BEYA SLAYA: I don’t think so?
CLAIRE BEAR: Did you agree to an interview?!
BEYA SLAYA: Absolutely not
She switched screens and typed a new name.
BEA: Hi Oliver. Did you just post a teaser about Westhaven?
OLIVER FOX: Hi Bea. Yes.
OLIVER FOX: It’s a general promo. No guest is confirmed.
BEA: Okay, so nothing to do with me?
OLIVER FOX: Since you’re asking, I should be upfront.
OLIVER FOX: Someone has sent me material involving you.
BEA: What kind of material?
OLIVER FOX: It’s a little sensitive and better discussed in person.
BEA: You’re back in the UR?
OLIVER FOX: Yes
A Google Map pin followed to a hotel in Northgate. Bea’s grip tightened around the phone.
BEA: I’ll be there in twenty
“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.