CHAPTER SIX

      TRACE FROZE AND immediately glowered when he saw Delainey chatting up his boss, Peter, and knew right away that she was there to cause trouble. Peter caught sight of him and motioned him into the office, which he was tempted to blatantly ignore but chose instead to meet the situation head-on. Whatever Delainey had up her sleeve he could handle. She couldn’t force him to participate in her stupid show, and he felt fairly confident that Peter couldn’t make him either without facing some serious legal ramifications.

      “Trace, come here a minute,” Peter said, smiling from ear to ear. “I’ve been chatting with your friend—”

      “She’s not my friend,” Trace corrected him, shooting Delainey a dark look for telling his boss anything to the contrary. “And whatever she’s selling, I’m not interested in buying.”

      “Careful, Trace, you might come off as unlikeable,” Peter said, a tad nervously, and Trace’s senses went on full alert. Something wasn’t right. Peter was practically simpering—not an attractive look on a man closing in on his sixties—and Delainey looked like the Cheshire cat. “Delainey has presented us with an amazing opportunity, and I think we owe it to the department to listen to her offer.”

      “I already know her offer, and trust me, it comes with hidden strings attached. Besides, I’m not interested and without me, there’s no show. Right?” He looked to Delainey for confirmation. She nodded but cast a confident stare Peter’s way as if to reassure him—and that made Trace nervous.

      “Imagine the publicity,” Peter started, and Trace waved away his protests.

      “Exactly what I don’t want. It was bad enough talking with the reporters. I sure as hell don’t want a bunch of cameras in my face 24/7. No one wants to watch me do my job. I can’t imagine how that would make for good television, and I would question anyone who thought otherwise.”

      “Delainey seems to think differently and I think we ought to listen to her judgment. She wouldn’t come all the way to Alaska on a harebrained idea, right?” He looked to Delainey to boost his argument, which she was only too happy to do.

      “Absolutely, Peter. Although Trace doesn’t seem to appreciate his own value, my boss is positively drooling to get him on paper. And of course, we’re happy to make it worth the department’s while for the inconvenience.”

      “I told you my answer is no, and I don’t care how you pretty it up.”

      “Trace, you’re being shortsighted,” Peter said, trying to assert some authority. “Think of the department.”

      “I am. Don’t you realize she’s not interested in true stories but fake drama? Producers like her do everything they can to ramp up the tension and the excitement with creative editing. We could end up looking like idiots.”

      “I would never do that,” Delainey assured Peter. “We want to accurately portray the hardworking men and women of the Search and Rescue. I feel this is an opportunity to highlight a career choice that not many are aware of. Think of all the positive feedback this project could create.”

      “We don’t suffer from an image problem,” Trace said, crossing his arms and standing his ground. “We do our job quietly and efficiently—we don’t need cameras documenting our every move.”

      “Trace, I can’t believe you are so naive,” she said, shocking him. “The squeaky wheel gets the grease and your wheel has been moving so soundlessly, the powers that be have completely forgotten why you’re important. Budget cuts are everywhere—even in Hollywood—and I can’t imagine a program being so flush that they couldn’t use a bump.”

      “We haven’t been flush in years,” Peter grumbled. “Everyone’s been instructed to tighten their belts and we’ve had a hiring freeze for three years.”

      “See?” Delainey said, smiling. “Stop being so stubborn. It’s a month of your life and then we’re out of your hair.”

      “I said no.”

      Delainey sighed as if Trace were being deliberately difficult, and Peter’s mouth had firmed to a tight, agitated line.

      “We all have to do things for the greater good sometimes,” Peter said gruffly. “Even you, Trace Sinclair.”

      “Of course, as the star of the show, you’d receive a salary—”

      “I’m not interested in your money,” he ground out.

      “Then donate your salary to a worthwhile charity,” Delainey continued, unfazed. “Because this is happening.”

      “Oh? And why is that?”

      She smiled and he held her stare, wondering what her ace was. She was too confident, too unruffled. And Peter was nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room filled with rockers. Something didn’t feel right. He narrowed his gaze at them both, finally coming to rest on Delainey. “You’ve greased the wheels to ensure your success. What’d you offer him?” he asked, going straight to the point.

      She didn’t pretend to misunderstand and answered without a hint of guilt. “Money for a program that’s been on the chopping block...something you care about.”

      Trace swore under his breath, glaring at Peter and feeling betrayed. “You promised me that you’d give me time to try and figure something out.”

      “Trace, be reasonable. The Junior Search and Rescue program is expensive and the liability is too high right now to take on when the entire department is facing brutal cuts. It was either the junior program or an employee. Times are hard and the state is strapped,” Peter said, lifting his shoulders in a helpless gesture.

      Damn bureaucrat. He narrowed his gaze at Delainey. “How much money did you offer?”

      “Enough to keep the program funded for the next year as well as some equipment donations—provided you agree to sign on the dotted line. Like you said, without you, there’s no show. The head of the network wants you and he’ll accept no substitute.”

      Manipulative little she-devil. She’d hog-tied him without so much as breaking a sweat. He smiled thinly. “You sewed that right up, didn’t you? Nice and tidy with a little bow, too.”

      “A girl’s gotta eat,” she answered with a smile. “I’m just doing my job.”

      “Everything’s about the job, isn’t it?” he asked, punching below the belt, but he didn’t care. She deserved it.

      Delainey ignored his jab and offered her hand. “Is it a deal?”

      He stared at her outstretched hand and fought the urge to slap it away. The idea of touching her, particularly to strike a