Page 79 of Hart of Darkness
“As evil as crime might be, there’s nothing more sinful than the bond of a family being ripped apart, whether the bond is severed from a death or from a loved one who left their child on the doorstep of a firehouse.”
His eyebrow lifted. “You want to tell your story.”
Nodding, I plucked the envelope that was now crumpled on the edges out of my bag. “In here is my biological mother’s address. Ted found her against my wishes. But I think I’m ready to write the ending to my story.” Well, maybe not the ending. I had a future ahead of me, and part of that future was to unravel how I felt about Dillon. I’d told him that I liked him a lot, and that was the truth. He made my stomach queasy in a good way. He made my palms sweat and my heart race. I didn’t know what to make of all the weird feelings he gave me, but I knew I wanted more with him.
“How do you feel about knowing who your mother is?” Bruce asked evenly. He had his reporter hat on.
I shrugged. “At first, I was dead set on not contacting her. The more I think about it, the more I’m warming to the idea. I am curious, and I do have questions.”
“You should know who your mom is. If not, you’ll look back and regret that you didn’t follow through.” He seemed as though he had a regret or two of his own. “So, does Calderon fit into your story?” Bruce asked.
“You mean will I write about the part where he left me for dead? Absolutely.” Until I met Dillon, I wouldn’t tell anyone the details of what Cory had done to me. Dillon had said in so many words not to hide who I was because of some scar. I couldn’t see past the revenge that had dug its nails into me so deep, so hard, and so clear. And while I hated that I was forever marked, or more like disfigured, I had an opportunity to ruin Cory’s reputation and warn women of men like Cory.
He gripped my shoulder. “You’re healing, and that’s good. I’m proud of you, but what you’re writing sounds more like a memoir and not for the paper.”
I pouted. “What about the editorial section?”
“Mags, your job is to report on the actions of criminals. So stick to the Black Knights story. Find the facts.”
His rejection stung like an angry bee. I could argue all day long. It wouldn’t get me anywhere. Bruce was super sweet but tough as nails when it came to running a newspaper. He’d also been around the industry long enough to know what would sell papers. After all, the company was in the business to make money, not listen or read my dark history. “Got it, boss.” He was right. I had to stick with the Black Knights for now. After all, I had a job to do, but at some point in the near future, I would write about my life. The small amount of words I’d written had seemed cathartic, as though I’d shed years of emotional distress.
“What did you find on the house?” Bruce asked.
I pointed to my notepad on my desk. “Marco Holdings owns the house. Weird that the owner is a holdings company and not an individual or couple. I couldn’t find who owns Marco Holdings, though.” The house Nadine had been in was in an upscale neighborhood, but a holdings company?
He tucked his hands in the pocket of his khakis. “It might be odd, but not unheard of. Does Ted know what you found?”
“I haven’t talked to him,” I said. The last time I had was when he’d scolded me about Nadine. I was avoiding him somewhat anyway. He would probably ask if I’d contacted my mother, and when he found out I hadn’t, he would launch into a speech about family again.
“Let’s not clue him in to what we have,” Bruce said. “I don’t want him to call my boss like he did when we were working on the bank heist last year.”
I’d completely forgotten about that. Then again, I hadn’t been the reporter on record. My former colleague who had retired had been working on that story. Regardless, I knew that once Ted had caught wind of what the paper was about to print on identifying the mastermind behind the bank robbery, he had taken the sails out of the entire article. Bruce had been livid. Needless to say, he wasn’t all that thrilled when he found out Ted and I were tight.
I gnawed on my lip. “You won’t get an argument out of me.” I was tired of hearing “Go home, Maggie, or you’re going to get yourself hurt.” I liked that Ted worried, but damn it. I had a job to do as well.
“Good. So whatever you find and have solid proof on with the Black Knights, then you come to me. Our goal is to sell papers, not kiss the ass of the police force.” His tone was as sharp as the scissors next to my notepad.
I hadn’t given up on snooping around the house that Marco Holdings owned. I knew the house could be under surveillance as Dillon had mentioned, but I didn’t see any harm in driving by it at least. Maybe I would get lucky and find Cory walking in or out. I was about to tell Bruce my plan, when I heard my name.
“Maggie is over there,” Fran said.
Bruce glanced out at the newsroom. “I think you have a visitor.”
I popped up and peered over the array of cubicles. My mouth opened, and my belly went haywire as butterflies flapped their wings.
Dillon’s hair was tamed like it had been at Nadine’s funeral, and while he would look good no matter what hairstyle he wore, I preferred the tousled, out-of-control vibe he usually wore—the one that shouted rugged, rough, raw, and red-hot. Despite his hair, the crooked grin he was giving me heated my cheeks.
Bruce leaned in. “You’re blushing, Mags. That’s a first, and it suits you.”
Dillon came around the cubicle wall with a bouquet of colorful carnations. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
He was a sight for sore eyes, literally and figuratively. My eyes needed a break, and I’d missed Dillon.
Bruce extended his hand. “I’m Bruce, Maggie’s editor and boss.”
“Dillon Hart.” He oozed all kinds of sex appeal from the way his fresh-ocean-scented cologne drifted off him, to his wardrobe—tattered jeans, biker boots, and a starched red button-up shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
After the two exchanged pleasantries, Bruce scurried into his office. I glanced around to find that most of the women in the office were riveted on my cubicle.
