Page 1 of Dangerous Vengeance

1

NATALIE

The more information I dig up on this family the more I’m convinced someone needs to take them down. Sure, it started as a grudge. My uncle was murdered, and I am searching for his killer after police brushed it aside and said all their leads were cold. If they won’t help me, I’ll do it myself. But this? It has got to be one of the biggest cover ups in history. I shake my head, reading the words on the screen.

And the best part about this story is not only are my coworkers not going to scoop me on this—because they aren’t even seeing what I see—but it’s going to make my career rise so fast everyone will take notice. Imagine, a newspaper reporter exposing Bratva, the dirty police, finding her uncle’s killer and all while still interning at the Herald. Yeah, I think that’s going to feel amazing. I look out the window overlooking the city. It’s not a great view, too many high-rise buildings stretching skyward to see much. It’s the sort of view that makes you want to go higher, which is where I’m going. Up.

When Uncle Hal went down, it was like losing a father. Every Christmas, every birthday, every soccer game, Hal was there for me, right alongside my parents. My dad was really close with him, and it left a massive hole in our lives. When I noticed details in the case files weren’t lining up, I questioned police detectives until I got stonewalled. I’ve spent my entire career—albeit a short one—with one pursuit, to uncover corruption. I had my eyes on this family long before Hal was gunned down in cold blood, and I blame myself partly for his death. Maybe I turned over the wrong rock and the roach that crawled out was the one who took him from me.

A glance at the clock tells me it’s time for my review. I’ve been with the Herald for six months as of last Friday. Sheffield—my boss and a family friend—gave me the leg up after the Tribune shat on my chances of ever scoring a spot on their roster. They said I was nosy, not investigative. Hal spoke to Sheffield on my behalf and now with six months under my belt, he will assess my capabilities and determine if I go permanent here or if I’m destined to move to small town America in order to have a shot at being a reporter.

I stand slowly, straightening my pencil skirt. The sheer silk top I wear hugs my curves, straining at the buttons as I take a deep breath to prepare myself. A few nearby coworkers watch me as I walk through the newsroom toward Sheffield’s door. They know it’s review time too; I heard them talking this morning near the breakroom where they sit and drink coffee every morning, hashing out stories and sharing trade secrets. I’ve never been accepted into their club, maybe because I’m just the intern.

I catch eyes staring and keep my gaze fixed on the windowpane with black lettering etched into it. Sheffield is a private guy. He keeps to himself and keeps his door shut at all times. I knock on it and hear him call me in.

“Yes?”

My hand nervously turns the knob and pushes the door open, and he looks up at me. “We have a meeting now?” I stand in the doorway awaiting his invitation and his eyes flick to the clock on the wall.

“Yes, Natalie, come in.” He pushes some papers to the side and uses his mouse to pull something up on his computer screen.

I nervously walk to the chair opposite his desk, my heels clicking on the floor. I know I’ve done a kick-ass job at this place for the past six months but without Hal around to go to bat for me, I’m in with the big-league players now. Parts of me think maybe I haven’t done well enough, that Sheffield will pass on me after all, which is why I’ve kept this little gem of a story about the Gusev’s to myself. If he tries to give me the ax, I can let him in on it, and that could save my job. If not, I can take the story elsewhere with my intel, because there is no way they are getting the same inside source that I have.

“So, Natalie, I’ve looked over your employee files thoroughly.” He drums his fingers on his desk as he leans back and continues. “It appears you’ve been assigned pretty trivial stories by your editor.”

“You think so too?” I try to hide my sarcasm, but the leach editor hasn’t given me anything good. She’s intimidated by my experience or something. I worked at the Herald long enough to score a few decent stories that dwarf anything her department has worked on.

“Yes, well…” He sighs and his eyebrows rise. “Given your history, well…” He pauses and I feel the ax ready to drop. So, this is it? He’s just cutting me loose after losing Hal not so long ago? I can’t go to the Times; that’s the only place left, and they’ll never take me until I have years of experience elsewhere. I hold my breath as he continues. “Given your history with the Herald and the stories you produced there, along with your behavior and professional work ethic here, I think we will give you a shot.”

My emotions yoyo, rebounding upward and a smile blossoms. “Really?” I want to jump up and clap my hands, make a big fuss because I’m so happy, but I sit still. Controlling my excitement is challenging but I have to remain professional. I can do a happy dance when I’m off duty.

“Yes, really. And I think we need to put you with a different editor too. One who sees your talent and knows your value.” He leans forward and uses the wheel on his mouse to scroll. “Says you worked in crime news at the Herald. Is that where you’d like to be? Or maybe we should start you in—”

“Crime is perfect,” I blurt out. “In fact, I have a story I’d love to work on first.” Here is where I wow him. If he is happy to hire me, then he will be thrilled to learn I’ve already got a huge story that will draw lots of attention to the paper.

“Is that so?” He leans back in his chair again and cocks his head. “We don’t usually let someone so green choose their own story… but go on. Tell me what it is.”

I beam a smile at him and begin. “Well as you know I’ve worked in crime for the past few years. I’ve reported on a lot of things, seen a lot of the corruption of organized crime and how cases go cold for various reasons. I have a source willing to speak out against the Bratva family. The Gusev’s are into some pretty shady stuff and I have hard evidence that could bring them down. I plan to connect with my source soon and get more that can back it up. If you allow me, I believe this story will make waves, get attention, you know?”

“Hmm…” He bounces backward on his chair, mimicking a rocking motion, and his head bobs. “This source of yours, can they be trusted?”

“I believe so, sir. The person has given me a lot already but won’t hand over the big stuff until we meet face to face.” I personally checked the information against casefiles from the police, and most of it is a match. Maybe not enough to bring them down if there are dirty cops involved, which I suspect there are. And I don’t even tell him why I’m really searching this family out—my suspicions about their involvement with Hal’s murder.

Sheffield uses the tip of his tongue to polish his canine tooth and furrows his brow. “It’s got to be air tight. I mean, you can’t leave one single T uncrossed or one I undotted. These people you’re snooping around are dangerous.”

I sit a little taller in the seat and nod, sobering myself. I know what he’s talking about. I’ve had a few run-ins over the years, and once I narrowly escaped a drive-by. It wasn’t intended for me, but no doubt they’d have been happy to get me off their backs. So, yes, I’m well aware of the dangers.

“Yes, sir. I understand.” I scoot forward on my chair, anticipating his answer. It really is highly unusual for a new hire to score an assignment like this, but he can’t do this without me. I’m the one with all the notes, research—going back years—and the source. It makes sense to let me run with it because this source isn’t going to trust anyone but me.

“Alright then… Prove yourself.” He nods and looks down his nose at me. “Just remember you’re a news reporter, not a cop. We don’t provide protection.”

I stand and nod firmly, hiding my grin. “Yes, sir. I won’t let you down.”

Sheffield nods at the door and I turn and jaunt out, shutting it behind me. This is going to be perfect. I planned a call with my source for this afternoon, and I am hoping to push them to meet with me soon. The sooner I can get any hard evidence they may have the better. What I have is good, but I know dirty cops or prosecutors could poke holes in it. Which is why I need this to work out right.

Eyes follow me back to my desk and I duck into my cubicle where I sit and immediately pull out my phone. With the approval to move forward on the case, there is no time like the present to push the source. I dial the number I have. It goes to a burner phone, no doubt, but it’s how I contact them. The phone rings through, and I hold it to my ear waiting for the answer.

A fleeting thought passes through my mind, that perhaps this source is just using me as a means to draw them out or something. Like they have a personal vendetta against the family and in time, when the Gusev’s are made a public spectacle the real fireworks will begin, but I can’t miss this opportunity-not for my career and not for my uncle.

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