Chapter 3 #2
Ziggy leaned forward and stared at the threats. They were part of the job. She knew that. Accepted it. But the puck nagged at her. She glanced up. "What if you get another threat that ties to your past? What then?"
He ran his hand across his face. "I don't know. That depends on how specific it is. But we’ll cross that bridge if it happens.”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Boots pushed open the door—the knock more warning than courtesy. For those who didn't know her, it could feel jarring. It had taken Ziggy some time to get used to it.
Boots dropped into the chair next to Ziggy and opened a folder, spreading printed pages with scribbled notes in the margins across the desk. She was a gorgeous woman—dark hair, dark eyes, dark complexion, with a bit of a dark personality to match.
"These four threats are still technically active." Boots shuffled the pages across Noah's desk. "I consider them low-level. I can tie each one to a story."
Ziggy had always liked the way Boots worked—no warm-up, no small talk, straight to it. The leather jacket, the ponytail, the boots with the heels that announced her before she spoke—all of it said the same thing. Don't waste her time, and she won't waste anyone else's.
Noah collected his own pages and pushed them aside. "I pulled the files this morning. First time I've looked at them since they happened. I remember them, but they aren't tied together. At least, not that I can tell."
"You're right," Boots said. "This one ties to the piece you ran on the community center and the organizers.
" She tapped the page. "Language tracks with that man you had on the show, but the IP isn't connected to anyone we can identify.
We haven't gotten anything with this kind of language in months.
Low risk, but I'm watching it." Boots flipped the page.
"This one is an email that came in three months ago.
They referenced the three-part series you did on that cult leader hiding behind a diet and exercise program.
I chased a few leads. Spoke to a few people who were insulted that you called a program that saved their lives a cult and fraudulent—even more upset that you brought the founder on a national show and embarrassed them.
It appears to have been a collective effort, but I can't prove it.
Low risk, but I'm monitoring those I believe are involved. "
"Those followers protested for weeks," Ziggy said. Noah had made her promise to text him when she was ten minutes out, and if he wasn’t already at the station, she'd call security. She hadn’t been overly frightened, but she had a cop for a brother. She knew what could happen, and she wasn’t too stupid to live.
"Wasn't the first time." Noah swiveled in his chair. "Next."
"Connected to the pharmaceutical piece from eighteen months ago.
Similar language turned up in letters to two other journalists who covered the same story around the same time.
Different IP, can't prove anything, and no other threats related to that story have come in since.
" Boots set down the paper and tapped the fourth.
"The thing about all of these is that they're specific.
They name the story and their problem with how you handled it, or the fact that you covered it at all. "
Boots squared the pages. "The threats are vague. They don't say they're going to hurt you or your career, but they have an undertone, which is why they were all filed with legal and the police." She shifted her gaze between Noah and Ziggy. "No coordination. Low risk across the board."
Ziggy kept her focus on Noah, and he didn't flinch. This was the version of Noah that guests with something to hide had learned the hard way wasn't as relaxed as it looked. She knew what it cost him to sit that still right now.
Boots reached into the back of her folder and set a photocopy on the desk.
Ziggy didn't need to read it. She knew what it was by the way Noah's mouth twitched—a quick jump, barely there. Most wouldn't catch it. But she was looking for it.
"This birthday card," Boots said. "First—while it's easy enough to find out a person's birth date, you've never advertised yours."
"I like to keep my personal life private," Noah said.
Boots snorted.
Ziggy covered her mouth. It wasn't funny, except that the women he dated tended to flash photos of themselves with him all over their socials.
"The card itself isn't unsettling. I Googled you and asked how old you were—the age came up right away. Date of birth took a little more digging, but AI found it soon enough." Boots held up the image. "The message bothers me."
"It's vague. It means nothing," Noah said.
"I'd agree if it were attached to a story.
But it's attached to literally nothing. Sending to the station isn't new.
Private courier isn't either, but I can't get a line on this one.
I've been working through every courier company in Seattle—calling each one to ask if they have any record of this delivery.
Three, so far, have nothing. No record of a pickup, no record of anything sent to this station.
" She set a handwritten list on the desk.
"I've got more companies on here. I'll keep going. "
"Can you email me that?" Noah asked. "All of them."
Boots furrowed her brow. "Sure. Mind if I ask why?"
"I have some sources at a few of them. I might be able to get somewhere."
Ziggy kept her pen moving across her notepad, doing her best not to give up that lie. He was good with stories. Good with the people he interviewed. But he had tells, and Boots wasn’t stupid.
"I'll send it this afternoon." Boots tucked all the papers into her folder.
"The lines in this card that stand out are I know what you did and who holds you accountable.
" She looked at Noah directly. "My guess is whoever sent this wants to be the person who holds you to the fire.
Any idea what they believe you did? And I need you to really think. "
"Off the top of my head, I have no idea," he said. "But it could be almost anything. I bring people on the show to expose the truth. Everyone knows that."
"It could be about an upcoming story," Ziggy said. "We've got a few things in the works, and we've had teaser commercials running for the next three shows."
"I'd like a list of what's in the pipeline so I can do my thing," Boots said.
"I can get that to you by the end of the day."
"Good. But I also want you to consider something else." Boots tilted her head, the ponytail shifting across the back of her jacket. "I'd look at the personal angle. A woman you dated. Someone who thought you owed them something and never got it. Anyone come to mind?"
"Oh, that could be a long list," Ziggy said.
"Gee, thanks." Noah leaned forward and for the first time since Boots had walked into his office, he smiled—a real, genuine smile. "It's not my fault that women don't understand that I'm serious when I say I'm not marriage material and that when I take them out, it's never going to last."
"I'm amazed you don't have a reputation as a player." Boots collected her belongings and stood.
"You saying that means people are talking about me."
"Only that you never date anyone in the office, and not for lack of the staff trying." Boots chuckled. "Anything else surfaces, you call me. I'll be in touch."
"Thanks for coming in," Ziggy said.
"Anytime." Boots tapped her knuckles on the desk. "Happy belated." She was out the door and halfway down the hall before it clicked closed.
"She made an interesting argument about it possibly being personal." Ziggy knew that could absolutely be true about the card that had arrived at the station.
"Name one truly unhinged woman I've gone out with in the last five years."
She opened her mouth, but not a single name came to mind. "I try not to remember them."
"That's your excuse because it bothers you the same way I can't stand seeing you with another man.
" He pushed back his chair and stood. "I'm not saying it couldn't be.
But the card said, ‘I know what you did’.
Not, ‘what you did to me’. If it were a woman who felt wronged by me, don't you think that's what it would say?
" He ran his hand across his hair and moved across his office, once again facing the bullpen.
Facing his team. Her office was across the main room, and she often saw him just standing there, staring at—she had no idea what.
The thing was, she should be focusing on the problem and not on the fact that he'd just admitted her dating bothered him. But here she was, wondering which one bothered him the most.
For the first time since she'd walked through his door this morning, she let herself think about tonight — not the conversation she'd been dreading, not the words she'd been rehearsing since two in the morning, but the fact that whatever came next, whatever they said to each other before Troy's dinner, was going to happen against the backdrop of this.
Of someone out there who knew something.
Or thought they did.
She wasn't sure which one scared her more.