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“No.”
“Nora.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“The hell I don’t.”
“There it is,” I snap. “The caveman routine.”
“You’ve got somebody stalking you, corrupt officials hiding bodies, and now illegal dumping tied to dead hikers. This stopped being journalism.”
“It became dangerous.”
“Exactly.”
I glare at him. “Dangerous is literally my job.”
“And getting yourself killed isn’t.”
The intensity in his voice catches me off guard briefly.
Rhett steps closer.
“You don’t meet sources alone.”
My pulse jumps hard enough to make me furious.
Because he figured it out.
Of course he did.
His eyes darken instantly at my silence.
“You already planned something.”
I open my mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Rhett’s jaw flexes sharply. “When?”
“Nobody said—”
“When, Nora?”
God.
“Tonight.”
Silence slams into the room.
Heavy.
Violent.
Rhett looks genuinely furious now, the kind of fury that goes frighteningly still instead of loud.
“Where?”
