This could be it.
“Griffin Benedict.”
“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.”
CHAPTER THREE
AS RALEIGH EXITED the courthouse the following day, the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. Someone was definitely watching her.
Earlier that day, she had dismissed the tickle at her nape as paranoia, a result of nerves or not enough sleep. But her instincts rarely failed her, and they certainly wouldn’t do so repeatedly. There couldn’t be any doubt she was being followed.
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
