“There’s that word again,” she scoffed.
“And…” He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “You were observed leaving the scene with two Texas Rangers.” Holt pulled the notebook free and flipped it open, scanning a page before continuing. “Ranger O’Reilly and Lieutenant Cooper, who is leading the investigation. Ring a bell?”
“As you said. I live across from the crime scene. It’s natural for them to question everyone.” She inched toward the counter, but he moved with her. “You’re grasping at straws, Mr. Holt. You have no proof that I’m involved in anything. El Paso ended that for me. In no small part because of you.”
He closed the distance. Enough for her to see the dark under-eye smudges of fatigue.
“I don’t need confirmation. I need positioning.” He said it a bit too fast, undercutting the calm he was trying to portray.
“Positioning for what?” she asked.
“For my next piece.”
Her pulse ticked up. “And that would say?”
“Either my version of the truth, or yours. It’s up to you.”
“What happened? You had credibility once. Print lies, and you’re no better than a tabloid hack.”
His head jerked ever so slightly. She’d struck a nerve.
“Credibility doesn’t pay the bills. Meeting deadlines does. Besides, I have proximity. A pattern of behavior. And a name.”
“That’s not journalism. That’s speculation.”
“It’s momentum.”
His gaze cut briefly to the front windows. Hers followed, seeing nothing.
When he looked at her again, his expression was closed off. “My motivations aren’t your concern.”
“They become my concern if you print my name.”
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “You think the article is what should worry you?”
A chill slid through her. “What does that mean?”
He studied her face as if weighing something. “I’ve already had a few doors close this week. People who used to answer my calls aren’t picking up.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because once I publish the next piece, doors are going to slam.”
“On you?”
“On everyone.”
“I’m done with this,” she muttered, reaching her phone in three quick steps. She tapped the screen and held it up, glad for Face ID. “If you don’t leave now, I will involve the police.”
“You won’t call the cops. You risk exposure, which you’re fighting desperately to avoid. Just like in El Paso.”
“I’ve got a Ranger on speed dial. Try me.”
For the first time, doubt crossed his face. “You have forty-eight hours,” he said, holding out a business card.
She didn’t take it.
He set the card on the counter. “I publish Friday morning,” he warned. “All of it.”
