was swarmed by microphones and questions shouted from eager faces.
Hallie lifted a hand for silence. “I saw Damon Lange holding what I believe to be the murder weapon and Alicia Drayton lying dead on the floor. Mr. Lange is currently on the loose. Anyone who knows where to find this man should contact their local police department. That’s all I have to say. Exclusive details have already been given to Channel Six news.”
She barged between the microphones and lunged through the van door that Stan had thoughtfully opened. They eased away from the scene, the cameraman threading the van between vehicles with inches to spare.
Hallie slumped. “Now I know what it feels like to be the media entrée du jour.”
Stan chuckled. “Things have just started to get interesting. Wait until the case goes to trial, and you’re the main witness.”
“They have to catch Damon