When my phone buzzed again, I didn’t look at the name before answering.
“Where are you?” Flint demanded, skipping pleasantries like always.
“Working.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Aren’t you grumpy,” I responded. “Where the hell do you think I am?” I was still stuck in the safe house. Something Flint should know.
A pause. Calculating. He was good at that too.
“What’s wrong?,” he said finally.
“What is always wrong.” Never ask a question you don’t already know the answer to. He was wellawareof my answer.
“Don’t do this without me.”
I almost laughed. “I already am.”
He swore under his breath. “Mallory...”
“Flint,” I responded to his frustrated tone with the same patience I used to coax a source. “We can sit here and have you yell at me and tell me to stop. You can threaten my job, try to use emotional blackmail, and ultimately keep beating your head against the wall and then I’ll do what I do regardless.”
That was definitely one option.
“Or?” His testy response did make me smile.
“You can help me get this done. It’s a damn good story, we’ve got the inside track, and the access. Help me take advantage of this so I can get back to my life and you can stop freaking out over every breaking news item.”
He snorted.
I glanced at the trash can. At the empty counter. At the reflection of myself in the dark screen of my laptop—steady, composed, not a woman who’d let something dangerous happen and then refused to name it.
“You’re not going to stop.” It wasn’t a question and since I’d already made my point, he just sighed. “Fine, I’ll pull the dailies and get them over to you. Write up a piece. We’ll look atbreaking in later or doing an on the scene clip. I’ll get an escort and handle the camera.”
That had my eyebrows raising. “That’s Rudy’s job.”
“Not today,” Flint retorted. “Take it or leave it, that’s the only way I let you back on the air.” He ended the call before I could respond.
One point each, I supposed. With that in mind, I logged into my laptop and got to work on the story. I typed up what I knew, what we suspected, and the angles of the story. I did some research into Masters. I didn’t have access to the logs, but I remembered quite a bit from the scene.
I documented my memories, I might not be able to use them for today’s piece, but they could be useful in the future. It would take time, but I would find the information the Unsub had given to the FBI. For now, all I needed was a single thread to pull.
Later—hours later—I heard footsteps that didn’t belong to an agent. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t need to.
Brewster stopped behind me. Not close enough to touch. Not far enough to pretend we weren’t aware of each other’s exact positions in the room.
“You should avoid the press today,” he said. From his position, there was no way he couldn’t see what I was working on. As much as I despised anyone reading over my shoulder, I made no attempt to hide it.
“I am the press,” I reminded him without missing a beat.
The brief silence that followed my comment was telling. “The tox report’s moving faster than expected.”
Was that his idea of a peace offering? “Is it?”
“Yes.”
I finally turned.
