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“Everything’s covered here,” Coulter said. “Go enjoy the holiday. We’ll have something to celebrate soon.”
I hoped he was right. This wasn’t over until Bardot was in custody. That could happen within a day because there weren’t holidays for cops working cases like this.
I’d waited eleven years. I could handle one more day.
“Not a bad way to spend the last evening of the year,” Avon said from beside me in bed a few hours later.
She was curled into my side, sated after a couple of hours of foreplay and sex. I’d channeled all my nervous energy into pleasing her, and I could still hear her whimpering my name as she came for the third time, my face buried between her thighs.
“I’m glad it wasn’t bad,” I said wryly as I kissed her temple.
She laughed. “You know what I meant. It was incredible. I am getting kind of hungry, though.”
I did a mental run-through of what I had in my fridge, deciding eggs and beer probably wasn’t much of a dinner.
“Want to go eat at The Hideout?” I asked.
“Yes.”
She went to move away and I tightened my hold on her, the feel of her warm naked body better than any meal could ever be.
“Or no?” she asked, amused.
“I guess yes,” I said, reluctantly letting go. “But you’re staying here tonight.”
“Oh, I am?”
“Yep. And if you wear one of my flannels again in the morning, you’ll be here tomorrow night, too.”
She grinned at me as she picked up her jeans and stepped into them. “As long as I can pick up my toothbrush.”
“I got you one.”
Her brows shot up. “You did?”
“Yep.”
I hadn’t thought much of it when I’d tossed the pink toothbrush into my cart at the store, though the clerk had given me a knowing look when I checked out.
“So the mayor was officially arrested?” she asked me as she fixed her hair in the bathroom, the door open.
“He was. But that’s still under wraps.”
“Not for long, though.”
“I hope not.”
She poked her head out of the bathroom, giving me a serious look. “I can’t let our personal relationship get in the way of running this story. I hope you understand that.”
I gave her a knowing look as I buttoned my flannel. “You wouldn’t even know about the arrest if not for our personal relationship.”
“True. And on the record, I don’t know about it. My story will just lay out what I do have on the record.”
“Which is?”
“A lot of unaccounted money moving in and out of city hall.”
I sighed, wishing there was some other way. Mrs. Jenkins would be mortified when she found out what had been going on while she was serving tea and making needlepoints.
“Just wait until they bring Bardot in,” I said, walking into the bathroom. “Can you do that?”
She met my gaze in the mirror. “Honestly? Probably not. That’s not how journalism works.”
I sighed, aggravated. “I think we can agree that the Sven’s Beard Chronicle can bend the rules a little on this one.”
She turned to face me, hurt flashing in her eyes. “Don’t you dare act like the Chronicle is less than just because it’s a small weekly. Our staff works hard to give this community a good newspaper.”
I’d spoken carelessly and set her off. Now I had to back up and get back in her good graces.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said. “You guys do an incredible job. But you know how much is riding on this investigation. Can’t we agree that Bardot’s arrest is more important than any news story?”
She furrowed her brow, her frustration showing. “It doesn’t have to be a decision between the two. It’s not my job to accommodate city officials; my job is to report what’s going on.”
My mind immediately flashed back to Megan, responding to that call about Bardot without any backup. She’d been a capable officer, but her inability to wait had cost her life.
“Listen to me,” I said, putting my hands on Avon’s shoulders. “This is important. Leo Bardot is fucking dangerous. I don’t want you putting yourself anywhere close to his line of fire by running a story too soon.”
She shook her head. “I’m not afraid to run a story if it’s the truth, Grady.”
I shifted, glaring at her. “You should be afraid. This guy’s a murderer who would do anything to save his own ass. There’s a lot more at stake than some newspaper story.”
She folded her arms. “You think my work at the paper is a joke, don’t you?”
“Of course not!” I shot back. “Now you’re just making shit up.”
“Have I tried to tell you how to do your police work?” she demanded. “Or questioned your methods?”
My sigh held a groan. “No.”
“Then don’t question how I do my work. I’m doing my best to run this paper with journalistic integrity, which I admit is complicated by sleeping with the police chief.”
