The Full Story

Somehow or other, she’d succeeded in presenting her absurd idea in such a logical-sounding way that it no longer seemed half as absurd.

When she lapsed into silence, obviously listening to whatever her boss was saying, he desperately wished he could hear both sides of the conversation.

Her expression made him certain that this Eric fellow was not telling her there was absolutely no way. Which was what was supposed to be happening.

Dammit. He felt like kicking himself for not realizing how convincing she could be. Because he sure as hell should have.

After all, at this point she’d convinced him to agree to two of her ridiculous deals.

“I know, Eric,” she said. “You’re perfectly right. I’m not the best candidate. I’m not claiming to be.

“But the critical thing is that I’m the one up here with Dan O’Neill and he trusts me.”

Oh, right. Trust was a definite stretch.

Maybe he believed that Mickey wouldn’t renege on her word. After all, Lydia just didn’t get things like that wrong. But that didn’t mean he entirely trusted the woman.

She was a schemer, a sneak, a blackmailer, a—

“And since I’m the only person he’s willing to take along…” she was saying.

Willing to take along? That was hardly the way he’d put it.

“Yes, I am positive about that. He just doesn’t have much faith in most journalists.”

Finally. Something that was true.

“But the two of us clicked, and…well, he isn’t giving us any real choice.”

When she paused, he found himself holding his breath, waiting for her clincher.

“Either you assign me to the story,” she concluded, “or we don’t get it.”

There was a small silence before she said, “Yes, I really do think I’m up to it. And the prospect of letting it slip through our fingers…we’re talking a hit man trying to kill Billy Brent. We’re talking not only that, which none of our competition even knows about, but exclusive coverage of what happens from here on in.

“Eric, it’ll be a huge story. And only the Post will have it. We’ll scoop both the Chronicle and the Examiner. Hell, we’ll scoop The New York Times!”

Dan could feel his anxiety level rising. Mickey Westover was making him very nervous.

She glanced over and gave him a warm smile. It sent a chill down his spine. The fact she felt like smiling wasn’t good.

The silence stretched until he couldn’t keep himself from whispering, “Is he going for it?”

“Going, going, gone,” she said. “I’m on hold and he’s on his other line, running the idea past the editor in chief for an okay.”

Oh, man. But surely an editor in chief would recognize the insanity of this.

He began willing that to happen.

And then Mickey said, “Eric, that’s great. Please thank Mr. Edwards for me. And I promise I’ll come through, that neither of you will be disappointed.”

THE ONLY AVAILABLE SEATS had been in first class, and since Mickey had never flown anything but economy before that had simply added to her excitement, so much so that she was barely worrying about whether Eric would drop dead from shock when he saw her expense report.

Or about the fact that paying for her ticket had probably put her within two dollars of maxing out her Visa card. Which meant that the car rental people were in for an unpleasant surprise.

Dan had said there was no time to waste returning the Taurus, so they’d driven down to Victoria in his four-by-four and left the car at Billy’s to be picked up. But once it had been retrieved, and someone tried to get authorization for what she owed them…

Well, her MasterCard wasn’t at its limit, so as soon as she had a chance she’d phone and give them that number. Otherwise, her credit rating would be in the tank.

As the plane lifted off, she took another slow, deep breath. It was only for insurance, though. She already felt pretty much back to normal.

There was barely any queasiness left in her stomach, and her intuition was saying that everything would be fine from here on in. Travelwise, at least.

Thus far, however, it had been a banner day in that department.

Of course, things had been even more exciting in the hit man department. But that was something she’d be wiser not to think about. Remembering how hard she’d been shaking, while pointing that gun at the killer, was a lot tougher on her nerves than focusing her thoughts on her travel adventures.

Adventures. She paused on the word, then decided it was the right one.

Driving with Dan, while he’d taken those tight mountain curves at roughly eight hundred miles an hour, had definitely been an adventure. And there wasn’t the slightest doubt that the flight from Victoria to Seattle qualified.

It had been her first time in a seaplane, and she’d quite happily go through the rest of her life without a second one. Their descent had been steep enough to convince her that the pilot was suicidal and intending to drown everyone aboard.

But now that she and Dan were on a nice, safe 757, en route to New York, it would be smooth sailing. Or smooth flying, to be precise.

“Would you like something to drink?” a flight attendant asked.

Dan opted for a beer.

Since the woman was holding an open bottle of champagne, Mickey chose that.

She took a sip, pleased to discover that her stomach was going to handle the bubbles just fine. Then she began wishing that Dan seemed happier about having her along.

Well, more accurately, she wished he didn’t seem downright miserable. And that he liked her. Even a bit.

Things would be far more comfortable if the air between them wasn’t heavy with negative vibes, not a single one of which was coming from her.

After all, how could she possibly feel unkindly toward a man who was letting her in on the scoop of a lifetime? Even if he had done a lot of foot-dragging before agreeing. And aside from helping her get a major career break, he was really sort of cute.

She considered that for a few seconds, aware of how drastically her opinion of his attractiveness had changed since they’d met. Obviously, he was the type of man who grew on people.

Oh, she still wasn’t crazy about his short hair, but that type of thing was easy to fix. And she was sure the coldness in his blue eyes would dissipate if he just began warming up to her.

And that little scar above his upper lip…she’d been wondering exactly how he’d come by it.

Actually, she’d been wondering a lot of things about him. And since most men loved talking about themselves, what better way of warming him up than getting him to do exactly that?

“So,” she said.