No Stranger to Scandal - By Rachel Bailey Page 0,12

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