Bad News First: The Nicki Sosebee Stories, #7

By Jade C. Jamison

Nicki's life is falling apart.

 

The little life she'd set up for herself hung in a precarious balance—and it doesn't take much to make the house of cards collapse.

 

But she's still on a mission.

 

Disillusioned, Nicki starts to believe she is nothing but a tiny cog in a big machine, and as she opens her eyes to all that's around her, her life begins to fall apart. For the first time, she sees how deep the corruption goes in Winchester, so she does what she knows best—she reports what she finds, starting with the bad news first.

 

Unfortunately, it's all bad news. And as she gets closer to the truth, reporting the misdeeds she finds becomes more dangerous…

PLEASE NOTE: This book was previously published in 2012 as INNOCENT BYSTANDER.

 

The Nicki Sosebee Stories are an interconnected series and should be read in order for maximum spoiler-free enjoyment.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jade C. Jamison
• Release date: Nov 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201726959

Jade C. Jamison

1. Imagine 2. Play some music 3. Write 4. Blow readers away 5. RepeatJade C. Jamison is a steamy romance author, heavy metal fangirl, wife and mom, coffee connoisseur, cat lover, and vegan foodie--not necessarily in that order. She loves life and believes we learn our wisest lessons when reading, especially if it's fiction. Her heroines are fierce, her heroes all but broken, both seeking redemption together. Whether in a small Colorado town or big city, she strives to take her readers' breath away...one story at a time.Find out more at www.jadecjamison.com ORhttp://www.subscribepage.com/JadeCJamison (newsletter)

Book preview

Chapter 1

Never in a million years would Nicki Sosebee have thought she’d be moving into her sexy best friend Sean Ramsey’s apartment.

They weren’t sharing the same bedroom, though. Let’s just clear that silly notion up right now.

Multiple events had set the ball in motion, beginning a month earlier. Nicki had had a shitty end to an otherwise okay year. First, her car had started acting weird in late October, and throughout the month, it continued to get worse. Sean looked Nicki’s Jetta over and told her it was some kind of engine trouble, something out of his scope of expertise. So, right after Thanksgiving, she’d gone to the repair shop of a friend (okay, acquaintance) whom she’d known since high school, taking her beloved Jetta to Jimmy at Dawson’s Auto, asking him what he thought.

Well, Nicki, I gotta tell ya—it don’t look good. But, just so you know, I don’t do this kind of repair. Nicki found it odd that he didn’t want to work on it. Up until this point, she hadn’t brought her Jetta to Jimmy, because it had been a dream car for her. Before she’d bought her used little-car-that-could, though, she’d had a real lemon, and Jimmy had put a lot of sweat and hours into it. When Nicki had worked for a place called Crown Auto Plaza, she’d test-driven the Jetta and fallen in love, and—as an employee—had gotten the best deal she ever could on a vehicle. Up until now, the Jetta had been a dream of a car.

What do you mean? I thought you worked on engines all the time.

That’s not what I meant. Leaning over said engine, poking at various things Nicki knew nothing about, he said, "I don’t work on foreign cars. Words escaped her as his sentence sunk in. Yeah, okay, so the Jetta was technically a foreign car. She’d just never thought of it that way before. The Jetta’s a Volkswagen, darlin’, and those are—"

German, I know. I know. Just because it hadn’t computed before didn’t mean she was an idiot.

She sighed. Maybe he could recommend a place around town that he trusted, and she started to ask when he said, "But, look, I’ll give it a shot for you."

Cocking an eyebrow, Nicki tried to read the man. Before now, she’d never gotten an interested vibe from Jimmy, probably because he loved to date the skankiest, kinkiest hos in town. Well, Nicki thought, that was probably not the most accurate assessment, but he was known for his penchant for strippers and exotic dancers. Nicki didn’t seem to fit his category of dream dates. For instance, her tits were too…real.

And, of course, that meant she was more than likely reading too much into his last sentence. So she said, "That’d be great. I’d appreciate it so much, Jimmy. She decided to bite the bullet. How much will that run?"

With a shrug, he looked back over her engine. Gravity pulled his brown hair down so the sides covered his eyes and face. But when he looked back at her, she could see the intent in his green eyes, and then she realized she should have trusted her instincts in the first place. Not sure yet, but you can start by going out on a date with me this Friday night.

She hadn’t expected him to ask her out on an actual date—and she smiled at him to give herself a little time to think. She wasn’t in a relationship right now, so what would it hurt? Just so long as he didn’t think fixing her car would give him carte blanche to do whatever he wanted with her. He was a good-looking guy and kind of her type in that he had a few tattoos on his arms, and even though he always had black grease on his hands and under his fingernails, she had to assume he’d clean up for a date. And while he wasn’t a hard body, he appeared to be in okay shape. She grew irritated with herself for going that far in her brain. Going out on a date didn’t mean she’d have to sleep with him. Why did it always equate to that in Nicki’s mind? So she shrugged and said, That’s cool, but I work Friday night. I don’t get off work till close to midnight. I’m free all day until four, though.

Jimmy’s lips spread into a smirk. "Oh, no, darlin’. I’m not talking a lunch date. Midnight would be fine, I guess. Wanna go to the nightclub?"

The nightclub? That place was still open? The last time she could remember going there had been in the summer, pre-Jesse, and she’d been dancing with a hot older British guy. Feeling surprised because she hadn’t known Jimmy liked to dance, she decided to have an open mind. That could be fun, she said, and they made arrangements for him to swing by her apartment after she got off work from Napoli on Friday.

But who was she kidding? Of course, Jimmy had wanted to fuck her, and when he drove her home after buying her two drinks at the nightclub (with only a couple of poorly executed dance moves), he made his intentions known by sticking his tongue in her mouth and grabbing her by the hips with his rough hands before pulling her close to him. When she felt his erection up against her lower belly, she figured it out.

Even though she wasn’t particularly excited, she decided to just get it over with. Maybe she should’ve had another drink. Too late now. But while it started out all right, his kisses got pretty sloppy and he had no finesse. His hands grabbed her like he was wearing baseball mitts—big, bulky, rough, and numb, like he could only feel big picture and not finer points.

It was then that she knew sex with Jimmy wasn’t going to be much fun. So, even though she reserved the right to change her mind (based on what she’d see), she decided to grace him with a little oral sex before kicking him out the door.

He was clean and free of anything nasty looking in that area, so she decided to go for it, hoping he wasn’t into marathons. So Jimmy leaned his head against Nicki’s refrigerator, releasing a deep sigh of pleasure, while she worked a little magic.

As she gave his cock the fullest attention of her hands and mouth, she let her mind wander. She had unbuttoned his red flannel shirt earlier and now her eyes got a good look at his doughy stomach. While the guy wasn’t fat or even overweight, it was evident that he really liked pizza and beer. Or maybe he preferred Pepsi and potato chips. Whatever the case, Nicki wondered when the last time was this guy had even tried to work out. And he was really hairy. She didn’t mind a little hair on guys’ stomachs or chests, because it just accentuated their masculinity, but for some reason, she didn’t care for it on Jimmy. Probably because of the rest of him—the pale, puffy stomach the hair was growing out of just wasn’t appealing.

Ah, well. He was enjoying the fellatio just the same, panting and moaning and groaning, and Nicki wondered when was the last time he’d had a woman’s lips around his dick. Must’ve been a long time. He kept pulling her hair up and back, and if she hadn’t been sucking on his cock, she might have appreciated the attention. But he wouldn’t even let her mind drift off. He kept up a running commentary: Oh, yeah. Like that. Yeah, that’s good. That’s nice. That’s nice, Nicki. She couldn’t even pretend he was someone else. He wouldn’t let her.

So she just toughed it out, trying to make it as pleasurable as possible. If he hadn’t been so unappealing under the shirt, she might have jumped his bones and made a night out of it, but she’d been spoiled over the years. She’d had too much good sex with far too many good-looking guys who cared about their looks and their bodies, and she couldn’t work herself up to getting excited with Jimmy.

When he came, she held it in her mouth, working him with her hand until he finished. Then she got up and, trying to be sensitive and quiet, spat it in the trash. She would’ve rinsed out her mouth, too, but that would make her a complete insensitive ass.

When she came back, she leaned her head on his chest, looking down at his limp…extremity. Jimmy continued to rest against the fridge, but he put his arms around her. I’m afraid I’ll be worthless now. I’m sorry. That shit just wipes me out.

While she was relieved, she didn’t want him to know how much. No problem. She just hoped he didn’t plan to crash at her place. I’m fine.

Hey, how’s the car working out? Jimmy had lent her a beater car to drive while hers was at his shop, an old Nissan whose gold paint was peeling but drove okay.

Great. Thanks for letting me borrow it.

Yeah. I’ll be working on your car tomorrow. Sorry I haven’t had a chance to do much yet.

It’s okay. Thanks for checking it out. God, how long was she going to have to engage him in conversation? Moments like these always made her think of Jesse, her gorgeous, sweet ex. Their pillow talk had never made her feel bored or nervous, but Jimmy’s was doing both.

Fortunately, he stood up from his spot against the refrigerator and zipped up his pants. Thanks, Nicki. That was nice. He kissed her on the mouth but didn’t insert his tongue. You got sweet lips, darlin’. So he was one of those guys—happy to have his dick in her mouth but then didn’t want to taste himself on her. That was fine by her, though. And it was also fine when he left a few minutes later.

Nicki just hoped what talent he lacked in the sex department he could make up for as a genius in engine science.

Of course, Nicki was having a streak of bad luck, and Jimmy called her on Monday to let her know he couldn’t fix her Jetta. She’d have to take it to another shop. At least, he’d taken the initiative and called around. The one shop in Winchester that would work on her Jetta couldn’t guarantee they knew what the problem was without looking at the car, so Jimmy told Nicki he’d take it down there. After diagnosing it, they’d give her an estimate at no charge.

He also let her continue to borrow a clunker (the goldish Nissan) to drive around until she got her car back. Even though it guzzled gas, Nicki supposed it was better than nothing. Winchester might not have been a city, but the town was about fifteen square miles, and while Nicki didn’t mind walking, she didn’t want to walk that much, especially now that the weather was turning colder. Plus, she knew she wouldn’t be able to write as many articles for the Winchester Tribune if she couldn’t get around easily. Sure, she could use a cab, but that would be even more expensive than all the gas she was dropping in Jimmy’s jalopy.

What really sucked was the old car didn’t even have a radio or CD player. Nicki loved metal music, and she liked playing the radio while she drove around town. Talking on the phone was distracting, so she hated doing it in the car, and playing the radio was a good way for her to tune out distractions and focus on the road. Plus the Nissan felt like a boat of a car compared to her Jetta and it was an ugly matte gold color. She didn’t know that she wanted to be seen in it.

She wanted her baby back.

She’d had the Jetta for several years, and it had been the best car she’d ever had. Instead of feeling upset, she supposed she should be grateful that this was the first major issue it was having.

So, Monday afternoon, one of the main days she focused on reporting, she drove to her best friend Sean’s motorcycle repair shop to resume a discussion they’d had the week before. After Nicki pulled up to his shop on Maple Avenue, she got out of the hulking gold car, tightening her coat around herself as she looked up at the gray sky. There was no sun, and she suspected snow would start falling later in the afternoon. Then she wondered how Jimmy’s car was on ice and snow and hoped she’d do okay.

As she walked in the front door of the garage, she was assaulted by the sounds of Godsmack, one of Sean’s favorite bands. He had the music cranked, which told Nicki Sean was focusing on something intently. As she looked around, though, she couldn’t find him. So she walked in toward the office and peeked inside, but he wasn’t there, either. Finally, she yelled, Sean! You here?

Just after she shouted, Sean emerged from a door at the back that housed a tiny restroom. Yeah. What’s up?

Sorry to interrupt.

You didn’t. He walked across the garage toward the CD player on the table that took up the length of one wall and turned the music way down. How’s your car?

Not good. Jimmy couldn’t figure it out, so he sent it to that foreign auto place on the end of Main.

Jimmy’s a fucktard. I don’t know why you took your car to him in the first place.

Nicki giggled at Sean’s creative vocabulary. He looked at it for free, so I can’t complain. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, considering the blowjob payment.

I look at your car for free, too. And she would have touched Sean’s dick without any encouragement. She and Sean had a lot of history. Lately, though, they’d acknowledged the fact that they were still attracted to each other, but Sean had told Nicki in no uncertain terms that he couldn’t be with her.

It was a crying shame. While Nicki cared for Sean, she’d lusted after him hard over the years. He was a fine specimen of man—average height, but every square inch of the man was tight and toned, and he wasn’t bulky, but he had smooth muscles and a six-pack. On top of that, he had a few tattoos that made him look like the bad ass motherfucker the ink on his fingers announced with the letters BAMF just above the knuckles on his right hand. He had dark blond hair and beautiful blue eyes that had an intensity that sometimes took Nicki’s breath away.

But Sean was more than eye candy. He had been a good friend to Nicki over the years, and her feelings for him had grown stronger. She was grateful that, at least for now, he was single. Earlier in the month, he’d been dating a little rich girl. Nicki could find few women less tolerable. She hated the entitled air that came off those women, and their manicured nails made her want to throw up. The woman Sean had been dating was the epitome of them all.

I know. But I also know bikes are your forte.

"Ah, my forte. I like that. As he started walking toward the office, he stopped next to it where the coffee pot sat on the end of the long table. Want some coffee?"

Oh. No, thanks. While she loved coffee, she wasn’t in the mood. But then her cold hands reminded her that maybe she was. Actually, yeah, I think I will. She joined him next to the pot.

So what else is going on?

Nicki grabbed the cup that looked the cleanest out of the half dozen around the pot. It was a small black mug and she couldn’t see any dust or gross stuff on or in it. I just wanted to pick your brains some more. There’s gotta be a story in some of the stuff we talked about last week.

Yeah, probably, he said, moving so Nicki could pour herself a cup, but I can’t think of anything that wouldn’t be dangerous.

While she poured her coffee and stirred sugar and creamer into it, she didn’t speak. The spoon had seen better days, too, but Sean had had it in his cup, so she figured it couldn’t be that dirty. Then she said, "I didn’t ask to be coddled, Sean. I want to report what’s going on around here." And ever since finding out at the end of last month that her local government was knee deep in shady activities, she wanted to try her hand at cracking stories that highlighted the corruption. She believed knowledge was power, and if the people of Winchester knew what she knew, they wouldn’t stand for it.

After taking a drink of his coffee, he set it on the table. "I like you alive."

She stood still, just staring at him. Then she set her coffee cup on the table, too, before crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows in a silent draw.

C’mon, Nicki. You know how I feel about all that shit, but I’m not gonna put you in any compromising positions.

She shifted her weight to the other foot. "You won’t be doing anything. I’ll be doing it. And what makes you think I’ll do something stupid to jeopardize my safety?"

Sean’s expression changed as a grin spread across his face. Need I remind you about Michael Sterne?

Oh, that was a low blow. Of course, she remembered Sterne. She’d been researching a criminal case early last summer, and Sterne had been in hiding from the law. Nicki had found him on accident, and Sean managed to save her and Sterne’s girlfriend and two children. I’m still alive, aren’t I? And I’ve since saved myself from a couple of other dangerous situations. Although she wouldn’t tell him some situations had been more dangerous than others, she felt like she’d been getting better at maneuvering herself through tight spots.

After all, she’d managed to escape a cop-turned-rapist.

I guess, but don’t you think it’s better not to put yourself in those situations in the first place?

Her lips tightened. Look, I’ll just go poking around anyway, so you can either help me or just step aside.

While Sean raised his eyebrows, his grin never shied away. Jesus, Nicki. You’re losing your sense of humor in your old age.

Inhaling, she prepared to retort, but then clamped her mouth shut. Anything she had to say would probably sound humorless. So she picked her coffee up off the table and took a sip.

Sean said, I’ll make you a deal. Nicki shifted her eyes from the creamy brown liquid in her cup to his gaze. "I’ll give you all I know if you promise not to go anywhere dangerous without me."

That sounded like a deal Nicki might not be able to pass up. Okay, let’s say we do that. How do you know a place is dangerous before you go there? Like with Sterne—I was going to interview his girlfriend. I had no idea he was there.

Think about it, Nicki. Someone like that I’d meet in a public place, not at her house.

So I’m learning… She let out a deep sigh. And how, exactly, will this interfere with your business? Setting her cup back on the table, she crossed her arms again. I’m not going to stand around waiting for you to close up shop.

He looked down at her cup, then back up to her. We’ll work that out as it comes along.

Fine. Uncrossing her arms once more, she tried to seem more relaxed. So what have you got for me?

Sean closed his eyes and shook his head, as though he regretted what he was about to say but was powerless to help himself. How much do you know about the meth trade in Winchester?

Chapter 2

Up until half an hour earlier, Nicki hadn’t had any idea how prevalent drugs were in her hometown. While she hadn’t exactly lived a sheltered life, she could admit to herself that she was naïve. If she hadn’t been, learning about the corruption of local politicians wouldn’t have come as such a surprise either.

But Sean educated Nicki in the local drug trade. She had just assumed that there weren’t many drug users and abusers around their town because she’d rarely seen them. There were quite a few people who smoked pot and once in a while the cops found marijuana plants growing in the woods behind Winchester. Those stories always made the paper. But, other than that, alcohol, tobacco, and pharmaceuticals appeared to be the only other prevalent drugs around town. Since those items were legal, they weren’t news. Nicki recalled a few years ago hearing about a home healthcare provider stealing the prescription drugs of her client, the elderly man whose home she visited several days a week to care for. Other than that, though, Winchester seemed like the ideal community. Nicki wasn’t stupid enough to think there were no drugs around, but she had believed only a few people used them, people she didn’t know. And it wasn’t like she didn’t know about meth users—when she’d sat in court watching arraignments, she’d seen her share of tweakers—but it hadn’t made an impression on her.

Sean, however, told her drugs were a lot bigger than she realized. It was true that there weren’t a lot of expensive drugs in their town, things like cocaine or heroin. Winchester was off the beaten path and it was small, so the profits gained by outsiders would be insignificant and not worth the hassle. That was where crystal meth came in. It was easy enough to make, and the dealers didn’t have to rely on outside sources to grow or otherwise supply their product. What went into meth were ingredients that could be purchased at a pharmacy, a supermarket, and maybe a hardware store. There wasn’t anything fancy about it.

Meth labs around Winchester weren’t new, Sean said, and Nicki knew that was also true. He told her if she researched house fires over the last few years, chances were she’d find at least one or two were due to meth. She also remembered two different stories over the past six years of meth labs getting busted up, but Sean insisted that there were a lot more labs than those two. In fact, he’d heard through the grapevine that there was one main operation, run by one man with a few workers, but what disturbed Sean was when he heard that the operation was greasing the palms of several affluent politicians in Winchester. You turn a blind eye to crime if it’s lining your pockets, Sean told Nicki.

Sean said he even knew where one of the operation’s meth labs was located, outside of town in the backwoods around Winchester. But he wouldn’t tell Nicki exactly where, because he didn’t want her doing anything stupid. If she intended to check it out (and he told her that would be dangerous), he’d go with her.

So she left his garage deep in thought, knowing where she’d have to start. She’d talk to Detective Nathan Wright with the Winchester Police Department. While she’d learned over the past year that about half of what came out of the man’s mouth was only partial-truths or outright fabrications, she had to start somewhere. And it might give her an idea of how much help she could get from the cops later on if she had to report a crime.

Especially considering the last thing she’d brought to him.

As she drove to the police station, her mind focused on her last dealing with Wright. She’d known in the past that he’d withheld information from her. Why, she didn’t know, but she could only figure it was because knowledge is power and he liked toying with her. More recently, though, her last encounter with Wright had convinced her that the police department was also under the control of the local government. She didn’t know how she could fight it, and even if she were able to dig up a lot of information, would she be able to get the Tribune to print it, considering even her editor had told her to walk away from that particular story?

When she arrived at the police station, the man at the counter told her Wright was gone for the day. That sucked. She had his cell phone number, but she didn’t want to talk to him over the phone. Because she didn’t trust him, she wanted to see his body language when she talked to him. She’d try again tomorrow. In the meantime, she could do some other research. So Nicki decided to go back to the Tribune to talk to her editor. Neal Black was perhaps the most patient man Nicki knew. He put up with her hotheaded rants, her flavorful sailor mouth, and her impish curiosity. No, he did more than put up with her. He nurtured those qualities, and Nicki had always believed it was because she reminded Neal of himself when he’d been a young reporter.

Nicki knew, though, that he’d been much younger than she when he’d first started out. He’d been a reporter in Denver for a good ten-plus years before moving to Winchester and becoming the Tribune’s editor-in-chief. Maybe at one time he’d been like Nicki, his newest freelance reporter, sticking his nose into dangerous situations and prying when he should have been backing away. Or maybe he just liked Nicki. She didn’t know, but she respected her newspaper boss and wanted to make him proud. And she valued his insight and opinion, so anytime she had questions about her stories, she tracked Neal down.

When she got to the Tribune building, she went directly to Neal’s office. She’d already been to the Tribune once that day for the eight o’clock weekly staff meeting. Nothing much was going on in Winchester at the moment, and they were focused on the holiday season. Neal assigned two reporters and the photographer to cover the upcoming Christmas parade. Not Nicki, though, because she would be working her other job as a waitress at Napoli Pizzeria that night. That meant she’d have lots of customers coming in for hot coffee and not much else, trying to warm up so they could try to enjoy the rest of the parade. So she’d left the meeting earlier with the suggestion that she find anything Christmas-y and report on it. Rolling her eyes, She knew she could probably do a feature piece or two on some of the local schools’ holiday music programs. Not her cup of tea, but she’d take it if she had to. She’d decided if she hadn’t found anything by mid-week, she’d call Neal and ask if any of those types of gigs were unspoken for. Chances were, though, that some of the seasoned reporters had already staked all those stories out.

Nicki didn’t particularly care for the warm fuzzy stories, but Neal himself had told her those stories were what kept their readership. If people wanted world news, he told her, they’d be reading CNN online; if they wanted national news, it’d be USA Today—again, on the internet. But the Tribune, whether the online edition or the hardcopy, was the only publication that would feature little Timmy singing a song onstage at school, sweet little Janie winning second place at the district Science Fair, or the ribbon cutting of the newest family restaurant. If they didn’t pander to their subscribers (and, Neal admitted, pander wasn’t the most appropriate term, but he was trying to make a point and feeling frustrated with Nicki’s continual counterarguments), they would be out of business. End of story. Pound, pound, pound, he said, and it took Nicki a few seconds to realize