Collision Course: A Romantic Thriller Page 3

  Ruben called his place “Pura Vida”—pure life. A few weeks before his mother died, she’d painted a brightly colored sun on his mailbox with the words beneath it. He told his mom that that having a name for his house made him feel like landed gentry, which had made her laugh.

  And someday, when he wasn’t working so much, Ruben intended to renovate the bathroom, put in a furnace, fix the roof, replace the windows and repair the floors. Someday he was going to finish the sunroom addition he’d started three years ago.

  When exactly he would start working less, he had no idea.

  Ruben got out of the shower, toweled off and threw on some standard workday clothes – jeans, a button down shirt and a tie. As he drove into town, he sipped his coffee, listened to the all-news local station and made quick inventory of today’s must-dos.

  He and Cooper were up against the wall with their investigative project. Howard was going to yank them off the story if they couldn’t come up with something solid in the next two weeks, and Ruben refused to let months of hard work go down the drain.

  The story was there. He could smell it. But so far it was anecdotal, a few discrepancies here and there, and that wasn’t good enough. They’d convinced Howard to let them pursue the story in addition to their regular beat work, and they’d been working as fast as they could. They’d just have to work faster.

  Also on the agenda, he had to get the oil changed in his truck that afternoon and get a haircut. And he had to remember to thank Olivia for going out with him last night for dinner.

  He liked her. She was bright and not too girly—he’d never been a fan of overly prissy girls. Olivia loved to ski and hike and do cross-country bike rides, she’d told him. Maybe he’d take her over to his aunt and uncle’s ranch someday, see if she was a good rider.

  Oh, and he needed to visit the woman in the hospital, of course.

  Ruben smiled to think of how his mother’s relatives at Taos Pueblo would react to the girl’s choice of names—another appropriation of a sacred Pueblo cultural symbol! Ruben wasn’t sure he could bring himself to call her “Zia,” and wished to hell she’d hurry up and remember her real name. Clarissa? Elizabeth? Alexandra? It had to be something upper-crusty. He was sure of it.

  As he drove across the deserted Paseo Del Norte bridge and looked out over the Rio Grande, that image came back to him again, the way she held his gaze and leaned back against the pillow.

  He should be ashamed of himself, but the gesture had seemed so unabashedly sexual to him.

  Get a grip. She’s a mentally unbalanced and injured chick with broken bones and poor driving habits who wants to be named after a linen service—not exactly everything I’m looking for in a woman.

  At the very least, he told himself, she was a good human-interest story, and he knew he could convince her that a story would be in her best interest. Somebody had to be looking for her, right?

  Ruben wasn’t being egotistical. It was just a fact: he could convince anyone to talk to him about damn-near anything. And he’d convince her, too.

  Ruben sped down an empty Fourth Street toward town, getting lucky at every light. Then he headed east on Lomas Boulevard to Metro Police Headquarters.

  Ruben liked being among the first human beings awake in the City of Albuquerque. He liked the idea that he wouldn’t miss anything, that nothing about this day would get past him.

  The sun wouldn’t be up for hours, and Ruben Jaramillo was already on duty.

  “I didn’t remember if you liked powdered or frosted, so I got frosted. That way, you won’t get any stuff on your blouse.”

  Ruby placed the white waxed paper bag on the counter and grinned.

  Melissa, the records room supervisor, sighed and rolled her eyes, grabbing the bag and shoving it under the counter so no one would see.

  “What do you want now, Ruby?” she whispered. “And what makes you think a donut is going to get you what you want?”

  He pouted. “It’s two donuts, actually.”

  She shook her head. “What? Come on! I gotta work, you know.”

  He leaned in on his arms and handed her a slip of paper. “Just some old stuff from ’98 and ’99. Copies if you can swing it.”

  She snatched the sheet of paper and put it in the pocket of her blazer. “I can’t promise anything. But I’ll try.”

  “This morning do you think?”

  “You’re out of your freakin’ mind,” she said through her teeth. “Shift change is in two hours. Tomorrow or the next day if you’re lucky.”

  Ruby saw Melissa turn the corner and glare at him. He smiled politely and pushed last night’s hard copy police reports back across the counter. “Thank you so much, Melissa,” Ruby said formally.

  She knew from his tone of voice that they were being watched. “You’re welcome.”

  “See you tomorrow, ladies.”

  Melissa watched Ruben walk down the basement hallway and disappear around the corner near his little office. That guy was going to get her in trouble one day, she thought to herself.

  The division director strolled up behind her. “Was he giving you a hard time, Melissa?” she asked. “You know we’re supposed to tell the chief what he’s asking for.”

  She nodded quietly. “It’s okay. He just wanted to see the overnights. The usual.”

  Ruben used a key to open a wooden door notable only for a “Caution: Biohazard!” label applied crookedly near the doorknob. One of the robbery detectives put it there a few years back when Ruben complained about his station house press accommodations. The sight of the sticker still made Ruben laugh.

  He turned on the lights and, as much as he hated to, shut the door to the Albuquerque Star police beat office behind him. The musty odor from the sump pump in the corner already permeated the concrete block cave. Ruben reminded himself that if he hadn’t died from the fumes in the last six years he’d likely survive another day.

  Besides, Ruben actually liked his office. It was a true reflection of Chief Chavez’s opinion of the press in general and Ruben in particular, and he retreated to his sewer hole with pride. The stuck-up TV people and the radio geeks could have the fancy press office upstairs all to themselves as far as he was concerned, on display behind the glass wall like a bunch of zoo monkeys. When given the opportunity to move there two years ago, he declined. He needed privacy to work.

  Ruben dialed the news room and heard the familiar greeting. “Good morning, Ruby. What you got for me?”

  Suzie Gilligan was Ruben’s favorite editor. She was no-nonsense, fair and even-tempered. She told him when he screwed up and when he didn’t. The early morning city desk editor handled his copy with care and never changed anything major without talking to him first.

  She was, in fact, the best editor he’d ever worked for. She was the exact opposite of Dave Kovac, who took over her seat at nine a.m.

  Ruben grinned into the phone. “Suzie, I got nothin’ but love for you, plus a domestic shooting and a fire with minor injuries.”

  “Yada, yada. Nothing else?”

  “Not yet, but the day is young.”

  “How many inches on each?”

  Ruben could already hear her clicking away on her computer keyboard in the background, creating the news budget, in column inches, for the metro edition’s seven A.M. deadline.

  “How about ten on the shooting and six on the fire?” he asked.

  “Fine. Try to get me something a little sexier by the home edition, will ya? We’ve got plenty of local space this morning.”

  “Will do, boss,” Ruben said. “Check your in-box in about fifteen minutes.”

  “Okay. Hey!” Suzie’s tone changed. “Did you go out with Liv last night? How did it go?”

  Ruben smiled. Suzie had a tendency to keep tabs on his social life. She’d raised three boys and it was second nature to her and Ruben really didn’t mind.

  “She’s nice, Suz. Outdoorsy, sweet. I like her.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. I
t was a nice dinner. Don’t go picking out the china and crystal quite yet, okay?”

  Suzie laughed. “Ruby, honey, I’ll be worm food by the time you get around to settling down. What are you, twenty-nine?”

  “Thirty.”

  “Yeah, and I’m fifty-eight. So don’t count on a wedding gift from me unless I can shop online from the grave.”

  Ruben chuckled and hung up. He’d better get to work.

  He placed his hands on the keyboard and referred to his notes. Which first, the fire or the shooting? He was trying to decide when his gaze softened and his eyes moved to the blank computer screen. He was smiling to himself as he typed a single word – Zia.

  He reached over and flung open the office door. “I gotta get some air in here,” he mumbled.

  Olivia strolled down the sunny outdoor walkway toward the Albuquerque Star lunchroom. The weather here in New Mexico continued to amaze and delight her, and on the morning drive to work she sometimes forgot what season it was. Winter? How could it be when the sky was so unabashedly blue and the sun so intense?

  After living and working in Philadelphia for years, Albuquerque seemed unnaturally bright and open to Olivia, like there was too much space in the world, too much drama in the sunsets over the mesa, too much sky.

  She nodded at a group of women reporters having lunch at a sunlit outdoor table and they smiled back. Though everyone seemed nice here, she’d yet to make any real friends, except maybe for Ruby.

  She selected a chef salad wrapped in cellophane and a cup of broccoli soup. She smiled to herself – she’d had a great time with him last night, and she had a feeling it wouldn’t be their last date.

  They’d laughed quite a bit. He told her about his little place outside town. His kiss goodnight was sweet and opened the door for something more. She shivered a little at the remembered feel of his lips.

  Olivia was about to sit down by herself and read USA Today when someone approached her.

  “Want to join us?” asked Lynn Ballantine, the education beat reporter. “It’s a little chilly out in the plaza, but the sun feels good.”

  “Sure!” Olivia took her tray and followed. The other women at the table—science reporter Danielle Holiday and medical writer Leslie Bonoff—greeted her warmly when she arrived.

  This would be the first time she’d been invited to sit with the “cool girls”, and Olivia had an idea why. She’d officially joined the ranks of Star staffers who’d dated Ruben Jaramillo.

  For several minutes the conversation centered on Dave Kovac and his aggressive editing style.

  “The Dog hacked up my lede on the Los Alamos story yesterday without a word to me,” Danielle said. “God, he infuriates me.”

  “The Dog?” Olivia asked.

  Lynn snickered. “You don’t know about Kovac’s nickname?” She looked at her friends with glee and leaned across the table. “We call him that because he’s like the alpha male dog that has to piss on everything to mark his territory. Watch out the first time you do a feature for city-side.”

  Olivia laughed appreciatively. “Thanks for the warning.”

  After a brief discussion about the new mileage reimbursement plan and the new receptionist’s pierced body parts, the conversation strayed to Ruby, and Olivia tried not to smile.

  “Howard called them both into his office yesterday and gave them holy hell,” Danielle said. “I guess the police chief’s complaining about Ruby again.” She turned to Olivia to explain. “Chief Chavez comes in about once a month to whine to Howard about how Ruby’s stories compromise their investigations.”

  Leslie elaborated. “He and Coop have been on some secret project for months, and I hear they’ve got nothing. I’m telling you right now that if I piddled away months like that I’d be working at Taco Hell for a living.”

  The girls snickered.

  “He’s an eighth Apache or something,” Lynn said. “You know how they are about keeping the reporting staff diverse.”

  “What an unfair thing to say, Lynn!” Danielle nearly shouted. “God, you guys! It’s the twenty-first century and he’s a quarter Taos Pueblo and you know it. And he happens to be the best breaking news reporter in the state. He’s got sources we can’t even dream about.”

  Danielle glanced at Olivia. “He and Cooper are doing some kind of data analysis of arrests by Metro Police.” She lowered her voice. “Looking for dirty cops, I think.”

  Leslie shook her head and whispered, “No. I think they’re looking for missing evidence.”

  “Same thing.” Lynn shrugged.

  Olivia nodded politely and nibbled on her salad, avoiding eye contact. These girls were vipers, and she’d do her best to steer clear.

  “I still say Ruby’s got an ego problem,” Leslie said.

  “He thinks he’s hot,” Danielle said.

  “And your point would be…?” Lynn looked around the table and the women erupted in laughter.

  “Don’t you think he’s hot?” Lynn looked directly at Olivia.

  She raised her gaze to the group, her fork frozen in mid-air.

  Here it was – initiation into the club.

  “Yes. He’s a very good-looking man,” Olivia said. “And a nice guy and a top-shelf reporter. He does the job nobody else wants—up at three-thirty every morning and on call all night.”

  The women nodded in silent unison, but Lynn had to have the last word.

  “Oh, yeah. Up all night.”

  Everyone but Olivia laughed.

  “So how was Sadie’s?” Danielle asked.

  Olivia frowned. “How did you know we went to Sadie’s?” They all laughed again.

  “It’s Ruby’s standard first date,” Leslie explained.

  “The food’s good and the atmosphere is casual—a kind of get-to-know you setting. Now, if you go out again, he’ll suggest a hike up around the petroglyphs, and he’ll give you a history lesson about ancient Indian cultures. He’ll also be checking to see if you’re in decent shape, you know, how much huffing and puffing goes on.”

  “What’s the third date, again?” Lynn asked.

  “Santa Fe! Dinner and dancing at La Fonda. My God, how could you forget?” Danielle shot back.

  “Oh, right,” she sighed. “Did anyone ever really get to visit his aunt and uncle’s ranch?” “Tonya Nathan did,” Leslie said.

  “She was a copy editor who moved to Phoenix last year,” Danielle explained. “See, Ruby likes to talk about how he’ll take you out to meet his aunt and uncle who run the big McQueen Ranch outside of town—but he never does.”

  “Except for Tonya,” Lynn reminded her.

  “Except for Tonya. But that was because of her riding skills.”

  Olivia watched in bewilderment as the women roared and snorted with laughter. She suddenly wondered how long it would be before they’d be talking about her this way. She lost her appetite.

  Olivia put down her fork and observed the giggling women. “Come on,” she said, annoyed. “You’re making it sound like he’s a total jerk. Do you all hate him or something?”

  Lynn smiled at Olivia thoughtfully. “I think you’ve missed the point entirely,” she said. “We’re all crazy about Ruby. This is our group therapy. Someday you’ll understand.”

  Cooper and Ruben tried to look busy as The Dog sauntered his way through the newsroom. Like their fellow reporters, they knew by instinct when an editor was on the prowl for some poor S.O.B. to listen to their great idea or take a hot tip and run with it. It was almost as if the energy in the room changed, and the fight or flight response kicked in among the herd.

  Cooper decided—an instant too late—to head for the men’s room.

  “Hey Coop, you busy?” Kovac leered down at him when he tried to stand.

  “Yeah. What’s up, Kovac?”

  “I want you to check on this for me.” He tossed a printout to Cooper’s desk. “Some PTA mother from Rio Grande Elementary says hazardous fumes are making her kid sick. See what you can find.”


  Cooper closed his eyes tight and prayed for the strength to keep his mouth shut. He nodded politely. “I shall live for it, sir.”

  Kovac grunted then turned his attention to Ruben, who now typed violently, his back toward Cooper.

  “I need two minutes with you, Ruby. Where’s my juvenile crime wrap-up piece?” Kovac wheeled up an empty chair and settled in next to Ruben’s desk.

  Pulling up a chair meant more than two minutes, Ruben knew. He sighed. “I’m still working on it. I’ve got phone calls out to state probation officials and I’m still missing a few statistics on repeat offenders. I told you I’d have it by Friday.”

  Kovac tapped his fingers on Ruben’s desk. “I could use it tomorrow – we’ve got a nice hole for it on Local-One.”

  Ruben stopped his typing and turned to Kovac. “Look, don’t move the deadline on me, okay? I’m juggling ten things right now and you know it. Give me a break.”

  Ruben turned back to his computer.

  “You’ll have the piece to me by tomorrow. I already pitched it at the editorial meeting and Howard’s expecting it.”

  “What?” Ruben spun around. “Don’t be an asshole about this, Kovac. If you want the best story I can give you, then you’ll wait till Friday.”

  Kovac stood up, pushed the chair away with his foot and sent it crashing into the newsroom wall. “I need it for tomorrow and I’ll expect your best.”

  Ruben stood up then as well, and Cooper watched his friend’s face turn red and the artery on his neck throb. This standoff occurred every now and then between these men, but Ruben was letting it get to him more than usual, it seemed.

  “By the time you’re done editing that story it’ll read like shit anyway, so here.” Ruben held out a notebook to Kovac. “Why don’t you just take my notes and write it yourself?”

  Kovac’s black eyebrows knit together over his beady eyeballs. “Listen, golden boy, I did the cop beat for four years, remember? I know your game. And now I’m the editor and you’re the grunt and you’ll do what I tell you to do and look happy about it.”

  Kovac shoved Ruben’s hand and the notebook went flying onto the desk.