When the silence stretches to an unbearable length, I walk over to the table and sit down. Toby settles down into the wooden chair beside me. We’re so close our legs are touching under the table. I move my legs away and Toby shifts, moving his so that they’re still touching mine.

“Obviously we weren’t expecting you to show up in the clubhouse,” Flint says. “But now that you’re here, there’s something that we want to run by you. A proposal of sorts. It could be a good deal for you if you’re willing to agree to our terms. Please hear me out before you say anything one way or the other.”

My ears perk up. I’m very interested in what he’s about to say.

He waves his hand toward the window.

“We’re in over our heads with the media circus out there. This is way beyond what we expected. We need someone to help us navigate the press. Someone who knows and understands these things. We’re aware that there will be lots of things said and written about the Steel Infidels that simply aren’t true. The media is going to try to dig up every last bit of dirt they can find on us. The worse things they can find, the better the story. We’re not stupid. We know how it works.”

I nod my head to show him that I’m following his line of thought. Everything he’s saying is true.

He leans forward and spreads his hands out on the table.

“The truth is we’re good guys,” he continues. “Sure, some of us have beards and a few too many tattoos. We realize that can be a little scary and off-putting to some people. That’s just our style. It doesn’t mean we’re criminals.”

“I personally don’t have anything against tattoos,” I say.

In fact, I suddenly seem to have a fascination with tattoos. Particularly the ink covering the tanned arm barely touching mine. I wonder about the stories behind Toby’s tattoos and if I’ll ever have a chance to find out. He doesn’t seem to be the sharing kind, so I doubt it.

“That’s good to know,” Flint says with a quick, charming smile. “The members of the Steel Infidels also own several successful businesses. We do charity rides every spring. In the past, we raised over $20,000 for a wildlife rescue center here in Bardsville. My wife, Kendra, is a veterinarian, and she runs the place.”

Okay, that surprises me.

“We’re very involved in the community and don’t want any bad publicity to come to our beautiful town because of us. We know the media isn’t going away, so we need someone to help us manage what gets put out there. Since you’re already involved, we were hoping you might consider helping us.”

“Me?” I echo in surprise. “Why me?”

The question pops out before I think. Who cares why?

Flint smiles again. “You’re a reporter, aren’t you? And you were with us yesterday. You saw and heard everything the same as we did. Who better? You’re local too, right here in the state. We would feel more comfortable working with you than a news anchor from ABC or one of the bigger networks.”

“Have they already contacted you?” I ask.

“ABC Nightly News? Yes, along with several other major media outlets. Even television shows in the UK, Mexico, Australia, and Japan. The calls keep coming in. We’re out of our league here. What do you say? Do you want to work with us?”

I’m shocked. This could turn out much better than I expected.

“What exactly are you proposing that I do?”

“We’ll give you the first exclusive interview,” Flint says. “When the press finds out we’ve already contracted with a specific media outlet, maybe they’ll back off. That’s what we’re hoping for anyway.”

I almost fall out of my chair. Instead I smile back at him.

“I would love the opportunity,” I say, trying not to reveal how excited I am. “If Toby will hand me my phone, I’ll call my boss at the station so he can set aside a time slot for the interview to air.”

Toby snorts and then bursts out laughing.

I glance over at him in confusion. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Just that I told the guys you would try to run right over us if we gave you an inch, and here you go. Zero to ninety in two seconds. You haven’t even asked what our conditions are.”

“What conditions?”

Toby tilts his head at me.

“See what I mean?” he says.

“There are a few conditions before you agree,” Flint says. “You might not like them.”

I shift in my chair and cross my legs. In the process, I accidentally kick Toby with my shoe. “Oh sorry,” I say automatically, trying to move my leg away from him under the table. He slides a possessive warm hand down my thigh and holds my leg still without looking at me. I try to ignore it.

“Okay, let’s hear your conditions,” I say. “I’m flexible.”

“I just bet you are,” Toby says under his breath while stroking my knee with his thumb.

Irritated, I try to push his hand firmly off my leg. He’s distracting me. He grips my thigh tighter. I stop fighting him, realizing that he’s only trying to aggravate me. Ignoring his juvenile tactics is the best option.

At this point, I’m realizing I don’t like Toby much either. What happened to the guy I met yesterday? Maybe he wasn’t real and was only a figment of my overactive imagination brought on by a horrifying event.

This Toby is rude.

And crude.

The twinkling eyes, bulging muscles, and interesting tattoos can’t make up for a serious lack of class.

“For starters, you must work alone,” Flint says. “We’re not agreeing to a cameraman until we say he can join you. And you have to give up your cell phone when you’re with us. It’s the standard club rule for all outsiders.”

I shake my head. “No way! I’m not agreeing to those conditions. I can’t possibly work without my cell phone. And I need it to access the Internet for research purposes.”

“Why would you need to do research if you’re personally interviewing us?” Toby asks. “Isn’t that the whole point? To get our side of the story? If you’re researching the Steel Infidels on the Internet, then your opinion becomes biased, if it isn’t already.”

He has a valid point.

“I’m not going to make a fool out of myself by doing an interview without fact-checking before it goes on the air,” I say. “My career would be ruined if I did something that stupid. I could lose my job.”

“That’s not what we’re suggesting,” Flint says calmly. “After the interview is finished and we sign off on it, then you’ll be free to do your fact-checking before it goes live.”

This sounds like a win-win to me.

If I find out they’re manipulating me, I’ll re-work the tapes and run whatever I want.

“Wait,” I say when his words start to sink in. “What exactly do you mean by sign off on it?”

“If you want to run the story, you’ll need our sign off on approval first,” Flint explains. “If you decide not to run the piece, then you can kill it. What we won’t allow you to do is change it substantially without our permission. We need final approval on anything you put on the air about the Steel Infidels.”

“Last time I checked, that’s not the way reporting works,” I say.

Toby leans back in his chair and crosses his muscular arms. I wonder how he finds shirts with sleeves big enough for his arms to fit through.

“This is a ridiculous waste of time,” he says.

“Maggie can take the deal or leave it,” Flint says. “It’s the only way we’ll agree to being interviewed. I’m an attorney, so the agreement will be legal and binding. If you break it, we’ll sue your ass off. And we’ll need a separate non-disclosure agreement signed as well.”

Flint’s a lawyer? I didn’t see that one coming either.

I should have suspected something was off, especially with the smooth, calm way he presented their offer to me. I’ve been thinking they’re nothing but a bunch of hillbilly redneck bikers.

There is much more to the Steel Infidels than what I ever imagined.

I need to be more careful.

What they’re suggesting is ludicrous. I’ve never let a source sway my story. Then again, I’ve never had this kind of opportunity either. A chance to do something really big that will make the national news stations.

It’s not the first time for a journalist to agree to restrictions on an interview. Sean Penn went into the jungle to interview El Chapo for Rolling Stone Magazine. I’m sure El Chapo placed many restrictions on what he could ask about or see while he was there.

Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the greater good.

Which, in this case, is the bigger story.

I consider their offer carefully then nod at the three brothers watching me intently from the other side of the table.

“I’m all yours, gentlemen,” I say. “When do we start?”