Chosen by a Killer Laurie Nave (best novel books to read .txt) 📖

Hayward Ingleson had been skittish at first. He was under investigation for more than a few violations, from ethics to corporate regulations, and he was defensive. They always were in the beginning.

“Your career has been successful, and your longevity impressive, Mr. Ingleson. Don’t you think the business world, your colleagues, would benefit from hearing your story? I mean, you’ve been a leader and a mentor for so long. I think they need to hear your voice amid all this noise. Don’t you?”

Celia smiled as she listened to Hayward begin talking. The tactic worked. As always, the best way to lower the guard of a narcissist was to tell him how important he is. And let him think you’re on his side. They can’t resist talking about themselves.

“So, what do you think about this assertion that transferring Lydia Gross was an ethics violation, based on your prior...involvement?”

Hayward was still pontificating when Celia slipped in the first tough question, and he just kept going. By the time Hayward realized Celia wasn’t on his side, he’d said too much. All she had to do was spin his words back to him, and after an hour, there was enough for a lead story. He was furious, of course, and his backpedaling had nearly made her miss her flight. Arrogant bastard.

"Aren't you Celia Brockwell?" An attendant asked as she served drinks.

"I am," Celia smiled. “I’d like a chardonnay.”

"Oh my goodness, I love your articles. I'm taking classes part-time to become a writer. I would love to do what you do. Traveling all over, writing important stories."

"I do love my job."

"I bet you do. Any tips for a new writer?"

"Work your ass off." Celia laughed.

Celia sipped the wine as the attendant walked away. There’s no way she’s a writer. Maybe a future mommy blogger, but not a journalist. Too much sorority and not enough spine.

Remembering her own brief sorority experience, Celia chuckled. It had been at her mother’s insistence; she was a legacy. Maybe it would look good on a resume, especially if Celia was an officer. But Celia dropped out her sophomore year. Thursday night swap parties and gossip were not her things, and the restrictions were stifling. Not to mention the president was a pretentious bitch. After she had quit, Muffy—or whatever her name was—spread the rumor that Celia was the sorority slut.

Celia had her chance to get back at Greek life the next year, however, when a pledge accused a senior fraternity member of sexual assault—a guy who also happened to be the president’s boyfriend. The fraternity and sorority had sided with him, and they blackballed the poor pledge. So much for sisterhood. Then a few more girls came forward, and Celia wrote a scathing article in the campus paper demanding that the University take action. In the end, the senior was expelled and charged, and Celia was the new chief editor of the newspaper her senior year.

Mom was right. Greek life was a benefit after all. And look where I am now.

“So, you are Ms. Brockwell,” the middle-aged man across from her said.

“The one and only.” Celia kept scrolling.

“Still at The Journal?”

She looked up then. The blond man looked familiar, and his suit was expensive and well-fitted. “Still there. And you are?”

“William Keller. CEO of – “

“Multicorp, yes. I thought you looked familiar.” She shook his hand.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your research. It looks serious.”

“There’s always work to do,” she turned over the tablet. “I’m sure it’s the same for you.”

“Definitely. You’re quite the writer. Very astute and straightforward.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s rare to read a story that isn’t editorialized or emotionally manipulated these days.”

“True,” Celia sipped her chardonnay.

“I’ll let you get back to work.” William closed his eyes.

By the time the plane began its descent, Celia had a tight outline of the article, along with a list of damning quotes from Mr. Ingleson. John would run it as the lead, and Celia would probably have another award to hang on her wall. God bless corruption.

The airport arrival area was crowded; however, Bart waved to get Celia’s attention once she rounded the corner toward the exit. She smiled and waved back. He insisted on picking her up, even though they’d only had a couple of dates.

“How was your flight?” Bart took her bag.

“It was fine. You didn’t have to meet me here. I could have taken a cab.”

“You had a long day. I didn’t want you to have to fight for one.”

“Thanks, I am a little tired.” Celia slid into the passenger seat as Bart put her bag in the trunk.

“Are you hungry, or do you just want to go home?”

“I just want to get comfortable. Home is fine.”

While Bart navigated rush hour traffic, Celia listened to him prattle on about his job, a new intern, and his great golf game. He pointed out a couple of places that had good takeout, but Celia ignored the hint. She wasn’t in the mood for company or romance. When they arrived at her place, he hopped out and grabbed her luggage.

“I’d ask you in, but I’m just beat.” Celia smiled as Bart handed her the overnight bag. “Are we still on for dinner at 7:00 tomorrow?”

“Sure thing,” Bart kissed her lightly. “Get some rest.”

Lucille, Celia’s neighbor, greeted her as she walked toward her house. “Hello, dear. Have a good trip?”

“I did. Glad to be home.”

“I have your mail ready. I can go get it now for you.” Lucille left before Celia could comment.

“Thank you.” Celia took the stack.

“Here you go, dear. Have a good evening.”

After dropping her bag in the foyer, Celia flipped through the mail. There were bills, a couple of catalogs, the usual. Then a manilla envelope caught Celia’s attention. The address was written in a flowing script, and the postmark was from Delaware. Who did Celia know in Delaware?

Then she looked at the return address. There was no name, but there was a place: Baylor Women’s Correctional Facility.

Chapter 2

Who would be writing to me from prison?