A script that ensured there was a very real possibility that he might walk off camera when she blindsided him with questions about November 12, two years ago.
Her bosses wouldn’t be happy at the unexpected drama on a feel-good piece, but that’s not what Ava was worried about. They might get pissed…might even cut the story, go with something lighter, but that’s okay…because this story was big enough that someone else would pick it up. One of the other networks. Or the Times, Wall Street Journal.
There was a story here. A career-making one. She was positive of it.
She should be thrilled.
But thrilled was hardly the emotion lodged in Ava’s heart. It felt a lot more like dread.
Because there would be drama, yes. There would also be hurt.
Luc’s hurt.
She pushed the thought away as she pep-talked herself. “This is what you’ve been working toward, Ava.”
“What’s that, babe?” Carly asked.
“Nothing,” she muttered.
“Well he’d better be here,” Davis said, hands on hips.
“I’m sure he’s just running late,” she said.
“And he knows to come in uniform?”
“Yes.”
“And he—”
“Davis. I’ve handled it.”
He made a grumbling noise before heading back to the set to yell at the lighting guys.
“Handled it, have you?”
Ava shifted the eye not currently being mascaraed to the right, where Mihail stood, arms crossed, for once free of his usual gummy worms.
“Talking to me again?” she asked.
He shrugged moodily. “Davis brought me in to man one of the cameras.”
“And you agreed?” Ava asked, surprised. Mihail hated studio camera work. He always claimed that a monkey could hold a camera still. He preferred to be on the move, camera on his shoulder.
Mihail shrugged again. “Figured someone should be here to buy Moretti a drink after his girlfriend screws him over.”
Ava’s temper flashed. As did her guilt.
She shifted her gaze to the makeup artist with a sympathetic smile. “Can I have a minute?”
“Actually, I think I’m done,” Carly said, standing back to admire her handiwork. “Let me powder you and I’ll be gone.”
Thirty seconds later, it was just Mihail and Ava.
“First of all,” she said, keeping her voice cool, “I’m not Luc’s girlfriend.”
“Got it, so you’re just using him for his body and to further his career. Classy.”
That stung. “Mihail!”
He didn’t bother to look contrite. “When you guys are cuddled up in bed, did you tell him that you went to see his dead partner’s wife?”
She looked away.
“No? How about when you barged in on that little girl’s family, bringing up the worst point of their lives.”
“I didn’t barge in,” she said quietly.
That much, at least, was true. Both Beverly Jensen and the Johnsons had been more than willing to talk to her.
Mrs. Jensen, because she was eager to share her support of Luc. The woman bore no ill feelings that Luc had survived while her husband had died.
Shayna Johnson’s parents had been more guarded.
They’d agreed to talk to her, only in hopes that it would shed more light on the need to act swiftly in kidnapping cases.
Terrence and Jasmine Johnson held sorrow, but no bitterness.
Darius Johnson, on the other hand…
Well, Shayna’s older brother hadn’t been nearly so forgiving of the NYPD’s treatment of his sister’s kidnapping and death.
Nor the media cover-up that followed.
And it was Darius Johnson’s statements that would have Ava’s bosses practically bouncing out of their seats with excitement.
It didn’t get much juicier than law enforcement covering up the death of two people. One of them a young girl.
And Luc wouldn’t see it coming.
Because she hadn’t told him.
Mihail’s finger jabbed toward her face. “Right there. Guilt.”
She slapped his hand away. “Luc’s not going to take it personally.”
He told me to follow my gut.
Of course, he didn’t know just where her gut would lead her.
“So he told you all about it himself, did he? Maybe over dinner, drinks, he told you about watching his partner die and finding a dead little girl?”