LITMIR.BIZ

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it be a computer glitch?”

      “Not likely. Probably the depositor did, in fact, type or write in your name and account number. Bank systems double-check such things to see that they match.”

      That was what she was afraid of. “Okay, then, what can you tell me about Griffin Benedict? I need to get this guy off my case.”

      Mitch grinned. “Now, that I can help with. But honestly, who would believe that you’re engaged in criminal behavior? You’re as straight as they come. I bet if I checked, I would find you’ve never even had a parking ticket. Hell, you probably are never late returning a library book.”

      He was absolutely right. Raleigh had high respect for the law. Her classmates in school had called her a Goody Two-shoes, but she couldn’t help it. She liked rules. They made her comfortable. She’d been a rule-follower all her life.

      “That’s what makes this story so irresistible,” she said, suddenly realizing the obvious. “Some sleazebag takes a bribe, no biggie. But an upright lawyer crusades for justice, then does something wildly immoral and illegal—that makes for good copy. Like a televangelist getting caught with a hooker.”

      Mitch looked thoughtful. “Griffin Benedict isn’t known for taking cheap shots. His stories are well researched and are usually newsworthy. Picking on you seems a tad sensational for his style.”

      “You sound as if you like him.”

      “I never met him, but I read his stories.”

      “So, has he ever been sued for libel, or invasion of privacy? Does he cheat on his wife or his income taxes? Does he pad his expense report? I need something I can use to at least level the playing field.”

      “I’ll try to have something for you by tomorrow.”

      GRIFFIN EYED the caller ID on his desk phone at work and lunged for the receiver, his heart pounding. This could be it.

      “Griffin Benedict.”

      “Griffin, this is Pierce Fontaine at CNI. How are you today?”

      Would the man sound so cheerful if he was about to deliver bad news? “I’m great, how about yourself?” Griffin wanted to bite his tongue. He’d sounded too folksy, too…Southern. He had to garner a wide appeal if he wanted to succeed as a national TV journalist on Currents, the most watched news magazine on the planet.

      “I wanted to let you know that we haven’t yet reached a hiring decision,” Pierce said. “I know you’ve been waiting a long time, but the brass—you know what sticklers upper management can be about these things.”

      “Is something in particular stopping them from giving the green light?” Griffin asked. If he knew what the problem was, maybe he could fix it.

      “Well, the most obvious tick in the minus column is your lack of TV experience. Granted, you did amazingly well when we put you on camera, and test audiences love you. But you weren’t under real-time deadline pressures.”

      Griffin knew that wouldn’t be a problem. He thrived on deadlines. But the network wouldn’t simply take his word. They would want proof.

      “Then there’s your…how do I say this? The bachelor thing.”

      Griffin half laughed, half groaned. “I had nothing to do with that article. Came as a complete shock to me.”

      “Still, you do have a certain reputation with the ladies. Currents is a show that deals with serious issues. It’s important we avoid any hint of scandal.”

      “I can assure you, my private life won’t interfere with my work.” He hadn’t imagined his appeal with women would be a negative, but there wasn’t much he could do about it so he quickly changed the subject. “Are there…other candidates vying for this position?” Of course there were. He wanted to know his competition.

      “Actually, we have only one other candidate. He’s also from your area—the brass think a Texan would round out the Currents team nicely. Paul Stratton, from KBBK. Know him?”

      Griffin winced. Yeah, he knew Stratton. The guy was a pompous ass. Unfortunately, he also anchored the top-rated newscast in the whole South Texas market. He was good—had an enviable record as a journalist and even a Pulitzer under his belt. He had a few years on Griffin, and the TV creds Griffin lacked.

      “Yeah, I know him,” Griffin said, opting for the high road. “He’d be a good choice.” If they could fit his ego through the newsroom door. Then he added, “I’d be better.”

      Pierce laughed, thankfully. “It’s going to be a tough decision.”

      “Hey, what if I did some freelance stories for you?” It was a long shot; Currents used very few free lancers. “Roving reporter–type stuff, just me with a camera?”

      Pierce didn’t answer right away. Griffin crossed his fingers.

      Finally the CNI news director responded. “Did you have any particular stories in mind?”

      Griffin’s heart pounded. Did he dare mention it? He hadn’t yet told his editor about the Raleigh Shinn story. Griffin might get himself fired if he offered it to someone else. He decided to take the chance.

      “I’m working on something…it’s connected to Project Justice—are you familiar with them?”

      “Yes, indeed.” Griffin could almost hear the man salivating.

      “I’ve uncovered a possible breach of ethics there. Nothing that’s ready to air,” he added hastily.

      “When do you think you’ll have something?”

      Griffin pulled a number out of thin air. “A couple of weeks.” Surely by then he would have enough information to nail Raleigh Shinn to the wall.

      “I’ll tell the brass to count on it.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      AS RALEIGH EXITED the courthouse the following day, the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. Someone was definitely watching her.

      Earlier that day, she had dismissed the tickle at her nape as paranoia, a result of nerves or not enough sleep. But her instincts rarely failed her, and they certainly wouldn’t do so repeatedly. There couldn’t be any doubt she was being followed.

      Since it was such a beautiful fall day, and since she had been neglecting her workouts lately, she had decided to walk from the Project Justice office to the courthouse, where she had filed a motion to overturn Lewis Rhiner’s conviction based on the new DNA evidence.

      That taken care of, she’d planned a quick lunch at a nearby bagel shop, after which she would pay a visit to the police department and personally make sure they were following up on the new suspect.

      But first she had to figure out who was watching her. Not that she didn’t have a pretty good idea.

      She walked briskly down the street, turned a corner, then ducked into a doorway like she’d seen people do in the movies. Then she waited.

      About thirty seconds later, a black Mustang came around the corner and pulled into a parking space across the street from her vantage place. But the driver—anonymous behind tinted windows—didn’t turn off the engine or get out right away.

      Bingo.

      She’d noticed this same car earlier. Normally she wouldn’t have taken note, but it was almost the exact car Jason used to drive, just a slightly newer model. The Mustang had been parked on the street near her apartment building when she had exited that morning, and for one brief, insane moment, she had expected to see Jason climb out from behind the wheel.

      Then she’d remembered that Jason was dead. Silly how one sensory trigger—a car, a song, a certain wine—could bring it all back.

      Raleigh was pretty sure the Mustang’s driver couldn’t see her. She stood in

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