Read You Can’t Stop Me for Free Online Page B

centered on the ocean side, not the gulf.
    Why, in a county that grew exclusively sweet corn, was Carmen looking at the leaf of field-corn plant?
    She couldn’t answer that question yet, but she knew one thing: city kid Shayla, formerly of Boston, would never ask it.
    Carmen needed help, and she knew precisely who to ask. But she would do more than just ask—this was her shot—this was her chance….
    The PA found Harrow, back in his office after lunch, dutifully signing publicity photos. She knocked on the jamb of the open door, then smiled when Harrow looked up.
    “Got a minute, boss?”
    Carmen knew that many TV stars made outrageous demands for their offices, turning them into virtual apartments. Harrow’s was quite the opposite. A glance would make any visitor think Harrow was nothing more than your average corporate attorney. Furnishings were nice enough but not extravagant, bookshelves filled with research material, his desk a mahogany island mid-room, piled with papers that marked this a workplace and not a showplace. Two leather chairs sat opposite him.
    Harrow tossed his Sharpie aside and smiled. “I can spare a minute just to avoid the writer’s cramp.” He nodded to a chair.
    Carmen sat on its edge. “Around the fourth or fifth episode, we were in a production meeting where you mentioned a DCI case you worked involving the specificity of plant DNA.”
    Harrow gave her a sideways look. “That’s not a question.”
    “No. It’s a preamble.”
    Wearing half a frown and half a smile, he said, “Fourth or fifth episode. How do you remember stuff like that?”
    She shrugged. “You never know when ‘stuff’ will come in handy—like today.”
    “Today, huh? What are you up to, today?”
    She told Harrow what she’d found so far. No places, no dates, just the circumstances. She connected no dots, however, between the Ferguson and Harrow murders.
    “So,” he said, softly, eyes tight, “this was Shayla’s story….”
    “Yes, sir. And she thought it was a dead end.”
    “‘Sir,’ yet. I am in trouble.” He shifted in his leather chair. “And you went in on your own, and maybe found something?”
    “I think so, but I need that plant expert you told us about last year to verify my theory.”
    Harrow studied her for a long moment. Carmen might have been a slide under the criminalist’s microscope.
    “Then,” he said, “once you’ve found out you’re right, you’ll hand all the information over to Shayla—correct?”
    Carmen sat silently for a moment. This was her opening, and she knew it.
    “If this pans out,” she said, “I’m hoping you’ll make me the reporter who covers the story.”
    After a long silence, Harrow said, “You know I can’t promise you anything.”
    “If you tell me you’ll try, that’s all I ask.”
    She could tell he was intrigued; but was he also irritated?
    Giving away nothing, he said, “And why do you think this nearly eight-month-old case is so important that it merits you a promotion from PA all the way to on-air personality?”
    “It’s a juicy murder case we can feature on the live show.”
    “We’ve had those before.”
    “Not ones that might be related to your case, as well.”
    And there it was: out in the open.
    She said, “You heard the circumstances. You can see the similarities. And the link back to Iowa, or anyway the heartland, if that plant is what I think it is.”
    Harrow’s eyes held hers. Was he trembling? If so, was it with anger? Had she gone too far?
    He said, “You think that would influence my decision?”
    She stared right back at him. “Frankly, yes.”
    He began to protest, but Carmen cut him off. “J.C., I know you’re not like most people in this business….”
    “And yet,” Harrow said, exasperated, “you’re trying to blackmail me.”
    “I don’t consider it that.” She risked a tiny smile. “Maybe…manipulate you, a little?”
    He just looked at her.
    She gestured, and her nervousness showed. “J.C.,