Bylines & Deadlines. Kimberly Vinje

calls. I don’t want you to leave the building unless it’s absolutely necessary, and you will not leave alone. I’ll hire around the clock security.”

      “Will, don’t you think that’s overkill? I don’t need a bodyguard,” she said uncomfortable at the thought someone would be babysitting her but curiously finding it intriguing that he wanted to take care of her.

      “No. I don’t,” he said. She knew she wouldn’t win an argument with him. Her mind raced as she feigned listening to him as he continued to give her instructions about how to live her life. She spent most of the day in his office going over story details with him, and he received a delivery of a large sum of cash. He gave it to her so she wouldn’t have to use credit cards should the need arise for her to leave town. He also received a delivery of a new cell phone which he gave to her. By the time 6:00 arrived, she didn’t know if she felt safer or more panicked with him helping her. The only thing left for her to do was get some of her stuff out of her apartment, but Will told her he had someone run out to buy her what she needed, and everything would be waiting for her.

      Will led her from his office, and she nearly had to run to keep pace with him. He led her to a set of elevators she had never ridden before today. After a walk down a strange hallway and another elevator ride, she was in a parking garage. It was dark - probably underground, she thought. Will was quiet as he concentrated and looked nervously around the garage.

      “Remind me to get someone to take care of the security footage,” he said without looking at her.

      “Right,” she replied and rolled her eyes. Total overkill, she thought.

      Will pushed a button on his keychain and the hazard lights on a black Lexus LS sedan flashed. He walked to the passenger side. She followed, but he opened the back door.

      “Get in,” he ordered, and she realized she was waiting for him to open the front door. She opened her mouth to say something, and he added, “Please.” She got into the backseat of the car. He closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side of the car. She looked around. The car was spotless inside and out. The leather was cool, even through her clothing. He turned the key in the ignition, and the car was so quiet she wasn’t even sure it started until he pulled out of the parking space.

      “Stay down,” he ordered again.

      “Will, the windows are tinted,” she said in a deadpan tone.

      “Humor me,” he urged. She curled up on the backseat. Traffic in the city was bumper to bumper. Will nervously watched the rearview mirror. After a half hour of being curled up, she started to feel achy. She sat up slightly.

      “Look, this is crazy,” she said. He didn’t respond. “Are you ignoring me?”

      “I don’t want it to look like I’m talking to anyone,” he said. She thought he was kind of silly playing this cloak and dagger spy game. She humored him and put her head down on the seat. She closed her eyes and imagined how this was probably the most excitement he had seen in years.

      Kristine met his wife Emily Wentworth-Montgomery once when she brought the twin girls in for Will’s 25^th anniversary working at the paper. She seemed as uptight as her name. She had blonde hair cut into a shoulder length bob with a headband holding her hair away from her face. Not one hair was out of place. Not even a fly-away. “How do you control fly-aways?” she thought. Never mind. Emily smiled at all the right times and intensely monitored the kids as they ate their cake. Heaven forbid they get blue icing on their white, wrinkle-free dresses.

      The girls looked like dolls. They barely spoke a word and smiled at the right times, too. When they posed for a family photo, it looked like something you’d get when you bought the frame. Picture perfect - too perfect. Kristine wondered if Emily Wentworth-Montgomery ever passed gas. The thought made her giggle out loud.

      “What’s so funny back there,” Will asked. Kristine hadn’t noticed, but the car was moving quickly.

      “Oh nothing,” she said and wondered how long she had been lost in thought. The car pulled into a parking lot, or at least that is what it felt like as the motion sent her rocking back and forth on the seat.

      “Can I get up now?” she asked.

      “Wait until I get into the garage,” he said concentrating. She waited until the car pulled into a spot and came to a stop. Will released the latch on the trunk from the inside and got out. She sat up and rolled her stiff neck. Will opened the door and held his hand out to her. She took it and got out of the car with her purse and laptop bag. She looked down at his hand in hers. She wasn’t sure they had purposely touched since the first day of work when he welcomed her to the office. He let go of her hand and moved to the trunk. He removed some bags. They seemed to be new, black luggage - must be her store-bought items. There were too many for him to carry on his own, so she took some from him. They walked to a door, and Will flashed a badge in front of a reader. “This is a high security building,” he said and opened the door for her.

      “Yeah. Thanks,” she said as she moved through the door. There was a bank of mirrored elevators in the hall. He pushed the up arrow. She deduced there must be more levels of garage below them. They stepped into the elevators when the doors opened and turned around to face them again. Will slid a key into the opening next to the highest floor. “Wow. Penthouse? Nice.” Will didn’t say anything. They rode the elevator to the top floor and stepped off into a very nice apartment or maybe it was a condo. Either way, it was beautiful. “You know, this place is going to make it difficult to go back to the closet I call an apartment. Whose place is this?”

      “Mine,” Will said as he carried bags around a corner. She crinkled her eyebrows and repeated what he said. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she saw the kitchen. She tried to remember if she had eaten anything, but the day seemed like it had been a week long. She put the bags she was carrying on a huge white, overstuffed chair. Everything seemed to be white, black or red - very masculine. Will came back around the corner. “I put your bags in the spare room,” he said and walked to the kitchen. “Hungry?” She was confused.

      “Um, yeah,” she said and followed him into the kitchen. “Will? Won’t your wife be upset I’m here?” She didn’t know where Will and his family lived and hadn’t really considered a place like this.

      “Emily and I are no longer together,” he said while opening the refrigerator. “How about Italian?”

      “How about Italian? You just tell me you and your wife are separated and then go into the dinner question like it’s nothing,” she said as she closed the refrigerator and stood face to face with him. He was tall…maybe even taller than she thought. “I’m really sorry, Will.”

      “It’s okay. It’s for the best,” he said looking down at her. “Now, do you like Italian? If you’re not hungry, I am.” To Kristine, Italian meant ravioli from a can or pizza take out.

      “Italian is fine with me. What can I do to help?” she asked watching him pull out a pot and put it under the sink. She wanted more information on the separation. She tried to ignore the reporter questions spinning like a huge, mid-western tornado through her already over-burdened mind.

      He was her boss. Their relationship was strictly professional, and she should keep it that way, right? What if he poured his heart out to her and starting crying about how much he missed his wife and kids? Would she be able to look at him the same way in the newsroom? The answer was no. She didn’t want to break her image of him. That made it easier to let the twister of questions rise back into the clouds.

      “Just make yourself at home,” he said. She turned and walked around the counter to the other side of the wall and sat on a bar stool to watch him. The kitchen cabinets were white, the granite countertops were black and the walls were painted a deep red. He took a bottle of wine from a wine rack on top of the refrigerator and put it on the counter. He slid two wine glasses off the rack hanging from under one of the cabinets. He put them on the counter next to the wine and then opened the bottle with ease. When Kristine opened a bottle of wine, it looked more like a wrestling match. The bottles