Gathering String by Mimi Johnson Read Free Book Online Page A

caught his eye. He figured her for an intern, but Rick Higgins told him she was Tess Benedict, Arnie Baxter’s new hire. The photo chief always kept an eye out for cheap young talent, and she’d made a quick mark for herself at the Portland Oregonian .
    Watching her swing through the newsroom every morning, toting her camera equipment and a giant cup of coffee, Sam was intrigued, not just by her looks, but with her vitality. Her energy for the work seemed boundless and he was always drawn to others who loved what he loved best. But he kept any interaction to a quick nod in the hallways and aisles. She was a little too tempting for the workplace.
    She’d probably worked there about four months before they had an assignment together. The chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee had called a press conference at the Russell Senate Office Building to announce that Republicans had the votes needed to block the President’s nominee for the Supreme Court. They’d hustled over together, Tess listening silently as Sam groused the whole way.
    “Just one more bloody clusterfuck,” he’d muttered as he slammed the door of the cab. “Everyone writing the same story and shooting the same pictures.”
    She heaved the equipment bag to her shoulder. “But that’s the way news happens on The Hill.”
    Sam shook his head as they ran up the steps. “Bullshit. This isn’t news. It’s just confirming what everyone already knows. It’s about as interesting as spit. Nothing’s better than breaking the story, finding the fucking skeleton in a senator’s, or a congressman’s, or a candidate’s closet. News is telling people what they need to know but don’t.”
    Taking the steps two at time to keep up with his long strides, she asked, “So is it hard work?” He glanced at her aghast, ready to snap, “You bet your ass,” but before he could speak she added, “Being the renegade all the editors complain about?” Used to the deferential treatment of younger staff members, Sam pulled open the door with the narrow glare that quelled most people. She laughed, “I hope I get to take the picture: Sam Waterman with a politician’s bloody scalp in one hand and a Pulitzer in the other.” He couldn’t quite stop his lopsided, answering grin.
    She glanced around the rotunda, then looked up. “I’m going to take a quick look from upstairs.” She jutted her dimpled chin up at the gallery. “I like to get an overview.”
    Sam frowned as she hurried away. Most photographers thundered right into the pack, and he wondered if she actually knew what she was doing. Good art meant better play for his story, and he hoped to hell she wasn’t screwing this dog up for him. The press conference was over before they connected again. “You get what we need?” he asked tensely.
    She shot him a glance that showed she understood he was questioning her work. “Look for yourself,” and he was startled as she tossed him one of the cameras.
    “I trust you.” He handed it right back.
    She snorted, “You don’t even know how to review pictures on a camera, do you?” At his shrug of admission, she tucked the camera into her bag. They started walking at a good clip back to the newsroom. Huffing with exertion, she said, “Sam, there was a guy up in the gallery who hit on me.”
    “So?” Did she expect him to go defend her honor?
    “So, he said he was there to watch the press conference.” She slowed and Sam moved several steps ahead of her. “And he said he was an aide in Judge Barbara Evans’ office.”
    Sam looked back over his shoulder. “Evans? She’s a judge …”
    “In New York. Handed down that big RICO ruling just a few months ago.” Tess stopped walking, and so did Sam. She raised her eyebrows. “Kind of interesting, that he was down here …”
    Sam was already nodding and grabbed her elbow, putting his fingers to his mouth and hailing a cab with a whistle. With just a few phone calls, he broke the story that Barbara Evans