The moment the shock of seeing the man or guard come up from the rear wore off, Maggie summed him up. Six-four, aviator glasses, brush cut, deeply tanned, probably around midforties or closer to the fifty mark. Trim, muscular, like he had a daily workout routine. He was dressed in pressed khakis and a white button-down dress shirt open at the throat, with the sleeves rolled up to his midarm. Pleasant voice that at the moment sounded more curious than anything else. His name tag said his name was PAUL PRENTICE. And, she decided, he smelled good, like some earthy woodsy glen. Her final consensus was a very nice package indeed.

Maggie leaned closer to the window and flashed her credentials. “I just this moment sent Mr. Moss a text. We just want to take a few pictures and ask a few questions about his nomination for our Man of the Year award. Would it be too much trouble for you to call him for us? He doesn’t seem to be responding to my text.”

“We don’t actually have to go inside those security gates, sir. We can do the interview right here if Mr. Moss is agreeable. We already did all our other interviews, and Mr. Moss is the last one. We can’t go to press without his comments,” Ted said.

Dennis leaned forward, “That’s not quite true, Ted. We could make up something or just say Mr. Moss flat-out refused. The thing is, Mr. Moss might not like what we print.” Dennis flashed his credentials to prove he truly belonged with the group.

“Wait here. Please stay in the van. I’ll go up to the house and see if Mr. Moss is available. I won’t be long. I have to tell you, though, that I’ve never known Mr. Moss to see anyone without an appointment, so be fair warned.”

“We understand. We know how busy a man like Mr. Moss is,” Ted said, tongue-in-cheek.

“The guy got the drop on us. We must be slipping,” Espinosa groused. “I got some good pictures of him, and he didn’t even know what I was doing.”

“He did not get the drop on us,” Maggie seethed. “What he did was sneak up on us in that golf cart he was driving. Golf carts do not make noise. So far, so good. If Moss doesn’t come down here, then I say we run the picture of the guard with whatever caption we can come up with.” She looked down at her phone. Still no returning text from Lincoln Moss.

They waited, the minutes ticking by.

Fifteen minutes later, Ted said, “This sucks. I say we leave. The guy obviously is not coming. Why give him the satisfaction of sitting here cooling our heels? Let’s take a vote.”

It was three to one to leave. Maggie wanted to stay.

“Let’s give him five more minutes,” Maggie said.