“Take them down?”
“Yes. I want to find them and then watch them squirm as they’re escorted to jail. One after the other,” she said with much relish.
“The Black Wigs could very well be victims of assault. Why else would they go after these guys?”
“Are you condoning what they’ve done?”
“Of course not, but I also refuse to judge the Black Wigs until I know the whole story.”
“I’ll tell you the whole story. The Black Wigs are creating havoc in our society. We’ve got young girls everywhere thinking that these women with their masks and wigs are superheroes. Secret groups are popping up all over social media. And now my sixteen-year-old niece—my beautiful, innocent niece—has been drawn into the insanity.”
Sawyer frowned. “Your niece?”
“Tara Alcozar. She and her friends decided to mimic the Black Wigs and try and teach a boy a lesson. Things got out of hand, and now my sister and her husband are being sued.”
“I saw it on the news. The girls never intended to hurt the boy. And it was only a nick. Even minor cuts in the genital area bleed a lot. The boy will be fine, and I’m certain the case will be dismissed.”
Lexi crossed her arms. “I want this story. If you won’t give it to me, I’ll either jump on it and write my own story, or we can work together.”
“You want to work on the Black Wigs case with me?”
“Not even a little bit. But those female vigilantes,” Lexi said, uncrossing her arms and wagging a polished nail at her, “are a hot commodity right now. And I want a piece of the action.”
“Action?” So it wasn’t all about her niece after all, Sawyer thought.
“These lady vigilantes are a big deal right now. Everyone is talking about them. Halloween is a month away, and black wigs are flying off the shelves.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“I don’t kid about things like this. In fact, I don’t kid around. Period. So what do you say? Either we collaborate or we rush competing stories into publication. What’s it going to be?”
The woman was threatening her, and Sawyer didn’t like it. “I need to talk to Palmer.”
“I already did. He’s the one who suggested I talk to you.”
What the hell? Sawyer knew it wouldn’t look good if she lost her temper. Instead she took a calming breath. If she didn’t include Lexi on the case, things could get ugly, and difficult. She drew in a breath. “If I agree to let you join me, we do things my way.”
Lexi came forward and took her file back. “Sure, sure. We do things your way. Meet me in Conference Room G on the second floor in thirty minutes.”
“What for?”
“We need to share information and strategize. I want the Pulitzer Prize.”
“The Pulitzer Prize? I thought you didn’t kid around?”
“I don’t.”
Sawyer reeled in the urge to laugh. “I have a full schedule today. We’ll meet tomorrow at ten a.m.”
Lips pursed, Lexi gave a subtle eye roll, nodded her agreement, then walked away.
Sawyer organized the notes and files scattered about, then put it all in her desk drawer and locked it. Her phone buzzed. There was a text from Derek, her boyfriend, who also worked at the paper. His office was on the same floor, right around the corner.
The text read: What time are we supposed to be at your sister’s house for dinner?
Damn. She’d forgotten all about dinner at Harper’s. She looked at her calendar. Sure enough, there it was: Dinner @ 7 pm Harper’s.
She texted him back: Can you pick me up at 6:45? ♥
Derek: Great. Excited to finally meet your sisters. See you tonight.
Sawyer: Don’t get too excited! See you soon.
She had an appointment with her new therapist. She also wanted to stop by Palmer’s house and have a chat, but that would have to wait since she didn’t want to be late for dinner.
As she headed for the exit, her thoughts quickly ping-ponged back to Lexi. There was no way she was going to let Lexi Holmes get the best of her. She would share most of what she had . . . but not all of it. She needed to keep the last puzzle piece in her pocket . . . just in case.
CHAPTER FIVE
Sawyer took a seat on the small, comfortable sofa, placed her hands on her lap, and waited for her therapist to get things rolling. Jane Thomas was a licensed mental health counselor who worked in a private practice. Standing at full height with shoulders pushed back, Jane didn’t come close to hitting the five-foot mark. Her eyes were as brown as the unused-but-well-oiled mahogany desk by the window at the far corner of the room, her shoes were always flat and sensible, and her polyester tops were always colorful and swingy.
Sawyer’s favorite thing about Jane was that she didn’t take notes while Sawyer talked. She simply listened.
Jane sat in her upholstered wing chair, legs crossed. “Last week we talked about your relationship with Derek. Did you have a chance to talk to him about your concerns?”
The concerns she’d spoken of had to do with intimacy. She and Derek had been dating for a few months now. He was a childless, thirty-five-year-old widower, and yet they hadn’t slept together. Lately, Sawyer found herself wondering whether Derek didn’t like sex. Or maybe he just wasn’t interested in having sex with her.
“Not yet,” Sawyer said. “But we’re going to dinner on Friday night, so I’ll let you know how that goes next week.”
Jane nodded. “What about your nightmares. Any improvement?”
Every week, Sawyer found herself wondering why she was there. She was fine. She didn’t have time for therapy. But before Sawyer’s mind could wander too far, Jane would find a way to reel her in and make her wish their time together would continue for another hour.
At the moment, Sawyer was at the regret stage, wondering why she bothered. “No improvement,” she said.
“What are the nightmares about? Any reoccurring themes?”
“Lately they have all been the same. I’m ten, maybe eleven, when I hear footsteps in the hallway. Drawing the covers over my face, I stiffen as I hear the floor creak right outside my bedroom door. But whoever is there soon moves on. I know this because I hear a door at the end of the hallway open quietly. It’s the door to my older sister Harper’s bedroom.” Sawyer’s leg began to bounce. She rolled her fingers into tight fists.
“Do these nightmares scare you?”
“No. They make me furious, so angry I wake up with a sore jaw after clenching my teeth all night. I had no idea until recently that my father was raping my sister. How many times did that man walk past my door and make his way to Harper’s room?”
Sawyer took a breath, but it didn’t help. She felt tense and jittery. She and her sisters had gotten the short end of the stick when it came to parents. Neglect and sexual abuse ran deep in their family, as did the scars she and her sisters still carried with them and probably always would.
“When I hear those overly cautious and disturbingly quiet footsteps,” Sawyer went on, “I do everything I can to try and wake up, but I don’t and I can’t.”
“What would you do if you woke up?” Jane asked.