DANGEROUS HEARTS COLLIDE

Elena Reyes hated charity galas. The smiles were rehearsed. The applause was calculated. Every handshake was another business deal disguised as generosity. She stood near the ballroom entrance with a glass of sparkling water she had no intention of drinking. Her phone was in one hand, her camera in the other. Her editor's last words echoed in her mind. "Don't come back with another speech. Find something real." Real. That was why she was here. Not for the auction. Not for the celebrities. For one man. Luca De Santis. She spotted him almost immediately. He wasn't trying to be the center of attention. People simply drifted toward him. The mayor laughed at something he said. A judge shook his hand. A famous developer clapped him on the shoulder. Everyone wanted a moment with him. Elena lifted her camera. Click. Click. Click. Without warning, Luca looked straight at her. She lowered the camera. Too late. He excused himself from the group. He was walking toward her. "So," he said, stopping a few feet away, " did I pass the photo test?" Elena blinked. "I haven't decided." "Take another." "I already have enough." "I doubt that." She studied him. "You always approach journalists?" "Only the ones hiding behind plants." "I wasn't hiding." "You were definitely hiding." She laughed. "I was observing." "That sounds better." He offered his hand. "Luca." "I know." "Right." She shook it. His grip was firm but brief. "You already know who I am," she said. "I do." "And?" "And you're persistent." "You've read my work." "I've survived your work." She smiled. "So you admit you've been investigated." "I admit I can read." "You avoided the question." "I usually do." A waiter walked past. Luca picked up another drink and held one toward her. "No, thanks." "You don't drink?" "Not while I'm working."."So you're definitely working." "Did you expect honesty?" "I appreciate it." She folded her arms. "You know, most powerful men avoid reporters." "I'm not most men." "That's obvious." "What did you expect?" "A bodyguard." "I have several." She looked around. "I don't see them." "You weren't supposed to." That answer bothered her more than it should have. "So," he said, "what exactly are you hoping to find tonight?" "The truth." "That's ambitious." "You sound amused." "I've noticed people usually come looking for proof of what they've already decided." "I don't." "You don't?" "No." "You've written six articles mentioning my name." "I mentioned your companies." "You implied the rest." "If the shoe fits..." He smiled. "It rarely does." She tilted her head. "People disappear around your businesses." "People disappear everywhere." "Witnesses change their stories." "They're allowed to." "Documents vanish." "So I've heard." "You have an answer for everything." "No." "Then what don't you have an answer for?" He looked at her for a long second. "You." That caught her off guard. "What does that mean?" "It means you don't seem interested in being impressed." "I'm not." "Most people are." "I'm not most people." "I noticed." Someone interrupted. "Mr. De Santis." Luca glanced toward the voice. "Excuse me." Before leaving, he looked back. "Be careful, Ms. Reyes." "Of what?" "The difference between curiosity and obsession." He walked away. Elena watched him disappear into the crowd. She hated that he had left her thinking. Three weeks later. Her apartment looked like a war room. Photographs covered one wall. Maps. Financial records. Shipping routes. Highlighted names. Red string connected faces that shouldn't have known one another. Every path led back to Luca. None of them proved a crime. She rubbed her eyes. "There has to be something." Her phone buzzed. Sofia. "You alive?" "Barely." "You still staring at your conspiracy wall?" "It isn't a conspiracy wall." "What do you call red string?" "Organization." "I call it concerning." "I'm close." "You've been saying that for two weeks." "This time I mean it." "You also need groceries." "I have cereal." "You have expired cereal." "I'll survive." "No, you'll become tomorrow's headline." Elena laughed. "'Journalist Dies Fighting Breakfast.'" "Exactly." Sofia sighed. "When did you last sleep?" "I don't remember." "When did you last leave your apartment?" "I knew it." "I'm working." "You're obsessing." "They're different." "They really aren't." After hanging up, Elena stared at Luca's photograph. "You've made one mistake," she whispered. "I just haven't found it yet." The next morning she stopped at her favorite coffee shop. The line was longer than usual. She finally reached the counter. "Large black coffee." The barista smiled. "The usual." She grabbed the cup and hurried toward the door. Someone stepped inside. They collided. Coffee splashed across an expensive charcoal jacket. "Oh no." She looked up. "You." Luca looked down at the stain. "I was wondering when we'd meet somewhere less glamorous." "I'm so sorry." "It appears coffee is dangerous." "I'll pay for the cleaning." "I'm fairly certain I'll recover." She grabbed napkins. "Hold still." He obeyed. She dabbed at the jacket. "This is getting worse." "It probably is." "I'm making it worse." "A little." She stopped. "I'm usually not this clumsy." "I believe you." "You do?" "No." She rolled her eyes. "You're enjoying this." "A little." She finally stepped back. "There." He looked down. "It still looks terrible." "I know." "Would buying me another coffee help?" She stared at him. "You want me to buy you coffee after I spilled mine on you?" "It seems fair." She laughed despite herself. "I can't believe I'm saying yes." They sat by the window. Neither touched their drinks immediately. "So," Luca said, "how's the investigation?" She narrowed her eyes. "I never said I was investigating you." "You didn't have to." "You sound confident." "I pay attention." "You should worry." "Should I?" "If you're guilty." "And if I'm innocent?" She met his gaze. "Then I'll write that." He searched her face. "You actually mean that." "Of course." "You'd let the truth ruin a good headline?" "The truth is the headline." For the first time, his smile looked genuine. "That's refreshing." She leaned forward. "Answer one question." "I'll try." "Where were you last Thursday night?" "Dinner." "With whom?" "My sister." "Can anyone confirm it?" "Several waiters." "You came prepared." "I assumed you'd ask eventually." "You don't seem nervous." "I'm either innocent..." "Or very experienced." "I was going to say patient." She couldn't help smiling. "You know what's frustrating?" "What?" "I can't decide if you're honest..." "...or simply very good at lying." He looked out the window. "Sometimes those look exactly the same." That evening Elena returned home. An email waited. No sender. No subject. One attachment. Her pulse quickened. She opened it. A warehouse. Armed men. Crates. And Luca standing in the middle of them. Finally. Evidence. Then she noticed the timestamp. Tomorrow. She read it again. Tomorrow. Her stomach tightened. Someone had taken a photograph that hadn't happened yet. Impossible. Unless it wasn't impossible. Unless someone wanted her there. She enlarged the image. Warehouse number. Street name. Time. It was all there. She grabbed her jacket. "This is either the biggest story of my career..." "...or the biggest mistake." She turned off the lights and walked out the door. By this time tomorrow, someone would point a gun at her. And the only person standing between her and death would be the man she believed she was about to expose.