“He fired you for hounding his old friend, Harmon Turner, after explicitly telling you to lay off,” she reminded him brutally. “Your severance package, as I recall, was paid out on the condition that you leave the Adams story with the Chronicle.” And sell your soul, she added silently.

“They’ve got that prissy snitch Angela Burris on the trial now. First she turns me in to Mirren, and now she’s sugarcoating the reports and tainting the jury pool.”

Genevieve knotted her forehead in confusion. “I thought the jury was sequestered, Gabe.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “This trial is a sham. The DA is going to agree to a mistrial. They’ll have a new jury in a few months, and Congressman Adams will be on his way to a fourth term.”

“How do you know that?” Genevieve asked, then immediately held out her palms in mock apology. “Forget I asked. I forgot you were not only the best investigative reporter in the country; you’re also omniscient.” She bounded off the desk and bowed elaborately, genuflecting as she approached him. “Forgive me, O Great One. Do not smite me with thy Pulitzer.”

Gabriel tried not to smile but failed. Genevieve had always been able to tease him out of the black moods. Even before their parents died—first his mother from cancer, then his father from grief—Genevieve had been the brightest light in their family.

“I can’t lose the Ledger, Gennie.”

“I know. But you’ve got to drop the Adams story. You have a staff now, and they rely on you. If Mirren Enterprises crushes the paper beneath a lawsuit, where will they go?”

Mirren and his hired gun, Nick Jacoby, had tried to steal the Chronicle from Gabriel’s father for years. After his death, protecting the Chronicle had been Gabriel’s responsibility. He’d failed.

Now sales were falling at the Ledger and the Chronicle was swooping in for the kill.

Perhaps he’d have to drop the Adams story, but scandal was born in New Orleans every day. He’d find a way to beat the Chronicle and save the Ledger. One way or another.

A cunning light gleamed in Gabriel’s eyes. He knew just where to start.

Chapter 4

“Conti and Royal,” Erin instructed quietly as she settled into the rumbling taxi. The taciturn driver merely nodded, too tired to make perfunctory conversation or to inquire about why a nice young woman would need to go to the police headquarters. He’d learned to mind his own business, especially when the temperature rose, seeing as how tempers usually flared to match. Spring hadn’t bothered to make an appearance this year. Indeed, a blanket of wet heat had settled snugly over the city and aggravated everyone who ventured outside. The blast of frigid air from his trusty AC was a welcome respite, and the cabbie leaned in close for another burst of cool air.