No Stranger to Scandal. Rachel Bailey
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never lead him astray, and his gut told him that Lucy Royall’s stepfather was as guilty as they came. It was up to him to prove it.
He held the door open for her then watched her walk down the hall, her hips subtly swaying. Beauty and a glorious accent had covered surprising strength and determination in his interviewee—and had caught him off guard.
Luckily, he was even more determined.
Next time he met Lucy Royall, he’d be ready for her.
Two
Lucy quietly slipped through the door to her stepfather’s office—his secretary had told her he was on the phone but to go through anyway. Graham nodded when he saw her, then barked more orders at whoever was on the other end of the line.
Used to being in the background while he worked, Lucy took the chance to look through his top-floor window at the panoramic view of D.C. She loved this city. She’d moved here from Charlotte, North Carolina, when she was twelve and her mother had married Graham. The town—and Graham—had been good to her.
From a basket under the desk, Rosebud, his bulldog, lifted her head and, recognizing Lucy, lumbered out to greet her. Lucy dropped her bag beside the chair and crouched down to rub the dog’s velvety, wrinkled face.
“How’s it going, Rosie?” she whispered and was rewarded with a wide doggie smile, complete with a pink tongue almost curled back on itself.
With a final terse comment, Graham ended the call and crossed the room.
“Lucy!” he boomed and held out his arms. She stood and leaned into his bear hug, letting go of all her worries for a few precious seconds. He was the one person she could always count on. Her only family.
“Hang on,” he said, pulling back. “I’ve got something here for you.”
She couldn’t help the smile at the familiar words. “You didn’t have to.”
“Of course I did.” And she knew he was right—it was the way he showed love. In the same way he was her only family, she was all Graham had. They made an odd couple in some ways, but their unusual little family worked for them.
He opened a door in the sleek cabinets that lined one wall and pulled out a deep blue velvet box. He handed it to her, his grin proud. She opened the lid and took out an exquisite crystal bulldog the size of her palm.
“It’s Rosebud.” At the sound of her name, the real Rosebud thumped her curly tail on the carpet. “Thank you,” Lucy said and kissed Graham’s cheek.
Graham smiled with his heart in his eyes, as he always did in these moments, then he cleared his throat and strode back to his desk. He’d never been particularly comfortable with emotions, so the moments, although heartfelt, were always short. “Tell me how the interview with Black went.”
She sank into an upholstered armchair in front of Graham’s heavy desk. “Shorter than I expected.” She’d puzzled over that on the cab ride back. “He only asked a few questions, really.”
He flicked his wrist dismissively. “That means he was just taking your temperature. There will be more.”
“He said he’d be in touch when he needed to speak to me again.” Remembering Hayden’s words—and his deep voice saying them—sent a shiver across her skin. If she wasn’t careful, she’d develop a crush on the investigator, which would be bad on more levels than she could count. But, oh, that man had been delicious. So tall and broad, with a dark, brooding demeanor to accompany his looks. Even his hands had fascinated her—he’d flicked his pen over and under his fingers as he’d considered a point and she’d been mesmerized. They were long fingers with blunt ends, dexterous, lightly tanned. Instead of paying attention to the questions, for one sublime, stolen moment she had imagined his palm cupping the side of her face, those fingers stroking her cheek.
Graham leaned back in his chair and laced his own fingers behind his head, bringing her attention back to the present. And to the gravity of the issue on the table.
“Our biggest risk here,” he said, eyes narrowed and aimed at a point on the wall, “is that someone with an ax to grind will falsify testimony. Feed Black lies and say they saw something.” He glanced back to her. “Did you get a sense from him that he’s got anything like that?”
“He played his cards close to his chest. But one thing was obvious,” she said gently, as if she could soften the blow. “He thinks you’re guilty.”
Graham swore under his breath. “I refuse to sit back and wait for an investigator who’s not objective to ‘find’ evidence to support his theory. We need to expose Black before he does too much damage.”
She tilted her head to the side. “What do you have in mind?”
“I want you to start your own investigation,” he said in his trademark firecracker rhythm. “I’m taking you off all other duties. You’ll run this on your own. No word to anyone else. You’re the only one I can trust one hundred percent not to stab me in the back for the notoriety, or whatever-the-hell reason people frame other people for.”
None of it was a question, but he was waiting for her response. She reached over and clasped one of his cold hands between hers. “I’ll start right away.”
“You’re a good girl.” He patted her hands, then released them. “Congress will have vetted him for the job, dug into his past, but we’re better. Find the skeletons in his closet and bring them out to play. We’ll air an exposé as soon as you have enough.”
Her insides fluttered. This wasn’t a style of journalism that she liked or particularly wanted to be involved in. And Hayden Black being the target made her even less comfortable. She shifted in her chair. The discomfort could have been a result of the stirrings of attraction, but she still didn’t like the idea of targeting him.
Then she remembered his closed-off expression when she’d left his suite less than an hour ago—he was going after Graham, already convinced of his guilt. Doing an exposé might leave a bad taste in her mouth, but Hayden Black’s own actions made it necessary. Besides, if he had no skeletons hidden away, there’d be nothing to find.
She nodded, decision made. “You can’t have me on air with this. Everyone knows I’m your stepdaughter. We’ll need someone with a good reputation and a bit more distance from you.”
“We’ll worry about that when we have the content ready to go. You do the research, get the story, and I’ll bring someone in to host then.”
Her mind clicked over into journalist mode and she took out a notebook from her hold-all bag. “Who’s our source at the Sterling Hotel?”
Graham picked up the phone on his desk, dialed, barked an order, then after he had his information, disconnected and looked at Lucy again. “Concierge named Jerry Freethy.”
“Okay.” She dropped the notebook back in her bag and stood. “I’ll keep you up to date.” She blew Rosebud an air kiss and headed for the door.
“Lucy,” Graham said gruffly, and she turned. “Thank you.”
Emotion clogged her throat but she found her voice. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got your back, Graham.”
The next day, at half past one, Lucy saw her target. The concierge had told her Hayden Black liked to take a walk in the park across from the Sterling Hotel with his son on his lunch break, but that the time of the break varied. So Lucy and Rosebud had been wandering the park since just after eleven. Rosebud was panting from the exertion, but thoroughly enjoying her day out meeting random people who stopped to pat her.
Hayden was striding along a paved path about twenty feet away, talking to an infant he carried in one arm, holding a brown paper bag in the other. The sight of him trapped her breath in her lungs. Wide, strong shoulders that tapered to narrow hips. Long legs that walked with confidence and purpose. The masculine grace in the way he held his son.