The Full Story. Dawn Stewardson

him as if he was a simpleton. “To get the story.”

      “What I mean is that the Billy Brent interview can’t be the only assignment you’re working on.”

      “Well, no, but—”

      “And where would the money come from? Do you have any idea how much last-minute tickets cost?”

      “Of course. I don’t live in a cave.”

      “Okay, then you know you’re talking a small fortune for the flight alone. And aside from everything else, surely the Post wouldn’t send an Arts and Entertainment journalist to cover the sort of story we have here. I mean, a hit man with a contract on Billy Brent has to be such big news it—”

      “I’ll make you another deal,” she interrupted.

      He reminded himself that he wasn’t buying into any guilt trip.

      Then she quietly said, “Dan, you can’t imagine how important this is for my career.”

      “Yes, I can.”

      And, hell, maybe it was important. But he had his own career to consider. And he sure didn’t want any more potential complications.

      But the next thing he knew, he was saying, “Exactly what have you got in mind?”

      She looked very relieved; it didn’t make him the least bit happier that he’d opened his mouth.

      “If I can convince my editor to okay the assignment and authorize my expenses,” she said, “you’ll stop objecting and take me along.”

      Her words made him feel better. She couldn’t seriously expect her boss to not only give her the time but the money as well. Could she?

      He really doubted it. Hard news stories went to hard news reporters. Period.

      “So?” she said.

      His phone began to ring, temporarily saving him from her question.

      “Dan O’Neill,” he answered.

      “Dan, it’s Lydia.”

      “Hi,” he said, turning away from Mickey even though he knew that wouldn’t keep her from hearing.

      “I’ve talked to several people about Mickey Westover, and it doesn’t sound as if you have anything to worry about. She has a reputation for being a straight shooter.”

      “And things that are said…”

      “In confidence?” Lydia supplied, probably guessing that Mickey was right there.

      “Uh-huh.”

      “All my sources assured me there’d been no problems.”

      “Good. That’s good to know. Anything else?”

      “Nothing negative. I’m going to keep at this. There are a few more avenues I want to explore. But I’m not really expecting to turn up anything problematic.”

      “Good,” he said again. “If you do, though…”

      “You’ll know almost as soon as I do.”

      “Fine. And thanks.”

      He clicked off, telling himself he couldn’t have asked for better news.

      Lydia might have said she was going to keep checking, but she never gave a positive preliminary report unless she was damned sure she wouldn’t get any surprises later on.

      Even so, the fact that he didn’t have to worry about Mickey double-crossing him wasn’t going to make him change his mind. He and Ken would be far better off without her.

      “Where were we?” he said, turning back toward her.

      “Just about to make a deal.”

      “I don’t think we were quite to that point.”

      She gazed at him for a moment, as if trying to figure out exactly what he was thinking, then said, “Dan, I know I’m repeating myself, but I just don’t believe you can really realize how much this would mean to me. And all I’m asking for is the chance to convince my boss.”

      He hesitated, knowing he’d feel better if she thought that he was at least giving her a chance. And surely she’d never persuade the guy to go along with her.

      “Okay, have a shot at it,” he said, assuring himself he was looking at virtually no risk.

      She held out her hand for his cell phone, which reminded him that the rest of the phones—including hers—were still sitting in that recycle box.

      He turned his cellular over to her, then nonchalantly zipped his suitcase shut.

      Her conversation shouldn’t take more than about thirty seconds. And once her boss had said “No dice,” all there’d be left to do was drop her off at her car. After that, he’d be done with her.

      THE MORE MICKEY TALKED, the less Dan liked what he was hearing.

      Somehow or other, she’d succeeded in presenting her absurd idea in such a logical-sounding way that it no longer seemed half as absurd.

      When she lapsed into silence, obviously listening to whatever her boss was saying, he desperately wished he could hear both sides of the conversation.

      Her expression made him certain that this Eric fellow was not telling her there was absolutely no way. Which was what was supposed to be happening.

      Dammit. He felt like kicking himself for not realizing how convincing she could be. Because he sure as hell should have.

      After all, at this point she’d convinced him to agree to two of her ridiculous deals.

      “I know, Eric,” she said. “You’re perfectly right. I’m not the best candidate. I’m not claiming to be.

      “But the critical thing is that I’m the one up here with Dan O’Neill and he trusts me.”

      Oh, right. Trust was a definite stretch.

      Maybe he believed that Mickey wouldn’t renege on her word. After all, Lydia just didn’t get things like that wrong. But that didn’t mean he entirely trusted the woman.

      She was a schemer, a sneak, a blackmailer, a—

      “And since I’m the only person he’s willing to take along…” she was saying.

      Willing to take along? That was hardly the way he’d put it.

      “Yes, I am positive about that. He just doesn’t have much faith in most journalists.”

      Finally. Something that was true.

      “But the two of us clicked, and…well, he isn’t giving us any real choice.”

      When she paused, he found himself holding his breath, waiting for her clincher.

      “Either you assign me to the story,” she concluded, “or we don’t get it.”

      There was a small silence before she said, “Yes, I really do think I’m up to it. And the prospect of letting it slip through our fingers…we’re talking a hit man trying to kill Billy Brent. We’re talking not only that, which none of our competition even knows about, but exclusive coverage of what happens from here on in.

      “Eric, it’ll be a huge story. And only the Post will have it. We’ll scoop both the Chronicle and the Examiner. Hell, we’ll scoop The New York Times!”

      Dan could feel his anxiety level rising. Mickey Westover was making him very nervous.

      She glanced over and gave him a warm smile. It sent a chill down his spine. The fact she felt like smiling wasn’t good.

      The silence stretched until he couldn’t keep himself from whispering, “Is he going for it?”

      “Going, going, gone,” she said. “I’m