“Elise!” I roar, my fist striking out involuntarily and punching a cabinet.

Banks re-enters the kitchen with a yellow, square sticky note in his hands, Gabe following behind him with a pale complexion. “She left this on the door.” He slaps it down in the center of the dining room table. “She went to stop the article from being published.”

Those words don’t penetrate right away. When they do, my skull caves in on itself.

I sent her out into danger. I doubted her, I took out my insecurities on this incredibly giving woman and now she could be hurt. Because of me.

I take a lunging step and lose the entire contents of my stomach in the sink.

* * *

Elise

My Uber pulls up in front of the Times and I leap out, my badge already in hand. Traffic wasn’t as horrific as usual, so I’ve managed to make it here earlier than expected, a New York miracle to say the least. On my way over the bridge, my phone started to ring, so I silenced it. All three men are taking their turn calling me, but I am fully focused on my goal. I’m not looking right or left until it is achieved. When I’m face to face with them again, I want to do it knowing I made every effort to correct my mistake. I want them to know it, too.

I pull open the heavy glass and brass door, jogging through the lobby toward security and scanning my badge. Throwing my purse into a plastic tub and walking through the metal detector. I’m trying not to think about what Tobias, Banks and Gabe would say if I answered the phone—and it’s not too difficult to distract myself at this very moment, because I’m scanning the lobby, looking right, left and over my shoulder for any kind of threat.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary, but I can’t totally ignore the voice whispering in the back of my head that I’m missing something. It started on the ride over from Queens and now, as I enter the elevator, it’s getting louder.

A few moments later, I’m stepping onto the floor where human interest is located.

“Excuse me,” I say breathlessly to the receptionist. “I’m here to see Lisette.”

“She’s downstairs in production.”

“Production? Do you know if they’ve sent tomorrow’s edition yet?”

“They’re doing a test run on our in-house printer, actually.” She frowns slightly. “You didn’t mention your name…”

I’m already speed walking back to the elevator, throwing myself inside and hitting the button for the basement level. I’ve only been down there once, and it was by accident. I’d gotten onto an elevator that already had the button pushed. At a glance, it’s a vast, underground network of servers, sectioned off in the back by a mailroom. I didn’t realize they ran test prints downstairs, but why would I know that? I’m the sandwich girl.