Bylines & Deadlines. Kimberly Vinje

guy is willing to kill his own wife and an eight year old little boy, he wouldn’t think twice about a reporter.”

      “Will, you have to separate the editor from the other stuff. If I was Bronston or Newman sitting here with this story, would you be so worried?”

      “I’m not in love with Newman,” he said sincerely and quietly. Her mouth fell open. “But, I’d still be worried. I don’t want any of my reporters dying for a story. I may be a newsman, but I’m a human being first.”

      “You’re in love with me?” she whispered, stuck on his first words. “I didn’t know it was that far along. Will, you don’t even know me,” she said quietly. “If you knew me, I don’t know that you’d feel the same way.”

      “Kris, I’m not a silly teenager.”

      “I know, but think about it. I’m a royal bitch. No one in the newsroom likes me. I’m mean to everyone, and I slept in my clothes last night,” she said completely forgetting about her big story.

      “You aren’t a bitch, Krissy. You’re defensive and you build walls around yourself. The newsroom doesn’t dislike you - you just haven’t given anyone a chance to get to know you,” he said soothingly.

      “Joyce the pit bull hates me,” she said.

      “She doesn’t hate you. She’s concerned about you.”

      “Concerned about me?”

      “Well, I should say she’s concerned about me. Joyce can read me like a book - she knows what I want before I do. She warned me away from you before I knew what was going on with me.”

      “Oh,” she said and sat quietly for a moment. “Burt Newman hates me,” she said.

      “Truth be told, you’re the brightest part of Burt Newman’s day. Sparring with you takes his mind off the rest of his life. He thinks of you as the bratty daughter he never had,” he said. She looked at him suspiciously.

      “Did he tell you that?” she wondered.

      “Kris, I didn’t go from the mailroom to the boardroom without being able to read people,” he said almost fatherly. “Give me some credit.” She thought for a moment. He was good at reading people from what she could recall. “How do you think you got this job? Of course I was attracted to you immediately, but I watched you in the newsroom on your tour. Your eyes darted around taking in everything. You asked the right questions at the right times. You had the ‘it’ factor I look for when I hire.” She was quiet. She had no idea he watched her that closely that day. She didn’t know whether to be freaked out or honored. Quick, she thought. Get off the subject. She looked down at the stack of research.

      “Okay. Let’s get back to my story,” she said.

      “Right,” he said and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. She had no idea what she was doing. She was moving papers around. He put his hand on top of hers to stop her. “Stop. Think. What’s the next step?” She thought about how he could possibly know she wasn’t concentrating. Maybe he did know her.

      “I need to fill the holes,” she said and looked at him. “The bank records and that other weird document,” she said. She pulled them out of the stack, and he looked at them over her shoulder.

      “Hold on,” he said. He left the room and came back with the business section of the paper. He opened to the stock pages. “See this?” He pointed to the page. “I think that’s the abbreviation for RJR, and here it is on this document.” She looked. He had something. He took the phone he had hooked to his waist. “Joyce, it’s me. Put me through to Bronston again.” Kristine wondered if Joyce knew she was staying with Will. “Are any of Rawlings’ other companies public?” There was a pause. “Check it out. If they are, I want their market abbreviations. Give me whatever you find.” He paced around the living room. She found him even more attractive when he took charge like that. They looked at the numbers while they waited. “If these are other companies, he’s moving money around. And a lot of it,” he said. “Let’s go back to the office.”

      They went back to his home office and waited for the information. Some of the companies were public, but some weren’t. Farmcorp wasn’t. They matched the public companies to the abbreviations and then found one that didn’t match - PMF.

      “Will. PMF could be Farmcorp backwards. The P is the last letter, the F is the first and M is in the middle,” she said pointing.

      “If it is, he’s moving a lot of money to Farmcorp,” he said. “Do a search on Farmcorp.” She turned to the laptop and searched in every database and search engine she could. Nothing. “We’re going to spread out the research to take the focus off of you,” he said. He phoned Bronston and told him to put a couple business reporters on Farmcorp. He told Bronston to tell them it was high priority but highly confidential. Their research should be done quietly. He hung up.

      “What now?” she asked.

      “We wait. It’s going to take them awhile, but they have good contacts,” he said. “Want to have some lunch?”

      “Sure,” she said looking for a clock. It was after 1:00. She hadn’t realized so much time had passed since breakfast. Her stomach was in knots. She could feel the story beginning to unfold.

      Will and Kristine made some sandwiches, and she started to relax. As Will carried the plates to the table, Kristine said, “I have a better idea.” She took the plates from Will and carried them into the living room. She put the plates on the coffee table and sat on the floor. “Carpet picnic,” she looked up smiling. He smiled back.

      “I’ll get the drinks,” he said. He brought them in and put them on the glass coffee table. He sat down next to her. She shook her head.

      “You can’t have a carpet picnic with shoes on. Jeez! Didn’t you learn anything growing up?” He took off his shoes. She looked him over. “Better. Now, undo one or two buttons on your shirt and roll up your sleeves.”

      “Carpet picnics take a lot of preparation,” he said as he did what she asked. She watched carefully.

      “I think that’s it,” she said and reached for her sandwich. “We used to have carpet picnics growing up,” she said before taking a bite of her turkey sandwich.

      “Ah,” he said and started eating his sandwich.

      “We also used to make forts out of furniture,” she said.

      “Forts? How did you do that?”

      “Oh come on,” she said. “Forts. You know with sheets or blankets and furniture.” He laughed. “Seriously,” she added.

      “Sounds like fun.”

      “You’ve never made forts? Not even for the girls?” she asked in disbelief.

      “Can’t say as I have. Plus, the girls’ mother wouldn’t exactly allow us to make a mess of her furniture.” Kristine looked around and found a throw blanket on a chair. She stood up and unfolded the blanket. She put one corner on the mantle of the fireplace and weighed it down with a heavy candlestick. She took the other corner to the other end of the mantle and put a leaded glass vase on that corner. She walked over to the glass coffee table. Will watched her in amusement.

      “Look out,” she said. He moved a bit and she slid the glass table closer to the fireplace. She took the other ends of the blanket and found weights for them. She placed the ends of the blanket on the opposite ends of the coffee table. “Come on in to Fort Kris,” she said and went under the blanket. He followed her, and they sat on the hearth while they finished their lunch. Will couldn’t stop smiling. “See? Isn’t this fun? I don’t think I’ve ever had a fort with a fireplace, though. This is a fancy fort.”

      “You’re amazing,” he said looking at her. She smiled. She didn’t think she had ever been called amazing and didn’t really see anything amazing about a carpet picnic or a fort.

      “Eh,