Page 18 of Stealthy Seduction
“Sure.”
“Izzy is fine as hell. But I’m sure the man who took her home noticed how attractive she is,” Mason said.
The muscles along Steele’s spine stiffened, and he shot Mason a flat look that was almost a glare.
“She’s getting back into the game. Journalism. And she’s a little nervous,” he clarified, though he had no obligation to explain his actions to anyone.
Every man in the group sobered at his announcement. They might be dickheads, but they were protectors first. Luckily, the teasing ended. For the moment.
They all turned their attention to the monitors. The sound was off, but images of bombed-out buildings and mangled, blackened cars flashed on the screen.
Suddenly, a beautiful woman appeared on the feed, and Steele’s entire body went rigid.
Izzy.
She stood outside what looked like a medical facility, microphone in hand, her warm brown hair pulled back in a professional bun. Even through the silent screen, he could see the composure she wore like armor, the way she held herself with that particular brand of confidence that came from years of facing cameras.
But Steele knew her tells. The almost imperceptible flattening at the corners of her eyes. The way her left hand moved slightly toward the necklace at her throat before she caught herself and let it fall back to her side.
He’d bet anything that her thumb was tucked inside her fist.
“Stop!” His sharp tone cut through whatever Con was saying. “Pause that. Rewind it.”
Con looked over his shoulder at the screen, then back at Steele with raised eyebrows. “Looks like Izzy’s first story broke.”
“Turn the sound on.” Steele leaned forward until he was clinging to the edge of his chair.
Dante’s fingers flew over his keyboard, rewinding the news feed and cranking up the volume. Izzy’s voice filled the room, professional and smooth.
“—generous donation has allowed Dr. Samuel Webb to expand his services to the city’s most vulnerable populations. The anonymous benefactor, working through Hartwell and Associates, has provided funding that will keep the clinic operational for the next five years.”
The camera panned to show the new medical facility behind her, then cut back to Izzy’s composed face.
“This is Callie Northwood, Channel 7 News.”
The feed moved on to the next story, but Steele’s blood had turned to ice water in his veins.
Anonymous donor. Hartwell and Associates. The same nervous tells he’d watched her try to hide.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.
“What?” Chase leaned forward, eyes alight. “Steele, what is it?”
Steele’s mind was racing, connecting dots he wished he couldn’t see. “She told me she was working on a fluff piece about a charity. Said it was nothing important, just getting back into the swing of things.”
The room went deadly quiet.
“But she reached out to Alyssa yesterday,” Steele continued, his voice getting harder with each word. “She said she needed girl time. I think she reached out because she’s scared.”
Con’s expression shifted from casual interest to full alert. “Dante, find out everything you can on that doctor.”
His teammate’s fingers moved over the keys. The room throbbed with thick anticipation. Steele flipped over the phone and read Izzy’s last text, simple banter that didn’t point to her discomposure about doing the piece on the charity.
“Something’s off,” he muttered almost to himself.
Dante nodded. “Steele’s right.”
He felt the air sucked out of the room. Out of him.
