This is a bad idea.
Bea paused. “What?”
Channing’s chin tipped toward the glass walls. Through it she saw Oliver Fox sitting on an armchair in the hotel lobby, jacket off. “You should tell Mr. Griffin first.”
Her bodyguard of half a year didn’t usually offer opinions. Jack stayed silent, but agreement was written in his posture.
“The Malaysia issue is getting worse,” Bea said. “I can handle this much.”
“That man is a journalist.”
“I know him,” Bea said, pushing the door open. “Sort of. And anyway, you guys are with me. It’ll be fine.”
Jack entered ahead of her, Channing close behind.
Oliver stood the moment he saw her.
“Bea.” He gestured toward the seat. “I appreciate you coming.”
Bea sat down. “You mentioned material.”
“The Fox Hunt gets anonymous tips all the time. Most are noise. Some aren’t.” Oliver reached into his coat and set a plain envelope on the table. “These were delivered to my hotel this morning, possibly because of my teaser yesterday. No name. No return address.”
Bea didn’t touch it. “Photos?”
He nodded, but didn’t say anything.
Bea’s heart thundered in her chest as she picked it up and pulled out two glossy prints. The first was her, smiling up at Jaxon Dao in the doorway of a hotel room. The second caught her stepping inside as he began to close the door.
Channing stiffened.
Her fingers went numb. Heat rushed through her, then cold, her stomach turning so hard she thought she might vomit.
She knew this corridor; remembered that night.
But in these photos, she wasn’t in office clothing.
She was in a hotel robe, bare-legged, the hem high enough to suggest a story she’d never lived. She hated that anyone might believe it.
“This isn’t real,” she said hoarsely. “We were working.”
“I assumed,” he said quietly. “Your security would have been present.”
“Yes.”
“So nothing could’ve happened.”
Bea’s pulse hammered. “And I wasn’t dressed like that.”
“I believe you,” Oliver said at once.
The edges creased under her grip. She caught herself, smoothed them straight, and slid them back into the envelope.
“Are these the only copies?”
He shook his head. “I wanted you to have the physical ones, so you know what might be circulating. But I was emailed the same pair. And if I got them, it’s likely others have, too.”
“Did you see who delivered them?”
“No. They were already there when I came back.”
“Who would do this?” she asked.
“If I had suspicions, it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to name them,” Oliver said carefully. “You know your world. You’ll have a better sense of who carries grudges.”
Bea closed her eyes. It wasn’t long ago that her biggest problem had been forgetting to reapply sunscreen after four hours.
“If it makes you feel better, they’re not terrible.” Oliver was clearly trying to be comforting. “They’re…suggestive and embarrassing, but you’re not actually mid-act.”
“It’s enough,” Bea said. She took in another shaky breath. “What are my options?”
“Realistically? Ignore it and hope it dies. Or get ahead of it.”
The urge to laugh felt hysterical. She forced it down.
“So far you and Griffin have kept things very private. Which is completely understandable.” He glanced at the envelope, then back to her. “The trade-off is, the public has no baseline. So when something ugly like this appears, there’s no counter-narrative.”
“Are you going to run them?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No. But I can’t promise you I’m the only person holding them.”
RAFAEL
The gym changed the second Bea stepped inside.
Her gaze swept, searching in a way that put him on alert. He racked the weight and rose so she could find him. Bea was already crossing the space.
He wrapped himself around her and felt the frantic rhythm under her ribs. “What’s wrong?”
She rubbed her nose back and forth against his chest. “I need your help.”
“Always.”
Bea opened her bag, fingers unsteady, and passed him an envelope.
“They’re photos from last year,” she said. “The Trenor audit. They’re real, but they’re not.”
She didn’t make sense until he opened it.
It felt like taking a strike flush to the face. Bright, disorienting, instant. His vision flashed white. His pulse roared in his ears. All he could see was Bea. Dao. A door closing. His mind finished what the photo started. Supplied the night, gave it sounds. Hers.
Before he knew what he was doing, his hands ripped, once, twice, shredding the images into nothing. She would never. It didn’t belong to her. It wasn’t them. He could endure everything, except that.
Bea startled. That snapped him back. He drew air in through his nose, slow and controlled, let it out through his teeth. He made himself loosen his jaw.
“Nothing happened,” she said quickly. “I wasn’t wearing that. You know—”
“I know.” Too sharp. She flinched. He drew another slow breath. “I know,” he repeated, softer. “Baby, look at me. I know.”
Months ago, in the dark of his bedroom, she’d confessed she liked it when they were eye to eye. Not craning. Equal. Since then, he’d made a habit of lifting her onto counters, benches, the edge of his desk when something mattered. He didn’t tower when it counted.
So he sat. Lowered himself to the bench, elbows braced on his knees, removing the distance his height created.
“Look at me, little Bea,” he said again.
She searched his face. He held her gaze, making it clear. There was no doubt. He was angry, but none of it belonged to her.
Memory aligned in fragments. The Trenor audit. Her voice on the phone. Channing in the room. Work. Only work.
And a careful, calculated edit.
“Someone altered these,” Rafael said. “Where’d you get them?”
“From Oliver Fox. He said they were delivered to him. And emailed.”
Rafael’s eyes narrowed.
“He’s not going to run them,” she said. “He showed me as a favor.”
“You trust him?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I have no reason not to.”
“Where is he?”
“Still in Northgate for a week or two.”
Rafael’s hand slid into his pocket. He pressed a name. “Inside. Now.”
Channing was there in seconds. Rafael said only one word. “Fox.”
“Recorded the whole thing,” Channing said, holding out his phone.
Rafael took it, already dialing a second number. “Max. Get over here.”
He hung up.
Bea bit her lip. “Oliver also said that because we’ve kept things so private, people don’t have any context. So if this gets out, they’ll latch onto it as truth that much faster.”
Rafael’s expression didn’t change. “That’s probably true.”
Bea’s gaze snapped to his. “You’re agreeing with him?”
“I’m agreeing with reality,” Rafael replied.
“So do you think we should do an interview?” she asked. “Or even just…me?”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I’ll make sure of it.”
Bea’s fingers found his forearm. “Whatever you’re planning, I want to be part of it.”
His jaw flexed. “I’ll handle it.”
“I know you can,” she said, steady. “But I asked for help. Not to be sidelined.”
His gaze cut to her. Sidelined.
“This is my life too now,” she added. “My face. My name. I can’t hide behind you every time someone comes for us. I need to learn, and you need to let me.”
She was asking him to loosen his grip. Logically she was right. Logic had never once quieted the urge to protect. “You don’t understand what I want to do to whoever produced these images.”
Because for one vile second it had been real. Bea’s skin in Dao’s hands. The image lodged itself like shrapnel, wanting to become a memory.
“It’s not hard to guess.” She took hold of one of his clenched fists. Her hands were so small she needed both of them to wrap around. “I want you to protect me. And I want to fight, too.”
Channing stood a few paces away, silent, waiting for orders. It would be easier to take this out of Bea’s hands entirely.
He had the right, the power, the structure behind him.
It would also be the fastest way to break something precious between them.
“Alright.” His voice scraped. “Channing, play that audio back.”