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Troika's Company

"Are you eating these?"

I shook my head and pushed the plate of chocolate chip cookies toward the center of the conference room table. It had been a long week, and I was exhausted.

The release on Tuesday precipitated an avalanche of press requests, and Edward and I spent the better part of Tuesday on the phone with reporters from the trades. We did the network's morning show on Wednesday morning, sitting side-by-side on the lurid orange settee and awkwardly trying to find the right balance between serious journalism and folksy "trust us" familiarity. If I hadn't been so wound up about playing my own part in this game, I'd have laughed my head off watching Edward attempt it.

Strangely, it rapidly became a case of "us versus them" on the press run. We both wanted to talk about the news, while the people who interviewed us seemed more interested in talking about our "fresh" faces and relative youth. I didn't recall signing up to anchor the hipster news, and I was pretty sure Edward was equally confused as to how the mountain of experience he brought to the table was somehow being overshadowed by the fact that he hadn't yet gone gray.

The guys in the bullpen were pretty cool about the announcement, with the fairly notable exception of Tyler. He cold-shouldered me for the better part of the day on Tuesday, until Paul and Newton told him to take his head out of his ass and be thankful that the network promoted from the newsroom.

"You gonna be a jerk now, Big Time?" he grumbled at me.

"No more than usual," I answered with a straight face.

One side of his mouth lifted in a rueful grin. "Just don't start letting your rack do your thinking for you, okay? I'll be watching."

I punched him on the arm, because it was the sort of affection he understood. "When are you not watching my rack. We're cool?"

He gave me a half-nod and told me I was officially out of all bullpen pools. We didn't bet on things like major league sports. Instead, we'd bet which of three yellow cabs at the stoplight on the street below us would make it to the end of the block first, or how many fries the burger joint sent up with Newton's lunch.

While I managed to escape with minimal initial damage, Edward was another story. The guys were torn between wanting to fawn all over him and remembering that he was technically an outsider. As a result, they ended up doing this weird little dance of "keep away" with him. It lasted until Wednesday at about three in the afternoon.

That's when she showed up.

We were trapped in the conference room again, finishing up a joint call with a reporter from The Wall Street Journal. It was a fairly dry interview, for which we were both pretty thankful - just straight-ahead information gathering. I disconnected the speakerphone on the conference room table and was in the process of rubbing my tired eyes when the door burst open and one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen came storming into the room. It was difficult to judge her age, but she couldn't have been older than her late thirties at the outside.

"Priviet, Edward, finally!" she practically yelled, then crossed the room at lightning speed to grab him as he attempted to rise from his chair. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him squarely on the mouth, hard, as his hands rose to hold her by her shoulders.

Something strange and unpleasant began to gallop around in my stomach as I watched them, but the strangeness was quickly replaced with shock when, after detaching her lips from his, she promptly slapped him on his cheek with the back of a well-manicured hand. The slap was every bit as forceful as the kiss had been.

"Nu ty blyat i zasranietz! How do you leave and not tell me, stupid boy? I get phone call two days later. Where is dinner? Where is phone call?"

"Hello to you too, Tanya," Edward said mildly, rubbing the place on his face where her hand had recently left its mark. "Before security detains you for assaulting me, you might give me the opportunity to explain, you know."

"Explain!" She huffed. "There is no 'explain'. There is only apology. Shto za khuynia?" She tore off her fur coat and flung it across the table, then flopped down onto an empty chair, shaking her long, ginger-blonde hair back into sleek perfection.

Edward raised his eyebrows at me. "Bella, this is Tanya. Tanya, Bella."

"The producer, I gather?" I tried to keep my tone neutral, because I wasn't sure what to make of the odd display I'd just witnessed. Either they were the most passionate lovers I'd ever seen, or they'd be needing Peter to build them a death cage somewhere nearby to settle any disputes between them. Or maybe it was a bit of both.

Tanya interrupted Edward as he attempted to explain. "Da. Yes. Producer. I am the producer. And this - this is mudak," she pointed to Edward.

"I'm sorry. I really am. I have no idea what you're saying." I didn't want to agree or disagree with her until I knew what the hell I was agreeing or disagreeing about.

Edward sighed, and rolled his head on his neck to loosen the muscles there. "To recap, since she entered the room, Tanya's called me, variously, a dick and an asshole. She's also told me to fuck off and then asked me what the fuck I meant by leaving without telling her I was going. There was a 'hello' in there somewhere, too. Tanya, settle down and make an effort to speak English, please."

"Hello," I said, sticking my hand out for her to shake. "I'm Bella, Edward's co-anchor."

Tanya grabbed my hand and unceremoniously yanked me closer, setting the casters on the bottom of my chair spinning in her direction. "Bella. You work with him - on purpose? Sumasshedshaya. Prostite - sorry - it means 'crazy'." She looked me up and down without apology. "You are very pretty. She's very pretty, Edward. You don't say that before." It sounded as though she was accusing him of something. I also briefly wondered what she meant by "before".

"Possibly he doesn't agree with you," I suggested.

Tanya threw her head back and laughed. "I said he was stupid boy. He is not blind boy." Then she put her face very close to mine. "I like you. You are honest. We will be friends." I looked over at Edward to try to gauge his reaction to the conversation I was having with Tanya, but he seemed occupied with his phone and appeared to be sending a text.

"Uh, sure," I answered, wondering exactly how much choice I actually had in the matter.

Tanya nodded her head and released my hand, apparently satisfied. Then she turned her face up to Edward. "Tell me. Speak. I wait in my house for you to come for dinner, and then nothing. And I get call from some woman telling me I need to be in New York. So I'm here. Who is Heidi?"

"Heidi is the secretary to the head of the news division at this network. I would have called you myself, but I know how much you enjoy yelling at me and hitting me, so I thought we'd save the whole thing for when you got here. Happy Birthday, two months early."

"Hah!" Tanya laughed, evidently pleased that Edward understood her need to berate him. She lifted her shapely calves onto the empty chair next to her, and then reached over to her coat to grab a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the pocket.

"Tanya, you can't smoke in here," Edward shook his head as she light a cigarette.

"You are wrong, Edward. I can smoke in here. See? Is easy!" And she took a long drag, blowing smoke in his general direction as they smiled at each other.

"So," I said, suddenly feeling uncomfortable and completely unnecessary. "I'll, uh - I'll just..." I rose from my chair and waved toward the door with my hand to indicate my intention to exit the room, but both Edward and Tanya immediately objected to the plan.

"Please don't leave me alone with her," Edward smirked, resting his knuckles on the top of the table. "She's vicious and I need a witness."

Tanya extended a graceful arm to me, wrapping my wrist with her fingers and pulling me back to the table. "You sit. Tell me what he say to make you think is okay to work with him. You look smart. How can you say yes?"

Over the next five minutes, it became glaringly apparent that whatever they were to one another, Edward and Tanya were most definitely not romantically involved. She treated him like a lovable juvenile delinquent, and he treated her like an annoying big sister. I asked how they met, and sensed a moment of awkwardness before Edward explained that Tanya's husband was a colleague of his. There was no further mention of her husband, and they quickly went on to recount how foreign journalists in the former Soviet Union needed someone who knew how to grease wheels. Tanya was apparently the best wheel greaser in the business, and had rescued a significantly more naive, younger Edward from some pretty hairy situations.

"He has no sense," she mourned, affectionately shaking her head at him. They were in the middle of reminiscing about an escapade in the Balkans when the conference room door opened again and a harassed-looking Peter strode into the room.

"Listen - if you think setting off the smoke detectors is going to spring you out of here, you're sadly -" He stopped in mid-rant as he registered that we weren't alone. "Oh. Um, hello," he finished lamely, likely wondering whether he'd interrupted an interview. "I'm sorry - you are...?"

Tanya uncoiled herself from her chair and stalked over to where Peter stood in the doorway. His eyes - as he watched her approach, his eyes ricocheted all over her body, alternately registering appreciation and fear, because Tanya clearly knew how to inspire both with minimal effort. She reached him, standing well within the conventionally-accepted personal space of Western society, and proceeded to make mincemeat of his peace of mind while Edward watched and grinned.

"I'm so sorry," she purred at Peter. "I'm the producer for Edward. Tanya Vasilyev. He don't tell me is not okay to smoke here." She turned her head to face Edward and clicked her tongue against her teeth in admonition. "Stupid boy, you put me in trouble."

Peter vehemently shook his head. "Oh, no, no, no. I mean, you really shouldn't - it's against fire regulations - but of course you wouldn't know that, would you? It's fine, okay, really - just - let's not make a habit of it, okay? There's, uhm, a courtyard downstairs with ashtrays, and, uh, benches. Or, if you'd like, you can come upstairs? I have a balcony and a small patio off the conference room next to my office. If you'd like, I mean."

I watched Peter twist and mangle random thoughts in an effort to keep Tanya from - what? - leaving, maybe? He was more than a little thrown by her, and to be honest, I was thrilled that someone else around here felt a bit off-kilter. I also realized that my producer needed to be equal to the task of keeping things on a level playing field, because it was apparent to me that Tanya was no novice when it came to getting her way. This left me with only one obvious option, and that option was Emmett.

The deed was done with one brief phone call. I only hoped that the guys in the newsroom wouldn't ask to carry him back in on their shoulders when they got wind of his return to the fold. Tyler would be problematic, given that Emmett's departure had left him top dog in the bullpen, but the rest of the guys would be beside themselves. Peter heartily approved of the choice, anxious to lure Emmett back here from the news magazine job he'd taken with a competing network, and I knew that Emmett would more than hold his own against Tanya.

It had taken her five minutes to turn Peter's brain into goo. Converting the boys in the bullpen took less than a half-hour, as she moved from desk to desk, introducing herself and charming them all with her legs and her rolling "r"s. Newton called me shortly after Peter escorted her up to the executive floor to deal with contracts and work visas.

"What's the deal with Ivana Humpalot?" he asked me. "She left, like, half a dozen boners in her wake. Is she property of Edward Cullen, or what?"

"In the first place, a really good steak sandwich leaves half of you guys with boners - it doesn't take much. In the second place, I have no idea what goes on between those two. It's a question for him, not me," I snapped. I realized, as I answered the question, that I'd pretty much paved the road for Edward by telling them they'd have to work him to get to her. And work him they did. From that moment on, they made it a point to tail him whenever he left the conference room, dispensing with the hazing formalities and merely jockeying for a place on his producer's dance card. I'm sure he thought it was hilarious. I know Tanya did, because she'd breeze in and out, laughing at the things they'd shout at her as she passed. The boys were being as sweet as they knew how to be, and while she seemed to enjoy the attention, she spent no appreciable time with anyone other than Edward, myself, or Peter.

I liked her. She was razor-sharp, brutally honest, and had no real ego about her looks. To her, they were simply a tool, a means to an end. Hers wasn't really a studied sexuality; she didn't pose, and she wasn't vain. And even though she was quick to laugh, there was something slightly melancholy about her. I wanted to ascribe it to the fabled Russian emotional condition, but I knew that there was something more - something intensely personal - behind that sadness. It made me curious, and I promised myself I'd do a little digging when I had a moment to spare.

I had a lot on my mind as I pushed those cookies closer to Edward's side of the conference table on Friday afternoon. It had been a crazy, confusing week, and I was uncharacteristically exhausted from the constant strain of miming an easygoing relationship with Edward. I was also thoroughly frustrated at the lack of time I could devote to finding out where the Brandons were hiding Alice.

"It's official," Edward huffed as he snapped shut his phone. "Everyone in Congress is a moron."

I shook my head at him. "You're doing it wrong."

He folded his arms in front of him on the table and lowered his head a little. "You're really going to tell me I can't line up a bunch of sit-downs with the monkeys in the marble halls?"

I pursed my lips and considered whether or not I should actually answer him. It would be easy for me to leave him swinging in the breeze, but this health care reform story was half mine now, and I wanted to be in DC no later than Tuesday to get some of this stuff in the can.

"Listen, cowboy, there's a protocol. You follow the protocol, people talk. They don't know you yet, and they don't trust you. Even if you have no intention of actually sitting down with them, you need to factor in who's been leading the push on the legislation in order of seniority. You make those calls first, and it'll clear the road toward the people you really want to speak with."

He was silent for a minute. "Ah," he finally said. "I was going based on the size of their constituency."

I had to smile at him. "That's because it's the logical approach. I don't think logic and government have lunch with each other very often. It's not your fault that you took your eighth grade civics class so seriously."

Edward looked at me for a moment before mumbling a very quiet something that might have been "thank you". It might have been something else ending with "you" as well - there was really no way for me to tell.

"You really don't like to be wrong, do you?"

"I couldn't say. It doesn't happen often enough for me to have established any kind of pattern," he laughed. "Listen, let's just get these interviews locked down this afternoon. Have you read the bill yet? Miller's office faxed over what they had, under embargo. It's completely insane. I went through it last night and it's a camel."

I furrowed my brows at him. "A camel?"

"Yeah, you know - a horse built by a committee. If this hits the House the first week of November and actually passes, it'll be a miracle. Get over here and take a look at this."

We spent the next few hours combing through the proposed bill and extracting key points to concentrate our questions around. We fought over how to attack several sections of the mammoth piece of legislation until Edward suggested splitting up the points based on cost and effect, and switching things up so that he'd address cost with his sit-downs at the Capitol, and I'd address effect with the lobbyists. I hated to admit it, but the switch gave the piece a whole new layer of interest for me.

When I checked my watch again, it was after three o'clock, and we were heading into the home stretch of a long and stressful week. I left Edward's end of the table and returned to mine, noticing as I did that my phone had three new text messages, the warnings for which I must have missed during our debate on story strategy.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I realized all three text messages were the same, and had been sent within a span of two minutes roughly an hour ago. No words. Just a number with a North Jersey area code: 973-555-0157. My breath caught in my throat and my field of vision was suddenly restricted to the screen on the phone, the numbers it held, and nothing else.

"What? What is it? Is Coop texting you to let you know he's considering changing religions?" Too late, I realized that Edward's sharp eyes wouldn't miss the kind of reaction I had to what was occupying the screen on my phone. I didn't want to tell him about this. Whatever I'd shared with him last weekend had been shared in a moment of - something. Weakness. Shock. Uncertainty, maybe. It wasn't going to happen again.

When I didn't immediately answer, he hopped out of his chair and was standing next to me in the blink of an eye. "Show me," he said, in the voice which made cobras and vipers sway like harmless poppies. I pulled the phone up to my chest like an idiot and shook my head.

"Bella, show me," he repeated. "Come on. Is it Alice again? Show me what it says."

"Why are you so interested? I can handle it myself," I challenged him, even though I had no idea whether what I asserted was in any way accurate.

His brows drew together and I could see the muscles in his jaw flex. "I've already given you my reasons. Don't tell me you've forgotten them. Now show me what's on your phone. Please."

"It's really none of your business, Edward." I tried to make my voice sound hard and convincing when I said it. This whole situation with him felt backwards and strange and more than a little unsettling. He'd managed to worm his way into a part of my life that was roped off to tourists. He was occupying way too many of my thoughts for it to be safe for me to open the door any wider than I already had.

"Why are you being so pig-headed about this? I know you're tough. I know you're good at what you do; you don't need to prove anything to me, okay? You are not objective about this situation, and it's either going to cost you, or it's going to cost Alice. Show me the goddamned phone."

We stared at each other for a long moment. "What makes you think I'm trying to prove anything to you, Edward?"

He exhaled loudly, clearly frustrated. "Maybe you're not. Maybe I was hoping you wouldn't. It doesn't matter. Get used to the fact that you don't have a choice about this particular issue. I swear to God, I will tail you 24/7. You're not doing this alone. I don't care if you think I'm being a complete asshole and overreacting. I'd rather overreact than underreact."

I kept the phone to my chest, but his reaction startled me. It ran so counter to logic that I couldn't figure out what his real motive was. I did what I usually do when I need to know something. I asked. "What's this really about? Tell me, and I'll show you the phone."

Edward let out an exasperated growl. "Let's just say that I don't leave colleagues in the field by themselves. There might be decent coffee and toilet paper here, but that doesn't mean this place is any less dangerous than any of the other places I've been." He leaned down to me and put his face very close to mine. "Whatever you're up to, I'm coming along for the ride. I might even be useful, if you let me be."

If I thought that the numbers on my phone's screen were mesmerizing, I was completely mistaken, because having his eyes so close to mine, staring at me with that much intensity, completely redefined the meaning of the word for me. I could actually feel his breath on my cheek, and it gave me a strange chill. He rendered me defenseless, and while I deplored myself for it, I was powerless to stop him. Defeated, I pulled the phone from my chest to show him the text.

He studied it for a minute, then nodded his head. "Right. Call the number. This is getting ridiculous. And put the speakerphone on so I can hear who picks up."

"Don't order me around, Edward," I said, but I hit the "call back" option and toggled over to speakerphone.

The other end of the line rang twice, and then a hopelessly-bored female voice answered. "Good afternoon, Greymore Psychiatric. How may I direct your call?"

I hung up the line without speaking and turned to face him. "I'm going."

"Plan," he countered. "We need a plan."

I thought for a moment, and then it hit me. "The health care reform story. I'll set up an interview to discuss the impact of the legislation on federally-assisted psych patients."

Edward sprinted over to the conference room door and threw it open. "Tanya!" he bellowed, not caring how many eardrums were offended. "In here. Now."

Within thirty minutes, we'd isolated key staff to target at Greymore, and Tanya had burned up the phone lines, purring us into two pre-interviews for Saturday afternoon with no cameras. She didn't once ask why we wanted to do it - she just threw herself into the task and made the requests sound reasonable. I got the impression that unusual requests from Edward weren't all that foreign for her.

I was forced to acknowledge to myself that Edward was right: treating this like a news story made me feel more in control of things than I otherwise would have felt. By focusing on the health care angle, I was able to stop myself from freaking out about the fact that somewhere in the halls of Greymore, my soul sister was suffering enough to reach out to me using whatever methods were at her disposal. I'd already called the hospital back to make sure that patients couldn't receive outside phone calls, and was told that only pre-approved people could get any information at all on patients, and nobody could just call to speak with them. That left me with no choice but to go in and try to find her. Every time I thought about her in there, alone and probably frightened, my heart clenched and I started to panic, wanting nothing more than to just drop everything and start running in her general direction as fast as I could.

"Don't," Edward said without looking up at me from his place across the table, where he was picking through the proposed legislation for key questions impacting mental health. "Tomorrow has to be soon enough for you."

"So, you're a mind reader now?" It made me extremely uncomfortable to know that he could so accurately guess where my thoughts had wandered off to.

"Yes. I read minds," he deadpanned. "Not that I need to with you, because your fingers are about ten seconds away from drilling a hole into the top of this table."

I abruptly stopped the unconscious drum solo I'd been inflicting on the smooth cherrywood.

Tanya sailed through the door again, waving a stack of 11" x 14" legal papers in her hand. "So simple. The Americans hide nothing. Is like children playing game here," she said, clearly delighted.

Edward arched his eyebrows over his glasses. "Hit me. What'd you find?"

But instead of walking over to Edward, Tanya headed toward my side of the desk and put the papers in front of me. I looked down and saw she'd printed out PDF files of what appeared to be a building plan labeled "150 Bed Psychiatric Hospital".

"Where did you find this? Is it Greymore?"

Tanya nodded her head. "They put plans in town zoning committee meeting minutes. So crazy," she answered, not appreciating her apt phrasing. "This was proposed renovation from two years ago. The local newspaper says it was finished with renovation last August. I don't even have to get out of my chair for this. Is all online, like idiots."

Edward snorted. "Tanya, I don't think anyone was particularly concerned about a break-in at a psych hospital. It's hardly classified material. Nice work, though - thank you. Maybe you'll even show it to me, eventually."

He sounded less annoyed than he probably was, and I understood his reaction. If Emmett decided to come to him with information first, I'd have been furious. To compensate, I asked him what he made of the drawings. He shoved his laptop aside and took a look at the papers Tanya spread out in front of him on the desk.

"Looks like the first two units are semi-private, and the third is single-bed. Given what you've told me about Alice's family, she's probably in the single-bed unit, right?" I nodded. "Okay, so the single-bed unit is to the right of the administrative office cluster. We'll push to do the interviews there, and then sneak down the hallway to see if we can find her."

"There are at least two doors between the admin cluster and Unit Three. How are you suggesting we get through those doors?"

Edward shrugged his shoulders. "No idea. We'll figure it out when we get there."

"We'll figure it out when we get there? This is your plan? It's not really much of a plan, Edward," I said.

Tanya laughed. "Oh, Bella, you don't see what he is like when he do these things. If he wants to go down hallway, he'll go down hallway."

I had my doubts, but that was an issue for tomorrow. "Listen. This is my friend and my problem. You don't get to make any decisions about how we do this. Against my better judgment, I'm letting you come along, but that doesn't mean you get to do more than ride shotgun. Is that understood?"

Edward had the nerve to sling a slow smile in my direction. "Oh, yeah, understood, absolutely. Sure. No problem, sweetheart."

"I'm serious."

"I'm sure you are," he answered, giving me the impression he was sure of no such thing.

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