As soon as I felt her, I knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

Trying to convince Viv to leave was a fool’s errand, and part of me knew it, but I can’t keep lying to myself. I’m afraid for her. I’m not scared for myself, or even for Trace or Miller or Bill, though I feel responsible for them too. But they’ve been in bad situations before on the job and they knew what they were signing on for.

This is Vivian’s first job, and I can’t let her get hurt on it. Setting that aside, I’m also starting to feel things, the sort of things I thought I had gotten over years ago. But maybe I’m starting to realize something.

Maybe my years of running around reporting on stories was just my way of running away from my feelings. I never got over Viv, not completely at least, and I’ve always felt a sense of longing inside of me for something I couldn’t quite pin down. So I traveled, put myself in danger, all for the thrill of getting the story.

That longing never went away though, and now it’s back and louder than ever. Every time I’m around her I feel it, stronger and stronger every day. Now it’s like a hurricane, threatening to tear me apart, and I don’t know what to do about it.

I wake up a bit groggy from the night before. I realize that I’m still in bed with Viv, her body warm against my own. I never expected to sleep over here, but after hours of exploring each other, it looks like we both just passed out. I don’t think I’ve ever slept so soundly or deeply before, and it’s already pushing nine in the morning.

I extract myself gently, not wanting to wake her up, and I get dressed. She stirs a bit but I manage to step out into the hall before I ruin her sleep.

As I turn toward my room, I notice someone standing in the hallway. I look up and Bill grins at me, his eyebrows raised.

“Long night working, boss?” he asks me.

I grimace. “Yes,” I say, and hesitate before adding, “and you didn’t see me.”

“’Course not,” he says. I step over to my door, fucking annoyed that I ran into someone. Of course the one day Bill’s up before ten and he catches me sneaking out of Vivian’s room like a fucking teenager or something.

I swipe my card and before I can step inside, Bill clears his throat. I turn back to him.

“Don’t fuck it up,” he says to me.

I raise an eyebrow, not sure what to say. He grins and keeps on going down the hall, toward the elevators.

I sigh and step into my room, the door shutting softly behind me. I guess Bill approved of this little… whatever it is, or whatever he thinks it is. He probably shouldn’t, considering not sleeping with someone on the job is basically one of the most serious unspoken rules. We’re supposed to stay unbiased out here, and fucking around typically only ruins any objectivity you may have.

I guess he doesn’t care about that. But he’s right about one thing: I don’t want to fuck this up.

I sit down on my bed and an idea comes to me. It’s probably stupid and definitely extravagant, but it might work. Besides, I have the money to do it. I’m paid very well for what I do, but I don’t really own anything. I pay rent on an apartment I barely stay in, and WBN pays for all my bills when I’m on the road. I have tons of cash in reserve just sitting around doing nothing.

So I grab my phone and make a call. Sir Michael answers on the third ring.

“Henry, old chap,” he says in his over-the-top British accent. I’m not sure how real it is, since he was born in New Jersey, although he lived in London for about ten years. He’s in his fifties, stocky and thick. I met him on one of our trips into the Middle East.

“Sir Michael,” I say. “How are you?”

“Great, just great. Sunning myself in the lovely California weather at the moment. And what can I do for you?”

“I was hoping I could hire a couple guys,” I say.

Sir Michael is in security. That’s a nice way of saying he runs a company of mercenaries for hire. They’re all ex-military guys, very dependable, and they’re essentially muscle for hire. I know Sir Michael does work with companies all over the States, and I’m pretty sure he even contracts out to the government. He’s like Blackwater, but less public, and much more efficient.

“Of course,” he answers swiftly. “When and where?”

“As soon as possible and Sellersville, Alabama.”

“I can get two of my best out by tonight. And how will you be paying?”

“Usual rate?” I ask.

“For you, Henry, I’ll give you a little break. I assume it’s on the company’s dime?”

“Not this time,” I say. “Gotta pay out of pocket.”

He hesitates. “You know my guys aren’t cheap,” he says.

“I know. We’re in a hairy situation here and I don’t have time for red tape.”

“Gangs?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I confirm. “Doing a story about the opioid epidemic and some locals aren’t too happy we’re poking around.”

“Understood. That’s some nasty stuff, my good friend. Send me where you’re staying and I’ll have the guys over soon.”

“Thanks, Sir Michael. You saved my ass.”

“Always glad to help you out, chap. Right-o, have to go see a man about a whisky, if you know what I mean.”

With that, he hangs up the phone, and I feel a million times better.

This is going to be expensive. There’s no two ways around it. I’m going to shell out some serious money for these guys, but I know and trust and like Sir Michael, and I know he’ll send guys I can count on. Maybe they won’t be able to fight off an entire gang, but they’ll be able to save our ass in a pinch if necessary.

And most importantly, I’ll make sure they understand that their whole job is to keep Vivian safe. No matter what, even if I’m in trouble, they save Vivian. I doubt anything will happen, but I already feel a million times better.

I check today’s schedule, sigh, and show up. We have just one interview, with a woman who claims to have had four family members taken by fentanyl in the last five years. I’m skeptical of this one, and thought about canceling it, but we have nothing else going on. She hasn’t gotten in touch to tell us not to come, so we might as well follow through with it.

I can’t stop thinking about Viv as I clean up and get ready. I keep feeling her from the night before, her skin tight against mine, her breath hot in my ears. I even get hard as I think about the way her pussy felt, soaking wet and warm, wrapped around my hard cock.

By the time I’m cleaned and prepped, everyone’s waiting for me down in the lobby already, including Viv. I try and read her expression but she looks no different than usual.

“Last one down today, huh, boss?” Trace says with an easy smile.

For a second I think Bill told him, but no, Trace is just like that.

“Just one interview on the docket today,” I say, ignoring Trace’s comment. “You guys all set?”

“Sure are,” Bill cuts in. “Stuff’s all packed away. We’re ready to roll.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “You packed the van ahead of time? I’m honestly amazed.”

“Helps that I didn’t drink last night,” he says.

“Yes, you did,” Miller snaps out, grinning.

Bill hesitates then shrugs. “Well, not a lot, at least.”

I laugh and we all head outside. We pile into the van, I put the woman’s address into my GPS, and we roll out.

I keep glancing at Viv as we drive, but I need to keep this professional. I don’t want Bill to think that I’m all fucked up now just because I had sex with Vivian. I’m still a pro, I can still lead this little team and get this story done. So I have to keep it cool and not let last night get to me.

We pass through downtown and soon we’re on the very edges of town, where the roads are mostly dirt and there’s a lot of space between families. I manage to find a mailbox with the right address written on the side in white paint. We turn down the gravel driveway and follow it through what looks like an overgrown lot until the house appears around a bend.

I’ve seen a lot of movies, and this house looks like it’s straight out of Gone with the Wind. It’s a southern plantation house, with big columns around the front and a porch above and below. White shutters frame each window, or at least they used to be white. The place is slowly being reclaimed by the landscape, and ivy is growing up around the sides. Everything is chipped and weathered, and I’m pretty sure those steps are about to rot out any second.

We park and I turn around. “You guys ready?”

Trace shakes his head. “Hell no, man. We’re going to die in there.”

“It’s not that bad,” Vivian says, rolling her eyes.

“No, I mean, the ghosts.” He stares at me, dead serious. “This place has got to be haunted.”

I crack a laugh at him and open my door. “I’ll keep you safe,” I say as I climb out and breathe the fresh Alabama air.

Viv follows me to the front door as the guys unload the van. “You sure about this?” she says softly. “I kind of agree with Trace.”

I smirk at her. “No ghosts here. Trust me.”

She shrugs, indifferent, as I approach and knock on the big wood door. After a minute, I knock again, and I’m starting to think nobody is home when suddenly a plucky old woman appears, yanking the handle in toward her.

“You the journalists?” she says immediately.

I nod. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Henry and this is Vivian.”

“I’m Patricia, call me Pat.” She eyes me for a second. “Guess you’d better bring all that crap to the sunroom.”

Pat can’t be taller than five feet, but she’s stocky, almost hefty. Her hair is gray and white, a tangled braid pulled back and hanging down over her shoulder. She’s wearing simple jeans, a white t-shirt, and a light blue apron.

“I was just in the garden,” she says as we follow her inside. “Weeding and planting and all that, you know. Hate it out there, but there’s nothing else, now that everyone’s dead.”

Her last comment hits me like a hammer, but she says it so casually that I can barely believe it.

“Excuse me?” I ask her.

“Everyone’s dead,” she says, giving me a look. “Ain’t that why you’re here?”

“Of course,” Viv says quickly, covering for my awkward reaction. That comment really threw me off, but thankfully Viv is always so composed. “That’s what we wanted to talk to you about.”

The house is surprisingly clean inside. Pictures line the walls, some of them paintings, but most of them are old and faded portraits of people. I suspect they’re Pat’s family, and I catch some glimpses of people that resemble her in a vague way, but I don’t have time to study them too much.

We head through a large kitchen and end up in a back covered room that looks like it was once a porch, but now is covered and insulated. “Here we go,” Pat says. “Good light in here.” She plops down on a big red chair in the corner. “So, what do you want to know?”

“May I?” Viv asks, pointing at a chair. Pat nods with a smile and Viv sits. “Pat, we just want to get your story. We have a bunch of questions, but if you just want to tell it, we don’t have to ask them.”

She shrugs a little bit. “I got lots to say, but questions help.”

“Okay, good.” Viv looks at me. “Let’s get set up.”

I quickly head outside and help the guys bring in the equipment. Pat looks at everything distastefully but doesn’t complain as Bill, Trace, and Miller take over her little sunroom and fills it with their stuff. Eventually we get everything ready (“light really is good in here,” Bill says) and Viv finally turns to Pat, the cameras rolling.

“So, Patricia Stream. How long have you been here?”

“Generations,” she says. “My great grandfather bought this farm, not much of a farm anymore, you now, but here we are.” She launches into the story of her entire family, starting with the great grandfather and finally finishing with her own birth. It takes a half hour, but it’s obvious that you can’t interrupt Pat, not unless you want a dirty look.

I’m amazed all over again at Viv’s professionalism and tact. She managed to slowly draw Pat out, make her more comfortable with this strange process, and soon she’s talking about the family members that died.

First, she lost her first grandson. He OD’d alone in an abandoned shed and they didn’t find him for a week. Next she lost her daughter and her son in quick succession, her daughter from suicide, and her son in a car accident where the other driver was high. After that, her sister’s daughter OD’d, and her sister died not long later of a broken heart, according to Pat.

“And those are just my close family members,” she says. “Can’t tell you how many cousins, second cousins, and other random people I’ve lost over the years to this goddamn drug. We’ve been here a long time, and you best believe my family is everywhere, or at least we used to be.”

Vivian is quiet and sympathetic, letting Pat do most of the talking. Finally, after she finishes a rambling story about a neighbor of hers that was selling the stuff, Viv cuts to the chase.

“Pat, what do you know about the gangs around here?”

She pauses a second. “Those idiot boys that call themselves the Strips?” she asks.

“Yes, them,” Viv says.

“Buncha sick bastards that don’t care about killing their neighbors if it means they can make a quick buck.” She scowls and shakes her head. “I hate those idiots.”

She launches into a list of members, boys she says grew up in this town and who she knows personally. I meet Viv’s gaze for a moment and I can read the look on her face: jackpot.

We talk for another hour or so, and finally I can tell Pat’s getting tired. Viv finishes the interview not long after, and we pack everything up as Viv helps Pat upstairs. When she’s done, she comes back down and picks up a microphone box.

“That was good,” she says softly.

“How much of that was true?” I ask her.

She shakes her head. “Hard to say. We’ll have to verify it all.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “But these names… if they’re real, this is gold.”

“I know. That was worth the drive alone.”

Her eyes meet mine and I feel that spark again. I want to say something, reach out and touch her face, but I know I can’t. The guys are all around us, packing equipment and making a fuss. Trace is making a joke about southerners that’s in pretty poor taste, and Bill is musing about a cute cousin he once had a crush on as a kid. Miller is silently judging them both.

I let the moment pass and go back to work. As much as I want to show her how I feel, I know I can’t, not here at least. Last night was special, intense, but it was probably a mistake. I should have waited until we finished this story to touch her like that. I just couldn’t bring myself to hold back.

Not when she looks like that. Not when she clearly wants me just as much.

We finish loading the van, and although my mind is firmly on Vivian and what I want to do to her when we get back, I know there’s a lot of work to do. And finally, we have some worthwhile footage. Maybe this whole thing isn’t going to be a wreck after all.