But now that she was here, her knees quivered—in fact her whole body was unsteady. She wiped damp palms down her calf-length skirt. This was the first time she’d seen him after saying that if things were different, she’d make a pass at him. And she had no idea how things had changed between them, or if she’d ruined the fragile rapport she’d been building with the man who was her target.
After she’d turned a corner yesterday at the park and was safely out of his line of sight, she’d called herself every type of crazy. Rosie had looked up, worried, and Lucy had explained to the dog that she’d probably just uttered the most reckless, foolish words of her life.
Even if they were true.
But she had to be careful. It wasn’t just that they were in the midst of a congressional investigation. Hayden Black was the last man on the planet she could afford to be involved with. People already judged her for being the daughter of Jonathon Royall and the stepdaughter of Graham Boyle—two wealthy, high-profile, well-connected men. The common opinion was that she’d been handed everything she wanted on a silver platter. That she hadn’t had to work for her own achievements. If she were to be seen with another wealthy, high-profile, well-connected man like Hayden Black, especially given that he was a few years older than she, people would write her off as a woman who was dependent on strong men. Her achievements would again be discounted as not coming from hard work. At just thirteen she’d realized what people assumed about her and it had made her determined to prove to the world that she could achieve anything she wanted on her own.
No, Hayden Black was not for her. She needed an average guy, maybe one just starting out in his career, like her.
With a heavy whoosh, the door swung open and there stood the far-from-average man himself, as broodingly gorgeous as she remembered. “Thank you for coming,” he said, his voice like gravel, as if he hadn’t used it all day.
And there was something new in his expression—his dark coffee eyes were wary as they assessed her. Seemed she’d thrown the great criminal investigator a curveball yesterday. Her taut shoulders relaxed a little. Perhaps, despite it being a crazy thing to say, it had worked in her favor.
“You’re welcome....” She paused as she stepped into the room. “Do I call you Hayden or Mr. Black, since this is an official interview?”
“Hayden is fine.” He closed the door behind her and led her to the desk and chairs where they’d spoken two days ago.
She glanced around, taking note of details that might be useful later. Besides the papers on the wooden desk and the coffee cup on the kitchenette counter, the room was neat, nothing out of place, as if he’d just moved in. Hotel housekeeping would have had something to do with that, but there was more to it—as if he was keeping a firm line between Hayden the father and widower and Hayden the tough, take-no-prisoners investigator. She also spied the recorder sitting on the desk again and approved. Recordings were less likely to be misinterpreted than notes.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked.
She took her seat and lifted her bag onto the desk. “I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, and she remembered that last time she’d made him go back for water after they’d sat down, then to throw away her paper coffee cup. Her mouth began to curve at the memory, but as their gazes held, heat shimmered between them. Time seemed to stretch; goose bumps erupted across her skin. Then Hayden looked away and gave his head a quick shake.
“I have a bottle of water in my bag,” she said in a voice that was more of a husky whisper.
He folded himself into his chair, as if nothing had just passed between them, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Of course you do.”
She took out her water, notepad and pen and lined them up beside each other, using the extra moments to find her equilibrium.
“Let me know when you’re ready,” he said, opening the laptop that sat on the desk in front of him.
She picked up her pen, wrote the date at the top of a clean page, then pasted a smile on her face. “Ready.”
He nodded, switched the recording equipment on and gave the date, time and her name. “Do you understand what illegal phone hacking entails?” he asked bluntly.
Seemed they were jumping right in. She straightened her spine. That suited her just fine. “Yes, I do.”
“So you’re confident you’d recognize phone hacking if you came across evidence that it had happened,” he asked without hesitation and looking directly at her as if daring her to lie. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was working from a list of questions on his laptop today. Perhaps this interview was more important than the first?
She leaned forward in her chair, her hands laced together and resting on the desk. “I believe I would.”
“We already have evidence that ANS has been involved in illegal phone hacking. The evidence against former reporters Brandon Ames and Troy Hall is indisputable—they were caught on camera hiring hackers to record the phone and computer activity of Ted Morrow’s and Eleanor Albert’s families and friends. The only questions that remain are who else was involved, and who knew about it.” There was something vaguely intimidating about the intelligence in his eyes, the determined jut of his chin, the perfect Windsor knot of his pale blue tie. This man would be a formidable adversary.
She arched an eyebrow. “Assuming someone else was involved or knew about it.”
Not acknowledging her comment, his eyes flicked back to the laptop. “Do you work much with Angelica Pierce?”
Lucy kept her face neutral despite the distaste that rolled through her. There was a woman who was capable of something immoral, like phone hacking, if her treatment of her underlings was any gauge of her moral character. Angelica was mean, vain and selfish. But she wasn’t here to talk about whom she personally did and didn’t like, so she simply said, “I do a fair bit of background and preparation work for her.”
“What about Mitch Davis?” Hayden flicked his pen over and under his fingers as he watched her. The man had an intensity in his gaze that was mesmerizing.
“Mitch has his own show, and he’s a star at ANS. I rarely have a chance to speak to him directly.” Mitch had been the one to announce the news of the president’s illegitimate daughter at an inauguration gala, but Brandon and Troy had uncovered the information and given it to Mitch to reveal in a very public toast that put the new president on the spot. Those guys had given ambition a bad name with their slimy tactics, and they deserved the full force of the law—which they were now receiving. But as far as she was aware, they’d acted alone—other than blaming a casual researcher who’d already left ANS—and this witch hunt to try to implicate others in the pair’s crimes was dangerous for everybody.
“Did you work with Brandon Ames or Troy Hall on their story about the president’s daughter?”
She unscrewed the cap on her water bottle and took a sip, putting the cap back on before replying. He may have been asking the questions, but she was retaining a smidgeon of control over the process. “As I said when you asked the question two days ago, no, I didn’t.”
Barely acknowledging her reply, he pushed forward. “What about Marnie Salloway?”
“Marnie is an ANS producer and has the authority to assign me tasks,” she said, making a list in her notebook of the names he was asking about. She wanted the record for when she reported back to Graham, but also to gain a little power in this meeting.
“Has she ever asked you to do anything illegal?”
“No.”
“Anything involving phone hacking?”
“That would be illegal—” she smiled sweetly “—so my reply stands. No.”
“Did you know that your stepfather and the president attended the same college at the same time?”
“Yes,” she said. It was hardly a secret.
“Are you aware of any bad blood between them?”
Not apart from Graham thinking Ted Morrow had strutted around campus as if he owned it. “T
hey didn’t move in the same circles.”
For another twenty minutes he grilled her, trying to trip her up, asking questions in different ways, expertly circling back over the line of questioning again and again. She had to admire his technique, but since she had nothing to hide, it was easy not to stumble.
When he paused to take a sip of water, she asked, “Hayden, do you honestly think someone else at ANS was involved in the hacking with Brandon and Troy, or are you fishing?”
“Someone else was involved,” he said, his voice dropping a notch. His dark brown eyes burned with the intensity of his conviction.
Her fingers tightened around her pen. “Why are you so sure?”
“To start with, neither of them understood the process well enough to have masterminded it. They were pawns, used by someone bigger.”
She frowned as she followed his investigative reasoning. “I’m not someone bigger.”
“No,” he said slowly. His gaze locked on hers, taking on a speculative gleam and, as she understood his meaning, her stomach fell away.
“You’re using me to get to Graham.” She swallowed past an uncomfortable constriction in her throat. “I’m not here for routine questioning like the others. You think Graham ordered those goofballs to do it and that I know something that will implicate him.”
One broad shoulder lifted, then dropped, as if this was a casual conversation, yet the intensity in his eyes didn’t waver. “It’s one theory.”
A shiver ran down her spine. She’d known there was suspicion, of course. They all had. But if it was certain that someone else was involved, then ANS was in more trouble than she’d thought. They still had a bad seed in the company, and if Congress couldn’t find who it was, they’d keep their focus on Graham. The exposé alone wouldn’t save her stepfather. She had to do more.
She tapped a beat with the end of her pen on the desk as fragments of ideas flitted through her mind until one coherent plan formed.
She rested her forearms on the desk and leaned forward. “Hayden, I have a proposal for you.”
He stilled. “I’m listening.”
“If there truly is someone else in ANS who was involved in the hacking, and they were pulling Brandon and Troy’s strings, then I want to know who they are, too. I can tell you now, it’s not Graham. I know that man, and I know what he’s capable of—he’s not your guy. But the only way to prove that is to find the real culprit.”
Hayden leaned back and folded his arms over his wide chest. “What exactly are you suggesting?”
“I’m going to help you with your investigation,” she said, mind made up. “I can be your person on the inside. But I won’t be involved in a witch hunt—this has to be evidence-based.” She wouldn’t be manipulated into finding circumstantial or misleading evidence against Graham.
“So you’ll gather information for me?” He spoke slowly, as if testing the idea as he said it.
“Within reason. We have agree to some parameters first.”
He cocked his head, brown eyes curious. “Your stepfather will be okay with you doing this?”
“I won’t tell him just yet. It’s possible he trusts someone he shouldn’t, so for the time being, no one at ANS will know I’m assisting you.” She felt a little queasy at the thought of keeping something of this magnitude from Graham, but in this case, the ends justified the means. The most important thing was that she was working in Graham’s best interests.
Hayden rubbed a hand across a jaw darkened by five-o’clock shadow. “You believe in Boyle that much?”
“More.”
He tapped one finger heavily on the desk three times, then blew out a breath. “Okay, I’m willing to give it a go and see how it pans out. But I have to warn you that I still think Boyle was involved, and I won’t be dropping that line of inquiry just because you’re helping.”
“Noted.” As soon as she found the person behind Troy and Brandon’s crimes, Hayden’s theory about Graham would be moot.
There was a sharp knock at the door. Hayden glanced down at his watch. “Excuse me,” he said, closing his laptop and striding across the room.
A neatly dressed woman in her thirties stood in the doorway behind a stroller containing a squirming Josh. Lucy felt her mouth curve into an unstoppable grin at the sight of the boy. He was gorgeous—Hayden’s mini-me—and his expression was full of joy and delight.
“Daddy!” Josh squealed and reached out to his father.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I didn’t realize you were still busy. Would you like me to keep him longer?”
Hayden reached down and lifted his son high, planting a kiss on top of his head. “No, we’re almost done. I’ll take him.”
“Okay.” The nanny leaned forward and said goodbye to her charge. The image of the three of them was so beautiful in that moment that Lucy felt an aching hollowness spread through her middle. They looked like a family.
After closing the door behind the nanny, Hayden wheeled the empty stroller across the room with Josh in one arm. When Josh saw Lucy, his face lit up, then he looked frantically around the room. “Goggie!” he demanded.
“Hello, Josh,” she said on a laugh. “Rosebud is asleep in her basket at home.”
Josh’s little bottom lip pushed out for a split second—until he noticed how close his father’s face was, and began to pat his cheeks. Despite flinching at one of the pats that hit his eye, Hayden pushed the stroller into a corner. “If you can give me five minutes, I’ll set Josh up in his playpen with a few toys and we can continue,” he called over his shoulder.
“Sure,” she said. He opened the door to one of the suite’s bedrooms and Lucy slipped out of her chair to follow—partly because it was a great chance to look for more clues for the assignment Graham had given her on Hayden, and partly out of curiosity.
At the park yesterday, she’d carried Josh most of the time and played with him, so she hadn’t had much of a chance to observe father and son together. This evening, with Hayden setting his son up in the playpen, asking him which toys he’d like, she could see more clearly. And there was something a little...awkward about the interaction. Her gaze drifted around the room. Sitting on top of an end table was a haphazard pile of baby manuals, one thick tome perched on the top, open and spine up, its pages dog-eared. Perhaps Hayden was floundering now that he was a single father? She glanced back to man and son, her heart clenching tight for them both, for all they’d lost. For all they were dealing with now.
“He’s a beautiful boy, Hayden.” An acknowledgment of that truth wasn’t much, but it was all she could offer him. “So precious.”
Hayden looked down at Josh, who chose that moment to give a wide, toothless grin. “Yeah, he is,” he said softly.
A bright, sparkling idea formed in her mind—a way to get more time with Hayden and his son. She squeezed her hands together and told herself she needed that time because Hayden had his guard down more when his son was there, so her subtle digging for information for the exposé was easier. But she was uneasily aware that she wanted to spend more time with the males in the Black family. She just hoped to high heaven that it wouldn’t influence her professional judgment.
“I know a park that’s the best place to feed the ducks,” she said. “I was thinking, since you’re not from D.C., you might be looking for places to take Josh. Rosebud and I could show you on the weekend if you want.”
His fingers stilled against the top of the playpen, where they’d been tapping. “Lucy, I don’t—”
“No problem if you’d rather not. I just thought Josh might get a kick out of seeing the ducks. There’s a great playground there, too. And I’ll be taking Rosie on the weekend anyway, so it’s no bother,” she said, aware she was babbling now.
He wrapped a hand around the back of his neck as he watched his son for endless moments. The expression on his face was so tender, so filled with love, it was heartbreaking. Eyelashes of darkest brown lay in a fan, almost resting on his cheeks as he gazed
down.
He shook his head slowly. “Lucy, it’s inappropriate to socialize with you.”
“What if we use the time to plan what I’ll be looking for at ANS?” she said as she tucked her hair behind her ear. “A briefing for your spy, so to speak, and Josh gets an outing as a bonus.”
He scrubbed his hands through his hair, then let them rest low on his hips. “Okay, sure. But bring pen and paper, because we will be working.”
A burst of nervous anticipation skittered up her spine. He’d agreed. Part of her hadn’t believed he would—the same part that wondered now if she’d bitten off more than she could chew. Wondered if spending a day in a social setting with Hayden—and all his brooding testosterone—was akin to playing with fire.
She bit down on her lip. No, this would be fine. It was still a good plan. The best plan she had. Plan A.
She drew in a full breath and tried to calm her racing heart. “You can pick me up Sunday morning. Say, ten?”
“Ten’s fine.” A faint frown line formed between his brows, showing he wasn’t convinced he should have accepted. He wasn’t alone.
She glanced around for a piece of paper. “I’ll write down my address for you. It’s not far from—”
“I know where you live,” he said, his voice a low, solemn rumble.
“Of course you do,” she said wryly—he probably knew more about her than many of her friends did. Having spent her first eleven years living with her media magnet of a father in something of a fishbowl, she preferred now to be the one controlling the news story—the journalist instead of the target. So it was surprising that Hayden doing background research on her didn’t worry her as much as she would have predicted. There was something strangely safe, something honorable and decent about Hayden Black, despite his investigation’s potential for disaster for her family.
He guided her out of the bedroom with its playpen, toward the desk where he’d been grilling her just a few minutes ago. “We’ll wrap it up here for today.”
No Stranger to Scandal Page 4