20. Nat

My phone pings from my desk drawer. Against my better judgment - I'm supposed to be finishing a lifestyle article on whether women are more drawn to cats as pets as they get older - I pull it out to read the message.

It's my doctor reminding me to book an appointment for a pap smear.

I grimace at the screen before closing the message.

Can't wait for that.

The sensible side of me decides to overlook the fact I'm disappointed the message isn't from Max. Since he dropped me off on Saturday morning, he's been messaging me daily. Mostly just ‘good morning' and ‘how was your day'. Nothing too flirtatious. I have to admit, though, I do get a thrill when his name pops up on my screen.

It's ridiculous.

I can't get involved with a man who describes his job as ‘import/export'. I mean, come on, it's 100% a euphemism for something shady. There is literally nothing about Max that screams eBay seller or Etsy store owner.

My gut tells me he's sketchy as fuck. Given my job, I'd be best staying well away from him and deleting his number from my phone.

So why haven't I done that?

No clue.

Part of me thinks it's because he hinted he was the reason why Rick disappeared from my life. I don't know what happened to Rick - or care all that much - but if Max did persuade him to leave, then I owe him.

There's no way Rick would have left his job and me without a damn good reason. When I told the girls he'd had something to do with Rick disappearing, they glanced at each other and suggested I don't look into it.

My journalistic instincts tell me they're right. Nothing good ever came of poking around in dark corners. Besides, Rick recently reinstated his Instagram, so I know he's still alive. No selfies so far, but it has to be him posting photos of protein shakes and sweaty gyms.

The guy was so vain. He spent more time in the gym than he did working.

I shove my phone away and continue editing the 1,500 words I've written. It's a tedious, slow process, and my heart isn't in it. But I promised my editor I'd finish the article by 2 PM. I'd much rather work on research for my story on the mayor, but things have ground to a halt.

Micky has been looking into the mafia guy. I promised I'd call in soon - with pizza - so hopefully he's found something I can use.

If people find out the mayor is consorting with the criminal underworld, it will be game over for him. There's no way he could deny it if I find cast-iron links connecting him with known criminals.

Just as I save my last edits on the Cat Lady article and upload it, my phone pings again. This time it's a message from an unknown number.

Bandstand. 8 PM. Margana.

This is the first time I've heard from her since we met and she gave me the USB drive. I've been through everything on the drive and while the emails clearly show something is going on, everything is in vague terms. It's nothing that would stand up in court. Even the email addresses are throwaway ones.

The mayor is a sleazy asshole, but his associates are clearly smart enough not to use their actual names. Maybe a tech genius could hack into the emails and find out more, but I don't have access to resources like that.

I have Micky, but he's already way too involved. I can't ask him to hack a private email address. It's the kind of shit that would get him arrested. Auntie Lucia would lose it if Micky was locked up for cybercrimes. There's no way I'm doing that to her - or him.

Until I have more concrete evidence to back up my suspicions, the story has stalled. It's annoying but I'll just have to keep digging.

Maybe Margana has something more for me this evening.