Page 14 of Exposé

"Yeah, but it would have taken more time." My chest constricted as her name brought up our short tumble down the cliff side, leaving me in the hospital with two broken legs and a fractured occipital bone. "Because of that, I was able tostop an attack on US soil, possibly preventing another Timothy McVeigh."

"Well, be that as it may, you are creating a track record…and it's not a good one."

"Next time, I'll let him drive away and burn everyone in the continental US then."

His eyes flared. "Sarcasm doesn't look good on you, Nate." He rubbed the space between his eyes as he sighed. "You've got great potential, which is why I took a chance on you."

"And I appreciate that, Keith. I'm doing my best to keep us all from waking up the next morning without our shit plastered across the evening news."

"I get that, which is why I think you coming in might be perfect timing. This next assignment is right up your alley."

I laughed. "You're giving me whiplash here." My head moved in a subtle shake. "I'm getting a new mark? I thought you were benching me?"

He let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. "Nate, you're too talented to waste away as a desk jockey." He adjusted his tie. "So, in order to keep you from wasting your talent, I'm putting you on this." Tossing me the manila folder, it slid across his desk. "Besides, I didn't know who else to put on it."

I raised an eyebrow as I caught it and opened the flap. "And what is it?" My eyes narrowed at the picture of a woman with pin-straight chestnut hair, green eyes, and full lips fixed into a small, determined smile.

"Ava Thatcher. Twenty-five years old, graduated with a bachelor’s degree at Columbia." He paused as I flipped the page, following along. "She majored in Investigative Journalism and minored in Political Science. From there, she went to UC Berkeley to finish out her degree in Digital Journalism and Ethics."

"Okay, so she's a smart cookie…"

"Not just any." He clicked on his mouse and turned his swiveling computer screen towards me. "SIGINT came through yesterday on Acadia, the watcher program we have sifting through the internet, and it picked up key phrases coming from Riverfield Chronicles, the newspaper she works for."

"Alright..." My brows bunched as I glanced up at him. "And what was she looking for?"

"NeuraZene."

The new drug case?

"How did she hear about that?"

"She's been poking around in places she shouldn’t be."

"And what do you want me to do? It's not like being nosy is illegal." I glanced back at her photo, my dick stirring.

"Recon. Get close. I want to know everything she does. I want to know her angle and why she requested a FOIA two days ago."

"Journalists make Freedom of Information requests all the time. Besides, shouldn't the ATF or some other three-letter agency handle this one?"

My gaze flicked over a small beauty mark nestled in the smile line on her right cheek, her dark silky hair blowing across her face as she walked down the street, and the bangles around her wrist glinting in the sun.

She's stunning.

He ran his hand down his trimmed beard. "Not quite. I want the best and brightest on this one."

So your ass is on the line...

"Alright, so you want me to get to know her? What's my cover story?"

He pushed a button on his phone. "Judy, send Callie in with her files." His finger fell off the button as he glanced at me. "We're giving you an established profile. She—"

Knock, knock.

"Come in."

The door cracked open, and Callie stepped inside, her outspoken demeanor shifting to meek as she hugged the files in her arms. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Have a seat. We're going over the Thatcher case."

---