Running Back (New York Leopards 2)

“Because you always want the media on your side. And if you lay out all the details, Ivernis won’t seem so mysterious and people will stop being interested.”

I raised my brows at him. “Does that work?”

“We’re gonna find out.”

Jane looked up when we walked into the restaurant. We sat, and Jane smiled at me. “Now I can see it.”

“See what?”

“The resemblance.”

“What?”

“You’re Tamara Bucherov’s daughter, right?”

I slowly swiveled to look at Mike. He raised his brows and shook his head slowly.

I looked back to Jane. “Yes.”

“But you’ve never modeled or anything before?”

“No.”

“And how long have you two been dating?”

“I’m sorry. Is this an article on Ivernis, or Mike?”

She smiled brightly, teeth flashing like only American teeth did. “Both. It’s a human interest story.”

“Well.” I wanted to leave, but dinner hadn’t even arrived. “I don’t really want my personal life written about. I’d rather talk about Ivernis.”

Jane leaned forward. “Look. You have this academic character, this Dr. Ceile, who’s trying to discredit you because of your personal life, right? Because of your mom and your boyfriend.” She nodded at Mike. “And that’s offensive and ridiculous. If he discredits you, it should be because you’re searching for the Irish Atlantis.”

I raised a brow. Mike tapped his foot against mine under the table, a clear indication not to be a smart ass. I mostly resisted. “Sounds about right.”

“So my job is to make people like you. And if they think Mike’s in love with you, it will be easier for them to love you.”

That was kind of weird logic, but okay. Still—”If you’re a sports journalist, how is this going to help the archaeologists involved on the dig? Everyone’s going to expect you to be on Mike’s side, which is my side, which is not going to convince the academic community that we’re to be taken seriously.”

She leaned forward. “Because I plan to write the story for our sister site, which does mainstream news. And I plan to make sure people will pay attention. I’m not a hack, you know. I’m not doing this as a favor to Mike, I’m doing it because there’s a story here.”

My fingers knitted together. “There is?”

“You’re a woman passionate about her career, and you’re being mocked because it’s easy to make Ivernis sound ludicrous and you sound frivolous. Mike told me about all the work you did to get your grant and prove an Iron Age site existed here. I want to show the world you did that work.” She shrugged. “Also, it doesn’t hurt for the public interest that you ended up in

a relationship with the Leopards’ running back.”

Underneath the table, Mike took my hand and squeezed.

Jane placed her recorder on the table. “Are you in?”

I swallowed. “I’m in.”

* * *

We kept digging. Sometimes, in the field, everyone laughed hysterically and told stories and played mindless word games, but other days there were too many hours of where you were entirely in your own head. Too many repetitive hours of sticking the shovel in the ground, bending at the knee, lifting, throwing, over and over. Nothing there. Nothing here. No Ivernis.

On Thursday, I took a moment’s break and swept my eyes over the land. A smile twisted my lips. Would it hurt if I came here, years later, and there was nothing? Just sheep. Just grass and wind and heather.