No Stranger to Scandal - By Rachel Bailey Page 0,4
him, of lowering his own until his mouth gently touched hers, of feeling the softness of her plump lips, the passion she—
Suddenly his shirt collar was too tight. Damn it, what was he doing? In an important investigation like this, he couldn’t afford to be attracted to a witness.
Get ahold of yourself, Black.
He drew in a breath and stared at her until all he saw was a woman covering up for a criminal.
“Have you participated in any instances of illegal surveillance at ANS?” he asked, more harshly than he’d intended.
“No,” she said, lacing her fingers together on the table in front of her.
Without missing a beat, he continued. “Are you aware of any instances of illegal surveillance at ANS?”
“No, I’m not.” Her voice was measured, even.
“Have you participated in or been aware of any instances of any illegal activity at ANS?”
“No.”
“Did you work with former ANS journalists Brandon Ames and Troy Hall when they used illegal phone hacking to uncover the story about the president’s illegitimate daughter?”
“No.”
“Were they carrying out orders from your stepfather?”
“Of course not.”
“They initially blamed the phone hacking on a temporary researcher, but the researcher was clean. Do you know who it was at ANS who helped them?”
“As far as I know, no one.”
“What’s your take on why the accusations have been made against ANS and Graham Boyle?”
She let out a long breath. “Those who make something of their lives always attract those who want to tear them down.”
Unfortunately, he knew that wasn’t where the accusations had originated. Graham Boyle might have a good point or two, might treat his stepdaughter well, but he was still a ruthless jerk who’d hurt many.
“How do you think ANS came up with the leads that uncovered President Morrow’s daughter? He was a Montana senator before his presidential campaign—it’s not as if no one’s looked into his background before.”
For the first time, an uncertain line appeared between her brows. “I don’t know. I wasn’t working on that story.”
He knew he had to push further, but God help him, with that look on her face, he wanted to reassure her instead. To take her hand across the table and tell her everything would be okay. Despite that, the cynical part of his brain knew it was probably an act. He needed to listen to that side of himself more.
“But you talk to other journalists, surely,” he said, thankfully hitting the skeptical note he’d aimed for. “And this story and its methods are very high profile. You’re telling me you’ve heard nothing about how they got the lead?”
“Good old investigative journalism—it’s hard to beat.” Her perkiness was forced, but he didn’t get the sense she was lying in an underhanded way. Not like the last woman who’d sat in that chair. This was a woman who didn’t get on with her colleagues, felt excluded from them and was covering up for that. A shaft of unwanted tenderness hit him squarely in the chest.
But Angelica Pierce had made it clear whose fault that lack of integration was. Feeling sorry for Lucy Royall was a dangerous trap. He rubbed a hand over his face. This interview wasn’t working, wasn’t getting him anywhere. Perhaps the lack of sleep over the past few months was finally affecting his investigative edge.
Hayden glanced at his watch. Maybe it’d be better to finish early today, pick up his son from the nanny next door and go for a walk in one of D.C.’s parks. He could interview Lucy Royall again when his focus was stronger.
“Thanks for your time,” he said, his voice almost a growl. “I’ll be in touch when I need to speak with you again.”
She tucked her notebook and pen into her bag and stood. “Mr. Black, I understand that you’re just doing your job. But I hope you haven’t already discounted the possibility that Graham Boyle might be innocent.”
Hayden pushed to his feet and rested his hands low on his hips. “If the evidence shows he’s innocent, Ms. Royall, that’s what I’ll report back to Congress.”
But his gut instinct never lead him astray, and his gut told him that Lucy Royall’s stepfather was as guilty as they came. It was up to him to prove it.
He held the door open for her then watched her walk down the hall, her hips subtly swaying. Beauty and a glorious accent had covered surprising strength and determination in his interviewee—and had caught him off guard.
Luckily, he was even more determined.
Next time he met Lucy Royall, he’d be ready for her.
Two
Lucy