Frisk Me(84)

Luc frowned. “How did you know about that?”

Bev looked puzzled. “Well, the reporter told me, obviously.”

Luc went cold. “Reporter?”

“Sure, the one from CBC? She was here a couple days ago, saying they were doing a small segment on Mike as part of the special.”

The entire world around Luc seemed to go silent. He didn’t hear the cars on the street, the couple fighting next door, or the kids yelling nearby. He only watched Beverly’s mouth move as he tried to comprehend what she was saying.

“This reporter, what was her name?”

“Um, Anna? Ava? I can get her card…”

Luc closed his eyes. “No. I know her.”

Beverly looked thoroughly confused. “Was I not supposed to talk to her? I thought you knew, assumed that’s what prompted you to come by today…”

Luc took a step backward, pasting a smile on his face. “Don’t worry about it, you didn’t do anything wrong. I should have figured she’d find her way here. That’s what reporters do, right? Dig into your past?”

“Okay, but, Luc…”

He gave her a wave before turning and walking toward the street like a zombie.

Ava knew about Mike.

Which meant she knew about Shayna.

Two days ago, Ava had gone to Mike’s widow’s house.

And last night she hadn’t breathed a word about it.

Luc stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and closed his eyes.

His father was right. Ava Sims was going to sell him out for the sake of her own career.





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE



Ava held up a finger to stop Carly, who was coming at her with yet another makeup brush. Her eyes scanned the studio for the hundredth time.

“Has anyone seen Officer Moretti?” she yelled over the clatter.

A handful of people looked up from their clipboards and shrugged.

“Where the hell is he?” she muttered as the makeup artist motioned for her to close her eyes so she could apply a contouring eye shadow.

Today was it.

The face-to-face interview and the finale of America’s Hero. The execs had tossed around the idea of filming it on location at Luc’s apartment, but Ava pushed to have it on set in the studio.

She hadn’t wanted to invade his home. At least, not more than she already had.

Ava opened one eye so she could see her cell phone and sent Luc a text. Another one:

Where are you?

Her thumb scrolled up so she could see their entire text conversation. Her latest message meant that it had been one, two…eight texts from her since the last one from Luc.

Three days ago.

She tapped the corner of her phone against her knee and tried not to freak out.

Then Brent Davis came storming up to her with murder on his face, and not freaking out wasn’t really an option.

“Avie, where’s your interview subject? We’re supposed to start in fifteen minutes, he hasn’t been through makeup, hasn’t got his mic on…”

“Relax, Davis,” she said with calm she didn’t feel. “It’s not like this is live.”

The show would be taped today but wouldn’t be aired for a couple of months. By which time, Officer Moretti would have nothing to do with her.

The script she’d been practicing all morning assured that.

A script that ensured there was a very real possibility that he might walk off camera when she blindsided him with questions about November 12, two years ago.

Her bosses wouldn’t be happy at the unexpected drama on a feel-good piece, but that’s not what Ava was worried about. They might get pissed…might even cut the story, go with something lighter, but that’s okay…because this story was big enough that someone else would pick it up. One of the other networks. Or the Times, Wall Street Journal.

There was a story here. A career-making one. She was positive of it.

She should be thrilled.

But thrilled was hardly the emotion lodged in Ava’s heart. It felt a lot more like dread.

Because there would be drama, yes. There would also be hurt.

Luc’s hurt.

She pushed the thought away as she pep-talked herself. “This is what you’ve been working toward, Ava.”

“What’s that, babe?” Carly asked.

“Nothing,” she muttered.

“Well he’d better be here,” Davis said, hands on hips.

“I’m sure he’s just running late,” she said.

“And he knows to come in uniform?”

“Yes.”

“And he—”

“Davis. I’ve handled it.”

He made a grumbling noise before heading back to the set to yell at the lighting guys.

“Handled it, have you?”

Ava shifted the eye not currently being mascaraed to the right, where Mihail stood, arms crossed, for once free of his usual gummy worms.

“Talking to me again?” she asked.

He shrugged moodily. “Davis brought me in to man one of the cameras.”

“And you agreed?” Ava asked, surprised. Mihail hated studio camera work. He always claimed that a monkey could hold a camera still. He preferred to be on the move, camera on his shoulder.

Mihail shrugged again. “Figured someone should be here to buy Moretti a drink after his girlfriend screws him over.”