“Do I know you?” Danielle asked.
“Not yet,” the woman replied. “My name is Valerica Hergheligiu.”
“I’m Danielle—”
“Vinchenzo,” the woman said. She smiled. “I know who you are, Miss Vinchenzo. I’ve seen your work.”
“I’m flattered.” Danielle sat up a little straighter. The horrific events at Glitter City had taken place nearly seven hours ago. By rights, she felt she should have been up in her hotel room fast asleep. Or even better, in the thick of things, reporting on them.
Only she couldn’t sleep. And she couldn’t work. She was stuck out here watching the television, being a spectator to the breaking news instead of part of it. Her boss hadn’t returned her calls. And her news crew had refused to even think about going to the border where the action was. They’d been too shaken up, between the bombs and the deaths and the bullets and the people who had disappeared from among them. The crew didn’t have satellite access for a broadcast anyway. Their equipment was another casualty of this disastrous day.
So she’d been stuck in her hotel. She’d tried to watch the news from her room, but it hadn’t been an option because the violence of the morning had seemed to gather around her and wrap her in a cloud of invisible menace. She’d been too uncomfortable alone in her room to be able to watch the news there. She needed lights, people, noise around her—anything to make the world feel normal again. So here she was in a hotel restaurant, with a television tuned to news for company, and a woman trapping her in the booth, wearing clothes that cost more money than Danielle made in a month.
“You should feel flattered,” Valerica said. “I’ve come a long way to find you.”
“You have?” None of this was making sense to Danielle.
“Yes, I have.” Valerica glanced at the booth seat on the other side of the table. “May I sit down?”
“Of course. I’m sorry.” Danielle waved to the other booth. “Please. Make yourself at home.” Though if that suit was any indication, home wouldn’t look anything like this hotel’s restaurant.
The woman sat, then gestured to a waiter. “Have you eaten?”
“No,” Danielle admitted.
“That’s Turkish coffee you’re drinking?”
Danielle glanced down at her demitasse cup. “Yes. I’ve developed a weakness for it since I’ve been here.”
“Turkish coffee is the milk of chess players and thinkers,” Valerica said.
“That’s what I’ve been told,” Danielle agreed.
“On an empty stomach, dear girl, that drink is much too sweet and rich.”
Danielle studied the woman. She had always prided herself on reading people, had always been quick to figure out an angle someone was about to play. But she couldn’t get a reading from Valerica.
The waiter hovered expectantly.
“The mutton shanks kebab with vegetables is very good here,” the woman suggested. “Allow me to order for us both.”
“All right.” Danielle watched as the woman ordered in fluent Turkish, though she had the impression that language wasn’t her native one.
The waiter nodded and went away.
“You’ll have to forgive me,” Danielle said, “but I’m frazzled and not quite myself. It’s been an unbelievable day, and I’m about done for. I’m hardly good company right now. I imagine I’m going to appear rude or abrupt.”
“Not at all, dear girl.” Valerica gazed at her with complete interest. “I’m sure you have questions about many things. Including who I am. Please feel free to ask them.”
“Why are you here?”
“In Turkey?”
“Talking to me.”
The woman shrugged and smiled as if at her own humor. “Why, I’m here because I want to make you an offer that you can’t refuse.”
The bald statement made Danielle uneasy, but she couldn’t pinpoint why. Maybe it was the too-casual manner in which the woman had made her announcement. She held her silence and waited to see what else this woman had to say.
“You’re a media specialist,” Valerica continued. “You interview well. You stay current on your assignments and the rest of the world that you’re not covering. You look good on camera.”
For a moment, the thought that she should get up from the table and just walk away bumped gently through Danielle’s mind, like a butterfly banging against a glass window. But it vanished as her innate curiosity took over. There was a story here. She could feel it. There was always a story when she got that cold itch across the back of her neck.
“So?” Danielle said.
Valerica smiled and reached into her purse. She laid a business card on the tabletop.
Danielle read the card. “OneWorld Communications. I’m impressed.” “Not without just cause, dear girl. OneWorld Communications is quickly becoming a media force to be reckoned with.”
“Indeed.” Danielle searched her brain for background info. “You’re owned by Nicolae Carpathia, the man who was made the new president of Romania as of yesterday.”
“The very same.” Valerica smiled again. “See? You knew that. In spite of everything you’ve been covering here in Turkey, you knew that. This is one of the very reasons we want to hire you.”
“Hire me?”
“As a reporter, dear girl.”
Danielle tried to relax. “I’m under contract with FOX News.”
“Not anymore.”
Panic filled Danielle. She’d prided herself on the work at FOX, but she’d had her share of personality conflicts with the producer who handled her stories. What had happened to her job? “What are you talking about?”
“OneWorld Communications opened discussions with FOX News nearly a week ago with regard to your contract. We wanted to hire you away from them. Less than an hour ago, we managed to buy you out of that contract.”
“Without contacting me?”
“It didn’t make sense to talk to you until we’d reached an agreement with FOX.”
“What kind of agreement?” Worry bounced inside Danielle’s head. She had car payments and apartment payments, along with all the other ordinary financial obligations that had to be met. Payments that she could only make if she had a steady supply of cash coming in—and it looked like her job back at FOX had just vanished in the wind. Apparently today’s catastrophes weren’t over yet.
“We bought that contract out for a
