Into the Light (The Light, #1)(5)

“I’m sorry,” the woman, who I assumed was a nurse, said. “The Commission hasn’t approved her intake of fluids. Refusal of nutrients is an approved decree.”

Jacob’s grip tensed. “I’m quite aware of the Commission’s approved decrees.”

“I’m sorry, Brother. I didn’t mean to . . .”

“It’s been over a week. She needs more than what she’s getting from that needle.”

“I believe they’ll discuss it in the morning since Brother Timothy was able to see and talk to her. They should have a revised decision by tomorrow. I can’t go against . . .”

Jacob sighed and his grip remained tight. “I understand,” he conceded. “Then bring me ice chips. If we hurry before they melt, they’ll be solids and not liquids. That won’t violate the Commission’s authority.”

“Brother?”

“Bring me ice.”





CHAPTER 2


Stella


It was past three in the afternoon when I finished chasing leads—ones that seemed to go nowhere—and dragged my tired self back to the TV station. I plugged in my dead cell phone and collapsed at my desk. As I laid my head on my arm, I realized, only slightly ashamed, that I was wearing the same blouse and slacks I’d worn the day before. When I’d been out in the field, it hadn’t occurred to me, but here, I was suddenly self-conscious.

I must’ve bumped my mouse, because a light brighter than the Michigan summer sun filled my cubicle, and my monitor roared to life. The number flashing at the top of my screen mocked my exhaustion, alerting me to the hundreds of e-mails all in desperate need of immediate response. That’s what happened when I spent my entire day out of the office. Sighing, I scooted my chair closer and began to scroll.

Rarely did true leads pop up in my inbox. Most of them came on the street or from reliable sources. Many times they came from people who preferred to remain anonymous. It wasn’t until the really damning evidence was discovered that names and sources were needed. Even then, thanks to the First Amendment, most sources could remain undisclosed.

Today I’d spent hours with the border patrol. It was a stimulating way to spend a day, watching cars pass from the United States to Canada and vice versa for hours on end. The US Border Patrol wasn’t keen on allowing reporters or investigative journalists open access, but thankfully, I had a friend who had a friend, which was the way most of this worked. Unfortunately, today it hadn’t done me much good.

As I finished reading the second page of e-mails, my cell phone rang, its melody alerting me to my caller.

“Hello, Bernard.”

“Stella, where are you?”

“About thirty feet away,” I replied with a tired laugh.

“In my office.”

The phone went silent.

I lifted my brow and stared at the screen. Dylan, the man I’d left early this morning in his warm bed, was right; Barney, as Dylan called him, was a pompous ass. The civilized world used salutations: hello and good-bye. Shrugging away my annoyance, I pulled myself to my feet and walked to my boss’s office. Before I reached his door, he stood, walked toward me, and motioned to the chairs facing his desk. As I sat, he closed the door.

“I didn’t realize you were back,” he said, as he sat behind his desk. “How are you?”

I eyed him suspiciously. In the nearly a year I’d worked for him, I’d replied to every one of his requests for discussion. I’d dragged myself to this office, to coffee shops, bars, restaurants, and a million other places at all hours of the day and night. Never once had he stood as I approached. Never once had he greeted me with more than a shrug before beginning his rant. This new, unfamiliar adherence to etiquette frightened me more than his normal pompous behavior.

“What did you learn?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. I spent half the day at the border. Around eleven I followed up on some leads at the shipyard. I talked to some people, but honestly, nothing stuck out.”

His eyes fell to his desk. Despite nearing retirement, Bernard was still a handsome man—tall, tan, fit. The only suggestions of his age were his salt-and-pepper hair and the fine lines around his eyes. Currently his hair was slicked back, his face was made up for the cameras, and he was dressed in a nice suit. Though the news wouldn’t be starting for another hour or so, judging by his attire, he’d been filming one of his stories. That meant he would be needed back on the set to introduce the story during the five and six o’clock news. As I waited for him to look back up, it hit me. I’d never known him to look away. It was one of his things, one of his one-upmanship tendencies.

Is he going to move me off this story, or fire me?

I sat forward on the edge of the seat, my nerves electrified, waking my body with a surge of adrenaline. “I’ll keep looking. You don’t need to worry. If there’s as big of a drug operation out there as they say, someone’s going to talk. I’ve got feelers all over. Don’t take me off this. I’ll get the story.”

His dark eyes peered upward, but I couldn’t read his expression.

“No one’s moving you off the story. This isn’t about the drugs.”

“But you just asked—”

“I don’t do touchy-feely shit, but it’s no secret how much we all cared about Mindy . . .”