She softened slightly. “Mallory, this is different.”
“It’s a threat,” I said. “It’s always about threats. If you shrink from a threat and don’t do the job, what are you doing?”
“Surviving?” She had a point. But I shook my head.
“I’m a journalist. Reporting the news is more than a job. It’s about giving the public the information they need. If Flint benches me, I can’t do my job.”
“He doesn’t want you to die.” Her watch vibrated. “It’s time. The FBI is here. Flint is probably greeting them now.”
“You’re keeping me here to let everyone get into place before I walk in the room?” Respect niggled its way up through my own irritation at the ambush.
“Something like that.”
“And maybe to keep me from punching Flint before they got here?” As plans went, it wasn’t a bad one.
A flash of a real smile and a genuine laugh burst from her. “Do you blame me? You two would duel with pistols at dawn if you didn’t have some kind of buffer.”
“I don’t think we’re that bad,” I argued, but she was already turning to open the door. Vanessa had an excellent sense of timing, so I trusted her choice and followed her.
“Oh no, you are much worse,” she clarified, before leading the way toward the Sports Lounge.
I hid my tightening jaw. Vanessa had done her job—timing everything perfectly. I followed her lead, letting the moment pass without showing my anxiety.
The Sports Lounge was set up with chairs, sofas, bean bags, even a bar. Flint stood with three men in black suits, unmistakably FBI. My guests, Rudy, Colin, and Celia, were strategically placed opposite the agents, along with two network lawyers I recognized. J.C. Brennan and Montgomery Teale. Though Montgomery preferred Scotty, that wasn’t a joke I wanted to get into.
Guy Reardon, network VP, boomed from behind me, “There’s our star!” He shook my hand and gave a hearty squeeze. Agents turned, studying me as if I were another piece of intelligence to process.
I met their gazes evenly, but the edge of my mind was elsewhere—tracing the patterns left in that voicemail and the letters. Every person in this room had a role, and so did I. I kept my face calm. Inside, though, I ran through the mental map of the room, the players, and their motives.
Guy Reardon, VP, and for him ratings were everything and his charm was only a mask for his ruthlessness. Flint, my deadline daddy. Nothing about him was a mask. He was protective, irritable and utterly unwilling to compromise on my safety.
Celia, she was calculating and diplomatic and would be my buffer against their chaos framed as reason. Colin, on the other hand, was a legal hawk. He could weaponize logic and he’d find all the holes in their planning. The last one on my side, Rudy. Mycameraman was as loyal as they came and steady. No one talked him into anything—except maybe me.
It worked for us.
That just left the Feds in the room. Their cold, unflinching gazes slanted over me. I could practically taste the denial in their cologne. They were not going to be easy to convince.
I needed to be ready to calculate the moves I needed to make that would let me do my job and keep ahead of someone who clearly knew me better than they should.
“Gentlemen, and ladies,” Guy continued, squeezing my shoulders. “Let’s discuss how we’re keeping this gorgeous woman safe.”
Chapter
Three
MALLORY
“Alright, everyone’s here, doors are shut—let’s talk brass tacks. A live-wire narrative dropped in our lap and the world’s about to tune in. This isn’t just a threat to Mallory—it’s an opportunity. Morbid? Sure. But real, and I don’t run from real.” Guy’s tone might have bordered on indifferent, but his energy was anything but.
He surveyed the room, along with everyone in it, projecting a decisive air. Apparently, he was in charge today and from the narrow-eyed look Flint wore as he studied Guy, the VP hadn’t read the news director into the shifting dynamic.
To be fair, I wasn’t entirely certain what to do with the executive’s attitude any more than Flint was. Just because Guy wanted to throw his weight around didn’t mean he was going to land on my side. Rather than remaining in place like the VP’s version of a prop, I shifted to stand near Rudy, Colin, and Celia.
“Opportunity?” The single word question came out like Flint spat out the badly chewed remains of something that tasted foul. Oh, yeah, he was pissed. For once, it wasn’t at me.
“Yes.” Guy spared Flint a brief look. "You don’t get numbers like this without danger. That’s what sells. We dress it up in‘concern’ and ‘courage,’ and the audience eats it up. Mallory’s scared? Good. The audience will feel it. That’s where the ratings live."
Colin’s unreadable expression turned almost stony, but it was Celia I kept half an eye on. Her lips pursed like she’d just sucked on a jalapeño-flavored lemon. Rather than interrupt, she focused on Guy. I’d bet she wanted to know what the hell he was up to, I know I did.
