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Ruffling Feathers Chapter 7 - An Eye For An Eye
By the time Amy reached the inferno that was consuming the Donovan Foundation Headquarters, Paul had already pushed his way through to the front of the throng. Amy's legs were shaking and her heart was pounding. She stopped to catch her breath and then fought her way through the crowd of people until she reached a sheriff's deputy who initially stopped her but then let her pass when she yelled "Press—Daily Camera" and pulled her press pass from her fanny pack and flashed it at him. He motioned her to the side of the police line, where she could take in the front-line action without being in the way. She could see Paul, yelling at the top of his lungs to be heard over the roar of the fire and the continuing wail of sirens. Sweat was pouring down his face, and he was gesticulating wildly to the cops who formed the police ring. Finally, the deputy who had waved Amy through brought Dave Landry and another man to Paul and then herded all three in Amy's direction. Instinctively, Amy shrank into the shadows, trained to observe before asking questions. Paul grabbed Dave's arm, "Are you sure there was no one inside? Are you positive?" Dave nodded. "I want you to account for every single Donovan employee in Colorado. You understand? This was no accident and I couldn't live with myself if someone from the company got hurt because of this stupid project. And fire the goddamned security outfit that let this happen. Get a decent one in here to sweep the software building and provide twenty-four hour security. I want the district attorney in my office in one hour." Paul turned to the other man, "I want you to find the bastards that did this." Then he jabbed his finger at Dave, "And I want you throw them in the slammer." Paul looked up at the fire. "This is personal," he said as he turned back to Dave, "My office, one hour, with the DA." The other man stopped Dave and added, "Sweep his house, too." After Dave left, Paul shook the other man's hand. "I'm glad you're here, Dennis. I didn't think they would come after us this soon. You, obviously, did. Anything else I should know that you haven't told me?" "This fire is good," Dennis said. "We'll have physical evidence. Something we didn't have before. And, by God, we'll need mountains of physical evidence to make an indictment stick." "You need a suspect first." "I've got too many damn suspects, but this is a good start." "A good start, hell," Paul spat out the words. "There's no turning back now." "Do I have your okay to start Phase Two tomorrow?" "Let's get it over with." The building shrieked as the roof caved in. It was going to be a long night for the Piñon fire district. From the outset it was clear that the building was doomed. The explosion shredded the building's framework so that demolition was the only option after the fire was out. Getting the fire out without allowing it to torch all of Piñon was the real trick. A hot dry spring followed by a hotter, drier summer had turned Colorado into a tinderbox. A random spark on an arid weed could take out the entire town. Amy watched the building she had called a monstrosity succumb to the hungry flames. She had filed a lawsuit over the tree that had stood where this burning building was now crumbling. She had felt violated when the tree she loved fell under the chain saw. She had taken it personally. Standing in the shadows, she had heard enough of Paul's conversation with the man called Dennis to know that he felt violated too. And though the rest of the conversation was disturbing, almost malevolent, Amy felt compassion for this mysterious, powerful man who was watching something he had built be destroyed. She wanted to go to him and help him, and later comfort him, if he would let her. She wasn't used to men like Paul—comfortably in command of their world yet tender and, she hoped, loving as well. So different from Greg Hansen with his laid back charm and casual regard. Different too from Richard Clayton, always trying to convince her that he was in love with her. She stared at Paul, barking orders and screaming over the fire. He had simply kissed her—without fuss and without long-drawn out discussions. He had kissed her because he wanted her, and that was enough—she felt a delicious warmth run down her spine as she thought what it meant to have a man like Paul Donovan interested in her. Just as she was about to go to him, Amy heard someone yell his name and then she saw Carol Landry rush into his arms sobbing. She watched as Paul patted her hair and calmed her hysteria. Amy heard him introduce Carol to Dennis—"he's the man who's gonna to get to the bottom of this." She heard him say that Carol was the best friend a man could want. And then Carol said that she would do everything in her power to assist Dennis. Nothing was more important than bringing to justice the evil, evil people who wanted to hurt Donovan Industries. Paul put his arm around Carol, and stared up at his burning building. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth," he promised. And then Amy didn't want to hear any more. The delicious warmth she had felt just moments before was dissipating into nausea as she suddenly felt afraid of Paul Donovan and then ashamed of the fear she felt. She had never been afraid of fighting big business in her column, but then she'd never been kissed by big business before either. Maybe Denny and Carter Dierks were right—much as she hated to concede an iota of credence to them and their xenophobic tendencies—maybe she had crossed the line, maybe she was 'sleeping with the enemy.' And then she caught herself because she had always said that she didn't have any enemies—but Paul could never be a friend, or a lover…not if he wanted an eye for an eye. There wasn't room in her life for someone who stuck to Old Testament rules. She walked out of the shadows and through the glare and the throng and the noise. She walked past Paul wordlessly and didn't look back when he hoarsely called her name. The last thing she heard was Dennis saying, "Distance, sir. You must maintain distance." The ringing phone next to Amy's bed jolted her out of a fitful sleep. Phone calls at two in the morning never bring good news. Her heart stopped when she heard Greg Hansen's soft southern drawl. He was calling from a pay phone in a Boulder bar; he wanted to crash at her place for the night. His voice sounded slurred, but then it always did. He had gotten her letter. She was right. They had drifted apart. He respected her decision to move on. He just needed a place to sleep tonight and then he'd clear out in the morning. He had an apartment lined up. He just needed a place for tonight. "Have you been drinking?" Amy asked. "I've had a few beers." "Do you have your car?" "It's still at Denny and Carter's." "Good—take a cab. You can stay here tonight." "I love you, Amy." "Just call the cab." Amy hung up the phone and sat on her bed, head in her hands as she struggled to stay awake. She slipped on a robe and went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. She peeked in at Jenn's door—it was open and she could hear Jenn's soft breathing. Dave Landry was probably still racing around trying to follow Paul's orders. Amy wondered where Jenn and Dave had been when the Foundation building exploded. In Piñon, this would probably be like the JFK assassination or the shuttle disaster—where were you when Donovan's building blew up? Stay focused, Amy commanded her tired mind as she dug out a sleeping bag and extra pillow for Greg. She arranged them on the couch so there would be no question where he was sleeping tonight. The doorbell jarred Amy awake again. And there was Greg. Sweet, adorable Greg who forever looked like he'd been wasting away in Margaritaville. The prototypical surfer boy and ski bum, Greg was perpetually tanned with bleached blond too-long hair accented with a quirky smile. Disarming, charming. He could relieve a woman of her virtue faster than anyone else Amy had ever encountered. "Hi, Beautiful." "Save it for the teeny-boppers...come on in, you." Amy gave him a quick hug, then deftly turned her face before he could kiss her mouth. "Okay..." he drawled. He looked around. "If I said 'nice place,' you know I'd be lying. You said you were living in a condemned house, but Ames, this is horrible." "Thanks for the encouragement," Amy grimaced. "You can sleep here." She pointed to the couch. "The bathroom is over there. Jenn's room is there. I'm at the back. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. And this couch is where you sleep. Got it?" "Yes, ma'am. Boy, but I've missed being bossed." He dropped his duffel bag and kicked off his shoes. "South of the border, the senoritas are just not that bossy, if you know what I mean." "Spare me the details," Amy said tiredly. "We'll catch up in the morning. And don't wake me up. It's been a long night." She paused and then looked at him quizzically. He looked different somehow. "You 're absolutely filthy. What have you been doing, crawling around the streets of Boulder?" "Nay, just traveling for two days solid. You go to bed, Sweetheart, and I'll get cleaned up in the morning." It was after three a.m. before Dave Landry, Carol Landry, Special Agent Dennis Brown, the sheriff, the fire marshall, and the district attorney finally left Paul's house. Paul had given statements to the press and verified that all Donovan employees were alive and well. He had met with the dazed security guard who had received the call, warning him of an imminent explosion in the empty building. And he had done the thousand things Dennis and the sheriff told him to do. He had read the riot act to the DA and had given Carol a week's worth of work—memos to Donovan employees worldwide, memos to the board of directors, detailed spin instructions to the PR department. When he was finally alone, he looked down at his hands in shock. He went into the bathroom and gazed at the stranger in the bathroom mirror. His face was streaked with soot and sweat, his hands were black, his body grimy. His clothes hung on him like rags. He felt ashen. A scalding shower helped, but the smell of smoke lingered in his nostrils. He poured a glass of scotch, but the smoky flavor of the drink, normally smooth and soothing, turned his stomach. He poured the scotch down the sink and drank more water instead. He lay on his bed with the lights off and the curtains open and stared at the moon, now at its apex. His brain hurt and his body ached. Ached for the woman he had kissed so many hours ago, when the moon was low on the horizon and the battle lines hadn't yet been drawn. She was lost to him, completely and irrevocably. He had known their friendship was to be brief, but he had wanted so much more than the night had allowed. Jenn was the first to stir at Hutchins House the morning after. Late night or not, she had students to tutor who had parents with checkbooks. Jenn had gotten home after Amy and found her sister's door closed. Jenn wanted to talk about the turmoil of the night, mostly to let Amy calm her down and speak sense to her, but a closed door was a closed door. So she had gone to bed and had heard neither Greg's phone call nor his arrival. Hence, it was with some surprise that she found him sprawled on their couch, with his pieces parts strewn around the living room. He opened one eye as she headed for the bathroom and wisely went back to sleep while she got ready for work. Greg and Jenn had never really been on good terms. Sweet as she was, Jenn didn't hide the fact that she considered Greg to be the wrong man for her sister. Moreover, Jenn wasn't much fun to flirt with, always taking every remark seriously...not like little Lisa, now there was a pistol. Jenn safely out of the way, Greg was at his leisure to shower, make coffee, heat up some bran muffins—good God, did anyone still eat bran these days?—and consider his alternatives. The break up with Amy had been a long time in coming. She wasn't as much fun as she used to be anyway. She was getting way too ambitious. Work, work, work. Flying off to wonk-fests in boring cities, going to press conferences, hobnobbing with stuffed shirts. She had gotten him into the environment, which was way cool, and he had gotten a charge out of protesting and getting in the face of fat cats, but he didn't like the way she seemed to disapprove of everything he did anymore. Hell, he liked being a ski instructor, even if it wasn't a noble profession—the money was okay and the perks, especially the women, were great. He liked hanging with the boys, especially Simpson and the Dierks. Truth? Colonel Buck Simpson was the reason he was back in Piñon and not still schussing in Chile. Simpson wanted to kick the butt of that son of a fat cat Donovan. This incarnation of the Donovan bigwig was acting like he was Adolf Coors and was about to own Colorado. Colorado would be hot this summer, and Greg wanted a piece of it. The doorbell rang. Greg answered it to find the self-same Paul Donovan on Amy Hutchins's doorstep. Paul quickly hid his surprise that Amy's door was answered by a man in a tee-shirt and boxers. "Is Amy home?" Paul inquired. "Still in bed. We were up late last night. Can I give her a message?" Paul hesitated. "No...no, that's all right." "Hey, I'm her boyfriend. You can trust me with a message for her. Now, when's the press conference she has to be at?" Greg said sarcastically. "No message, really. Thank you. Good bye." Amy woke up to the sound of a car accelerating from zero to sixty in nine seconds.
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