“Excuse me?” All the play left my voice, and I straightened. “You take me off the air, you violate my contract.”
“If I put you on the air, I am risking your life. I’m not willing to do that.”
“No one asked you, Flint.” I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to exhale and relax. I pushed the lingering chill from that message to the back of my mind. “I would think you would be more concerned with the leak of internal communications from the newsroom to other outlets.”
“I will handle that particular snafu, but it’s not the most pressing of issues. Your safety is.”
“You can’t be serious,” I said, hoping I was at least correct. “I’ve been doing this for years. This guy is hardly the first tough candidate I’ve had to deal with.”
“Mal,” Flint said with a sigh. “This isn’t some militia leader looking to tell his story or even inmates in a prison hoping to get a second look at their cases because you make them the story. This guy isn’t reaching out to you for an interview.”
“I disagree that he’s reaching out to me at all,” I said, thinking of the voicemail, of the letters that had arrived monthsago. I didn’t tell Flint about it. Why would I? Telling him would only complicate matters.
“We’ll have to just agree to disagree on that one, Mal. The FBI has already been in touch. We have agents coming in who want to talk to us.”
Son of a bitch.
I slammed back my coffee like it was vodka, the lingering unease from that voice still prickling my senses.
“This isn’t just another story anymore,” Flint continued, calm and even. That same unshakable focus that had built his reputation. His newsroom. His people. He commanded without raising his voice.
“I didn’t call to debate this with you, Mal,” he said. “You have made a name for yourself digging into mysteries people want answered. Particularly those that haunt others, these killings are getting worse.”
“It’s my lead,” I said. “I’m the one who saw the pattern. I’ve done the legwork.Stilldoing it.”
“I know,” he said softly, and it stung even more than his hard-line approach. “Your involvement in this story, his involvement with you, it’s making you a target. If I didn’t already believe that, Mal, I would after the call from the FBI this morning.”
I tried to focus on Flint’s voice, on his words, and not the calm menace that still echoed in my mind from that voicemail.
“Don’t worry about being paid, I’ll make sure you are. We’ll call this a staycation. Maybe you can actually take a break…”
Not likely, but I didn’t correct him. Not going on the air didn’t mean I couldn’t do the work.
“I’m also looking into private security for you, although I think the FBI might take care of that before we can.”
I frowned. “You think they want to put me in protective custody?”
“I think it has to be on the table.”
Flint never needed to raise his voice. He controlled the story and the room, whether in fatigues in a war zone or a three-piece suit at the anchor desk.
“You know this—if you’re a target, if this serial killer has been at large and working for as long as you believe, you’re the first person to truly call it out and shine a light on him.”
“Well, not anymore. Not with everyone else making me the story.” Being scooped sucked.
“Not our problem at the moment. I’m not risking your safety on a ‘maybe.’ I’m not risking you at all without more information. Don’t bother going over my head. I already spoke to them.”
Of course he had. “There are days when I really don’t like you, Flint.”
“I’m pretty broken up about that, Mal. I can’t tell you how much.”
Asshole. My lips twitched at the dry, deadpan response. “When are we meeting with the FBI?”
“Tomorrow morning, first thing. Three of the network’s attorneys will be there, along with Guy Reardon. He’s in town and has weight. But the call is still mine.”
“I’ll call my agent and my lawyer,” I said. “Text me the time and location. I want them both there.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less. Rudy can be there. No one else.”
