greedy collaboration prosper undetected for so long. He was that missing piece frustrating Cee Cee’s attempts to bring the other two to justice. Justice Atcliff had always bent to his own purpose.
As he had when he saw to the death of his partner when Tommy Caissie was about to fold.
“Are you going to tell her, or do you want me to?”
Max drew in deep and expelled heavily. “I will. But not yet. Not until we can nail his slippery hide to the wall.”
– – –
Things were going well, considering.
Warren Brady settled in behind his big home office desk, allowing a smug smile as the camera crew began an efficient setup. A personal interview with Karen Crawford for her One-on-One morning program was just the venue he needed to push his agenda. A haircut and facial erased signs of lingering sleeplessness and stress. His uniform was pressed to razor-edge perfection. When appearing on the ambitious reporter’s local network show, he’d put on the performance of his life, because it would be. He’d be fighting to keep all he’d built for himself and his family.
His family. A wife who’d killed herself rather than share the vision he had for them. One daughter who chose betrayal in the bed of an enemy and the other . . . he didn’t know what to think of the creature she’d become under Genevieve’s tutelage. Firmly in survival mode, he’d hang on to his well-crafted plans by any means necessary.
Making a friend of the press presented his first challenge. On camera, he’d portray the pinnacle of control and comforting power, not angry or resentful, but confident that the justice he’d championed throughout his career would prevail, thus vindicating him. If Crawford wanted a sensational story to humanize him, he’d provide one filled with familial tragedy from which he’d heroically risen. He angled the smiling portraits on his desktop, so they’d be visible to viewers.
Crawford arrived with a team of staff buzzing about her like a queen bee, spraying her hair, adjusting her lapel mic, touching up her makeup to disguise the years cameras cruelly accentuated. With a final sip of her coffee and a finger brush of her teeth, she shooed away her sycophants to approach her guest with feral professionalism. That same smile would address the day’s hero or a serial killer.
“Commissioner Brady, thank you for your time. You’ve been briefed on our format. We’ll speak about your distinguished career, your family, and about the charges you hope will be dismissed.”
“They will be dismissed.”
That smooth mask never flickered. “Of course. Then we’ll take a few phone calls from our viewers. You’ll keep your answers brief and to the point.”
“Ms. Crawford, I’ve given my share of interviews to tougher rooms than your viewership.”
Her smile tightened, betraying hard-won lines of experience around her mouth. “Of course, you have, sir. No one questions that. I remind you again that this is a live broadcast.”
“We’re wasting time, Ms. Crawford. Let’s get to it.”
She assumed the seat on the other side of his desk, an inferior position instead of the elbow-to-elbow, tete-a-tete she’d requested in front of it. If that annoyed her as a professional, she covered it well. He wasn’t fooled by her airs. The fading media comet struggling not to become a dead star would make certain he looked good for her viewing public.
The lights went on, cameras rolled, and ratings predator Karen Crawford came to life, rising to the surface with scarcely a ripple, eyes gleaming like a swamp gator assessing its meal.
“Good morning, New Orleans. I’m Karen Crawford, and I’m pleased to welcome our own Police Commissioner Warren Brady to One-on-One as today’s special guest. His lengthy and impeccably bulletproof career has recently come under fire with allegations of corruption and criminality that would have a less connected public servant hiding behind his attorney. But our calm-under-fire Commissioner is no stranger to life and death situations and has agreed to take your pointblank questions live on our show. So, let’s get right to our first caller. This is One-on-One, and you are on the air.”
Allowing no opportunity for him to first present himself as a hero and victim of false accusations, Karen Crawford provided that cold, reptilian smile that had warned countless others of that snap of jaws they’d failed to anticipate until too late.
The first caller was a plant who asked about his charitable contributions to the community, painting him with a saintly halo over-head. But the next came at him, a knife in a