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Lucy beamed over at him. “We’d love to join you for a walk, wouldn’t we, Rosie?”
Hayden hoisted Josh up onto his shoulder, but the boy leaned toward Lucy with his arms out. Hayden arched an eyebrow. Josh didn’t normally go to new people this easily—why did he have to overcome his trust issues with someone Hayden was investigating?
Lucy laughed and held up Rosebud’s lead. “How about we swap?”
Still, he didn’t move. Building rapport while taking a walk was one thing, but letting her carry his son, crossing personal lines, was dangerous, and something he’d never done before.
“Daddy,” Josh said, pointing to Lucy. “Up.”
And right there was his Achilles’ heel. Josh wanted Lucy, and Hayden wanted Josh to be happy. Complex ethical issues boiled down to pure simplicity.
“Sure,” he said. He took the dog’s lead and handed over his son, trying to minimize touching Lucy in both tasks since he was in enough trouble as it was. “I’ll take that bag while you have Josh.”
“It’s fine.” She tickled Josh’s side and was rewarded with giggles. “I’m used to having it over my shoulder.”
He nodded and they started along the paved path that wound alongside the sparkling river, Hayden busy trying not to physically smack himself over the head. He’d been brought in by a congressional committee to investigate ANS, and Graham Boyle in particular. And now here he was, in a D.C. park, talking a stroll with the man’s stepdaughter, allowing her to cuddle his son, offering to carry her bag and walking the wretched man’s dog.
Not to mention that his pulse was pounding too hard for a casual walk, which had less to do with the exercise than with the woman whose elbow was mere inches from his own. So close he could practically feel all her vibrant energy radiating out and filling the air around her.
He cleared his throat. “Ms. Royall—”
“Lucy.” With his son’s fist wrapped around her fingers, she glanced up at him. “We’re walking in a park on a lunch break. I think you can call me Lucy.”
“Lucy, then.” The name felt unusual as his mouth moved around the word. He’d only said it aloud together with her surname before, but alone it seemed special, prettier. More intimate.
“Yes?”
He looked down at her, frowning. “Yes, what?”
“You were about to say something when I told you to call me Lucy.”
Good point. But he had no idea what it had been. He thrust the fingers of his free hand into his hair. He’d called their interview to a halt because he was getting distracted. Seemed the extra twenty-four hours to regroup hadn’t helped any.
He searched his brain for a way to informally find a path to the information he wanted. “Did you always want to be a journalist?”
They waited while Rosebud sniffed the base of a tree, and Lucy shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe not always. But since I interned with Graham when I was sixteen.”
“What did you want to be before that?”
“My father’s family is in department stores,” she said casually. “When he died I inherited his stock. I always thought I’d do a business degree and work there.”
Her family was “in department stores”? He almost laughed. In his preliminary research he’d found that Lucy was one of the Royall Department Stores Royalls. A family of old money that stood alongside the Rockefellers, Vanderbilts and Gettys in stature. The woman had pedigree coming out her ears.
Genuine curiosity nibbled. “Have you stayed in touch with that side of your family?”
“Occasionally I see Aunt Judith and her family,” she said softly, with just a tinge of regret. “She has a gorgeous lodge in Fields, Montana, where we sometimes gather for birthdays and Christmases.”
“Fields is a nice place,” he said. Great ski fields and snowboarding, although now just as famous for being the birthplace of President Morrow as its natural charms.
“We’ve had some good family times there. Plus, a couple of times a year I go to a board meeting, and occasionally talk to them about charity events.”
As she tapped a finger on his son’s nose, Hayden watched her and tried to get it all to make sense. Her choices didn’t quite add up with the image he had of a pampered princess.
“Wouldn’t it have been an easier path to work in the Royall family business? You already own significant stock there. You wouldn’t have had to start out at the bottom like you did at ANS.” That was what his wife, Brooke, had done—worked in her family’s banking empire. But in effect, it had only been role-playing. She’d had a big corner office and taken a lot of long lunches.
Lucy arched a challenging eyebrow. “What makes you think I’d want to take the easier path?”
“Human nature.” He didn’t try to hide the cynicism in his voice. “Who wouldn’t want the easier option?”
She was silent and the moment stretched out; the only sound was Josh’s gurgling baby talk. Then she looked up at him with eyes that seemed far too insightful. “Tell me, Hayden, did you take the easiest career option available to you?”
“No,” he admitted. But then, he hadn’t been brought up an heiress like Lucy or Brooke. Completely different situation.
“How long have you been a criminal investigator?” she asked.
“A few years now.” But he wasn’t here to talk about himself. He rolled his shoulders back and changed the conversation’s direction. “What story are you working on now?”
She moved Josh onto her other hip and adjusted his blue hat. “Are you officially asking me?”
He could sense her reluctance, but that wasn’t unusual with journalists trying to keep their scoop under wraps. And since his investigation was about past practices, her current story was irrelevant. He shrugged. “No, just conversation.”
“Then I’ll pass on the question.” She looked up at him and unleashed a dazzling smile. “Did you come out just to walk, or do you have lunch in that bag?”
He held up the brown paper bag. “Lunch. I can offer you half a room-service cheese and tomato on rye.” He’d found that when dealing with hotels, the plainer the order, the less likely they were to ruin it with some embellishment meant to impress but usually falling short. He was a man of simple tastes—he’d take sandwiches on fresh bread from the deli near his office over a fancy restaurant lunch any day.
“You can keep your sandwich,” she said. “I have mine in my bag.”
“Tell me you don’t have a picnic blanket in that bag,” he said, one corner of his mouth turning up.
Her forehead crinkled into a confused frown. “A picnic blanket wouldn’t fit in here.”
“You seem to pull out all sorts of things, so a blanket wouldn’t have surprised me,” he said dryly.
They found a patch of grass under a weeping willow a little farther back from the path. He pulled out a sealed plastic bag with a wet washcloth inside and wiped off Josh’s hands before passing him a banana.
“That’s pretty organized,” Lucy said, watching him with those huge hazel eyes.
His hackles went up. “For a dad, you mean?”
“For anyone.” Her head tipped to the side, as if puzzling him out. “I didn’t mean it as an insult.”
He nodded. Just because he was prickly about his parenting skills didn’t mean she’d taken a swipe at him. He offered a self-deprecating smile as compensation for his overreaction. “The nanny packed it all. I wouldn’t have thought of a washcloth, so you weren’t far off the mark.”
She broke off a piece of her granola bar and popped it in her mouth. They ate in silence for a couple of minutes, watching Josh with his banana.
Lucy leaned back, propping one hand on the grass behind her for support. “Is that where Josh is during your interviews?”
“I hired the nanny for while we’re in D.C. She comes nine to five.” He hadn’t been sure how the arrangement would work out, but it was fine. The biggest adjustment had been not having his sister close by—he was flying solo as a parent for the first time, and he was determined to make it work.
“What does Josh normally do during the day?” she asked as she fed a piece of granola to Rosebud.
“When we’re in New York, a couple of days a week he goes to my sister—she has a three-year-old boy, and the cousins enjoy their time together. The other three days a week he goes to a day-care center at my office. There are five kids of staff members there, and I can see him at lunchtime.”
She smiled over at Josh. “Sounds ideal.”
No, ideal would have been Josh having two parents to spend time with him, love him and make him the center of their world. But even before Brooke’s death, Josh hadn’t had that. The weight of needing to make things perfect for his son crashed down on him, as it did regularly. His gut contracted and clenched. He was all Josh had and he’d do his damned best to make his childhood as close to ideal as he could.
He looked up and saw Lucy was still watching him. This had become far too personal. What was it about Lucy Royall that made him forget everything that was important? What he needed to do was schedule another interview, and this time he’d write a complete list of questions—something he hadn’t done in years—to make sure he stayed on topic.
He grabbed the remnants of his lunch and stuffed them back into the brown paper bag. “Josh is getting sleepy. I need to get him back for his nap.”
“This was nice,” she said, picking up the washcloth and wiping the banana from Josh’s fingers. “Maybe Rosie and I could join you again sometime.”
Join him again sometime? He coughed out an incredulous laugh. Out in the forest, this was a woman who’d poke a hungry bear until it ate her. He stood and picked Josh up. Thankfully, the little boy curled into his neck, as if supporting Hayden’s prediction that he was ready for a nap.
“Look, Lucy,” he said, more gruffly than he intended. “I’m not sure what you think is going on here, but this investigation is serious. I’m not here to make friends.” Her eyes widened and he immediately regretted his tone. He blew out a breath, and said more softly, “Even if I wanted to, I can’t.”
Lucy stood, as well. “You’d like to be my friend, Hayden?” She arched an eyebrow, her eyes glimmering with something he couldn’t read.
“Under different circumstances,” he emphasized, “it’s possible that we would have been friends.”
Her chin lifted. “I know how important this is. I take Graham’s future very seriously. But just so we’re clear—” she fixed him with sultry hazel eyes, and her voice slid deeper into the accent of a Southern belle who took no prisoners “—under different circumstances, I wouldn’t want to be your friend, Hayden. I’d make one heck of a pass at you.”
She turned and walked off, blond hair glinting in the sunshine, Rosie at her heels, leaving Hayden poleaxed.
Three
At four o’clock the next day, Lucy knocked on the door to Hayden’s suite, then rolled her shoulders one at a time to try and ease the bunching tension in them.
Hayden had called her cell an hour ago and asked if she could come by to answer a few more questions, and she’d jumped at the chance to see him again in his suite, maybe find a few more clues for her story. The only other time she’d been to his hotel was before Graham had handed her the assignment of the exposé, so this time she’d pay more attention to the little things. The clues.
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.”
