Page 60 of Boardroom Mask

Doug frowns. “You literally texted me about this. You wanted to go directly to Kir Lazarev.”

“I know what I texted.”

“So what changed?”

What changed.Excellent question.Well, Doug, the man who was sent to kill me for investigating this story has been climbing through my bedroom window every night and screwing me into various household surfaces, so I’d rather not accelerate the timeline on the part where his employers find out I’m still digging for dirt. That’s what changed.

Obviously, I don’t say any of that.

“I just think, if I tip them off too early, they’ll lawyer up and lock everything down,” I say instead. “Right now, they don’t know how much I have. The second I call their office and start asking about Elena Lazareva, that advantage disappears. They’ll circle the wagons, scrub whatever they can scrub, and I’ll be trying to build a story against a legal team with unlimited resources.”

Doug’s jowls quiver as he frowns.

“There’s also the Ochoa problem,” I add. “If they already made one person disappear for talking, what do you think happenswhen aTimesreporter calls and starts asking the same questions he was asking?”

He scoffs. “You think they’d come after a journalist? That’s a different ballgame.”

“I think people who bury bodies in Astoria don’t make a whole lot of distinctions about who’s off-limits, Doug.”

He holds up a hand. “I hear you. I do. But you’re running out of runway, Jill.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he barrels right over me.

“And here’s the other thing. Brace yourself.” He takes a long sip of coffee. “I know I threatened you with the Bartlett thing, but he actually beat me to the punch. Word has it he’s been sniffing around independently. He hasn’t made the Lazarev connection. Not yet, at least. But he’s curious about the Astoria construction site. Work has been halted there for weeks now and nobody’s saying why. He’s asking questions and if he keeps it up, they’re bound to lead somewhere. He doesn’t know what he’s looking at yet, but he’s not stupid.”

I blanch white. “You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

He does not look like he’s kidding. He looks like a man with cream cheese in his mustache who is delivering very bad news with zero sugar-coating.

“If Bartlett backs into this story from the construction angle, it’s his,” Doug says emotionlessly. “That’s how it works. First person to file owns it. And he’s not going to sit on it the way you’ve been sitting on it.”

“I haven’t beensittingon it!” I protest. “I’ve been?—”

“Doesn’t matter, don’t care.” He waves his hand to silence me again. “You want to do your job well, which is very noble. But noble doesn’t get your byline on page one.Movementdoes. I need to see you do something today that isn’t staring at Delaware incorporation documents like you’ll find a murder confession written between the lines.”

I chew the inside of my cheek. As much as I hate it, he’s right.

“Go to Lazarev Global,” he reiterates. “This afternoon. Walk in the front door, ask for a meeting with whoever handles press, and start asking questions. You don’t have to tip your whole hand. Just enough to get a reaction.”

Glumly, I ask, “And if they stonewall me?”

“Then at least you tried, and I can tell the head honchos upstairs we’re actively reporting this thing. That’ll keep it in your court.”

I let out a long breath through my nose. The thought of walking into the Lazarev building makes my skin prickle. Not because of Lukas or Kir or whatever PR flack they’ll sic on me, but because somewhere out there is a man in a mask who was sent by those people to put me in the ground, and showing up at their front door is basically waving a flag that says,Hey, your hitman failed, want to try again?

But Doug isn’t wrong. Bartlett is a bloodhound. If he catches the scent, I’ll lose the whole thing.

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll go this afternoon.”

“That’s my girl.”

I shiver from head to toe as yet another sex flashback wracks me from within. “Please never call me that again,” I mutter.

He snorts, salutes with his bagel, and walks away, leaving me with my thighs pressed together and a very bad feeling about how this afternoon is going to go.

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