“Stay with me,” says Garrett. I picture that fishing line getting pulled tighter and tighter. “Peyton was a big football fan. Followed Cole Wright’s career after he was drafted by the Patriots.”

My turn. “Peyton had a cousin who worked as a landscaper at Gillette Stadium. The cousin told him that Cole was dating one of the Patriots cheerleaders. A twenty-two-year-old named Suzanne Bonanno.”

“Which is against team and NFL rules,” says Garrett.

“Sounds like a good rule,” says Marcia.

“They tried to keep their relationship secret, but it looked like some teammates were about to leak it to the press.”

“Which could have tanked his career,” I add. “And cost him his pension.”

“What then?” Marcia asks. Her desk phone rings. She ignores it.

“Seventeen years ago,” says Garrett, “Suzanne Bonanno told her family that she was going to meet up with Cole Wright. She was never seen again. A missing person report was filed, but nothing ever came of it. A few days later, Cole Wright flew to California to have a knee injury treated.”

Marcia’s phone stops ringing. “There has to be more on what happened to the cheerleader,” she says.

“You’d think,” said Garrett. “I’ve kept my contacts from when I was reporting for the Boston Globe, and the paperwork on Suzanne Bonanno’s case seems to be missing. I think it was swept, Marcia.”

I lean in. “By someone working to help Cole Wright.”

“Dear God,” Marcia says. She taps her fingers against her desktop. “Still, going after the president’s husband? You’ll be called saboteurs, traitors to the country, operatives for the other political party, and if you’ve ever had even a sip of Stoli, they’ll say you’re Russian agents. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

Garrett says, “I’m ready.”

“What about you, Brea?” asks Marcia. “You’re not scared by this?”

“My activist granddad had his head cracked open in Selma. I’ve got his DNA in me. I’m more scared that the truth will never come out.”

The room is quiet again.

“All right,” Marcia says. “Any other editor here would toss you out on your asses. It’s a huge risk. If you’re wrong on this, it’ll sink you both, and me along with you. Maybe the whole company.”

“We’re not wrong,” says Garrett, eyes blazing.

He has the look of a man who’s just landed a very big fish.

CHAPTER
3

When we reach the crowded sidewalk outside the Nottingham building, Garrett lets out a whoop of triumph. He picks me up and swings me around a few times, and when he puts me down, people are staring, but I don’t care.

I give Garrett a big, long kiss, then pull back. “You were a damn magician up there! A master word spinner.”