"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 withthe 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 areI know what you didandwho 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.