I groaned. "I'm hanging up now, Liz. Be safe. I love you."
"Love you too, big bro."
I hung up my phone and climbed into Jackson's car. I couldn't sit still and the cold vinyl seat cover creaked and I shifted. Liz had happily released me and now I was free to do what I wanted. My first thought was Clarity. I wanted to show Clarity that I could be what she believed in.
"Liz told you to go for it, didn't she?" Jackson asked.
I chuckled. "In no uncertain terms."
"So, where to?" Jackson asked.
"The nearest windmill," I joked.
Jackson grinned and turned his car towards the city. "I know you think I'm just going to drop you off at your apartment, but you're wrong. If you're going to see Barton now, then I'm coming with you."
"What?" I yelped. "Why would I be going to see Barton right now? And, why would I need you to chaperone?"
"Let's see," Jackson said. "You just heard from Liz that she'll be alright. You're free. The first thing I would want to do is confront the man that ruined my career."
I drummed my fingers on my knee. "Yeah, well, it just so happens I'm not a rash as you. I'm going to see Barton because I think he can help with Dunkirk's problem. Barton and Michael Tailor are buddies, remember?"
"Ugh, there's a pair I do not want to meet out at the bar."
I called Barton's line at Wire Communications and flirted with his secretary. She still remembered me, and within five minutes, I hung up and told Jackson our destination. "He's at his country club."
Jackson stopped at a red light and rolled his eyes. "Of course he is. See? It's a good thing I'm with or you'd never make it past valet parking."
It turned out to be much easier to get past the front doors and out onto the course than either Jackson and I had imagined. We found ourselves cruising along in a golf cart.
"Alright, I can see the appeal," Jackson said.
I hung on to the thin support bar as Jackson whipped down a wide fairway. "Golf? Seems like a waste of time to me."
"Look around, this is beautiful."
I had to agree with Jackson. The golf course was lush, the grass a deep kelly green and perfectly manicured. High trees kept the course private and even the sand traps were groomed.
"No wonder all these rich and shady types love golf," I said. "Plenty of room to talk in private."
"I hope all you want to do is talk," Jackson muttered.
"Come on, I'm not going to punch Barton," I said. "At least not right away." Then I saw him and jumped out of the golf cart before Jackson stopped.
"Ah, Ford Bauer, perfect timing. I was just telling my friends that some reporters are like lightning rods. Good stories just seem to find them," Wesley Barton said with a smile.
I strode up so close that the smile slipped on his face. Barton refused to take a step back but a faint expression of discomfort flickered in his eyes. "A word in private, please?" I ground out.
Barton yanked his arm out of my grip and adjusted the collar of the polo shirt underneath his plaid sweater. "You're missing an opportunity here, Bauer. Like you always do. Those men there happen to be very influential with Reuters. You should let me introduce you."
"Why would I trust you to do that for me?" I narrowed my eyes as I studied his face.
The wealthy businessman smiled. "You've been so good keeping quiet these past few years. The least I can do to the return the favor is introduce you. Maybe someone can get over your reputation and hire you. You never know. I might put in a good word for you."
I stepped forward again and dropped my voice to a low threat. "And what are you going to do if I decide I'm done being quiet?" I snarled.
"Is career suicide addictive?" Barton asked. "I mean, that's the only explanation for all this that makes sense."
"No," I said. "The only thing that makes sense is I'm done keeping your dirty secrets. I'm done keeping my head down. You can't touch me anymore."