“Fuck.” Grant ran to the edge of the trees but knew it would be pointless to go traipsing after him. No doubt the guy was a local and would know the landscape better than him. After one last fruitless search of the periphery for any kind of evidence, he headed back to Charli’s car to see if there was any damage.
The rear passenger door was still wide open, and as Grant frowned down at it, a creeping feeling raised the hairs on his neck. What in the hell would a car thief be doing hiding in the backseat? If he had wanted to hot-wire it, he would’ve been fooling around the driver’s side. Grant ventured closer and peered into the backseat. A shiny roll of masking tape sat on the floorboard. His grip on the frame of the door tightened, lividity burning a path through him. He looked back to the trees, ready to hunt the bastard down and show him all the torture techniques he’d perfected.
“Is everything okay?”
Grant backed away from the car, making sure not to touch anything else, and gave Charli, who’d poked her head around the corner of the building, a wary look. This was getting completely out of hand. This was more than someone trying to scare Charli. Someone was trying to harm her. And that shit was completely unacceptable. He wanted to grab her, put her in his car, and not let her out of his sight again until he could personally maim and dismember whoever the fucker was.
Even monitoring Charli this closely, he’d barely had time to step in before she’d gotten into the car with some kidnapping psychopath. Whispers of the night someone had broken into his and Rachel’s home prodded at his mind. No. Don’t go there. He swallowed past the panicky, choking feeling that always accompanied the memory. He didn’t have time to have a freak-out. Charli needed him operating at a hundred percent.
Time for a new plan.
Charli wanted training? Well, she was about to get the session of a lifetime.
He tucked his gun back in his waistband. “We better call the cops, freckles. I thought someone wanted to steal your car, but it looks like someone wants to steal you.”
Charli sat on Grant’s couch, trying to rub the chill from her arms, but the too-cold feeling wouldn’t go away. She stared out the front window, watching the rays of late-afternoon sun slant over the front yard. Someone had been hiding in the backseat of her car. If Grant hadn’t been there…well, she couldn’t stop thinking about the what-ifs. It had been stupid to go off on her own just to prove a point. She’d started to believe the threat wasn’t real, that everyone had been overreacting. But now she was thanking the heavens that her brother had a paranoid streak and that Grant was so relentless in his mission.Author: Roni Loren
“You sure the guy you were meeting with wasn’t setting you up? Couldn’t he have tipped off someone?” Grant asked as he walked out of the kitchen and handed her a steaming cup of coffee.
She took it from him, warming her hands against the mug. “I don’t think so. Rodney was taking a big chance talking to me. He told me in not so many words that he was paid cash from boosters during his first two years at Dallas U. before he blew out his knee. If that came out and was proved to be true, the NCAA wouldn’t just sanction the college, they’d do a full investigation on the current program. A program that is heading toward the national championship this year, by the way.”
“So I’ve heard,” he said dryly. “They beat my Longhorns to the ground a few weekends ago.”
“Your defense sucks. They beat themselves.”
Grant frowned at her, then apparently decided to wave off a football debate. Wise move. She’d win. “But this Rodney guy refused to give you an official statement. Seems kind of shady to me, like he was using that info as bait to get you out there.”
She shook her head and tucked her legs beneath her. “That’s not what my gut’s telling me. I think he was being honest. But he’s got kids now and putting his name out there as a snitch—well, it’s dangerous. You know how people are about football around here.”
Grant sat down on the couch across from her, his mouth set in that way that told her he was making plans without her input. “Yeah. I do know. It is dangerous. Which is why you’re going to back off for a while.”
She halted mid-sip. “The hell I am. Today proved how important it is to break this story. We just need to take extra precautions.”
“Charli, this is not a negotiation,” he said, his tone slipping into that dominant space he’d used with her the other day. “Your brother told me to keep you safe, and I intend to do that. But I can’t keep doing it from a distance. This story isn’t going anywhere. You need to cool your heels and let whoever is after you think that they were successful in scaring you off.”
The chill she’d been trying so hard to chase off disappeared in a rush of angry heat. “Cool my heels? Grant, that’s not how this works. I’m a reporter. This is what I do.”
“And I’m former CIA. When your cover is blown, you have to back off for a while or send someone else in. You’re blinking bright red on someone’s radar right now.”
She groaned; of course he’d been a government operative. That explained a lot. “I’m not going to let them chase me off. I need this story.”
“Why, Charli? Why do you need this story?” He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs. “What is so important about it that you’d be willing to risk your goddamn life to get it?”
She started to open her mouth to speak, to give the knee-jerk reaction that wanted to come out, but she knew nothing she said would be the real truth. Yes, she believed that what was happening was wrong. Yes, she believed cheaters should be punished. But that burning, desperate drive to get this story as soon as possible had nothing to do with some reporter champion-of-the-truth moral code. This was about proving something to herself, to the mother who had walked out on her, and to everyone who ever told her she couldn’t do it. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh, really? Try me,” he said, leaning back and using the same words she’d thrown at him in the kitchen two days ago. Despite her frustration with him, her body’s sensors perked at the memory.
She shifted on the couch and sighed. “I need to do more than I’m doing now. I didn’t get into this field to sit behind a computer gathering research for some other reporter’s piece. If I can land this story, there’s no way they won’t give me a promotion to an investigative reporter.”
“Is that really the job you want?”
She stared down at her coffee. “No, I want the anchor position. But apparently I’m not good on camera.”
“And those idiots who told you that must be touched in the head,” he said, a thread of anger weaving through his tone. “You’re a beautiful, intelligent woman. Yes, maybe you’re a little rough around the edges with your approach, but that’s something that can be refined. And if they can’t see your potential, then I don’t know if they deserve to have you anyway.”
Charli looked up, startled by the conviction behind his words.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said, his drawl thickening as he got more fervent about whatever ideas were churning in his head. “You take some time off from chasing this story, try to do most of your other work from here for a while, and I’ll take you on as my trainee. I usually require my trainees to stay here full-time for the month. But I know you can’t take off that long, so give me two weeks. I’ll make sure that when you walk in for that anchor audition, they won’t be able to pick their jaws up off the floor. You’ll be so damned polished they’ll have to put on sunglasses to shield themselves from the glare.”