Nothing But the Truth. Kara Lennox

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      “You know. Houston Scene. They published the story about the ten most eligible bachelors in town.”

      This was news to Raleigh. She read the paper—and she often read Benedict’s stories, which she had to admit were always riveting. “I had no idea he’d received such a prestigious distinction.”

      “Oh, yes. He made number three on the list, right behind Carl Black.”

      “Carl Black? Who is that?”

      “Only the next major Hollywood heartthrob, from right here in our own backyard. Raleigh, where have you been?”

      “Working, I guess.” She didn’t go to movies or watch much TV, and she definitely didn’t keep up with celebrity gossip.

      “You didn’t answer my question. Drool-worthy?”

      “It’s hard to think of him in those terms, given that he’s trying to ruin me,” Raleigh lied through her teeth. He was the best-looking man she’d ever met. Or at least the sexiest.

      Sorry, Jason.

      She was certain she would never fall in love again. She’d met Jason at Princeton, in law school, and she’d fallen instantly—hard. But physical attraction hadn’t brought them together. He’d been handsome enough, but he had bowled her over with his quiet intelligence and his commitment to ideals so similar to her own. She would never find that again.

      Beth stopped in the hallway just before they entered the bull pen. “Do you ever feel that way about anyone? I mean, this place is testosterone city. We’re hip-deep in good-looking men, many of them unattached, and you seem immune.”

      True, until recently. After Jason, she’d never looked at another man and gotten that zany, heart-flipping feeling. Then Griffin Benedict had come on the scene.

      “I’m just not interested in making that connection again, Beth.” That much was true.

      Beth blushed. “I guess that was kind of a rude question. But sometimes I wish I could be detached like you, instead of wearing my heart on my sleeve all the time.”

      It might have been a rude question from someone else, but not from Beth. Raleigh knew she cared about her.

      She smiled at Beth. “It’s okay.”

      Raleigh wasn’t sure she liked being described as “detached.” Lawyers weren’t supposed to get emotionally involved in their cases. But that word, detached, that was how she thought of her in-laws.

      Mitch Delacroix hunched over his keyboard in his usual corner, peering at the screen through the special glasses he wore for computer work. As always, it took Beth some effort to get Mitch’s attention.

      “Hello, earth to Mitch.” She knocked on his head.

      “Huh? Oh, sorry. Hi, Beth.” He treated her to a dazzling smile, causing Raleigh to wonder if there wasn’t a small spark of something between them. Beth would have told her if there was a bona fide romance, but she might keep it to herself if she only flirted a little. Or, she might be oblivious if Mitch was the one with a crush.

      “Mitch, Raleigh has need of your expertise.” She glanced at her watch. “And I’ve got work to do. Let me know, Raleigh.” She hustled away, her bright pink jacket flapping behind her.

      “What can I help you with today, Ms. Shinn?” Mitch asked in his exaggerated Louisiana drawl. He’d been brought up in Cajun country without much money, but his computer skills had been a ticket out of the boonies for him. That was how he put it, anyway.

      “This is a personal matter.” Raleigh rolled up a chair from a neighboring desk. “So if you have urgent foundation business, my problem can take a backseat.”

      “I got nothing pressing. What is it, Raleigh? You seem worried.”

      Did everyone see it? First Beth, now Mitch. If she wasn’t careful, her little problem would interfere with her ability to do her job.

      “Can you hack into a bank’s computer system?” she asked point-blank.

      Mitch leaned back in his chair. “Well, now, that depends on which bank, and what information is needed. In general, the answer is no. Financial institution computer systems are pretty much hack-proof. But even if I could, I wouldn’t. Not unless I want to spend ten-to-twenty in Huntsville.”

      “Ah.” Briefly, she explained the problem. “Could it be a computer glitch?”

      “Not likely. Probably the depositor did, in fact, type or write in your name and account number. Bank systems double-check such things to see that they match.”

      That was what she was afraid of. “Okay, then, what can you tell me about Griffin Benedict? I need to get this guy off my case.”

      Mitch grinned. “Now, that I can help with. But honestly, who would believe that you’re engaged in criminal behavior? You’re as straight as they come. I bet if I checked, I would find you’ve never even had a parking ticket. Hell, you probably are never late returning a library book.”

      He was absolutely right. Raleigh had high respect for the law. Her classmates in school had called her a Goody Two-shoes, but she couldn’t help it. She liked rules. They made her comfortable. She’d been a rule-follower all her life.

      “That’s what makes this story so irresistible,” she said, suddenly realizing the obvious. “Some sleazebag takes a bribe, no biggie. But an upright lawyer crusades for justice, then does something wildly immoral and illegal—that makes for good copy. Like a televangelist getting caught with a hooker.”

      Mitch looked thoughtful. “Griffin Benedict isn’t known for taking cheap shots. His stories are well researched and are usually newsworthy. Picking on you seems a tad sensational for his style.”

      “You sound as if you like him.”

      “I never met him, but I read his stories.”

      “So, has he ever been sued for libel, or invasion of privacy? Does he cheat on his wife or his income taxes? Does he pad his expense report? I need something I can use to at least level the playing field.”

      “I’ll try to have something for you by tomorrow.”

      GRIFFIN EYED the caller ID on his desk phone at work and lunged for the receiver, his heart pounding. This could be it.

      “Griffin Benedict.”

      “Griffin, this is Pierce Fontaine at CNI. How are you today?”

      Would the man sound so cheerful if he was about to deliver bad news? “I’m great, how about yourself?” Griffin wanted to bite his tongue. He’d sounded too folksy, too…Southern. He had to garner a wide appeal if he wanted to succeed as a national TV journalist on Currents, the most watched news magazine on the planet.

      “I wanted to let you know that we haven’t yet reached a hiring decision,” Pierce said. “I know you’ve been waiting a long time, but the brass—you know what sticklers upper management can be about these things.”

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