“We had a great relationship,” said Petar without equivocation. “Was she the warmest person in the world? No. Did she deal in human weakness? Yes. But I have to tell you, when I started this job, I almost didn’t make the cut. Cassidy saw I was foundering and took me under her wing. Took me to boot camp on getting myself organized, hitting deadlines, how to manipulate PR flaks into getting their stars to come on our show first, ways to talk to the celebrities so they would let their guard down for the host interview . . . She saved my ass.”
Nikki said, “I’m sorry, Petar, I stopped listening when you said she taught you to be organized.”
“And hit deadlines, Nikki, can you believe it?”
While they laughed about some private memory, Rook could picture Petar ten years ago, a bewildered Croatian shuffling around her dorm, wearing her bathrobe, going “Nee-kee, no can find shoose.”
When the laughter faded, Petar lowered his voice and moved closer to Nikki, his knee touching hers, Rook noticed. He also noticed she didn’t move away. “I heard she was working on something.”
“I knew that,” said Rook. “Something big, too.”
Nikki explained, “Rook was doing a profile of her.”
Petar said, “Oh, so then she told you what it was?”
Rook couldn’t tell if Petar knew or was fishing for what he knew, which could have been less than Petar knew, so he said, “Mm, not in so many words.”
“I don’t know, either.” Petar used his forefinger to poke a caper off Nikki’s plate. He stuck it on his tongue and said, “I heard about it from one of my publishing contacts. Cassidy was supposedly working on a tell-all book about someone. She was writing a tattler. And when it came out, some very powerful people were going to go to jail for a very long time.”
Chapter Eleven
Jameson Rook got up at five the next morning to get his life back in order. After he showered and dressed, he ground beans for a pot of strong coffee then carried a broom, dustpan, and bucket of cleaning products down the hallway to his office to confront the shambles created by the Texan two days before. Standing there in the doorway, he paused to assess the post-tornado zone of his cozy writer’s workplace: strewn files; emptied desk drawers; broken glass from pictures, awards, and framed magazine covers; banker’s boxes of research clawed open and dumped; his own bloodstain dried on the floor; rummaged cabinets; scattered books; lamp shades off-kilter; the writer’s chair that had become his prison—OK, he thought, actually, that one wasn’t much of a change.
His view was a snapshot of personal violation, both disheartening and overwhelming. Rook couldn’t figure out where to begin. So he did the only logical thing. He put the broom, the dustpan, and the cleaning products in the corner and sat down at his computer to Google Petar Matic.
He smiled as he typed in the name. Say it quickly and it sounded like an erotic toy. Best don’t go there, he thought. Not if he wanted the morning to be about getting his life in order.
To his surprise, numerous Petar Matics came up. A prominent financial guy, a teacher, a Cleveland firefighter, and so on, but no hits on Nikki Heat’s college beau. Not until the second screen page. The sole link was to a dated bio excerpted from a wildlife documentary film he had shot once in Thailand, New Friends, Old Worlds. It wasn’t much of a mention. “A film student and adventurer from the village of Kamensko in Croatia who had resettled in the United States, Petar Matic was honored to received a grant for a film introducing the world to a host of newly discovered species.” So Petar was one of those guys who shot footage of snakes with two tails and birds with hair under their wings.
Next he searched: “Petar Matic Nikki Heat” and was glad for no matches. He was especially relieved there was no link to any film project. He nudged out of his brain the image of Nikki and some Croatian Romeo as haunting green ghosts in some night vision video and started sweeping up broken glass.
About a half hour later his cell phone rang with the Dragnet theme. “Notice I’m calling you this time before I show up,” said Nikki. “I’m around the corner, and you’ve got exactly two minutes to shoo the cougars.”
“All of them? I’m growing fond of this one. In fact, hang on.” He pretended to cover the mouthpiece and said, “Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson?”