Free Risking Trust by Adrienne Giordano

gone tearing off to find his nephew? Don’t go there, the angel warned, and Roxann shook her head to quiet the madness.
    Too late. The devil pulled ahead. A part of her had simply crumbled when she saw Michael, a man with no children of his own, taking on the role of stand-in father for a rebellious teenager. Could there be a more unselfish thing when he had major issues of his own?
    She didn’t think so. And that was a problem because it touched her in the deepest part of her soul. The part that knew how important it was to have love in one’s life.
    So much for emotional detachment.

Chapter Six
    Phil Dawson entered Roxann’s office like a third grader who’d been sent to the principal. She had only summoned him to corporate a few times and, on each occasion, he seemed more nervous.
    This, she surmised, came from his insecurity over not having a blockbuster story since she’d lured him from the Philadelphia Inquirer two years earlier. There had been plenty to report on, but Phil wanted an award worthy story. The kind that made investigative journalists drool.
    He ran his stubby fingers over his tie as he approached the desk. He’d lost weight recently, but was too cheap to buy new clothes until he lost the last twenty pounds.
    “Hey, Phil.” She held a hand toward one of the guest chairs and he plopped into it.
    “Is there a problem with one of my pieces?”
    Yep. Nervous. “Not at all. I have a lead for you, but it requires discretion.”
    “Great.” He opened his ever present note pad. “Shoot.”
    She leaned back in her chair and took a breath. Helping Michael was about to become real. “It’s the Taylor murder. A source told me Alicia Taylor had an affair with a married man.”
    Phil’s bottom lip shot out as he wrote, and he paused to shove his horn-rimmed glasses up. “Do we know who the affair was with?”
    We sure do . “It’s Carl Biehl.”
    “The mayor’s Carl Biehl?”
    She nodded. “Easy, boy.”
    “Yes, ma’am, but that’s a pretty big dime to drop on someone. Do the cops know?”
    “I don’t know. See what you can come up with.”
    Phil jotted a note. “My P.D. source might be able to confirm it. Is that it?”
    “For now. I’m going to check around a little myself. Don’t be surprised if I call you with something. I’ll clear it with your editor, but for the time being, I want you concentrating on this. If you have a workload issue, we’ll get something reassigned.”
    “I’m good, but if anything comes up, I’ll let you know.” He stood. “You’ll be popular in the editorial meetings.”
    No kidding. Under her father’s rule, the newsroom ran autonomously. Mitch, Phil’s editor and general newsroom grouch, would have a fit about her interference, but he would have to adjust to the change at the helm. Particularly because she suspected Carl Biehl had something to do with Alicia’s murder and Phil, being a die-hard journalist, would help her confirm it.
    “It’s my problem,” Roxann said. “If it goes anywhere the editors and lawyers will have to review everything anyway.”
    Phil smacked his notepad against his thigh. “Thanks, Roxann. I’ve been working this story, but nothing is popping.”
    “This might be the story I brought you here for.”
    He left the office, his steps quicker now. She knew he’d been chasing dead-end leads and she’d given him something to work with. It was only a morsel, but sometimes the biggest story started from scraps.
     
    The following morning, Roxann entered her office at the Banner and dumped her notepad on what used to be her organized workspace. The gorgeous cherry desk had morphed into an eruption of piles and piles of manila folders.
    Banker’s boxes, stacked three high, sat in one corner of the office—her father’s files. All she needed to do was find a place for them. Good luck with that.
    A sliver of panic shot up her arms. Control freaks couldn’t function in messy spaces. This office needed to be firebombed.
    A