Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [28]
“What’s the score?” Nick asked, sliding in beside her.
“I think it’s five to three. You realize, don’t you, that you just made me the envy of every drooling, divorced soccer mom here?”
“See, the things I do for you, and you repay me with such abuse.”
“Abuse? I never hit you a day of your life,” she told her younger brother. “Well, not hard.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” He wasn’t joking.
She sat up straight, preparing to defend herself despite the guilt gnawing at her stomach. Yes, she should have called him before she turned in the story. But what if he had asked her not to run it? That story had put her on the other side of the door. Rather than being stuck writing helpful household hints, she had two front-page articles in two days with her byline. And tomorrow she’d be sitting at her own desk in the city room.
“How about I make it up to you? Dinner tomorrow night? I’ll fix spaghetti and meatballs with Mom’s secret sauce.”
He looked over at her, glanced at the notebook. “You just don’t get it, do you?”
“Oh, come on, Nicky. You know how long I’ve been waiting to get out of the “Living Today” section? If I hadn’t filed that story, someone else would have.”
“Really? And would they have quoted an officer who told them something off the record?”
“He never once said it was off the record. If Gillick told you otherwise, he’s lying.”
“Actually, I didn’t know it was Eddie. Gee, Christine, you just gave away an anonymous source.”
Her face grew hot, and she knew the red was quickly replacing her fair complexion. “Damn you, Nicky. You know how hard I’m trying. I’m a little rusty, but I can be a damn good reporter.”
“Really? So far I think your reporting has been irresponsible.”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Nicky. Just because you didn’t like what I wrote doesn’t make it irresponsible journalism.”
“What about the headlines?” Nick spoke through gritted teeth. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this upset with her. He avoided looking at her and watched the boys running up the field. “Where do you get off comparing this murder to Jeffreys’?”
“There are basic similarities.”
“Jeffreys is dead,” he whispered, looking around to make sure no one was listening. He clasped his hands together over a knee and tapped his foot on the empty bench in front of them, a nervous habit Christine recognized from childhood.
“Grow up, Nicky. Anyone with half a brain is going to compare this murder to Jeffreys’. I just wrote what everyone else is thinking. Are you saying I’m off target?”
“I’m saying we don’t need another panic in a community that just started to feel like maybe their kids were safe again.” He crossed his arms, looking unsure of what to do with his clenched fists. “You made me look like a goddamn idiot, Christine.”
“Oh, I see. That’s what this is really about. You don’t care about a panic in the community. You’re just worried about how you look. Why am I not surprised?”
He glared at her. For a moment, he looked as though he would defend himself, but instead he looked back out at the field. She hated when he absorbed her cheap shots without fighting back. Even as a kid, he never knew how to combat the insults—her secret weapons. She must be getting old, because suddenly she regretted hurting his feelings.
At the same time, though, she grew impatient with the way her brother approached things. He constantly took the easy way out, but then, why not? Everything seemed to be handed to Nick, from job opportunities to women. And he floated from one to the next without much effort, remorse or thought. When their father retired