The Truth About Harry. Tracy Kelleher

have?” She eyed him suspiciously.

      Ray came around to the head of the table and stared earnestly at Lauren. “Now, I want you to do me proud, kid. I intended to have someone senior do the feature, but seeing as you’d already filed the obit on his grandfather, Mr. Alberti insisted that you were the right person for the assignment.”

      Lauren rose slowly. “Let me get this straight. You want me to write a feature on Harry Nord?”

      “Not that you won’t still be responsible for your regular beat—and the obits, of course. I’m not running a country club here. But if you do a good job, I may even bump the story out of Metro,” Ray said magnanimously. Lauren could tell he was feeling magnanimous because he put his hand inside his belt buckle and rubbed it back and forth.

      “I would think that the scope of the story could easily raise the newspaper’s and the reporter’s profiles quite dramatically.” Sebastian gazed at Lauren from beneath his dark brows.

      So that’s where all this was coming from. Sebastian had convinced Ray that she should work on a bigger story on Harry Nord because it had higher circulation—and maybe even Pulitzer—written all over it. Meanwhile, he’d stick to her like glue with the idea that she’d crack and divulge her involvement with Bernard Lord.

      Well, there was nothing to crack on that score. But if Bernard Lord still did live in the area, she was sure she could track him down. Once she got on the trail of a story, she didn’t quit until she landed the goods. And besides, all those years of attending the local Catholic schools had left her with more than the usual social maladjustments—it also meant she knew half of Philly’s police force. If anyone was going to break open the case, it was she. In which case, there really was potential news value. And a chance to move out of Metro—way out.

      She turned her full wattage of charm on Ray. “Just remember to carve out six inches above the fold on Page One by the end of next week.”

      Ray, momentarily stunned that she wasn’t affording him her usual scowl—and no doubt shocked by her display of chutzpah—forgot to breathe. “Page One?” Ray removed his hand from his belt. His face turned a sickening puce before he recovered. “You’re right. The whole ‘This is your life’ scenario has real appeal. Maybe we’ll throw some advertising behind it, as well.”

      Lauren smiled brightly and caught Sebastian’s pleased expression out of the corner of her eye. And realized almost immediately that he’d fooled someone other than Ray. Sebastian Alberti had counted on her being blinded by the lure of a terrific story, that is, if he was giving her the benefit of the doubt. There was still the issue of his thinking she was somehow involved in the thefts, and that she would have to play along if she was going to get him off her back.

      Either way, he had her. But it could be like having a tiger by its tail. Because if she let things run their course and wasn’t successful at uncovering Bernard Lord and the stolen loot, she’d never be able to atone for the mess she’d caused. It would be an absolute kiss of death.

      Why hadn’t she thought of that when she’d locked lips with Sebastian Alberti? She could still call a halt to the proceedings now and fess up to the obit prank. That way she might have a chance of salvaging her career. Slim, but nevertheless a chance. “Ray?” She looked up, prepared to bite the bullet. “About Harry Nord…”

      “You can rest assured,” Sebastian quickly interrupted, “we won’t let my grandfather stay buried.”

      Ray punched the air. He could have been Robert Preston leading the band in The Music Man. “You’ll keep her on track, Mr. Alberti. I can see that. Meanwhile, I gotta run. Seems it wasn’t a hijacking at the State House, but a catering truck that rammed into a van of rabbis. All we know so far is that four of them were covered in lobster Newburg. We’ve got a call into the theological seminary to see if that violates any kosher regulations.”

      Lauren watched Ray’s retreating figure. She felt as if a catering truck had hit her, as well. She slowly swiveled around on the wooden heel of one clog and faced Sebastian. “I guess I should thank you for getting me Page One on a story that involves investigating someone who doesn’t even exist.”

      “That’s not necessary. In any case, we both know that if you can uncover the scoop on the real Harry Nord, aka Bernard Lord, you’ll be filing a far bigger story.” He paused and added almost impulsively, “Besides, look at the positive side. Working together will help to cement an amicable, ongoing relationship.”

      “Amicable, ongoing relationship?” Lauren felt a ripple of dread mixed with excitement curl in her stomach and travel helter-skelter to her throat.

      “Yes, you heard Ray. I’m supposed to keep you on track.”

      “Please, I have a very good sense of direction. And I think things would move far more efficiently if I did the legwork myself and got back to you with daily updates by phone or, if you insist, in person at the office. Trust me, it’s not as if I’m going to skip town.”

      Sebastian stepped around the table. “I don’t think so.”

      Lauren willed herself not to back up when he halted next to her. Very close next to her. Close enough that she could practically measure within a few degrees the angles of his prominent cheekbones, not to mention inhale another whiff of his subtle, woodsy aftershave. Yes, she’d definitely prefer not to mention that.

      She cleared her throat. “And why is it you don’t trust me?”

      Sebastian studied her lips. “Well, among other things, I think it’s got something to do with your pink lip gloss.”

      There was a moment of silence, after which Sebastian walked to the conference room doorway and waited for her to pass—ever the gentleman. “So where do we start?”

      Somehow, etiquette didn’t seem to have anything to do with his proposition.