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I glance to my right as she places a manicured hand on my shoulder. She’s sizing me up. Walking around me the way a dancer might circle her prey in a club.
“I have reason to believe you may have footage that can help our investigation.” I look to my left as she completes her revolution. “You understand the words ‘meddling with an investigation,’ don’t you? How about ‘withholding crucial evidence’?”
She chitters so her breath touches my neck. “As I’m sure you know the words ‘Freedom of Press.’” Stopping in front of me so her back is to Fletch and his existence simply… doesn’t exist, she looks up into my eyes and purrs. “What about the first amendment, Detective Malone? Does that mean anything to you?”
“What about Kylie Bastion?” I snarl in response. “She had rights, too. But an asshole stole those from her and left her for dead. I believe your team might’ve inadvertently caught that on camera.”
Her minx-like eyes narrow. “I have the murder on camera?”
“No. But I got word our killer came back to the scene yesterday. That same word mentioned the media was there at the same time. And since everyone knows Miranda London is first on scene for every fucking thing, logic makes me wonder if you have what I need.”
Her injected lips curl into a dangerous grin. “YouknowI have what you need, Detective Malone. But are you man enough to take it?”
“Footage,” I growl. Reaching up, I snag her wrist just as she attempts to touch my collar. “This isn’t a social visit, Ms. London. And I’m not interested in romance.”
“That’s not what I heard.” She peeks to a wall of television screens on her right, only to draw my attention to Minka and me walking the bay yesterday.
While she and I were talking and the CSIs were recording the scene, our killer ambled amongst us.
“Gossip travels fast, Detective, and I heard you and the new chief M.E. have a cute cat-and-mouse thing going on.”
“When people gossip about me,” I release her hand and slip mine into my pockets, “it’s rarely correct. I let no one close enough to know the truth. Can we discuss the matter at hand?”
“Can we discuss the fact Minka Mayet won’t ever take my calls?”
Surprised by her words, I choke out an impressed laugh. “The new chief M.E. won’t talk to Copeland’s loudest gossip? I’m shocked.”
“It’s her job to speak to the media.” Miranda lifts her proud chin. “The people have a right to know what’s happening in their city.”
“Actually, no. That’s not her job at all. And if she won’t be your friend, that sounds like ayouproblem. Why are you discussing it with me?”
“Because she has no trouble speaking to you.” Turning away and making certain I have a front-row view of her ass, the woman saunters to Fletch and places her fingertips on his collarbone. “Get me an exclusive with Mayet, and I’ll get your footage right this moment.”
Naturally, his eyes span wide and shoot to mine.
“No.” I wait for Miranda to turn again. “We don’t make trades like that. You know we don’t. If you wanna talk to the M.E.’s office, you call them and you get their media department on the phone. If Mayet wants to chat, she’ll say so. None of that shit has anything to do with me. And if you’re not here to play ball and get us that footage from yesterday, then I guess we’re done. Fletch and I will pay a visit to Judge Mistelforth and try our luck getting a warrant. Best part is,” I take a step forward and smile down at the woman who was once every kind of hot dream I ever had. “Mayet takesmycalls, and with the new chief medical examiner adding her pressure to this, Mistelforth won’t be able to say no. Especially when the next murder is imminent.”
“Thenextmurder?” Like a switch, Miranda’s news reporter brain flicks on. She snatches her phone from a nearby desk and hits record. “What do you know, Detective Malone?”
I shake my head and take the device from her hands. Killing the recording, I grin when her face falls. “I know the first victim died the night before last. I know the second victim died yesterday. That’s two bodies in two days.” I toss the phone back to the desk and watch as it spins to a stop. Bringing my gaze back to Channel 63’s star, I add, “Kinda implies there might be a third today, and time’s getting on. Won’t you feel bad if we have a new body while you’re flirting for an exclusive?”
“I want an interview with you and Detective Fletcher before you go.” She turns on her heels and grabs the discarded phone, then she keeps going so we have to jog to catch up. “I’ll show you the footage, but the moment you see who you need to, I’m flashing it all over the six o’clock, right alongside my exclusive interview with you two.”
“If we’ve tied him up in a pretty bow and the threat is gone, sure, you can have thirty seconds and a couple of sound bites.”
“Two minutes live.”
I bark out a laugh and follow her into the next hall. “Twenty seconds, and you can kiss my ass as I walk out the door.”
“Thirty seconds with youandMayet.” She stops in the middle of the hall and spins so I’m forced to skid to a stop or crash into her. “Both of you. You’re friendly, right?”
You have no fucking clue just how friendly.
“You’re out of your mind if you think I can speak for someone else like that. I already told you, call the George Stanley media team and book your shit on your own. I’m not your assistant.”
“She won’t take my calls!” Finally losing the perfectly pressed composure she’s so used to having, Miranda throws her hand up and takes off again to lead us the rest of the way to our destination. “I don’t know what her problem is, but she won’t return my calls.”
“I don’t think she has a problem with you,” Fletch chuckles. Whispering for me, he adds, “yet.” Then aloud again, “She’s not really the type to look for media coverage in general. She’s working. She’s quiet. She’s trying to bring her team back from the mess Chant left behind. That makes her busy.”
“We’reallbusy.” Shoving through a heavy door with a roll of her eyes, Miranda directs us into another room where every wall is a screen. “I work hundred-hour weeks on my quiet weeks. I haven’t had a vacation in three years. The only reason I’m caught up with my salon appointments is because the salon comes to me.” Dropping into a computer chair and allowing it to roll to a desk with a large screen affixed to the wall behind it, she powers up the computer, but looks back to us. “I just want to talk to the new chief M.E.”
“Your desperation stinks.” Grabbing a second chair, I lower beside her and watch as she navigates the computer to a cloud-based folder. “Kinda gross, actually. You’re the most confident woman I know, and you’re losing your shit over a stranger’s approval.”
“Am not. Here.” She pulls up a screen that features her standing in the center, the star, the personality, the looks and money-spinner. But behind her is my crime scene and the team helping move Kylie Bastion’s body off the sandy, pebbled ground and into the back of the transport van.
“We got about an hour at the bay where people were around,” she grumbles. “Four hours’ footage total, but three of those were my team waiting around for something to happen.”
“Alright.” Leaning closer, I hit the play button. “Let’s start with the hour. Then we’ll backtrack to the other three. See if we can find our guy.”
