Davis’s bushy eyebrows crept up, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Mihail’s head pop above the cube wall, gummy worm hanging from his mouth as he blatantly eavesdropped.
“Luc and Sawyer?” her boss asked.
“Officers Moretti and Lopez,” she clarified irritably.
“You’re on a first-name basis, huh?”
“Well yeah, that happens when you spend nearly every day together for a month,” Ava snapped.
It also happens when you spend every night in one of their beds for the past week, but she didn’t go there. Obviously.
Mihail wiggled his eyebrows at her, but she ignored him. The Monday morning after her and Luc’s Weekend of Amazing Sex, it had taken Mihail all of two minutes to figure out what had happened. He’d claimed that they’d steamed up the lens of his camera every time they made eye contact.
It had taken Sawyer only a bit longer; he’d made it to lunch before asking when they’d decided to “do it.”
Their friends knowing was one thing…Ava’s boss finding out that she’d blurred the lines?
No.
She kept her face carefully blank as she not-so-subtly checked her watch.
Davis either missed or ignored the gesture. He crossed his arms over his chest and settled back on her desk, getting comfortable. “So what are you thinking for the last hour? That’s the denouement, Avie; it’s gotta be great if you want to convince everyone you’re anchor-ready. We need something that will have the housewives swooning and young’uns dashing off to be a cop, and the men puffing up their chests and saying that’s what it means to be a man in this country.”
“Absolutely, that’s exactly the response we’re going to get,” Ava said with confidence she didn’t feel.
Because the truth was, Ava wasn’t at all sure she could tell the story of Luc Moretti without also telling the story of what had happened to his partner. Mike Jensen had died on duty while on the scene of a kidnapping gone wrong.
And Luc had been there.
But that wasn’t where the story was. A cop had died, and that was awful. Shayna Johnson died, and that was awful.
But the really awful part was that neither of those had made even the tiniest blip in the news circuit. At first Ava thought maybe there had been another story that might have overshadowed it. A natural disaster or political scandal that had allowed for two deaths to go nearly unnoticed.
Her search had come up empty. November two years ago had been a slow news month. And the week of Shayna Johnson’s death? The top local story had been a flower show.
No, the story here wasn’t that two people had died violent deaths. The story was that there was no story.
And Ava would bet her right eye this was no fluke. She bet this had to do with Luc’s father, and whatever they’d fought about the other day when Luc had been so upset.
There had to be some perks to having a police commissioner father. Say, like his dad deflecting attention away from a messy situation. This was a cover-up, good and simple.
And a police cover-up made for a damn good story. Just not this story.
Professional Ava knew exactly what she should do. Blow this thing wide open. Find out exactly what happened that day, and find out exactly why it was all hush-hush.
But on a personal level? Ava wasn’t sure she wanted to go there. At all.
And would there be harm in letting it be? Really? Her TV special would and could be a success without it. The camera would love Luc, and Sawyer’s charm was a welcome boon. Their casual banter, Hollywood smiles, and all-American approachability made them easy to watch.
The feel-good aspect the network was after was there. It was a soft, fuzzy masterpiece.
It just wasn’t the full story.
It wasn’t the truth. Or at least not the whole truth.
“Avie?” Davis prodded. “The last hour? What do you have in mind?”
“I’m thinking it would be a good time to interview Luc,” she said, grasping at straws. “You know, a really in-depth look at America’s Hero.”