Читать книгу Every Second - Rick Mofina - Страница 12

6

Manhattan, New York

Kate Page stood on the southbound platform of the 125th Street subway station.

Waiting for the next train to get her to Midtown and Newslead, the global news service where she was a reporter, she reviewed the messages on her phone again and let out a long breath.

She hadn’t even set foot in the newsroom, but her exchange a few minutes ago with Reeka Beck, her editor, had already set the stage for a bad day.

You’re covering the conference of security experts at the Grand Hyatt for us today, Reeka had texted her.

But Chuck told me I was clear to enterprise today.

Change of plan. A lot going on today. Randy Kent’s wife went into labor, so you’re going to the Hyatt this afternoon.

What about Hugh? He’s backup on security?

It’s you, today. End of discussion.

The tunnel grumbled with distant vibrations of the approaching train. Its bright headlights shot from darkness as it rattled into the station. With a rush of hot, dank air, the brakes squealed and the train came to a stop. The doors opened. Kate boarded and found a seat under the large MTA subway map and ads for the addictions hotline and STD awareness.

As the train rolled south, Kate resumed panning for a story. For the past few weeks she’d been trying to nail down some long-shot leads, one about stolen satellite technology and one on human trafficking. She didn’t have much on either of them, and she’d wanted to pursue them today, unless something fresh broke. She’d sent out some notes to a few trusted sources to see if anything new was going on, but the messages that trickled back were not promising. Kate looked up from her silent phone, wishing for a good story.

It’s Deadsville out there.

She could not escape the fact that times were tough in the news business. More and more newspapers were shedding jobs. Newslead was losing subscribers, and rumors of cutbacks were swirling. But as the train grated and swayed, she did her best to stay positive. Whatever happened, she would survive.

I made it this far.

Kate stared at her translucent reflection in the window as the drab tunnel walls rushed by, pulling her back through her life. She was a thirty-one-year-old single mom with an eight-year-old daughter. Kate had been seven years old when her mother and father died in a hotel fire. After the tragedy, Kate and her little sister, Vanessa, had lived with relatives and then in foster homes. A couple of years later, Kate and Vanessa’s foster parents had taken them on a vacation to Canada. They were in British Columbia, driving through the Canadian Rockies, when their car spun out, flipped over and crashed into a river.

The images of that moment were seared in Kate’s mind.

The car sinking...the windows breaking...the icy water...grabbing Vanessa’s hand...pulling her free...to the surface...the frigid current numbing her body...fingers loosening...Vanessa slipping away...disappearing...

Kate was the only one who’d survived.

They’d found the bodies of Kate’s foster parents, but Vanessa’s body was never recovered. The search team reasoned that it got wedged in the rocks downriver, but Kate never gave up believing that Vanessa had somehow escaped the rushing water.

She never gave up searching for her.

After the tragedy, Kate had bounced through foster homes, eventually running away for good. She spent her teen years on the street, taking any job she could find to put herself through college, where she’d studied journalism. She’d worked in newsrooms across the country. Then, in San Francisco, she’d had a baby girl by a man who’d lied to her about being married and had written her off when he’d found out she was pregnant.

Kate named her daughter Grace and raised her on her own in Ohio where she’d worked at a newspaper in Canton, before downsizing cost her that job. But she hung on. She found a short-term reporting position in Dallas, and now here she was: a national correspondent at one of the world’s largest news organizations.

I’ve come a long way, and I never, ever, give up.

The proof smiled back at her from the photo on her phone’s screen.

Grace and Vanessa.

Kate blinked at them.

It nearly cost her everything, but eventually she’d found Vanessa.

Kate smiled to herself. It’d been a year since she’d had her sister back in her life, living with her and Grace. Vanessa was a fighter. She’d made remarkable progress with her therapy; she was going to school and working part-time as a waitress. Last month Kate and Vanessa finished a book on their lost years, Kate’s search for her and their reunion. It was titled Echo in My Heart: A Relentless Story of Love, Loss and Survival, and it was going to be released in the fall.

We’re doing okay. We’re living our lives.

Kate was also blessed to have Nancy Clark in her life. The retired and widowed nurse lived alone on the floor above them. Ever since Kate had moved into the building, she and Nancy had become more than neighbors. Nancy had never had any children of her own and had opened her heart to Kate, Grace and Vanessa. She was so kind and warm she’d practically adopted the three of them, insisting on helping them whenever she could.

A steely scraping pierced Kate’s ears and the train decelerated. The blurring dark tunnels were quickly replaced by the bright tiles of the platform walls of Penn Station.

She stepped off, remembering to breathe through her mouth and avoid inhaling the humid, musty air while navigating the pandemonium of the crushing commuter crowds. Kate had become adept at threading her way through the vast low-ceilinged warren, up to the doors and outside.

She’d surfaced in front of Madison Square Garden, across from the post office, when her phone vibrated. A man bumped her, snickering something, when she stopped to read a message from a source, a detective with the NYPD.

Nothing going on, he texted. But stay on your toes. Never know what’s coming around the corner.

That was it.

Kate put her phone away and hurried toward Newslead’s world headquarters, a few blocks away in a fifty-story office tower on Manhattan’s far West Side.