The Full Story

She remained where she was, giving O’Neill plenty of time to go back to whatever he’d been doing. When she figured he had, she took a deep breath, then dashed for the building and plastered herself against its front wall.

So far so good. That just left making her way around the perimeter and peering through windows until she spotted Billy.

He could hardly refuse to talk to her once she had him in her sights. At least she hoped he couldn’t.

She started forward, but had only taken half a dozen steps before the silence was broken.

Her cell phone was ringing!

Frantically, she put the laptop and camera bag on the ground, then opened her purse and dug out the phone. Just as she was about to press the answer button so the stupid thing would shut up, O’Neill said, “Haven’t we met before?”

Dammit to hell.

She turned toward the front door.

He was standing on the porch with his gun aimed at her once more.

CHAPTER TWO

MICKEY GAZED at Dan O’Neill and his gun, trying to think of something brilliant—or at least semi-intelligent—to say.

Before she could, he said, “Go ahead and answer your phone. I’ll put my decision about whether to shoot you on hold.”

She gave him a look to say she didn’t find him even remotely amusing. Then, telling herself that in future she should think twice about sneaking into someplace where she knew an armed man was lurking, she pressed the phone’s answer button and said, “Mickey Westover.”

“Hi, it’s Eric.”

Terrific. Her boss. Who, an instant from now, would be asking how things were going.

“Hi,” she said, trying to sound surprised but unperturbed. “What’s up?”

“Oh, just calling to make sure you’ve connected with Billy Brent.”

She glanced at Dan and felt a twinge of relief when she saw that he’d tucked the gun away, even though she was pretty sure he hadn’t really been thinking about shooting her.

“We’ve almost connected,” she told Eric. “I’m at his place and he’s expected any minute now.”

“But you haven’t actually seen him.”

“No, he was out when I got here.”

“You did make a firm appointment, though.”

“Yes. Of course.”

When Eric didn’t immediately reply, she couldn’t stop her gaze from returning to Dan.

He rolled his eyes; she assumed it was the “expected any minute now” that he’d found a bit much.

As she pointedly turned her back on him, Eric said, “Mickey, I’m afraid this interview with Brent might have gone south.”

“Pardon me?”

“Someone just told me that he’s making an appearance on the Sherry Sherman Show tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Apparently, she announced it this morning. And if he intends to be in New York for that, he’s probably already on his way.”

Oh, rats. Surely Eric’s someone had misinformed him. Surely she hadn’t missed the interview boat.

She turned toward Dan once more, gracing him with a grade A glare as she said, “Mr. Brent’s associate assured me that he’d be here shortly. So let me just go check with him and I’ll call you back, okay?”

“Okay. But make it fast.”

“As fast as I can.”

She clicked off, then said, “You’re certain he’ll be here tonight?”

“Uh-huh. Why?”

The man was lying to her again. Billy wasn’t going to be here anytime in the near future.

He was en route to the Big Apple. And when she ended up home in San Francisco with no interview, she’d be so far into Eric’s bad books that she’d never get out.

If the Post couldn’t even count on her to file a story as mindless as this one, the next thing she knew she’d be kicked off Arts and Entertainment and assigned to writing obits. Assuming she still had a job at all.

But regardless of that, she wasn’t about to let Mr. Dan O’Neill think he was getting away with something.

“You’re absolutely positive,” she said to him, “that Mr. Brent couldn’t be…oh, maybe on his way to New York?”

Dan suddenly didn’t look quite so self-assured, which made her feel a little better. Why should she be the only one who wasn’t entirely happy?

“Oh his way to New York?” he repeated. “What would give you an idea like that?”

She watched his annoyance level rising while she made him wait before summarizing what Eric had told her.

“The Sherry Sherman Show,” he said when she was done.

“Right. Tomorrow morning’s Sherry Sherman Show. Which airs live on NBS at nine o’clock. Eastern time. So if you’re seriously expecting him to show up here late tonight…well, the timing hardly works, does it?”

After eyeing her uneasily for a moment, Dan said, “You wait right where you are. Don’t move an inch,” he added, heading for the house. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

DAN MARCHED INSIDE, telling himself that, regardless of what Mickey’s boss had heard, Billy would not be appearing on any talk show in the morning. He’d be staying exactly where he was, holed up with Ken Heath in that sleepy little New England town they sometimes used on this sort of job.

Reaching the kitchen, he paused to scan the wall of surveillance monitors.

The retreat might have a rustic exterior, but its interior was filled with just about every modern luxury that had been invented—including state-of-the-art electronics. Cameras blanketed the entire area within a hundred yards of the house, and at the moment there was no movement out there.