Calculated

By R.S. Novelle

An investigative journalist gets an unlikely tip from a mysterious informant. Dismissing it as impossible, she disregards the information and drops the story. Until the informant turns up dead, as predicted.

Plunged into the murky waters of a seedy underground prostitution ring, this psychological thriller provides twist upon dark twist in a story that would ultimately pin the church and several government officials in the largest murder cover-up the city has ever witnessed.

But is it true, or has the journalist merely been used as a pawn in a greater scheme? And how many people is she willing to sacrifice trying to figure it out?

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.S. Novelle
• Release date: Jan 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311264794

R.S. Novelle

Formerly a freelance journalist, Novelle has found placement of 75 of her pieces in both online and print publications since 2008. Additionally, she has written multiple screenplays, and contributed her effective writing style to many non-profit and for profit organizations. She launched several blogs over the years, which garnered international attention. In 2013, Novelle returned to her first love – fiction. Writing under the names Renee Novelle and R.S. Novelle, she has a publication schedule that includes psychological thrillers, suspense, paranormal fiction, contemporary women’s fiction, chick lit, and new adult. Though she received her Bachelor’s of Science in Communication, Summa Cum Laude, she considers herself a constant student of the written word. She’s an avid reader, an enthusiastic quote poster, and rarely takes “no” as a final answer. She has an unhealthy obsession for theater, dance, music and art, and strongly believes that wine is simultaneously the beginning of, and resolution to, all of life’s problems. She believes in following dreams, and that in the end, you always end up where you're meant to be.

Book preview

His rain soaked clothes clung to his firm shoulders like plastic wrap. But Scott didn’t notice; he couldn’t bring himself to care. The weight of a broken heart heaved in his chest, and the worst part of the feeling came from knowing that he alone was responsible for it all. He’d replayed the argument in his head over and over, as though just once more would change the sequence. It couldn’t, and each time he gave in, a fresh wave of salty tears sprung from his eyes, mingling with rainwater as they washed down his pallid cheeks.

Scott had been walking for miles, until his feet drug along the ground like weighted blocks. He’d been impervious to the shouting, the honking, the desperate attempts to get his attention from the other college students swarming around campus. In his world, it was silent. Silent, except for Eric’s voice shouting at him from across the room, accusing him of the very acts he’d been guilty of for months, of breaking his trust...of breaking his heart. Strange, Scott thought, he hadn’t thought through the consequences until that moment. Until he’d seen the only person he’d ever really loved standing before him, shattered. And he knew he was responsible for it all with that one act of betrayal. It didn’t matter any longer why he had done it, or how much money had been involved. There was nothing he could tell himself any longer that justified any of it.

Taking momentary shelter under a partially covered alley, Scott leaned heavily against the exposed brick wall, breathing deeply while attempting to get his thoughts straight. A vibration in his pocket alerted him to a phone call. Ripping the object from his pocket, hopeful he’d see Eric’s name flash across the caller ID, he answered it without hesitation. He didn’t care if he was yelled at, cursed at or damned to hell. Just as long as he could continue to hear Eric’s voice.

Remorse for his mistake was almost immediately replaced by comfort as a familiar, soft voice trilled over the line. If he couldn’t have what he wanted, this was the next best thing. A friend. Someone to confide in. To help him set things right again. The affection in the voice caused a new wave of emotion to overtake him.

Oh my god! The voice exclaimed. Are you okay? What’s going on?

He knows. Scott confessed through heaving sobs. He knows everything, he figured it all out. It’s over.

No. Incredulous at the allegation, the caller fell silent for a moment. You two were solid, you can get past this.

Scott shook his head despite reason, and bit back the emotion that trembled up from his gut. No, you didn’t see the look in his eyes. I know. It’s over now.

Where are you?

Scott quickly described his location.

Okay, I’m not far. I’m going to come get you, and we can figure this out together.

After agreeing, Scott hung up the call and replaced his phone. He paced quickly, an effort to work out the nervous energy from his body until he could be joined by his friend. While pacing the length of the alley, he turned back around toward the street, but found a husky figure in a black baseball cap blocking his way. Scott’s heart thudded hard as his pulse quickened under his skin; a strange tug pulled at his core. This was not the person he’d been expecting. And while logic tried to tell him the man could be anyone, somehow in his gut Scott knew what was about to happen.

Just as Scott parted his lips to make an inquiry, a bullet pierced his skull and he crumpled to the ground like an abandoned marionette doll.

The man in the baseball cap quickly strode up to him, meeting Scott’s lifeless stare with an equally cold one of his own. Bending down, the man checked his pulse and nodded his head once in satisfaction. After wiping the gun with a clean rag, he pressed it firmly into Scott’s hand, then raised the hand to press the metallic muzzle firmly against the oozing skin. Letting both the hand and gun drop as they may, the man carefully picked up Scott’s phone and hit a button that would redial his last call. After only one ring, the line picked up.

He was here. It’s done. Was his only remark before swiftly fleeing down the back of the alley where he disappeared into an open window. His timing was so precise that no one would ever discover he had been there to begin with.

CHAPTER TWO

Ana Meyers had decided to hide in her cubicle, staying as low key as possible over the next couple of days. It would probably be the safest spot she could find away from the public, she had thought to herself as she strode to her desk and flipped open her laptop. In fact, if she thought her editor wouldn’t notice, she’d even contemplated setting up camp there and not going home all week. And yet somehow, they – those loathsome readers whom she both hated and loved with equal parts intensity - had still managed to find her there, just as she’d figured they eventually would.

Dumbfounded, she stared solemnly at the hundreds of emails that had materialized in her inbox overnight. Her glossy lips parted slightly in dismay as she scanned the subject lines.

There was no doubt she’d expected to create quite a bit of a buzz with her rogue cop story after it had been released on Sunday. Fake drug busts, stolen money, racial bias, political payoffs – the juicy sensationalism had been beyond temping... She’d even anticipated pissing off a handful of people once they’d figured out what she’d really used their interviews for. And vaguely, through her alcoholic state of fog, she recalled half laughing about it over martini’s the previous Saturday night. That had been a mistake... But never once in all those forethoughts had she realized the emotional warfare this story would ultimately create.

Oh well, Ana thought as she scowled at the screen, just means I’m really good at what I do. She inhaled deeply, slowly closing her large green eyes in the process, and as she released her resentment on the exhale, she began rhythmically deleting emails based on their subject line content alone. The hate mail was tempered with very few accolades of positive reinforcement, which she read quickly, but ultimately deleted as well. Good or bad, she didn’t hold on to the past. It was time to move forward and discover a new story...or let the new one discover her.

But perhaps even more revolting to her than the tempestuous memos filling her screen was the ever present requests for free services. Yes, those were the readers she loathed the most: the ones whose arrogance overrode their common sense to the point where they demanded, not just asked, that she write their book idea for them. For free. These types of requests had been plentiful and unrelenting since her first book had been released several months back. She hit the delete key more firmly in answer to each one.

Intrigued by a story she’d covered several years ago, she’d developed the concept to incorporate all the local blue-blood families, and how they had built – and stolen – their obscene wealth. The intricate research and subsequent product had been the first real work she’d been proud of during her ten-year career out of college. And yet it had been tainted by a flood of I have your next great idea emails and I want you to write my book, but I’ll pay you out of the advance suggestions...

As if any writer needed to waste their time writing someone else’s ideas, least of all her.

Some of the success leeches she’d declined had become increasingly persistent, showing up at the office randomly requesting an audience. So when she got another buzz from the reception desk that morning – an occurrence that happened once in an ion for actual legitimate purposes – she naturally assumed it was from another such person. Her eye-roll at the blinking light that indicated she had a call summed up her feelings on the matter quite efficiently.

After pressing the speaker button with a black painted nail, she didn’t even have time to voice a greeting before the young perky receptionist chirped through the receiver.

Ana, are you back there?

No. Sarcasm dripped from her voice as she twirled a long blond curl around her finger, and continued her steady purge of inbox negativity.

You have a visitor.

Already? Ana glanced at the clock on her screen. Wow, it’s early for this. What do they want?

She has a story lead for you.

Figures. Ana nodded indicating her suspicions had been dead on correct.

Tell them I’m not buying any bullshit today, and if they want to write a book they should man up and do it themselves, but thanks for coming anyway.

Ana laughed to herself as she deleted yet another email. She could see Kylie serving those exact words in her usual prim manner, all with a giant fake smile plastered across her face.

But instead of the confirmation she was looking for, she was met with a long pause followed by a weary sigh.

Am I on speaker?

Yep.

Well take me off. This is serious.

Ana frowned at the unusual request. This conversation was a regularly scheduled dance they’d been performing together since her book launch. The change in choreography was unexpected...and a little unwelcomed. However in the three years that they’d been friends, Ana had not once been privy to the heaviness that weighed Kylie’s voice now. Curiosity – and concern – nudged Ana to soften her own edginess.

She pressed the button, lifted the receiver to her ear and spoke in the most soothing voice possible.

Okay Kylie. What’s going on? She asked with more sincerity.

Another long sigh transferred over the line. Look, there’s a bit- Kyle managed to catch herself and break off the word before the person she was referring to overheard. "...a woman in the foyer who really, really wants to meet with you. Her voice was hushed as she spoke. And she’s pretty insistent on that matter."

How insistent?

Kylie’s voice lowered another notch.

Two-year-old-temper-tantrum insistent.

Oooo... On that note, Ana finally tore her eyes away from the screen and began paying closer attention to the conversation she was having.

Leaning back in her chair, she tapped those short, dark nails against the desk as she considered her options. She owed Kylie for all the wackos she’d filtered in the past, that much she knew. But given her frame of mind, Ana was as likely to throw this lady out a window if she said the wrong thing as she was to hug her if she said the right thing. That couldn’t be a good way to approach a meeting.

Finally, she leaned forward again, tucking the blond curl behind her ear subconsciously as she spoke. Kylie, I’m really sorry, but I’m pretty busy. And today’s just not a good day. She glanced quickly at her inbox as it alerted her to the fifteen additional messages that had just been deposited. Tell her you can make an appointment to see me later in the week, but Monday’s just aren’t good.

Kylie relented, though her voice was teeming with doubt.

You got it.

Satisfied the matter would be handled, Ana replaced the receiver and turned back to her inbox. Though, she didn’t get very far into it before a muffled voice shouting from the other side of the reception room door caught her attention and her head popped up the top of her cubicle. As did everyone else’s on the newsroom floor, she quickly found out. Each had a look of surprised amusement. Each was turning its gaze slowly in her direction with a knowing smile.

Grimacing at the sudden onslaught of unwanted attention, Ana popped her head back down, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. What a way to start a Monday...

What the hell’s going on out there?

The gravely demand had caught Ana off guard, a feat not often accomplished. Jumping in her seat, she turned to glance over her shoulder, and noted the craggy face was a perfect match to the voice. Though Matthew Collins dressed with the quiet discernment befitting his role in life, his expression was etched with decades of service and stress, and his small brown eyes looked just a little too tired – even for a Monday morning. It was clear, particularly from his stance, that his decades in the news industry had honed his senses, and not only could he smell bullshit a mile away, he enjoyed the moments he got to call you out on it. Everyone tread just a little more carefully when he was on the floor. Everyone, that is, except Ana.

She shrugged innocently, but diverted eye contact as much as she could.

I have no idea. It was a half-truth at least.

Matthew snorted at her transparency. He’d groomed her from an over zealous college graduate to the award winning journalist she had become. Nothing about Ana could get by him. Worst of all, Ana knew this.

Yeah. I’m sure. Well, when your stalkers are done causing commotions, I need to see you. He rounded the corner to walk back to his office.

Ana nodded her head as her pulse picked up speed. She could get by with a lot when it came to Matthew, but she’d be completely shocked if he let this story slip by him.

5...4...3...2...

I want to discuss Sunday’s story. Matthew called over his shoulder.

Bam! There it is, she thought as her head fell forward onto the desk. Though she’d seen it coming, it still made her stomach quake with nerves. Like her, she knew Matthew was a risk taker. But she also knew the investors were not. They’d taken a gamble on this story together, and now she wondered if it was going to pay off, or if they had pushed too far.

As she lifted her head, still considering the possibilities, Ana noticed Kylie’s tall, lithe figure stalking toward her. Though she commanded the attention of everyone in the room – as much for the commotion recently overheard as for her pixie like looks - she was clearly a girl on a mission. Her pale eyes, made even more dramatic by her short dark hair, were narrowed and focused on only one individual: Ana.

Everyone gawked at the scene, but none was more shocked than Ana herself when Kylie stood before her, then dropped to both knees. Wide eyed and open mouthed, Ana could only look on, paralyzed with astonishment as Kylie clasped one of her hands and squeezed it so hard her fingertips beamed dark red.

She. Won’t. Go. Away. Kylie’s eyes were just a bit too wild. She noticed her fingertips were beginning to turn an interesting shade of purple. Ana tried to pull her hand back, but the girl held on tight. "I will buy you a martini tonight. I will buy you ten martini’s tonight. But you will please just spend thirty seconds to meet with this irritating dipshit before I loose it? Or call the cops on her. Please. She paused, waiting, then narrowed her eyes again pointedly. You know I don’t often ask for this."

Ana opened her mouth to object, but nothing came out. She closed it again quickly, then relented. Ok. Unable to help the nervous smile that escaped with the word, her voice cracked just a little. She cleared her throat before continuing. I guess I’ll meet her in the conference room.

Kylie closed her eyes in relief, her thick dark lashes laying delicately against her pale cheeks. Thank you. She said as she clenched Ana’s hand one last time, as if to reinforce to her she’d just made a promise, and would be held to it.

A quick breath to summon the last of her patience reserves, and Kylie was stalking back down the hall toward the lobby just as quickly as she had arrived.

Well played, Meyers. The jovial voice permeated the air without a body to accompany it, but Ana knew who it was. She could always count on Todd Smith to make some smart-assed comment.

At last, the head appeared over the cubicle wall to make his presence known.

Ten martinis, huh?

A typical frat boy just past his prime, the sports columnist’s sandy hair and charismatic smile still frequented all the bars within a mile walking distance. It came as no surprise to Ana, then, that his attention perked up at the mention of alcohol. "I’d be happy to help you out with those so you don’t