"Kels, I would never do anything to jeopardize your job. If you don’t believe anything else I tell you, please, believe me capable of that much honesty, at least."

She nods her head as she releases my hand and turns to the window.

I twist in my seat causing my denim shirt to scrape across my nipples. I flinch as my pre-departure activities have left me tender, but it was well worth it. Kels looks back. She must notice me cringe because she flushes red in anger before turning away again.

"Don’t be bitchy just because you’re jealous," I murmur. I know I should shut up but I can’t help myself.

She’s silent but her knuckles turn white as her tense hands clutch the armrests.

I laugh and start digging through my carry-on for reading material. Kelsey continues to stare out the window all through the boarding. "Missing Elizabeth?" I turn a page in my magazine as I ask.

"No. Well, yes, a little. I always do for a few days after she leaves." She admits this quietly as she rests her forehead on the pane of the window. "But it’s not that."

I lay my magazine in my lap and turn to her. "Wanna talk about it?" She shakes her head and, I swear to God, I see her wipe a tear from her eye. I know I’m taking a hell of a chance here, but I lay my hand on her knee. "If you change your mind, umm … well, I’m here, you know."

"Thank you." It’s another almost pitiful answer. Why do I feel so bad for her?

Thirty minutes into the flight, I notice that Kels is sound asleep against the hard wall of the cabin. I ask Teresa for a blanket. I spread it over Kels as I gently pull her so that her head rests on my shoulder. I notice how quickly and easily she snuggles into me, wrapping one arm through mine in her sleep. This is nice.


* * *

I tip the bellhop before closing the door and toss my key card across the room toward the desk. The key slides across the surface to fall behind it and I groan. Figures. First, I wake up with my head on Harper’s shoulder. It was not an unpleasant sensation and that really pissed me off. Then I had to listen to her and the boys all the way to the hotel. I’m working with three overgrown delinquents and one of them makes a really nice pillow.

Stop it, Kelsey Stanton, this very damn minute! You cannot, will not, may not, think that way about her.

The room is icy cold so the first thing I do is turn off the air conditioning. Then I dig in my suitcase for a comfortable pair of sweats and a sweatshirt. Once I feel appropriately bundled up, I open my briefcase and pull out the file.

We’re in Omaha, Nebraska, of all places, checking out a forming cult. It’s situated across the border outside of Council Bluffs, taking up nearly 100 acres. My paperwork tells me it started as a sanctuary of sorts: a place for families to live and find a community atmosphere. Then it started to grow and, most recently, the adherents are getting unruly when they go into town for supplies. Though mostly self sufficient on their plot of land, they still need some more modern items that are bought during weekly shopping trips. And more often than not, these shopping trips have turned into violent escapades. Like most cults, they feel persecuted by those on the outside. So, they retaliate.

As of yet, officials have no reason to go onto their property and try to get the bigger picture. Instead, they’re concentrating on keeping an eye on them during their weekly visits and trying to curtail the violence.

This story was Tabloid’s bright idea. She has a source who said there was cult activity involved, that this could be the next Waco, and she wants a front row seat. She always does. I’ve done a little research with the local clientele and have names of some of the people in the compound and their profiles are included in my folder.

Though I only have a small sampling, they seem to be the typical outcasts from society, searching for a place to call home. If that’s all that has happened here, I certainly can’t begrudge them that.

While I’m reading, my thoughts turn back to Harper. She really has been pretty good about not torturing me over the incident last weekend. It does make me more than a little nervous that I had to let her into my private life. God only knows how she will use it against me, if she chooses to do so. I hope she doesn’t go there.

It doesn’t help my mood that my parents are going back to court again. I received a subpoena to testify only yesterday afternoon. They’ve been divorced nearly twenty years and I’d appreciate it if they stopped filing civil suits against each other. I don’t even know what this one’s about because I haven’t spoken to either of them since the last subpoena.

It’s going to be a long week.


* * *

The compound is surrounded by six foot chain link with barb wire on the top. That’s not cheap with 100 acres of land. The dirt road we’re on dead ends into a guarded gate with a little shack next to it. There’s a scruffy looking man with a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder. He pulls it down into his hands when our microwave truck slows and stops 100 feet from him.

We went to the affiliate early this morning and loaded our equipment into the waiting truck. Jimmy sits silently in the back while Kelsey sits beside me. Once again, Conrad is at the station, waiting for our signal . Nebraska is great for this type of microwave hookup due to the flat terrain and long lines of sight.

I watch the bearded man at the gate curiously, trying to decide what kind of threat he is.

I glance to Kelsey. She’s as quiet as the day we first met, before we went into the library. And though she was bristling with anger and hatred then, all I can sense about her now is an air of defeat. Something’s bothering her and it’s impacting her ability to work. "Buck up, Little Roo, we have a job to concentrate on."

"I’m with you, Tabloid."

I smile a little as we wait for this man. I know this new nickname is supposed to be a slam, but I kinda like it. I also notice that she hasn’t said word one about being called ‘Little Roo.’

"We’ll just go chat with him, ask if they want some airtime, if they have concerns to discuss. If we get in, we’ll go alone, Jims. You stay out here with the truck."

The Korean kid makes some affirmative sound and starts to run through the equipment before pausing to look up at me. "You want the betacam?"

"Not at first," I tell him. "Set up the microcam. If he agrees, I’ll come back for the big one so get it ready."

Kelsey stays belted into her seat as I slide into the back of the truck where Jimmy fits the small camera onto my belt. I’m wearing jeans and a denim shirt again today, unbuttoned to partially reveal a white tank top. Kels has on khaki pants and a button down Oxford shirt. She looks good. She always does, even though she gives off an air of being uncomfortable in her own skin. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think of touching that skin. Especially since I found out that my gender was welcome.

She’s on my heels as we approach the hillbilly with the rifle. I like the way she always manages to stay right on top of me when we’re entering the unknown. Just as I’d like to stay right on top of her while entering her unknown.

"Stop," the man calls out, waving the gun at us, encompassing the truck behind us in this gesture. "You with the television?"

I glance back to the white vehicle with the bold multi-colored logo, the big number eight and a fifty foot mast. No, nimrod, we just like the paint scheme. "Yeah," I say aloud. "Heard you guys might want some airtime. We’re a special events crew from LA."

He thinks about this, probably wondering where LA is, dropping one hand from his rifle and scratching at his bearded chin. "Whaddya want?"

"Some interviews, some footage. As much or as little as you want to give. It’s an opportunity for you to speak your minds. Things are brewing in town, pretty soon the cops are going to be asking you questions. This makes it look like you were willing to discuss it first, tell your side of the story."

He’s considering whether to relay our request, I know. He certainly doesn’t want to be the one who turned down free publicity for their group. I wait for him as he ducks inside the shack. The cool morning air is brushing against us where we stand unsheltered and I feel Kelsey shiver slightly next to me. I wish I had an airplane blanket I could drape over her. I smile at the memory.

Our armed host comes back out. "Boss is sending someone down to escort you to his office."

After receiving permission, I go back for the betacam. "You got a sweatshirt, Olson?" I ask as I pull on the equipment vest and check my battery supply. I shove several batteries and even more tapes into my backpack. I also grab a couple extra microphones: two clip ons, a stick mike and shotgun mike, and the 13 gig antenna. Olson hands me a tripod and light kit. Jesus, I’m running out of hands. I’ll have to have Kelsey carry the tripod. No wonder I stay in such excellent shape since I’m a total pack mule on assignments like this. I also grab my leather jacket in case it gets cooler later. These loonies like to go on, I want to be sure I have plenty equipment to capture it all and not freeze my ass off. It’s such a perfect ass, it’d be a shame to waste it.

"Huh?"

"Sweatshirt?"

"Oh." He scrounges behind him and hands me one.

I toss it to Kelsey when I get back to where she’s been waiting and hand her the tripod.

"Thanks."

"You’re welcome."

We stand in silence for a few more minutes until a small entourage appears at the gate. When we step forward, we get frisked quickly. I watch the men closely, making sure they aren’t too grabby with Kelsey. This over protective thing I seemed to have developed makes me wonder. Note to self: give this serious consideration later. They seem efficient and business-like, though, and soon we are sheltered within the small group and headed down the dirt road away from the truck.