Wake of the Storm - The Mason Storm Series Book One

Chapter 20

I'm a weekly subscriber to the Post, although I haven't read it in months. I usually just stack them next to the door for the housekeeper to trash. I live the news, chasing killers from one top story to the next. I don't need to read about it, too. I open the front door and the paper's there, rolled tight in a rubber band. The pressure's building in my chest while I stand here on the front stoop. I look up and down my street at the homes of the other subscribers, and know that the eyes of my neighbors are right behind the expensive fabric covering their windows. The quietness is ear-splitting and crystal clear. It's obvious that my life's diary has once again been dragged through the streets of this city. I don't wait to close the door before I'm staring down at the front page. There's a picture of the governor, the Penningtons, and the Chief inside the press room at the Sheriff 's Office. Underneath in bold letters it says:

STORM Once Again on the Warpath!

At the bottom on the right-hand side, there's a picture of me from several years ago. Back inside, I read through the article. Most reporters don't tell the truth and the rest don't know it, or can't find it, but this one has managed to box-up everything I call my life—past and present—and put it into a two-page narrative for everyone to pore over.

The story reads like a calendar, going from one year to the next, covering my career fiend by fiend. From the little cases to the bigger ones, to the one that still holds my life today. It hardly touches the surface of the killers I've caught, while highlighting the ones I've missed. It tells the story of my having been married to Stacy and mentions our daughter by name. The reporter spends a paragraph and a half talking about what he calls, my "problems with alcohol" and my "unwillingness to get along with my superiors". Of course, it covers my recent suspension and informs the general public that the DA is still considering bringing charges against me for assaulting The Peddler. Toward the very end, I find the facts—the ones that have been given to the public anyway—about the most recent sadist. It briefly mentions the death of the Pennington's only child, and that the other victim is still a Jane Doe.

I take a seat at my desk and stare out at nothing. The press never lets up. They've tossed my life around again like it's some old suitcase and it pushes me into a slipstream of days gone past, every damn time.

My cell phone rings and I don't recognize the number but then again, I never do.

I pick up. "Speak!" It's still early: what do people expect from me?

I hear the "caught off guard" in the caller's voice when a female tentatively asks, "Detective Storm?"

"Yeah."

"This is Melanie Pennington. Good morning," she pauses a second, probably expecting the "good morning" to be returned. I remain silent and wait for her to continue. "I was wondering if I could meet with you sometime this morning. I'd like a few minutes of your time and I have the pictures you requested."

It sounds like she's probably slept as much as I have, maybe even less. We agree to meet at the Lake Worth Starbucks in thirty minutes. Before she hangs up, she asks me to promise the meeting be kept between us, and I give her my word. I send Mia a text letting her know I'll meet her at the office just as soon as I can; that something has come up. It almost feels like I am keeping a secret from her. This isn't my intention. I just don't feel like talking about things right now.