Page 1 of Undercover Savior

1

SULLIVAN

There was a chance I’d win a Pulitzer for the story I’d been working on for the last six months, but I didn’t care about that. Exposing Eric Weber as theboggen minger—foul-smelling scumbag—he was, motivated me far more than accolades ever would.

Tomorrow, the Edinburgh offices of the Crown Herald News Agency, the UK’s most trusted investigative news organization and my employer, would lock up for the holidays for all but late-breaking news stories. Which meant I’d no longer have access to some of the more secure servers I relied on for my research, at least until after the beginning of the new year.

I’d make do, of course, since the current story I was working on required me to find and cultivate my own sources—ones I had no intention of revealing, let alone sharing, even within my department.

Given I’d spent the day attempting to come up with every conceivable thing I might need to use the classified servers to find, my desk, that my editor typically referred to as a “muddle of epic proportions,” was worse than usual.

Scraps of paper where I’d jotted down random thoughts to follow up on were buried under days-old cups containing no-longer-discernible beverages. That I didn’t give a fuck was only one reason my colleagues, which was far too nice a word to call them, avoided my corner of the office. Actually, my untidiness was what had landed me at the desk shoved off in a windowless alcove.

That, along with my tenacity, had earned me the nickname bulldog. I was more often called Bully than Sully—short for my first name, Sullivan—not that the two rhymed. It was meant to be insulting, but I considered it high praise.

“Rivers, my office, now,” barked Clive Edwards, executive editor of investigations, as well as a former recipient of the prestigious Pulitzer. He was also my mother’s brother. Before I was hired for my current position, he’d made the importance of us concealing our relationship clear.

Given he headed up the investigations team, I doubted we’d be successful in keeping the secret for very long. That my coworkers still hadn’t figured out I was related to the boss spoke volumes about the caliber of reporters most of them were.

Had they discovered the truth, they wouldn’t have been able to cry nepotism at my rapid climb within the department; it certainly hadn’t been because of my uncle. He wasn’t responsible for my getting the job, in the first place, nor did he cut me any slack. I’d gotten where I was by being the bulldog I’d come to be known as.

“Yes, sir,” I muttered at his command, digging around for a notepad and pen, and racing into his office before the door shut in my face.

“Where are you with the Tower-Meridian investigation?”

“Getting close, sir.”

He raised a brow. “That’s hardly an answer, and you know it.” He leaned back in his chair and looked out at the view ofEdinburgh Castle afforded by his corner office. “I received a message from the higher-ups.”

My eyes scrunched as I processed what such a statement could mean. “Regarding?”

“They’re pulling the plug on the story.”

My eyes practically bulged out of my head. I’d dedicated the last several months of my life to this investigation to the exclusion of nearly everything else. I couldn’t fathom being forced to quit now when I truly was close. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am. The new editor in chief, Fallon Wallace, is taking a close look at each department’s budget and making significant cuts. We won’t be able to fund the kind of expenses we have in the past.”

“Understood. I’ll rein in expenditures.”

He turned his chair to face me. “That isn’t all.”

“Go on.”

“The news agency has received threats.”

I raised a brow. “Can you be more specific?”

“We kill the story, or you suffer the same fate.”

“Someone wants me dead?” If there were ever a threat that would achieve the exact opposite response than intended, it was this. It nearly made me giddy. “I’m closer than I thought,” I said under my breath.

“This is no laughing matter, Sullivan.”

“Look, what kind of investigative journalist would I be if a death threat deterred me?”

“A living one. Your mother made me promise?—”

“Please don’t,” I whispered. I’d spent my entire life defending my inquisitive nature to my mum, starting as far back as I could remember.

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