Very. “Yeah. Sorry, no rich husband is at home in some grand antebellum home with a pitcher of martinis. No, wait, you said mint juleps, right? Well, he’s not there with those either. And by the way, that grand Southern mansion? It’s a little two-bedroom cottage.” She set her glass on the table. “Guess you were wrong about me.”

“Then that makes two of us, doesn’t it?” he said with an ever-widening grin that told her he’d been lying to her about his supposed fantasy of her life. He hadn’t really cared about her life, but wanted her to realize her preconceived notions of him were as false as his might be. The fact that he wasn’t all that interested stung more than it should have, but the truth was he just hadn’t liked her calling him out on his high-school bad rep crap. Fair enough.

“Okay, I get it. Sorry. You’re a reporter. On the straight and narrow. My bad.”

He laughed a little, a deep chuckle she remembered from her youth. “Just not too straight,” he said with a wink that caused her silly heart to leap. “So, are you gonna let me help you with the missing Denning girls?”

“So that you can whitewash Bentz and keep track of me? Isn’t that what this is all about? Damage control. So you can look good for the cops and land that job with the department.”

He let out a sigh. “What do you think?”

She met his gaze and was reminded again of the boy he’d once been, a teenager who had never let anyone control him. “I don’t know.”

“I told you, I want to work with you.”

“For an exclusive?”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “That wouldn’t hurt,” he admitted. “Sure. But I do really want to find out what happened to your friend’s daughters. And didn’t Selma Denning say something about you reaching out, getting the word out?”

“She did.” She nodded. “But there’s a difference between information and exploitation.”

“A fine line, but I’m willing to walk it to help those girls,” he said as if he meant it. “So, to answer your question, it’s not just about me reporting the story.”

“Good.” She hoped he wasn’t lying, but couldn’t quite believe him. Besides, maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe it was a good thing. His story, through the print newspaper and online services of the Observer, would notify the public. It would help spread the word, hopefully catch the eye of someone who’d seen Zoe or Chloe Denning. The more she thought about it, the more collaboration with Jase Bridges seemed a good thing.

“What about the girls’ father?” he asked.

“Still around. Divorced from the mom. He’s remarried with kids. A new family. Well, sort of. He married Selma’s niece.”

“Ouch.”