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"If you're investigating the Keans, why aren't you more interested in exposing corrupt officers?" I press again. "That should be exactly what you want. Unless you’re protecting them."

His jaw clenches. "I have no interest in protecting Marshall or his minions. But not everything is simple, and the press isn’t privy to everything, especially during an investigation."

“Or you have other motives."

Flynn’s eyes darken dangerously. For a split second, I glimpse something wild and vengeful behind his carefully controlled expression. It makes me step back.

But then his whole demeanor shifts. That dangerous edge melts away as he steps closer, his hand coming up to brush my cheek. "You're too smart for your own good, you know that?"

My breath catches at his touch. Even as doubt clouds my mind, my body responds to his proximity.

"I'm trying to protect you," he murmurs, his thumb tracing my jawline. "The less you know about certain things, the safer you'll be."

"That's not fair," I whisper, but my resolve wavers as he leans in closer.

"Life rarely is." His lips ghost across my temple. "Trust that I have my reasons."

I want to push back, to demand answers, but his gentle touches are scrambling my thoughts. It isn’t just his nearness and potent presence that have me distracted. It’s the shift in his voice, in his gentle touch. He’s protecting me again. Apparently, I’m a sucker for that.

"Flynn…" I start to protest, but my voice lacks conviction.

He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, that dangerous charm of his making my knees weak. "Let me handle the detective angle."

My mind races with conflicting thoughts. Every journalistic instinct screams that he's hiding something massive, something that could blow this whole story wide open. Yet my body betrays me, leaning into his touch.

"You can't just touch me and expect all my questions to disappear," I manage, knowing it will amuse him more than sway him.

His blue eyes hold mine, intense and unreadable. "I don't expect them to disappear. I expect you to trust me."

"Trust works both ways." I place my hand against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath my palm. "You're asking me to ignore major leads, but you won't tell me why."

“I have told you why. It’s dangerous. And the deeper you dig, the more dangerous this gets."

"I'm already in deep." I curl my fingers into his shirt. "I'm not backing down just because things get complicated."

His thumb traces my bottom lip. "That's what worries me."

The heat between us is electric, charged with equal parts desire and irritation. I want to trust him. God help me, I want to believe he's protecting me. But I can't shake the feeling that I'm missing something crucial. The way he reacted to the list of victims of the fire, to the detective's photo, his reluctance to discuss certain aspects of the case… there are too many pieces that don't fit.

My instincts have never led me wrong before. They've helped me break important stories. All of a sudden, I have a new character to add to this one. Flynn Tine. Perhaps it’s time I dig deeper into him.

I’m not a part of your story.

His words come back to me, and with them guilt over wanting to research him. Especially considering how I’ve muddied the water by sleeping with him. It’s all the more reason to resist him. But as he leans in to kiss me again, I don’t push him away.

18

FLINT

I’m an asshole to use seduction to distract Lucy, but I need her to back off. Not that I hadn’t hoped we’d end up in bed again. The strip of condoms in my pocket is proof of that.

What I hadn’t expected was for her research to poleaxe me. She’s observant enough to know it hit me, but I can’t afford to give her the truth. Even now, trying to kiss away reality, the papers scattered across Lucy's table mock me. Names of the dead. My parents. Our staff. Ash’s girl. All reduced to black ink on white paper. And detective Marshall, who once was loyal to my father, fills me with a murderous rage.

“Flynn.” She finally pulls away. “We’re here to work.” She turns back to her papers. "The Ifrinns were just as corrupt as the Keans, weren't they? Makes you wonder if maybe the Keans were justified in?—"

"Stop." The word comes out harsher than intended. I can’t bear to have her lump my family, me, with the Keans. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"But the records show?—"