She gathered her things and tucked them in her bag, glad to have a task to hide how restless her hands suddenly were. “I’ll see you Sunday,” she said and looked back at Hayden. His forehead was lined and she felt cold apprehension filling her veins. She hesitated, and he opened his mouth to say something, but before he could cancel, she turned and slipped out the door.
* * *
Two days later, Lucy sat with Hayden on the shady banks of the Potomac River, a sleeping boy on a blanket between them. They’d fed the ducks, strolled around and now, as Josh was recouping his energy, Lucy and Hayden had fallen into an almost comfortable silence. From the moment he’d picked her up, it was as if they’d both been warily circling the social component of the day. Hayden had been unfailingly polite, if distant, and she’d followed suit. In the past, her social skills had been strong enough to cope with conversing with the rich, the royal, the famous and the powerful. But those same social skills faltered with Hayden Black. They’d mainly talked to, or about, Josh.
It wasn’t just the investigation—though that was enough to make things less than comfortable between them—it was the unfailing awareness she had of him as a man. She could feel where he was, and when he’d been close she could smell the masculine musk of his skin. She’d lost the trail of something Josh had been saying more than once because she was paying more attention to his father at her side. And there were still those unguarded words she’d said the last time they’d been in a park together that were hanging between them—she was no closer to knowing what he thought about them.
Though there were a few things she did know more about now. The digging she’d done for the exposé in the past two days had focused on his company—it seemed working in the security business was lucrative. Or it was if you were as good as Hayden Black. The company he’d started only a few years ago now took in several million dollars in fees a year, and his personal wealth was estimated to be in the millions and growing. He’d come a long way from the boy who’d put himself through law school on a military scholarship and worked as an investigative lawyer in the military police until his time in the armed forces was up. Now he was a wealthy single father of a one-year-old.
She looked down at the sleeping boy, his face flushed a faint pink, remembering the trace of awkwardness she’d seen the night Hayden had set him up in the playpen. That image had worried at the edges of her mind. She moistened her lips and dared a personal question. “Has it been hard becoming his sole parent?”
Hayden’s head snapped up, surprise in his eyes. Then he leaned back on his hands and nodded wearily. “The hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
If they were going to get into a deeper conversation, she should be looking for clues to skeletons in his professional career for her exposé, or evidence of bias, yet she couldn’t help prodding a little further into his relationship with Josh. “Did your wife do most of the care before she died?”
He coughed out a bitter laugh. “Brooke didn’t do much with him at all. Besides buy him designer clothes and show him off when she thought it would grant her social cachet.” He pulled a cotton cover over his son and placed a hand protectively on the sleeping boy’s back.
“So you looked after him?” She folded her legs up beneath her, turning to face Hayden more. This was the most personal information he’d disclosed and she was hungry for every detail, every expression.
“No,” he said, wincing. “Brooke had staff for everything, including Josh. She—” He hesitated, obviously weighing how much information to share. She waited, letting the decision be completely his, though wishing she could ease the tension that bound his body tight. “She was a socialite from a very wealthy family who expected to be pampered. When we were first together, I was happy to oblige, but it turned out that she needed more pampering than a husband alone could give.” His expression was wry, but it obviously veiled deeper emotions. “She had staff to clean the house, a chef, a personal trainer and from the day he was born, two live-in nannies for Josh, so they could work round the clock. He rarely saw his mother.”
“Oh, Hayden.” One of her father’s sisters, Evelyn, lived like that, but she could imagine nothing worse than outsourcing her life, her son, so completely.
“I should have done something, been more involved.” His voice was thick with self-recrimination, his face twisted with regret. “But Brooke said that children were her domain and she’d handle them the way she wanted. The way she’d been raised. And I hate to admit it, but I was sick of the arguments, so I let her have her way for some peace. For all our sakes, including Josh’s. Besides, I was out of my depth—I’d never been a father before—how did I know the way she’d been raised was wrong?”
“I’m assuming that was quite different from the way you were raised,” she said gently.
“You can say that again.” He gazed down at Josh for a long moment before reaching out to smooth the hair back from his son’s face. “I spent time with him when I could. Played with him at night, did things when I had a day off, but I guess part of me must have been okay with the way Brooke wanted things done or I would have changed them. Insisted.” He rubbed two fingers across the deep lines on his forehead. “I was stupid.”
“You seem to be making up for it now,” she said.
He shook his head dismissively. “There’s a long way to go before I become the type of father I want to be.”
“I don’t think you should be so hard on yourself.” She reached over and laid a hand on the warm cotton covering his forearm, wanting to bring any comfort she could. “Josh clearly loves you, and he’s happy. You’re doing something right.”
“Thanks,” he said with a half smile and glanced away. His expression was usually so serious that even a half smile seemed bright, drew her in till all she could see was him. His gaze dropped to the hand that still lay on his arm. When he looked back up to her, his coffee-brown eyes darkened, and his chest rose and fell too fast. She knew how he felt—suddenly this open park didn’t contain enough oxygen. The strong muscles under her fingers burned with heat and held her hand trapped as if by magnetic force.
From what felt like miles away, Josh sighed in his sleep and curled his teddy in closer. Hayden stiffened and looked down at his son before jerking his arm away from her. Lucy blinked and blinked again, trying to reorient herself to the world around them. To the park. To the reality that she’d almost fallen under the spell of a man she needed to keep at arm’s length. Of a man who would likely feel betrayed if he knew her real agenda in meeting him today.
Hayden cleared his throat. “Tell me why you’re so good with Josh. You don’t have any brothers or sisters, no young cousins or nieces or nephews. Is it just a natural thing with babies for you?”
She looked down at Josh, still holding his teddy close as he slept. If Hayden didn’t already know her involvement with babies, his research would soon unearth it, especially as he already knew about the lack of children in her family. There was no reason not to tell him—it wasn’t a secret, it was just something she normally didn’t discuss. Yet...something deep inside her wanted him to understand this part of her.
“Before my father died,” she began, still watching Josh, “he used to take me to volunteer at a residential home for people with disabilities that he’d established. He believed strongly that the wealth we’d been born to was a privilege, and it was our responsibility to help others. He also wanted me to stay in touch with how other people live.”
“Sounds like he was a wise man.”
She looked up to see if there was any other meaning behind his words—people occasionally grabbed the opportunity to take a sarcastic swipe about her father and his family, a consequence of their wealth and high profile. But Hayden’s eyes held only interest in the story she was telling, and she was more grateful for that simple acceptance than she would have expected. She stretched her legs out in front of her, relaxing a fraction.
“After he died, my mother wanted to continue his mission with me. B
ut she said I could choose my own charity—the residential home had been my father’s passion.”
“And being a typical ten-year-old girl, you chose babies,” he said, stretching his legs out beside hers.
She bit down on her smile. “It was almost kittens.”
He chuckled. “What did you do?”
“We set up a free clinic in North Carolina for mothers who are having a hard time with their new babies. It’s staffed mainly by professionals—nurses, social workers and consulting doctors—and the moms and babies can stay a few nights, up to a week, to get help with feeding or getting their babies to sleep or whatever the problem is.”
He tilted his head to the side as he regarded her. “That sounds like a great service.”
“It is,” she said, feeling a soft glow of pride filling her chest—those midwives were doing fabulous work. “When we moved to D.C., we set up another one here. I go in and hang around most weekends, just being an extra pair of hands. Sometimes it’s babysitting while the new mom gets some rest, sometimes it’s manning the phones.”
Though helping out in person wasn’t an act of charity—she loved those times. Being part of a team and helping to make a real difference in people’s lives. She’d always thought of journalism as making a difference, too, but since the phone-hacking scandal had broken, she’d started to wonder.
Hayden reached into the picnic basket and offered her a strawberry. “Do you fund it on your own?”
She took the shiny red berry—her fingers practically sparking when they grazed Hayden’s—and twirled it on its small stem. “It started with just me, but I’m working on getting Royall Department Stores involved and building more clinics throughout the country. Aunt Judith is already eager to help—I went to see her in Montana last year to discuss it, and we’ll take the plan to the whole board soon.”
“That’s amazing,” he said with simple but genuine respect in his voice, in his eyes. “You’ve created something that’s made the world a better place.”
A warm flush spread across her skin, and she smiled at him, basking in his approval, letting it soak through her. Then, with a start, she realized she’d let his opinion matter more than it should. She forced herself to look away. A harmless flirtation with Hayden was one thing. Melting inside because he’d approved of her charity work was quite another. This man was still running an investigation into ANS, and believed Graham was guilty. The last thing she needed was to become emotionally involved with Hayden Black.
She pulled her legs up and tucked them underneath her, and reminded herself of the rules.
Flirting, okay.
Emotional attachment, not okay.
She would just have to try harder to keep the line where it needed to be. Still, if she didn’t remember, then Hayden probably would. He seemed to have a very firm grasp on where the lines should be.
And why did that thought rankle so much?
Four
Lucy dropped the strawberry back into the container and dusted her hands on her skirt. “So, about this investigation. What do you want me to do?”
Hayden didn’t answer right away; he regarded her with that intense, steady gaze, as if he could see inside her soul and knew exactly what she was doing by changing the subject away from herself. Then he nodded once. “I’ll be speaking to Marnie Salloway next, since she was the producer on the story that aired.”
Lucy let out a relieved breath. They were back on solid ground instead of the slippery slope of potential emotional entanglement. “What about Angelica Pierce? Seeing as she was the journalist who fronted all the follow-up stories, she could be the one.” She said the word one carefully—she might have accepted the probability that someone had helped Troy Hall and Brandon Ames, but there was no way there was a chain of people leading up to her stepfather. The sooner this investigation proved that, the better. But Hayden either didn’t notice, or was choosing to ignore her inflection and its meaning.
“I’m not as worried about Angelica at this stage,” he said, absently laying a hand on Josh as he slept on the blanket. “Or Mitch Davis for that matter, since both were handed the scripts—Mitch for the announcement at the inaugural ball and Angelica for the stories that followed. But Marnie is different. She could easily be the person who ordered the phone hacking, or filtered the order down from higher.”
The gentle breeze from the river blew a strand of Lucy’s hair across her face and she tucked it behind her ear as she watched him. “You’re not worried I’ll tip Marnie off?”
“Will you?” he asked, with only curiosity in his eyes—no trace of concern.
“No.” She was on board with this project, believed in its goal to find the rat in ANS so she could protect Graham. Undermining it wasn’t on the agenda.
“Even if you do, she’ll find out in the morning when I call to make a time with her. And she has to be expecting that she’s under suspicion, so I’m not telling you anything that’s a state secret.” His broad shoulders lifted then dropped in a casual shrug. “What’s your take on Marnie?”
“This is off the record, right? Just background.” Marnie would love an excuse to complain about her to Graham, to dig the knife in as deep as it would go, and Lucy would rather not give her the ammunition if she could avoid it.
“Off the record,” he agreed.
She could say this directly or sugarcoat it, and she had a feeling Hayden would prefer plain speaking. “Marnie is rude and self-important.”
His expression didn’t alter, as if he’d been expecting as much. “She treats you badly?”
“She doesn’t treat anyone below her well,” she said, trying to be as balanced in her assessment as she could. “But she makes a special effort to make my life unbearable.”
Something in his eyes changed, sharpened. “Is she the only one?”
“There’s a club. They have T-shirts,” she said with a half smile to cover the faint sting of rejection. It wasn’t the first time in her life she’d found herself the target of others’ thinly veiled jealousy or venom, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. She’d learned to not let it get to her a long time ago. Mostly she was successful at that.
“Have you told Graham?” he asked quietly.
Tell Graham? She almost laughed. Oh, yeah, that would go down well at the office. “Just because I’m related to the owner doesn’t mean I can run to him when I have problems.”
“Sounds to me like the opposite is happening. You’re being treated worse because you’re related to the owner.” Deep frown lines appeared on his forehead. “Any other employee would have the right to complain about being harassed, so if you don’t feel you can make that complaint, you’re suffering discrimination.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said and found a carefree smile. She didn’t need his sympathy, or to have someone stand up for her. She was a big girl, in charge of her own life. Being a target of people like Marnie and Angelica was part and parcel of the privilege she’d been born to, nothing more, and she could handle it.
Hayden’s head tilted to the side as he regarded her. “Did Graham offer you the junior reporter role?”
“He offered me a full-fledged reporter role. Then, when I turned it down, the weekend anchor job.” Graham had just been trying to help, to give her a leg up in the industry. The dear man had been baffled when she’d turned down the offers, but he’d grudgingly respected her decision.
“You’d make a good weekend anchor.”
“No, I’d be okay as one.” Being okay wasn’t part of her career plan. “I want the role, sure. But when I get there, I want to be truly good.”
“You’re not what I expected,” he said with the ghost of a smile on his lips.
“Neither are you,” she admitted, though she wasn’t sure what she had expected. Perhaps her experience with Angelica, Troy and Brandon had skewed her perception of investigators, but she hadn’t been expecting Hayden to be as considered in his approach, as quietly perceptive. And she certainly hadn’t expected the sim
mering chemistry between them. Even now, in the midst of a discussion about a congressional investigation, she could feel the almost visible haze of heat that filled the air whenever she was near him.
He cleared his throat. “So. Marnie. Could she have been involved?”
“Well, yes, she could have been involved.” She’d tossed the same thought around a few times herself. “But just because she’s horrible, and had the opportunity, that doesn’t mean she did break the law.”
He rubbed a hand across his chin. “From your insider’s perspective, could Ames and Hall have obtained their information from phone hacking without Marnie knowing?”
“Sure, it’s possible.”
“Possible but unlikely?” he prompted.
She shrugged. “Unless you were suspicious that someone had illegal sources, it wouldn’t be hard to be blindsided. Things happen in broadcast news so quickly that not everyone can be on top of everything.”
He nodded slowly and she could almost see the cogs turning in his mind. “It would be good if you could get me something on Marnie before I meet with her. Something that rattles her enough to admit to knowing.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Assuming she was involved.”
“Naturally,” he said, one corner of his mouth quirking up.
She looked across at him, the investigator for Congress, the man who was haunting her dreams. And she started to wonder if she could say no to him about much at all. She held up her hands. “I’ll see what I can do.”
* * *
Dark had closed in when they pulled up in front of Lucy’s row house, the only light coming from a nearby streetlamp that bathed them in a gentle glow. Her home had been something of a surprise—he would have guessed she’d live in a penthouse apartment within walking distance of cafés, not a place large enough for a family, painted in a rich cream. Every time he thought he had Lucy Royall pegged, she did something else to surprise him.
He shouldn’t like that so much.
He shouldn’t like her so much. No denying that he did, though. Couldn’t wait to hear what she’d say next, what she’d do. When she was near, he found it hard to look at anything else—it was as if she had a golden glow about her, an aura of stardust. And that mouth—a generous cupid’s bow that had driven him to distraction all day—every time she moistened those lips or pursed them in thought, heat had stroked down his spine. Keeping a professional distance was becoming more challenging by the hour.
No Stranger to Scandal Page 5
