“It’s hard to think of him in those terms, given that he’s trying to ruin me,” Raleigh lied through her teeth. He was the best-looking man she’d ever met. Or at least the sexiest.
Sorry, Jason.
She was certain she would never fall in love again. She’d met Jason at Princeton, in law school, and she’d fallen instantly—hard. But physical attraction hadn’t brought them together. He’d been handsome enough, but he had bowled her over with his quiet intelligence and his commitment to ideals so similar to her own. She would never find that again.
Beth stopped in the hallway just before they entered the bull pen. “Do you ever feel that way about anyone? I mean, this place is testosterone city. We’re hip-deep in good-looking men, many of them unattached, and you seem immune.”
True, until recently. After Jason, she’d never looked at another man and gotten that zany, heart-flipping feeling. Then Griffin Benedict had come on the scene.
“I’m just not interested in making that connection again, Beth.” That much was true.
Beth blushed. “I guess that was kind of a rude question. But sometimes I wish I could be detached like you, instead of wearing my heart on my sleeve all the time.”
It might have been a rude question from someone else, but not from Beth. Raleigh knew she cared about her.
She smiled at Beth. “It’s okay.”
Raleigh wasn’t sure she liked being described as “detached.” Lawyers weren’t supposed to get emotionally involved in their cases. But that word,
detached,
that was how she thought of her in-laws.
Mitch Delacroix hunched over his keyboard in his usual corner, peering at the screen through the special glasses he wore for computer work. As always, it took Beth some effort to get Mitch’s attention.
“Hello, earth to Mitch.” She knocked on his head.
“Huh? Oh, sorry. Hi, Beth.” He treated her to a dazzling smile, causing Raleigh to wonder if there wasn’t a small spark of something between them. Beth would have told her if there was a bona fide romance, but she might keep it to herself if she only flirted a little. Or, she might be oblivious if Mitch was the one with a crush.
“Mitch, Raleigh has need of your expertise.” She glanced at her watch. “And I’ve got work to do. Let me know, Raleigh.” She hustled away, her bright pink jacket flapping behind her.
“What can I help you with today, Ms. Shinn?” Mitch asked in his exaggerated Louisiana drawl. He’d been brought up in Cajun country without much money, but his computer skills had been a ticket out of the boonies for him. That was how he put it, anyway.
“This is a personal matter.” Raleigh rolled up a chair from a neighboring desk. “So if you have urgent foundation business, my problem can take a backseat.”
“I got nothing pressing. What is it, Raleigh? You seem worried.”
Did everyone see it? First Beth, now Mitch. If she wasn’t careful, her little problem would interfere with her ability to do her job.
“Can you hack into a bank’s computer system?” she asked point-blank.
Mitch leaned back in his chair. “Well, now, that depends on which bank, and what information is needed. In general, the answer is no. Financial institution computer systems are pretty much hack-proof. But even if I could, I wouldn’t. Not unless I want to spend ten-to-twenty in Huntsville.”
“Ah.” Briefly, she explained the problem. “Could it be a computer glitch?”
“Not likely. Probably the depositor did, in fact, type or write in your name and account number. Bank systems double-check such things to see that they match.”
That was what she was afraid of. “Okay, then, what can you tell me about Griffin Benedict? I need to get this guy off my case.”
Mitch grinned. “Now, that I can help with. But honestly, who would believe that you’re engaged in criminal behavior? You’re as straight as they come. I bet if I checked, I would find you’ve never even had a parking ticket. Hell, you probably are never late returning a library book.”
He was absolutely right. Raleigh had high respect for the law. Her classmates in school had called her a Goody Two-shoes, but she couldn’t help it. She liked rules. They made her comfortable. She’d been a rule-follower all her life.
“That’s what makes this story so irresistible,” she said, suddenly realizing the obvious. “Some sleazebag takes a bribe, no biggie. But an upright lawyer crusades for justice, then does something wildly immoral and illegal—that makes for good copy. Like a televangelist getting caught with a hooker.”
Mitch looked thoughtful. “Griffin Benedict isn’t known for taking cheap shots. His stories are well researched and are usually newsworthy. Picking on you seems a tad sensational for his style.”
“You sound as if you like him.”
“I never met him, but I read his stories.”
“So, has he ever been sued for libel, or invasion of privacy? Does he cheat on his wife or his income taxes? Does he pad his expense report? I need something I can use to at least level the playing field.”
“I’ll try to have something for you by tomorrow.”
“Griffin, this is Pierce Fontaine at CNI. How are you today?”
Would the man sound so cheerful if he was about to deliver bad news? “I’m great, how about yourself?” Griffin wanted to bite his tongue. He’d sounded too folksy, too…Southern. He had to garner a wide appeal if he wanted to succeed as a national TV journalist on
Currents,
the most watched news magazine on the planet.
“I wanted to let you know that we haven’t yet reached a hiring decision,” Pierce said. “I know you’ve been waiting a long time, but the brass—you know what sticklers upper management can be about these things.”
“Is something in particular stopping them from giving the green light?” Griffin asked. If he knew what the problem was, maybe he could fix it.
“Well, the most obvious tick in the minus column is your lack of TV experience. Granted, you did amazingly well when we put you on camera, and test audiences love you. But you weren’t under real-time deadline pressures.”
Griffin knew that wouldn’t be a problem. He thrived on deadlines. But the network wouldn’t simply take his word. They would want proof.
“Then there’s your…how do I say this? The bachelor thing.”
Griffin half laughed, half groaned. “I had nothing to do with that article. Came as a complete shock to me.”
“Still, you do have a certain reputation with the ladies.
Currents
is a show that deals with serious issues. It’s important we avoid any hint of scandal.”
“I can assure you, my private life won’t interfere with my work.” He hadn’t imagined his appeal with women would be a negative, but there wasn’t much he could do about it so he quickly changed the subject. “Are there…other candidates vying for this position?” Of course there were. He wanted to know his competition.
“Actually, we have only one other candidate. He’s also from your area—the brass think a Texan would round out the
Currents
team nicely. Paul Stratton, from KBBK. Know him?”
Griffin winced. Yeah, he knew Stratton. The guy was a pompous ass. Unfortunately, he also anchored the top-rated newscast in the whole South Texas market. He was good—had an enviable record as a journalist and even a Pulitzer under his belt. He had a few years on Griffin, and the TV creds Griffin lacked.
“Yeah, I know him,” Griffin said, opting for the high road. “He’d be a good choice.” If they could fit his ego through the newsroom door. Then he added, “I’d be better.”
Pierce laughed, thankfully. “It’s going to be a tough decision.”
“Hey, what if I did some freelance stories for you?” It was a long shot;
Currents
used very few free lancers. “Roving reporter–type stuff, just me with a camera?”
Pierce didn’t answer right away. Griffin crossed his fingers.
Finally the CNI news director responded. “Did you have any particular stories in mind?”
Griffin’s heart pounded. Did he dare mention it? He hadn’t yet told his editor about the Raleigh Shinn story. Griffin might get himself fired if he offered it to someone else. He decided to take the chance.
“I’m working on something…it’s connected to Project Justice—are you familiar with them?”
“Yes, indeed.” Griffin could almost hear the man salivating.
“I’ve uncovered a possible breach of ethics there. Nothing that’s ready to air,” he added hastily.
“When do you think you’ll have something?”
Griffin pulled a number out of thin air. “A couple of weeks.” Surely by then he would have enough information to nail Raleigh Shinn to the wall.
“I’ll tell the brass to count on it.”
Since it was such a beautiful fall day, and since she had been neglecting her workouts lately, she had decided to walk from the Project Justice office to the courthouse, where she had filed a motion to overturn Lewis Rhiner’s conviction based on the new DNA evidence.
That taken care of, she’d planned a quick lunch at a nearby bagel shop, after which she would pay a visit to the police department and personally make sure they were following up on the new suspect.
But first she had to figure out who was watching her. Not that she didn’t have a pretty good idea.
She walked briskly down the street, turned a corner, then ducked into a doorway like she’d seen people do in the movies. Then she waited.
About thirty seconds later, a black Mustang came around the corner and pulled into a parking space across the street from her vantage place. But the driver—anonymous behind tinted windows—didn’t turn off the engine or get out right away.
Bingo.
She’d noticed this same car earlier. Normally she wouldn’t have taken note, but it was almost the exact car Jason used to drive, just a slightly newer model. The Mustang had been parked on the street near her apartment building when she had exited that morning, and for one brief, insane moment, she had expected to see Jason climb out from behind the wheel.
Then she’d remembered that Jason was dead. Silly how one sensory trigger—a car, a song, a certain wine—could bring it all back.
Raleigh was pretty sure the Mustang’s driver couldn’t see her. She stood in the shadow of the doorway, peeking out every few seconds.
After about a minute, the driver killed the engine and opened the door. Though she couldn’t see the man’s face, she recognized his body immediately—the white T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders, tapering down to a narrow waist, the worn denim riding low on his lean hips, and that butt—definitely drool-worthy, to use Beth’s terminology.
Raleigh’s face heated. She was mortified by her reaction to Griffin Benedict. The man was trying to ruin her, and all she could do about it was notice how sexy he was?
Griffin peered up and down the street, shading his face with his hand against the noonday sun. Raleigh shrank back into the shadows. After a few moments she dared another peek. He was heading her way.
She intended to confront him, but on her terms. So she entered the store in whose doorway she had been lurking. It was a small drugstore, more of a snack shop, really. She ducked behind a rack of chips, peeking between the bags of Fritos and SunChips.
Griffin entered and scanned the store.
Oh, God, don’t let him find me like this, hiding behind junk food!
As he ventured farther into the store, she ducked into a different aisle.
After a few moments, apparently satisfied she wasn’t in the store, he left.
She hurried after him.
I’ve got you now.
The next door down was a hair salon. Griffin entered. Raleigh quickened her pace to catch up, then stood just outside the door, flattened against the wall. She felt ridiculous, and silently cursed him for forcing her to resort to this childish behavior.
He exited only a few seconds later and she popped away from the wall, nearly colliding with him.
“Hello, Mr. Benedict.”
“Holy shit!”
She enjoyed the surprised look on his face. Probably few people ever got the jump on this guy.
“I’m tired of you following me,” she said. “I want you to stop.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Don’t waste your breath. I saw you outside my apartment this morning. You must be getting some riveting footage.” She nodded at the tiny video camera dangling around his neck. “Just what, exactly, are you hoping I’ll do? Incriminate myself? You’ll wait a long time for that.”
For a long moment, Griffin just stared at her as if appraising his chances of lying his way out of this. No way. She’d caught him fair and square.
He stared for so long, she had to resist the urge to squirm and look away. What did he see? She had an insane suspicion he could read her mind. No: if that were the case, he would see she was innocent of any wrongdoing.
And he would see her other thoughts, those inappropriate ones involving naked flesh, entwined limbs and tangled sheets. Oh, Lord, she had to stop thinking of him that way.
His sexy mouth pursed, and she thought he might be trying not to laugh. Damn it, she was not supposed to be amusing. She had worked long and hard to come off as intimidating.
Clearly he wasn’t intimidated.
“All right, yes, I was following you. I was hoping you might do something…interesting.”
“Like what? Strip naked on Main Street?”
“Now, that
would
make for interesting footage.”
She gasped in a breath. His attitude wasn’t helping matters. The unholy light behind those sincere brown eyes hinted that his thoughts were as impure as hers.
“Wait a minute. You’re a newspaper reporter. Why do you want video footage?”
He cocked his head but didn’t answer.
“Are you going to keep following me?”
Griffin shrugged one careless shoulder. “Wouldn’t be much point, now that you’re onto me.”
“Good thing, because stalking is against the law. I could have you arrested.”
“Nice try, but you’d be a little short on evidence.”
Her blood heated up a notch, and not just from overactive hormones. She was really mad, and the fact that he was so calm, so…amused, just made her want to spit in his eye.
Don’t let it show. Don’t let it show.
“Our business is concluded, then, wouldn’t you say?” Maybe this would be the end of it. She tried to step around him, but he blocked her path.
“Just a minute. I have more questions for you.” He had the nerve to lift the video camera, point it at her and turn it on. A blinking red light told her she was on camera.
She definitely knew better than to lose her composure when a camera was rolling. “Ask away. What would you like to know, Mr. Benedict?”
“I thought we were on a first-name basis.”
“Did you have a question for me?”
“Yes. In the past month, how many times would you say you’ve spoken to Leo Simonetti?”
The question caught her off guard. “You mean Anthony. Anthony Simonetti is my client.”
“No, I meant Leo. Anthony’s father.”
Raleigh quickly regained her composure. “In that case, the answer is zero. I have no dealings with Leo Simonetti. The only other member of Anthony’s family I’m in contact with is Connie, his sister.”
“Really.”
“Yes, really. What’s your point here?”
Still filming, Griffin pulled a creased piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans. Another photocopy? What now? He handed the paper to Raleigh, and she unfolded it. It was a copy of her cell phone bill. One phone number, which appeared numerous times, was highlighted in yellow.
Raleigh didn’t immediately recognize the number, but that didn’t mean much. She made hundreds of phone calls in a month.
“Do you recognize that piece of paper?” Griffin asked.
“It appears to be a copy of my cell phone bill, although I cannot, at this time, confirm the information it contains as genuine. Again, obtained illegally, as no one but me should have access.”
He brushed aside the question of legality as easily as he would a mosquito. “Do you know whose number that is, highlighted in yellow?”
“No, I don’t. Enlighten me.” If Griffin thought it belonged to Leo Simonetti, he was crazy. But whoever it was, she’d called him or her a lot. She examined the paper more closely. She’d called this person at all hours, too—daytime, evening, weekends, and…at 2:30 a.m.? She never called anyone at that hour. She would have been asleep.
Had anyone else had access to her phone late at night? No, absolutely not.
Griffin Benedict’s next words were spoken with relish. “The number belongs to Leo Simonetti,”
Criminy. She couldn’t panic. Not when the camera was rolling. “Turn the camera off, please.”
“Why? Did I hit a nerve?”
She folded her arms and waited. She wouldn’t say another word until he complied with her request, but she wouldn’t run away, either. She would stand here and smile at the dead air he was collecting on his camera.
Finally, with a sigh, he lowered the camera. The red light went off. “Do you have something to say?”
“I don’t know who the number belongs to,” she began. “But I have never spoken with Leo Simonetti in my life. Not once.” She took out her BlackBerry. “If I ever called that number, it will be in my call history.” She scrolled through her list of outgoing calls. It went back as far as a week. No sign of the mystery telephone number.
She handed the phone to Griffin. “Check for yourself.”
He did. He scrolled through the list, then checked the phone bill again. “This phone bill covers a time period before last week.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, then snatched her phone back. “Has it ever occurred to you that your source, whoever it might be, is playing you? That someone is trying to embarrass me, publicly, or worse, and they’re using you to do it?”
He handed the phone back to her. “I don’t think that’s the case.”
“So, who’s your source? I have a right to know who is saying these terrible, false things about me.”
He flashed a disarming smile. “Now, you know a good journalist doesn’t reveal his sources.”
“Who says you’re a good journalist?” It was a low blow, and though she was fed up with Griffin Benedict and his lying source, she immediately regretted her words. Griffin Benedict might be tenacious, and he might be distractingly sexy, but he appeared to be a good journalist.
So far.
“I guess you’re not a fan,” he said, not seeming troubled by the fact.
“The funny thing is, I am. I mean, I’ve read a few of your articles. Although the stories you pursue are…out there, and your writing style is…irreverent, you don’t strike me as careless or foolhardy. You don’t pander. I would go so far as to say you don’t even go for sensationalism.
“So why this story? It doesn’t seem your style.”
“Anything that involves human emotions, human weaknesses, is my style. I’ve found that subjects intriguing to me also draw in my readers. For whatever reason, I find you and your possible ethics violation highly intriguing.”
“Well, your publisher isn’t going to be so intrigued when the
Telegram
gets slapped with a libel suit. And don’t start with your ‘public figure’ nonsense.” Public figures had to prove malice in order to win a libel claim—a pretty high standard. “I’m not a public figure. I’m simply doing my job. I have never sought fame or publicity.”
“Even if you were a public figure, I wouldn’t print anything that wasn’t a provable truth. You have my word on that.”
His word. As if that counted for anything. She didn’t even know the man. Yet, for some reason, his promise did reassure her slightly.
Oh, man, where was she going with this? Could a handsome face and a charming smile disarm her to the point she could no longer use her brain?
“I’m happy to hear you won’t print lies about me. Now, then, about this phone bill. I have a theory.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“If that’s Leo Simonetti’s number, then this isn’t really my bill. Someone got a copy of my bill and doctored it, adding in this suspicious phone number. It’s incredibly easy to do. We have a guy on our staff, Mitch Delacroix, who specializes in all kinds of computer and document fraud. You wouldn’t believe the stuff that can be done with a good graphics program.”
“Nice try.”
“I’m serious. And if I’m right, I can prove it. I just paid this phone bill. I have it filed away. We can go to my apartment, and I’ll show it to you.”
Benedict’s eyes lit up. “That’s an excellent idea. I’ll drive.”
Griffin could hardly believe his good luck. Raleigh Shinn had just invited him to see inside her home. He could learn all kinds of things about a person by seeing what they surrounded themselves with, what was important to them. Family pictures displayed on the mantel, mail left carelessly on a table, trash in a wastebasket all could speak volumes. Even a subject’s housekeeping habits were revealing about character.
But his excitement over Raleigh’s invitation was tinged with unease. What if she was right? Obviously his anonymous source had an ax to grind with either Raleigh or Project Justice. But what if the ammunition they were using was bogus? Manufactured? And he’d fallen for it?
Not only had he fallen for it, he’d bet his career on it. If he called Pierce Fontaine and told him the story was a nonstarter, he could kiss the anchor job goodbye.
He tried not to think about that. Surely Raleigh hadn’t expected him to call her bluff, go to her apartment and look at her phone bills. Surely at the last minute, she wouldn’t be able to locate the pertinent bill.