Page 16 of Dead Air
"I'm already a target." Lawson stepped around him. "Difference is, now I know it."
Richardson followed her to the front door. "Be careful who you trust, Lawson. Even people who seem like allies might have their own agendas."
She stopped with her hand on the doorknob. "Including you?"
His expression gave nothing away. "I'll make some calls about the leak. But whatever you're planning with Blackwell, think it through. Once you start talking, you can't control where the story goes."
chapter
six
River Street bustledwith Tuesday afternoon tourists. Sunburned families strolled between gift shops. College students clustered on benches with iced coffee cups sweating in the heat. The Savannah River stretched dark and wide beyond the cobblestones, cargo ships sliding past like floating buildings.
Lawson arrived fifteen minutes early. Force of habit from years of stakeouts. The River Café occupied prime real estate with outdoor tables shaded by striped umbrellas. She claimed the corner table with her back to the wall. Her gaze swept across every entry point, every shadow, every stranger who lingered too long.
Her phone buzzed. Text from Claire:Careful with Fiona. She's my sister, and I love her, but she usually has an angle.
Fiona Stevens appeared right on time. Navy linen pantsuit despite the August heat. Hair pulled into a loose knot that somehow looked both effortless and expensive. The Savannah Chronicle's star investigative reporter moved with the practiced confidence of someone accustomed to walking into rooms where she wasn't welcome.
"Detective." Fiona slid into the chair opposite Lawson. Her smile revealed teeth whitened beyond nature. "Thanks for meeting me."
"Your message suggested urgency." Lawson kept her voice neutral. "You wanted to talk about Leah Blackwell."
Fiona waved to a server before answering. "Iced tea, please. Unsweetened with lemon." Her gaze returned to Lawson. "Claire mentioned you heard the podcast."
"All of Savannah heard it." Lawson studied Fiona's face. Looking for tells. The slight eye movements that betrayed lies during interrogations. "Your text implied you had information."
The server delivered Fiona's tea and refilled Lawson's water glass. Fiona stirred three sweetener packets into her drink. A contradiction of her unsweetened order.
"Information might be too strong." Fiona took a careful sip. "Context might be more accurate."
"Context."
"Leah Blackwell and I attended a journalism conference in Atlanta last year. She presented on ethics in true crime reporting." Fiona's fingers traced patterns in the condensation on her glass. "Brilliant speaker. Law degree from Columbia. Turned down offers from top firms to chase cold cases."
"You sound impressed."
"Professional respect." Fiona leaned forward. "What she did with the Wallace case in Detroit was impressive. State reopened a twenty-year murder based on her investigation."
Lawson had researched Blackwell's work. The Wallace case had freed a man wrongfully convicted of killing his business partner. But Blackwell's methods had involved questionable source cultivation. Paying witnesses. Promising story control to families.
"She gets results." Lawson conceded this much.
"At any cost." Fiona's voice dropped lower. "Her legal background gives her an edge most crime reporters lack. She knows exactly how far she can push before crossing lines."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because your partner deserves justice." Fiona held Lawson's gaze. "But Blackwell cares about stories more than justice. You should know who you're dealing with."
Lawson thought about the Richardson conversation last night. His warning about being careful with Blackwell. Now, Fiona appeared with similar cautions. Coincidence seemed unlikely.
"The Dolores Bates story at the regatta last year." Lawson changed direction. "That was your story, right?"
Fiona straightened, pride flickering across her features. "I uncovered the connection between Dolores and her late husband's mistress. Proved her self-defense claim when nobody believed her."
"I remember." Lawson recalled the night everything unraveled. Claire had called her to help get a recorded confession. The mistress's son lured Fiona onto a boat after dark at gunpoint. Lawson had called in backup on short notice.
"You saved me trouble that night." Fiona's voice softened with what might have been genuine gratitude. "I never properly thanked you."
