Brittany swallowed, but her mouth was dry and the lump wasn’t going away easily.
Lipstick on a mirror? Not very original. It was easier to think about that rather than the fact that someone had been in her house, going through her things.
“Is that all?” she asked.
“Isn’t that enough?” Nancy said. “You’ve obviously pushed the wrong buttons with your Lost Platoon articles. It has to be about that, don’t you think?”
Brittany was aware of John watching her, and from his ever-darkening expression, it was clear he’d gotten the gist of the conversation. There was going to be no getting rid of him now. After what had just happened, this was too much of a coincidence. Even for her.
When she didn’t answer right away, Nancy added, “The police want to talk to you. You need to call them as soon as you can.”
“I will. Thanks for the call, Nancy. I really appreciate it, but I’m going to have to call you back.”
Brittany hung up without waiting for a response. Shedropped the phone back into her bag before turning to face John.
His expression wasn’t as dark as it had been a few moments ago, but the look of icy control was almost worse.
“Someone broke into your apartment,” he said flatly.
It wasn’t a question, but she nodded anyway.
“What else?” he said with deceptive calmness, although she could tell he was fighting to keep a lid on that temper she’d had no idea he had.
She filled him in on what Nancy had said. He was very still until she got to the part about the message on the mirror, and then the muscle in his jaw jumped.
She was really beginning to dread that little muscle. It seemed to be an indication that something was about to break. Like a levee, but a whole lot worse.
Now was probably not the time to remember how she’d noticed the muscle twitch right before she’d taunted him into having sex with her. That kind of levee break and mad rush she didn’t need again.
She bit her lip, giving him a wry smile. “I guess you might have been right about the danger.”
Her attempt at placating him didn’t work. The “you think?” look he shot her was every bit as foreboding as that muscle tic.
She decided not to voice her question about whether he thought the mugging in the parking lot and the ransacking of her apartment were connected. It was obvious he thought they were. Although she wasn’t quite as convinced, it was probably too much of a coincidence not to be.
She could almost see his mind working as he turned over the information in his head. “You said the guy who attacked you tried to grab your bag?”
She nodded.
“They must not have found whatever they werelooking for in your apartment. So, what were they looking for? What do they think you have?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “How did you end up in Norway?”
She hesitated. As a reporter, it was almost reflexive to refuse to give information about a source.
He seemed to read her mind, and that muscle jumped again. But all in all, he was doing a remarkable job of holding his temper in check under the circumstances. Somehow she didn’t think he would appreciate a gold star at this moment.
“Secrets are bad, remember?” he said. “You can’t decry cover-ups one minute and then clam up another. If I’m going to keep you safe and try to figure out who wants to shut you up, I need to know what we are up against. You have to tell me what you know and who told you. I’m not going to steal your story. I’m trying to help you.”
He was right. The instinct to protect her story and her source was misplaced here. Besides, she didn’t even know who her source was to protect.
She went back to her bag and retrieved the envelope. As she handed it to him, she told him how she’d acquired it.
He flipped through the documents quickly, pausing when he reached the deployment orders. His mouth thinned; obviously he didn’t like what he was seeing.
When he was finished, he handed it back to her and asked her to go back over the drop again, trying to elicit more details. But she’d told him everything she could think of.
“You didn’t see the driver?” he asked.
She shook her head.
