“They wouldn’t,” Paul said. But he liked the modesty. Everyone liked a modest hero. And maybe McGregor denied the heroism because he wasn’t ready to face how close he’d been to death tonight.
“It’s nice you’re taking such an interest,” McGregor said, “but I have to go home. I need sleep.”
“Okay. Let me give you my card. It’s got my e-mail address. Please tell me what you think of the story and the picture. It’s up on the paper’s website now, and I think it will go national.”
“But you work for the local paper, right?” McGregor said, putting the card in his pocket.
“The Chronicle, yes.” Paul tried not to grit his teeth when he said it. Yeah, the local rag. But every day he was looking for his ticket out. As Paul watched the car drive away, he had to wonder if Andrew McGregor might not be that ticket.
* * * *