I found the elevators and hurried inside before the doors closed. A few professional-looking men and women, dressed in business suits and skirts, stood in the elevator with me as we rode up to the fifth floor.
When the door opened, I followed a few of the people out of the elevator and into the lobby of the news station. Beyond the main desk, a large white star and the red letters KHTX took up the back wall.
A young woman in her mid-twenties sat behind the desk, and she looked up as I approached.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m looking for Mr. Zimmerman. Is he still here?”
“Let me check.” She smiled, then picked up her phone and pressed a few buttons. After a pause, she spoke into the receiver. As she spoke, she scribbled something on a notepad and then hung up. “I’m afraid he’s out in the field,” she said. “He’s covering the storm. I’m so sorry, but you just missed him.”
“Oh.” My heart sank. Was it too much to ask for something to go my way just once? “Is there any way I can get in touch with him?”
“Sorry, no. When our meteorologists are covering a dangerous weather situation, they’re not allowed to take anything but emergency calls. It’s for safety reasons. But he’ll be back at work next Monday. That is—assuming we’re all still here. Would you like to set up an appointment to meet with him?”
Next Monday? That was in three days. In three days, Fan’twar could be dead. “That won’t be necessary,” I said. “Please, isn’t there any way I could get in touch with him today? It’s really very urgent.” I hoped she heard the desperation in my voice.
The lady sighed, looking annoyed, then glanced at her phone. “I guess I could make another call,” she said, picking up the receiver. She glanced up at me before dialing. “I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you. Zack’s been really off lately. It’s no wonder he got put on field crew, what with all the drama he brings to work with him every day. It’ll be a miracle if he even shows up next Monday. I just want you to be prepared in case I can’t track him down for you.”
“I understand.” But I didn’t really. First, he’d left his pregnant wife. Now, he was in danger of losing his job? Zack Zimmerman was more mentally unstable than I’d thought. A feeling of guilt weighed on me. If I’d diagnosed him when he’d first visited me, none of this would be happening. But I’d had no way of diagnosing him then and certainly no way of helping him. I only hoped I wasn’t too late to help him now.
The receptionist dialed another number and pressed the receiver to her ear. She spoke softly, but with my elven hearing, eavesdropping came naturally.
“You’re sure?” she said. “But that’s suicide. What’s he trying to prove?” She paused. “What about severance pay and breach of contract? No? All right. I won’t say anything yet. You too. Thank you.” When she hung up, she glanced at me with worried eyes. “I’ve gotten word that his news van was parked at the Conoco in Jamaica Beach. I have no idea why he went there. He knows full well what happened to that place the last time a storm came through.” She let out a nervous laugh. “I’m not sure if you want to go down there with the storm and all, but that’s where he is.”
“Storm?” I asked.
“The tropical depression is due to make landfall this evening. Didn’t you know?”
“I’ve been out of town for a while.”
“Oh, then you should be warned that there are damaging winds and waves predicted, plus a severe tornado threat. Why Zack decided to park his van down there is a mystery to me. But he is a meteorologist. They’re not known for being cautious around storms, are they?”
“I guess not.”
“I’m really sorry about all this,” she said with a brief smile.
“No, it’s okay. I’m sure I can find him at the beach.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re still going to the beach?”
“I don’t really have a choice.”
“I told you about the tornadoes, right? And the winds—up to seventy miles per hour predicted. Not to mention what the waves and flooding will be like.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Ma’am,” she said quietly. “I know this isn’t really my place to say, but Zack’s been really depressed lately, as in suicidal depression. He’s been volatile at work to the point of violence. It’s a dangerous situation, and I can’t even imagine how much more stirred up he’ll be down on that beach. I wish you would reconsider.”
If Zack was suicidal, then I didn’t have a moment to waste. “I understand, and that’s the reason I have to go.”
Chapter 22
The wind lashed out, making the steering wheel jerk as I drove down I-45 toward Galveston. A few large raindrops splattered my windshield, followed by a resonating rumble of thunder. As I crossed the causeway over the bay, only a few cars traveled along with me. For the second time today, the traffic hadn’t been a problem, but I wasn’t so sure that was a good thing.
After crossing onto the island, I took 61st Street toward the seawall and then drove west toward Jamaica Beach. The clouds churned in a roiling gray soup as lightning burst through the thunderheads. The waves, no longer the mirror of calmness, had erupted into frothy, churning walls that crashed with violence on the sandy shore.
My palms grew sweaty as I clenched the steering wheel. Magic tingled under my fingertips. Storms like these had a nasty habit of interfering with my magic. Mr. Zimmerman couldn’t have picked a worse time to go AWOL.
The seawall
