Page 17 of The Illusion of Power (Passion and Politics #1)

Today, I’m impatient and running on little sleep.

Today, I’m fed up with assholes who think they can do whatever they want and get away with it.

Today, I’m coming to grips with the fact that my partner is emotionally invested in the woman whose well-being we’ve been entrusted with, which means I don’t just have to protect Selene, I have to protect Cal, too.

“Did you hear what I said?” The man asks as I release him, pushing him through the kitchen door. For a second, everything in the busy kitchen stops, and everyone looks at us, watching our impromptu processional to the administrative office with vivid interest.

“Your press pass won’t save you,” I mutter, herding the man into the office with Cal hot on my heels, still swiping through the man’s phone.

I know he’s made it through the photos and videos by now, moving on to the man’s messages and call logs, gathering any pertinent information for the report we’ll have to file and submit to Hicks.

I roll my eyes just thinking about the flak we’ll get for bringing yet another incident to his attention. I’m sure he’ll treat this one with even less urgency than the first.

“What’s your name?”

The man opens his mouth, probably preparing to spout off some line about not having to tell me anything, but Cal beats him to the punch.

“His name’s Franklin Landry. He’s a reporter for The Daily, and according to this text from his ex-wife, he’s supposed to have his son tonight, but he flaked at the last minute to grace us with his presence. ”

Franklin pulls at the lapels of his ugly ass blazer and frowns. “I had to work. My son understands.”

“I don’t know, Frank. He looks pretty upset to me,” Cal says, turning the phone towards us. On the screen is a photo of a little boy who has the misfortune of looking like his father. There are tears streaming down his face and bubbles of snot coming out of his nose.

Franklin lunges for Cal, and I stop him with a hand on his chest. “Don’t.”

“Those messages are private!”

“So is the dinner the Taylors are having,” I tell him, forcing him down into the rolling chair behind the desk. “How did you know they were going to be here?”

“And how did you get a reservation?” Cal adds, setting Franklin’s phone on the desk and planting his palms on either side of it.

Franklin runs a hand through his hair. “I got a tip, and the reservation wasn’t hard to come by. The owner owes me a favor.”

“A tip from who?” I cross my arms, not liking the sound of someone giving up Selene and Aubrey’s location.

Information like that is a precious commodity, which means someone is always looking to buy and sell it.

Obviously, Franklin is the buyer in this scenario, and I want to put hands on the seller.

“I can’t reveal my sources.”

I look at Cal, silently asking how he wants to play this. He shakes his head, and despite my frustration, I agree with his choice. We both know we can’t legally compel him to give us answers, and we don’t have the time or privacy necessary to do it any other way.

“Fine, then you’ve left us with no choice but to arrest you for harassment.”

Franklin’s jaw drops. “What?! You can’t do that. Harassment is a misdemeanor at best, and you’re only authorized to make felony arrests.”

“You’re right, but we have you scheming your way into this restaurant and violating the phone-free clause in the reservation contract for the sole purpose of recording the Taylors without their permission,” Cal tells him.

“Add in the disparaging comments you’ve made about Mrs. Taylor in your paper?—”

“I’ve only ever written the truth,” Franklin cuts in, crossing his arms. “I can’t help it if it’s not always flattering.”

I wave a hand, dismissing his bullshit excuses. “It doesn’t help that Mrs. Taylor is the primary focus of most of your shots. Remind me, Agent Drake, does the targeted victim being a Black woman help or hurt Franklin’s case?”

Cal smiles, the lines of his face turning into harsh angles that are sharp enough to cut through bone.

“Oh, it definitely hurts his case, Agent Beckham. See, Mrs. Taylor being Black and a woman means she falls into two of the seven groups of protected characteristics. That intersectionality is really fucking you up, Frank, because it’s what takes your harassment charge from a misdemeanor to a felony. ”

Franklin turns pale, and I know we’ve got him.

He pushes out a harsh breath through his nose, and I wait for an answer that gets delayed when the door swings open behind us and Agent Harris steps inside.

Harris is a tall, balding white man in his mid-thirties who tries to stay neutral when it comes to our fucked up team dynamics.

I don’t like or dislike him, and I get the sense he feels the same way about Cal and me.

That indifference is in his eyes when they pass over the scene in front of him. “Mr. Taylor would like a word,” he says eventually, stepping back to make room for Aubrey crossing the threshold.

Harris leaves the office, and the door snaps closed behind him while Aubrey moves around Cal and me to stand next to Franklin. His hands are tucked into his pockets, and his lips are pressed into a flat line.

“What’s going on?” he asks, looking between the three of us.

Cal straightens. “We caught this man taking photos and videos of you and Mrs. Taylor. Apparently, he’s a member of the press.”

“We’re trying to figure out how he knew you would be here,” I add, turning back to Franklin. “Who’s your source?”

Every ounce of cooperative energy the reporter previously possessed has left him. He’s not even looking at us anymore. All of his attention is on Aubrey, and I can see the desire to seize the opportunity in front of him brimming in his eyes.

I snap my fingers in front of his face. “Don’t even think about it. Mr. Taylor is not here to answer your questions. You’re here to answer mine.”

Aubrey frowns. “Is that tone really necessary, agent?”

Cal balks, and I step in front of him, placing myself between him and Aubrey despite being annoyed myself. The last thing I need right now is someone else telling me how to do my job.

“We’re trying to determine if there’s a leak in your camp, Mr. Taylor.”

“And I appreciate that, but there’s no need to mistreat a revered member of the press.” He edges around me to lean on the desk in front of Franklin, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry about all of this, Mr…”

“Landry,” Franklin provides, flicking a smug gaze to Cal and me.

“Mr. Landry.” Aubrey smiles, clapping his shoulder again. “Please accept my sincerest apologies for these overzealous agents.”

“ Overzealous ?” My voice is rough with disbelief. “We were doing our jobs, Mr. Taylor.”

Aubrey spares me a single glance over his shoulder. “With unnecessary force,” he says. “I’ll be sure to report this to your supervisor.”

The statement is directed at me, but I know it’s for Franklin’s benefit. Aubrey is hoping to buy some goodwill with the reporter by making a common enemy out of us.

“Make sure you let him know that they also took my phone and went through my personal messages and photos,” Franklin adds, practically preening under Aubrey’s attention.

“That’s completely unacceptable.” Aubrey reaches back, holding his hand out. “Give me his phone.”

Cal is vibrating with anger, so instead of handing the phone to Aubrey, he shoves it across the desk. It hits Aubrey in the hip, but Franklin is the one who scoops it up. His eyes are alight with opportunity as he opens a recording app.

It’s almost laughable how quickly it happens.

Aubrey’s shock and Franklin’s intense focus as he peppers him with question after question.

Some of them come out so fast, I can’t even catch them.

Aubrey stands, shaking his head and laughing in a way that suggests he doesn’t think any of this is funny at all.

Franklin follows suit, and Cal and I both take a step back, satisfied to let this nightmare play out for just a bit, even though we both know we won’t let him lay a finger on Aubrey.

“Mr. Taylor, what does your wife think of Sutton Ellsworth still being on your campaign’s payroll?” Shock colors Aubrey’s features, but Franklin is relentless, saving the best question for last. “Does Selene know Sutton wrote the moving speech she delivered at Children’s National Hospital?”

A heavy silence falls over the room, and it’s not Aubrey who breaks it.

No, the voice that fills the space, breaking our bubble of perceived privacy, is softer.

We all turn to find Selene standing in the doorway in the gorgeous fucking dress that will now always be associated with this night, with this embarrassment, with this pain, her mouth agape as she sputters,

“I’m sorry, what ?”