Heloise contemplated the potential ramifications if that theory proved true. If the secretary of commerce had fed the press fake documents to cause trouble for one of the country’s largest corporations in order to save Danish jobs, that would be the biggest political scandal of the year. He would be forced to step down—if he didn’t sacrifice his next-in-command instead.

“How was Holm even aware that you and I know each other?” she asked. “Why would he ask you to bring me, specifically, those papers?”

Martin coughed into his fist and got up from the table. “Is it okay if I make some more coffee?” he asked. “Would you like another cup too?”

“Yes, please.”

He walked over to the machine and made two espressos. He poured a splash of 2 percent milk into the frother and turned it on without putting the lid on. Little white splatters flew through the air, landing on the skin of his stomach.

He took a teaspoon and put a little of the foam into Heloise’s cup, just the way she liked it, then walked back to the table and handed it to her.

“Here you go.”

“Thank you.” She drank a sip. “Martin?”

“Yes?” He glanced down at her.

“I asked you a question.”

“Christ, Helo, you ask so many questions.” He squirmed a little and smiled at her. “Holm was aware that we knew each other because I told him, okay?”

“Why did you do that?” Heloise eyed him perplexedly.

“Why do you think?” He flung up his arms. “Because I’m crazy about you.”

“Oh.” She blinked a couple of times.

Martin sat down across from her. Her chair scraped across the wooden floor as he pulled it closer. “For an investigative journalist, you can be pretty slow on the uptake. You know that, right?”

He leaned forward and kissed her.

Heloise didn’t know what to say. So many thoughts were flying around in her head.

“Well, if you’re planning to go public with that story, then we’d better get a move on it,” she said, straightening up in her chair.

“Okay.”

Martin stood up and vanished into the bedroom for a minute. When he came back, he had put most of his clothes on.

“How should we approach this?” He leaned against the kitchen doorframe as he buttoned up his shirt. “Should we just sit down and go through the whole thing word for word, or what were you planning?”

“Well, for starters, I can’t write the story,” Heloise said. “We have to find another journalist.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m too involved in the Skriver case, and my credibility is already shot to shit.” She ran her eyes up and down his body as he tucked his shirt into his trousers. “It also doesn’t help that I’m sleeping with the main source.”

“Well, when you put it that way …” Martin shrugged in acceptance.