“But you’re his bodyguard. Wouldn’t you have escorted him to work?”

“Not always.”

“Because you’re not his only guard?”

“No, because sometimes he didn’t want a guard. Said he’d see to himself.”

“You don’t think that’s weird?”

“What?”

“Not having a bodyguard wherever you go. I mean, if you need a bodyguard, shouldn’t they always be there?”

The man shook his head, clearly as exasperated with Cassie as Cassie was with his answers. “Look, lady. I didn’t get paid to think for or second-guess my boss. Only to make sure no one laid a hand on him. What he does—or did—isn’t my concern.”

Someone circled the edge of Cassie’s desk and startled her out of focus.

No. Not someone.

Lizbet.

And she was in rare form today, too, sporting a snazzy pair of deep emerald green capris, a matching yet stylishly cut blazer and a marigold silk shirt. The pewter heels she’d paired with the look would’ve had Cassie limping inside thirty minutes.

Cassie peeled off her headphones. “Cute outfit.”

See? She could be nice. So what if what she really wanted to know was how anyone could afford so many clothes on a reporter’s pay?

Lizbet straightened a little taller and swayed her hips from one side to the other. “Isn’t it fantastic? The lady who’s been the go-to costume designer for some of the biggest Mardi Gras floats and drama productions just started branching out into custom clothing. Fell on hard times and had to diversify. She’s over on Canal Street. We should go together sometime.”

Um. No.

Never.

Orange didn’t suit Cassie’s coloring and there was no way she’d make it through a shopping trip with Lizbet without ending up in a prison jumper. “It’ll be a bit before I’m doing any shopping. Too much catching up from deposits and furniture for my new place. But thanks.”

“Money woes, huh?”

“Something like that,” Cassie said, moving the slider on the video back to the beginning of the recording.

Lizbet leaned in for a good look at the monitor. “You rehashing those old interviews again?”

“Just trying to figure something out,” Cassie murmured. Whatever it was that bugged her about the talk with the bodyguard she still couldn’t put her finger on, but it had all the discomfort of getting two miles into her daily commute and wondering if she’d left the iron on at home.

“Mmm.” Lizbet watched the monitor a second more, then lowered her voice. “Listen, I know we’re not super close and you haven’t asked my opinion, but I feel like to be a team player, I really have to point something out.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

Lizbet nodded toward the screen. “The stuff with Alfonsi—it’s over. I know you got some good headway with it, but it’s time for something fresh. Not just for the station, but for you. Don’t you think?”

Yes, she did think. Had beaten herself up more times than she could count for even considering another story that had anything to do with Stephen Alfonsi.