Dateline: Kydd and Rios Read Online Free PDF

conscience was Nikki Kydd roaming around the country without him. He would do a lot of things, noble or otherwise, to make sure that didn’t happen.
    Feeling better than he had in a week, he strode across the oak-floored lobby and bounded up the stairs two at a time.

Four
     
    Nikki slumped back against the shutters, her head down, her arms wrapped around her waist. The small balls of her fists dug into the overlarge white T-shirt hanging half off her shoulders. Tears, salty, sad, and angry, streamed down her cheeks and dampened her neck.
    Why?
The question without an answer lay heavy on her heart and mind. Why now? Why ever? They were good together. They were better than good: they were the best. Kydd and Rios had broken more stories than any of the other reporters in the whole of Central America. Kydd and Rios, not just Rios.
    “Damn him,” she whispered, swiping at her tears. He wasn’t going to get away with his underhanded scheme, not by a long shot. She was the one who knew the countries, the politics, the culture, and she could speak Spanish around him until his head swam. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need him for anything.
    The lie caught on the tender places of her heart, adding a razor’s edge to her pain and causing a fresh wave of tears to flow. He’d used her. Josh Rios, with his dark angel face and driving ambition, had risen to the top on the sweat of her brow. And she, young and foolish, would have allowed him to go on using her. She’d given him the biggest stories of his life, and been willing to give him so much more. She’d seen how other women looked at him, with their eyes half closed and their mouths soft, and she’d known exactly what they were thinking. In her dreams, she looked at him the same way, wondering about him not as a friend but as a man.
    A sob broke from her.
Damn him. Damn him. Damn him
. She pushed off the windowsill and crossed to the four-drawer dresser holding all her worldly belongings. One by one she emptied the drawers, throwing everything into the suitcase that lay open on the bed. Half the things went in; half landed on the chenille spread or on the faded rug covering the wooden floor. T-shirts and pants, all big and baggy, flew over her shoulder. Underwear and socks followed by the handful. With one clean sweep, she scooped up her shampoo, brush, sunscreen, and all the other sundries that constituted her grooming gear. She was getting the hell out of Dodge. Josh Rios could eat her dust, but he wasn’t going to turn her in.
    Looking down at the pitiful supply of items clutched in her arms, she felt another sob catch in her throat. Maybe if she’d fixed herself up better, maybe if she’d tried harder to look feminine, maybe then he would have seen her as more than an expendable business partner. There had been a time when she’d worn makeup and pretty clothes, but that was a lifetime ago. She’d spent a year trying to fade into the background, and she’d succeeded to the point of becoming a wallflower, a drab, shapeless wallflower.
    Her pride rebelled.
No
. Josh should have looked deeper. He should have known better. He should have respected her for what she was.
    Sniffling and crying, and trying not to do either, she stumbled across the small room and dumped her stuff into the suitcase. It was a mess, just like her. She sorted and arranged the clothes, trying to put them into a semblance of order. A ratty old khaki shirt here, a threadbare pair of pants there. She picked her high-top tennis shoes off the floor and held them in her hands. The shoelaces were new and bright red, the only spot of color in her wardrobe. They had been a gift from Josh.
    How could he do this to her? What possible reason had she given him to call the embassy?
    None. The answer finally came. None that she could accept. It was down to survival now. She was on her own again, and from here on out, she worked alone. For a moment the thought buoyed her confidence and sparked her anger