Heart Of The Matter
Marta Perry
Amanda Bondine's Boss is so…bossy!The hard-nosed newspaperman will only assign reporter Amanda Bodine fluff pieces about dog shows. She longs to prove herself with a serious front-page story. But then her own family becomes newsworthy. Suddenly, Ross Lockhart is sitting beside her at Sunday dinner, interviewing her relatives. And he almost seems…like part of the family. Until she realizes he's after information that will tarnish the Bodine name! Time to teach the boss about the real heart of the matter: love.
Ross was close enough to hear the hitch in Amanda’s breath.
“You put yourself in danger tonight for a story,” he said. “You will never do that again, or I will fire you. Understand?”
She nodded, and her lips trembled, and he felt something inside him soften toward her. He wanted to…kiss her.
Back off, he commanded himself. It would be a mistake. Even if he weren’t pursuing a story that might lead directly to her father, he couldn’t get involved with someone who worked for him.
Amanda, despite her veneer of sophistication, was really a small-town girl at heart. She was the sort of person who believed in love and fidelity and happily-ever-after. All the things he dismissed as fiction.
She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, the glance tentative, questioning, as if she wondered what he was thinking.
He couldn’t let her know.
MARTA PERRY
has written everything from Sunday School curricula to travel articles to magazine stories in more than twenty years of writing, but she feels she’s found her writing home in the stories she writes for the Love Inspired lines.
Marta lives in rural Pennsylvania, but she and her husband spend part of each year at their second home in South Carolina. When she’s not writing, she’s probably visiting her children and her six beautiful grandchildren, traveling, gardening or relaxing with a good book.
Marta loves hearing from readers, and she’ll write back with a signed bookmark and/or her brochure of Pennsylvania Dutch recipes. Write to her c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279, e-mail her at marta@martaperry.com, or visit her on the Web at www.martaperry.com.
Heart of the Matter
Marta Perry
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.
—Matthew 6:33
This story is dedicated to Pat and Ed Drotos,
my dear sister and brother-in-law.
And, as always, to Brian, with much love.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
Amanda Bodine raced around the corner into the newsroom, sure she was late for the staff meeting. She skidded to a halt at the sight of her usually neat, work-manlike desk that now bloomed with a small garden of flowers. Above it floated a balloon bouquet with a streamer that fairly shouted its message. Happy Birthday. Her heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach.
She glanced at her watch. Two minutes until the editorial meeting. If she could just get everything out of sight…
“Ms. Bodine.” The baritone voice dripped with sarcasm, and she didn’t have to turn around to identify the speaker—Ross Lockhart, managing editor of the Charleston Bugle. “It seems your personal life is intruding into the office. Again.”
“I’m sorry.” It wasn’t her fault the her large family seemed to take it for granted that they were welcome in her workplace. One noisy visit from two of her cousins had occurred when Lockhart was addressing the staff. He was not amused.
She forced herself to turn and face the man. Drat it, she never had trouble standing up for herself in any other circumstances. Why did her grit turn to jelly in the presence of Ross Lockhart?
Because if you get in his way, he’ll mow you down like a blade of grass, her mind promptly responded.
“Get rid of it. Please.” The addition of the word didn’t do a thing to mitigate the fact that it was an order. “Editorial meeting, people.” He raised his voice. “Conference room, now.”
A rustle of something that might have been annoyance swept through the newsroom, but no one actually spoke up. No one would. They were all too aware that hotshot journalist Ross Lockhart had been brought in by the Bugle’s irascible owner and publisher, Cyrus Mayhew, to ginger things up, as he put it. Lockhart seemed to consider firing people the best way to accomplish that.
Lockhart stalked away in the direction of the conference room before Amanda needed to say another word to him, thank goodness. She should have made sure she’d regained her professional demeanor before coming back to the office from the birthday lunch with her twin sister. Lockhart already seemed to consider her a lightweight in the news business, despite her seven years’ experience, and she didn’t want to reinforce that impression.
She moved two baskets of roses and daisies to the floor behind her desk and grabbed a notebook to join the exodus from the newsroom.
“Happy birthday, sugar.” Jim Redfern, the grizzled city desk editor, threw an arm around her shoulders in a comradely hug. “Too bad you have to spend it in another meeting.” His voice lowered. “Sittin’ around a table doesn’t get a paper out. You’d think the man would realize that.”
“He realizes Cyrus expects him to turn us into number one, that’s what.”
Jim snorted. “Not going to happen in my lifetime.”
Nor in hers, probably. Everyone knew that the venerable Post and Courier, the oldest newspaper in the South, was Charleston’s premier paper. The best the Bugle could hope for was to break a surprise story once in a blue moon.
And keep ’em honest, as Cyrus was prone to say. Everyone who worked at the paper had been treated to his lecture on the importance of competition in the news.
He’d probably like to believe his staff shared that passion.
Entering the high-ceilinged, wood-paneled conference room, Amanda glanced around the table, assessing her colleagues. Cyrus’s hope seemed unlikely to be fulfilled. His staffers were either just starting out, hoping this experience would lead to a more important job down the road, or they were old-timers like Jim, put out to pasture by other, more prestigious papers.
She was the only reporter who fit somewhere in the middle, with a year’s experience at the Columbia paper, where she’d interned during college, and three years at the Tampa Tribune before the lure of the city she loved and the family she loved even more drew her home.
Except for Ross Lockhart, the exception to the rule—smart as a whip, newspaper savvy and ambitious. Above all, ambitious.
Lockhart took his place at the head of the long rectangular table, frowning as usual when he looked at them. He probably found them a pretty unprepossessing bunch compared to the company he’d kept at the Washington, D.C., daily where he’d worked before a public scandal had nearly ruined his career.
She sat up a bit straighter. Maybe they weren’t the brightest tools in the tool chest, as her daddy might say, but at least they hadn’t fabricated a front-page story, as Lockhart had been accused of doing. And it must have been true, since the paper had made a public apology to the congressman concerned and promptly fired Ross Lockhart.
Lockhart’s piercing gray gaze met hers almost as if he’d heard her thoughts, and her throat went dry. Juliet Morrow, the society editor, romantically claimed he had a lean and hungry look, like some crusader of old. The contrast between the steel-gray of his eyes and the true blue-black of his hair, the angular lines of his face, the slash of a mouth—well, maybe she could see what Juliet meant.
But the look he’d turned on her was more that of the wolf eyeing Little Red Riding Hood. She was already sitting near the end of the table. It was impossible to get any farther away from him. Only the obituary writer was lower on the totem pole than she was. She held her breath until his gaze moved on.
He began assigning the stories for the next news cycle. Knowing perfectly well he wouldn’t have anything remotely important for her, she fixed her attention on a framed Bugle front page that announced VE Day and let her thoughts flicker again to that birthday lunch.
She and her twin were thirty today. Annabel was well and truly launched on the work that was her passion. The others at the meal, more or less the same age, were all either soaring ahead in careers or busy with husband and family. Or both. Only she was entering her thirties stuck in a job where her prospects grew dimmer every time her boss looked her way.
Which he did at that moment. She stiffened. Was there another dog show coming to town that needed her writing talents?
“Bodine.” His tone had turned musing. “Seems to me I’ve heard that name lately. Something connected to the military, wasn’t it?”
Her breath caught. Was this the way it would come out—the secret the family struggled to keep in order to protect her grandmother? Right here in the newsroom, in front of everyone, blurted out by a man who had no reason to care who it hurt?
The others at the table were looking at her, their quizzical gazes pressing her for a response. Finally Jim cleared his throat.
“Somethin’ about the Coast Guard, maybe? Bodines tend to serve there.” He said the words with the familiar air of someone who knew everything there was to know about old Charleston families…all the things their boss couldn’t possibly know.
Lockhart’s gaze slashed toward him with an air of clashing swords. Then he shrugged, glancing down at the clipboard in front of him. “Probably so. All right, people, let’s get to work.”
With a sense of disaster narrowly averted, Amanda followed the others toward the door. Two steps from freedom, Ross Lockhart put out a hand to stop her. “One moment, Ms. Bodine.”
She stiffened, turning to face him. Maybe her relief had come too soon.
He leaned back in the chair, eyeing her. She held her breath. If he asked her outright about Ned Bodine, the great-uncle the community had branded a coward, what could she say? She didn’t much care what he thought, but if word got out, her grandmother might be hurt.
Finally his focus shifted to the sheaf of papers in front of him. “Mr. Mayhew wants to run a series of articles on the Coast Guard—the functions of the base, its importance to the local economy, maybe some human interest profiles. It seems your family connections might be a help to us in that.”
Excitement rippled through her. A real story, finally. “Yes, of course.” She was so excited that she nearly tripped over the words. “My father, my brother and my cousins are still on active duty, several stationed right here in Charleston. I’d love to write about—”
He cut her off her enthusiasm with a single cut of his hand. “These will be in-depth pieces. I wasn’t suggesting you write them.”
Disappointment had a sharp enough edge to make her speak up. “Why not? I’m the most qualified person in the newsroom on the Coast Guard. I did a series when I was at the Tampa paper—”
“Knowing something about a subject doesn’t mean you’re the best person to write the articles.” His tone suggested she should know that. “In fact, I’m taking these on myself. Your role will be to get me access and set up the interviews.”
Something anyone with a phone could do, in other words. Naturally he wouldn’t let her actually write anything. In Ross Lockhart’s eyes, she was nothing but a sweet Southern belle filling in time until marriage by pretending to be a reporter.
Her jaw tightened until she felt it might crack. She could speak her mind, of course. And then she’d go right out the door onto the street behind the other eight people he’d fired.
Finally she swallowed. “I can take care of that.”
“Good.” He shuffled through his papers, leaving her to wonder if she should go or stay. Then, rising, he held out a half sheet of paper to her. “Get this in for tomorrow’s news cycle.”
He strode out the door, on to bigger and better things, no doubt. She glanced down at her latest assignment and sucked in an irritated breath.
At least it was a change from a dog show. This time it was a cat show.
Amanda Bodine wasn’t quite the person he’d originally thought her. Ross paused at his office door, scanning the newsroom until his gaze lit on her.
Oh, she looked the part, with her chic, glossy brown hair and her trick of looking up at you with those big green eyes from underneath her thick eyelashes. A stereotypical Southern belle, he’d thought—pretty, sweet and brainless. But she wasn’t quite that.
The charm was there, yes, and turned on generously for everyone but him. At the moment she was chatting with the kid from the mail room, seeming as interested in him as she’d be if Cyrus Mayhew himself walked up to her.
Everyone’s friend—that was Amanda. Even a crusty old reporter like Jim would pause by her chair, resting his hand on her shoulder long enough to exchange a quip before heading for his desk. Every newsroom had its flirt, and she was theirs.
Amanda was a lightweight, he reminded himself. She didn’t belong here. Even if she wasn’t quite as shallow as he’d first thought, she didn’t have the toughness it took to make a good reporter. Just ask him. He knew exactly how much that cost.
Sooner or later Amanda would take her sweet Southern charm and her big green eyes, marry someone suitable, retreat into her comfortable Charleston lifestyle and produce babies who looked just like her.
No, she didn’t belong in a newsroom. He threaded his way purposefully through the desks toward her. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be useful. Amanda could give him entrée into a world he’d have trouble penetrating on his own. And that wasn’t exactly using her. She was an employee of the paper, after all.
The lie detector inside his mind let out a loud buzz. That was an asset when interviewing the many people who didn’t want to tell the truth to a reporter. Not so helpful when it turned on him that way.
Well, okay. He was using her. He’d use anyone, try anything, that would get him back to the life where he belonged.
You don’t have to trick her. You could tell her about the anonymous tip. Ask for her help.
The voice of his conscience sounded remarkably like that of his grandmother. She’d died when he was a teenager, but the Christian standards she’d set for him still cropped up at inconvenient moments. For an instant he wavered.
Then his resolve hardened. He’d tried being the Boy Scout before, living by his grandmother’s ideals, and look where it had gotten him. Clinging to the remnants of his career with his fingernails.
If Cyrus Mayhew hadn’t been willing to give him a chance, the only newspaper job he’d have landed was delivering them. In Alaska.
So he’d do what he had to. He frowned. The called-in story tip had been annoyingly vague, as they so often were, but it had promised a scandal, fat and juicy, involving the Coast Guard base and kickbacks paid by local companies for contracts. A big story—the kind of story that, properly handled, could get him back on top again.
And Amanda Bodine, with her Coast Guard family, was just what he needed.
He stalked up to her desk, noting that just the sight of him was enough to send the mail room kid fleeing. Amanda had a bit more self-control, but she clearly didn’t welcome his visit, either.
“Ms. Bodine.” The balloons were gone from her desk. “Have you set up an initial meeting for me yet?”
“I…um, yes.” A faint hint of pink stained her cheeks. “I spoke with my father. He’d be pleased to talk with you.”
“Good.” He’d done a little digging himself. Talking to Brett Bodine would be starting at the top. He was one of the head honchos at the local Coast Guard base. “When can we meet?”
Her flush deepened, and he watched, fascinated. When was the last time he’d met a woman who could blush?
“Actually, I’m on my way to a family get-together when I leave work. My daddy suggested you come along and have some supper with us. You can talk to him, and my cousins will be there…” Her voice petered out.
“I assume this is a birthday party for you.” He lifted an eyebrow, remembering the birthday balloons and flowers. Clearly Amanda had some admirers.
“And my sister, Annabel. We’re twins. Since our birthday is in the summer, we’ve always had a picnic at the beach.” She clamped her mouth shut suddenly, maybe remembering who she was telling.
“It sounds charming.”
Her eyes narrowed, as if she suspected sarcasm. “I explained to him that this was business, not social. If you’d rather meet at his office, I can tell him that.”
The idea of taking him to a family gathering clearly made her uncomfortable, but it appealed to him. Get people in a casual setting where they felt safe, and they’d often let slip more than they would in a formal interview.
“No, this sounds good,” he said briskly. “Give me directions, and I’ll be there.”
“It’s at my grandmother’s beach house over on Sullivan’s Island.” She kept dismay out of her voice, but her mouth had tensed and her hands tightened on the edge of her desk.
“Directions,” he said again.
Soft lips pressed together for an instant. “I’ll be coming back into the city afterward anyway, if you want to ride over with me instead of trying to find it on your own.”
Her brand of Southern courtesy compelled the offer, he supposed, but he was quick to take advantage. A few moments alone in the car with her would give him a chance to get background on the people he’d be meeting.
“Fine,” he said promptly. “Are you ready?”
Again the tension showed in her face, but she managed to smile. “Just let me close a few files.” She flicked a glance at his shirt and tie. “But you’ll want to wear something more casual at the beach.”
“I keep a change of clothes in my office.” He turned, eager to get on with it. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot in fifteen minutes.”
He strode toward his office, nodding at the few staffers who ventured to say good-night to him. Most just hurried past, heads down, as if eager to escape his notice. It didn’t work. He noticed, just as he’d noticed Amanda’s reluctance.
She was both too polite and too worried about her job to argue with him. Even if she had, he’d have been perfectly capable of overrunning her objections.
Amanda didn’t want him on her home ground, but that was too bad. Because the Bodines were going to help him get back to his native turf, and no other considerations would stand in his way.
Amanda had been treated to a sample of Ross’s interview style on the trip over to the island, and she didn’t much care for being on the receiving end. She pulled on shorts and T-shirt in the small room under the eaves that the girl cousins always shared at the beach house.
She glanced in the mirror, frowning at the transformation from city professional to island girl. Somehow she felt safer clad in her professional armor.
She pressed her fingertips against the dressing table that still wore the pink-and-white-checked skirt her grandmother had put on it years ago. Not that Miz Callie was a pink and frilly kind of person, but she’d wanted the girl cousins to feel that this room was theirs.
Dealing with Ross in the office was hard enough. Amanda still rankled over his quick dismissal of her ability to write the articles on the Coast Guard. Who was better equipped to write it—someone who’d lived with it her whole life or an outsider who didn’t have a clue?
She wrinkled her nose at the image in the mirror. Ross had the answer to that, and he was the boss. He’d decided that her family was his way into the story, and if his aggressive, almost abrasive questioning in the car had been a sample of his style, they were in for some rough waters.
She headed for the stairs, the comparison lightening her mood. Daddy was used to rough waters. He could handle the likes of Ross with one hand tied behind his back.
And speaking of handling him, she’d left her boss alone with her grandmother. Goodness only knows what they were making of each other.
She usually skipped down the stairs at the beach house because of the sheer joy of being there. Now she hurried for fear of what Miz Callie might be saying. Catching Ross’s gaze on her, she slowed to a more sedate pace as she reached the living room.
He was sitting in the shabby, over-stuffed chair near the wall of windows that faced the beach and the ocean. Her heart clutched. That had been Granddad’s special seat after his first stroke had stolen away most of his mobility. He’d never tired of looking out at the sea.
“Is my grandmother takin’ good care of you?” The tall glass of sweet tea at his elbow looked untouched.
“She is. She had to run back to the kitchen to deal with something.” As if becoming aware of the glass, he lifted it and touched it to his lips.
She couldn’t help but grin. “Obviously you aren’t used to iced tea that’s sweet enough to make your back teeth ache. Come on. We’ll find the others. Someone will have brought a cooler of soda.”
He put the sweet tea down quickly and stood, his gaze sweeping over her. She usually felt he didn’t see her at all. This gaze was far more personal. Too much so.
Her chin lifted. “Something wrong?” She edged the words with ice.
“No.” He made an instinctive move back. “You just look different. From the office, that is.”
“We’re not in the office,” she pointed out. If she could make him feel a tad uncomfortable, so much the better. She needed to keep a professional distance between them, no matter where they were.
“We’re not,” he agreed. His fingers brushed her bare arm, and the unexpected familiarity of the gesture set her nerve endings tingling.
He nodded toward the kitchen. “We were going in search of a soda,” he reminded her.
“Right, yes.” She took a breath. She would not let the man dismantle her confidence in herself. “This way.”
But as she started for the kitchen, he stopped her with another touch. This time his hand lingered on her wrist, warming the skin. “In this setting, it’s going to sound odd if you call me Mr. Lockhart. Let’s switch to first names. Amanda,” he added, smiling.
She nodded. What could she do but agree? But she’d been right. His smile really did make him look like the Big Bad Wolf.
She led the way into the kitchen, aware of him hard on her heels.
The kitchen was a scene of contained chaos, as it always was when the whole family gathered at the beach house. Her mamma and one of her aunts talked a mile a minute while they chopped veggies for a salad, her sister Annabel and cousin Georgia arranged nibbles on a huge tray, and Miz Callie, swathed in an apron that nearly swallowed her five-foot-nothing figure, peered anxiously at the contents of a huge kettle—pulled pork barbecue, judging by the aroma.
“Did y’all meet my boss, Ross Lockhart?”
“We introduced ourselves, sugar.” Mamma stopped chopping long enough to plant a kiss on her cheek. “You comin’ to help us?”
Miz Callie clattered the lid back onto the pot. “She’d best introduce her friend to the men first. I don’t suppose he wants to be stuck in the kitchen.”
“I’m afraid my cooking skills wouldn’t be up to your standards, Mrs. Bodine,” Ross said quickly. “It smells way too good in here.”
Miz Callie dimpled up at him, always charmed by a compliment to her cooking. “The proof is in the eating, you know. You let Amanda get you settled with someone to talk to, and later on we’ll get better acquainted.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
Amanda gave him a sharp glance, ready to do battle if he was being condescending to her grandmother. But his expression had actually softened, and his head was tilted deferentially toward Miz Callie.
Well. So something could pierce that abrasive shield he wore. That was a surprise.
Still, it would be just as well to keep him from any lengthy tête-à-têtes with her grandmother. Miz Callie was still obsessed with that old scandal about her husband’s brother and they surely didn’t need to let Ross Lockhart in on the skeleton in the Bodine family closet.
“This way.” She put a hand on the glass door and slid it back. “Anybody who’s not in the kitchen is probably down on the beach.”
Ross followed her onto the deck that ran the length of the house and paused, one hand on the railing. “Beautiful view.”
“It is that.” She lifted her face to the breeze that freshened the hot summer air. “On a clear day you feel as if you can see all the way across the Atlantic.”
He turned his back on the ocean to have a look at the beach house sprawled comfortably on the dunes, its tan shingles blending into sand and sea oats. “Has your family had the place long?” The speculative note in his voice suggested he was estimating the cost.
“For generations.” She clipped off the words. They couldn’t afford to build a house on the beach at today’s prices, but that was none of Ross Lockhart’s business. “My great-grandfather bought this piece of property back when there was no bridge to the mainland and nothing much on the island but Fort Moultrie and a few fishing shacks.”
“Very nice.” He glanced toward the kitchen, and she realized he was looking at Miz Callie with that softened glance. “Did I understand your grandmother lives here year-round?”
“That’s her plan. The family’s been trying to talk her out of it, but once Miz Callie makes up her mind, you may as well save your breath to cool your porridge, as she’d say.”
His lips curved. “I had a grandmother like that, too. A force to be reckoned with.”
“Had?” She reacted automatically to the past tense.
“She died when I was a teenager.” He turned to her, closer than she’d realized. Her breath hitched in her throat. “You’re lucky to have your grandmother still. Very lucky.”
The intensity in his low voice set up an answering vibration in her. For a moment they seemed linked by that shared emotion.
Then she caught herself and took a careful step back. This is your boss, remember? You don’t even like him.
But she couldn’t deny that, just for a moment, he’d shown her a side of himself that she’d liked very much.
Chapter Two
The long living room of the beach house overflowed with Bodines. Ross balanced a plate of chocolate caramel cake on his lap, surveying them from a seat in the corner.
Clearly they were a prolific bunch. He’d finally straightened it out that the grandmother, Miz Callie, as they called her, had three sons. Each of them had produced several children to swell the brood.
Judging by all the laughter and hugging they were a close family, almost claustrophobically so. Who could imagine having a party with this many people—all of them related?
He certainly couldn’t. His family had consisted of his parents, Gran and himself. That was it. His father had said more than once that having no siblings was a distinct advantage for a politician—they couldn’t embarrass you.
That had been the creed by which he’d been raised. Don’t do anything to embarrass your father.
And he hadn’t, not even slightly, for all those years, until that final, spectacular event. His fingers tightened on the dessert plate, and he forced them to relax.
Forget his family. Forget his past mistakes. The thing to do now was to concentrate on the job at hand. If he could isolate Amanda’s father for a quiet chat…
Miz Callie, a cup of coffee in her hand, headed in his direction. Tiny, probably not much over five feet, she was trim and lively, with a halo of white hair and blue eyes that hadn’t faded with age. She sat down next to him.
“How’s the cake? Can I get you anything else?”
“The cake is wonderful.” He took a bite, realizing that the compliment was true. He’d been so busy thinking about the job that he hadn’t even tasted it. “Thank you, Mrs. Bodine.”
“Call me Miz Callie.” She patted his arm. “Everyone does. We’re just so glad to meet you at last. Amanda talks about you often.”
He noticed she didn’t specify what Amanda said. That wouldn’t be polite. He could imagine that Amanda had broadcast her opinion of him to her clan.
“You have quite a family. I’m not sure I have them all straight yet. Several in the Coast Guard, I understand.” Mrs. Bodine—Miz Callie, rather—might have some insights he could tap.
“That’s a family tradition,” she said absently. Her attention was on Amanda and her sister as they cut slices of cake. “Devil’s food cake with caramel icing is Amanda and Annabel’s favorite, so we always have it for their birthday. Funny that they like the same thing, because they’re different as can be in other ways.”
If this were an interview, he could get her back onto the subject of the Coast Guard with a direct question. In polite conversation, it wasn’t so easy.
“They look nearly identical.” Same honey-brown hair, same deep green eyes, same slim, lithe figures. They were striking, seen together.
“Identical in looks, but not in temperament.” Miz Callie’s blue eyes crinkled. “Amanda is fifteen minutes older, and she’s always been the big sister, the high achiever. And always trying to best her two older brothers, too.”
He could tell the twins apart not by appearance so much as by body language and expression. Amanda was livelier, teasing and being teased, laughing easily.
“Annabel seems a little quieter.”
“She goes her own way,” Miz Callie said. “She always has. Never especially bothered by what everyone else is doing.”
“Everyone else in this case being family?”
“I s’pose so.” She twinkled at him. “There’s quite a tribe of us, as you can see. And all the cousins are so close in age, too. Still, I guess family gatherings are all pretty much alike everywhere.”
He nodded in agreement, although nothing could be further from the truth when it came to comparing this noisy crowd to his family. “They all seem very close.”
That was not entirely a compliment, at least not in his mind. He wouldn’t care to have this many people feeling they had a right to tell him what to do.
“Close.” She repeated the word, but her tone gave it a different meaning. “I wish…”
Alerted, he studied her face. There was something there—some worry or concern evident in the clouding of those clear eyes, the tension in the fine lines around her lips.
“You wish…” he prompted.
She seemed to come back from a distance, or maybe from thoughts she didn’t welcome. She shook her head. “Goodness, I’m forgetting why you’re here. You want to talk to the boys about the Coast Guard, and here I’m yammering on about everything else.”
She was out of her chair before he could move. “Adam, come on over here and talk to Ross. He’s wantin’ to write something about the service.”
Adam…Bodine, he supposed, they were all Bodines, came in obedience to his grandmother’s hail.
“Sure thing, Miz Callie.” He bent to plant a kiss on her cheek. “But I’ll just bet he’d rather talk to you.”
She gave him a playful swat and scurried off before Ross could do anything more than rise from his chair. Since Adam didn’t take the empty seat, he remained standing, putting them eye to eye.
Tall, muscular, with an open, friendly smile—the man had been introduced to him, probably, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember if this was Amanda’s brother or cousin.
Adam grinned, almost as if he interpreted the thought. “Adam Bodine,” he prompted. “Amanda’s cousin. That’s my sister, Georgia, pouring out the coffee. My daddy’s the one standing next to Amanda’s daddy. It’s tough to sort us all out.”
“I’m usually pretty good with names, but—”
“But we’re all Bodines,” Adam said, finishing for him. “Amanda tells us you’re fixing to do some articles for the newspaper about the service.”
“The Coast Guard seems important to the community, so it’s a good subject for a series of articles.” That bit ran smoothly off his tongue. “What made so many of you decide on that for a career?”
“Ask each of us, you’d get a different reason.” Adam nodded toward one of the laughing group clustered around the twins. “My cousin Win, now, he’s a rescue swimmer. He always was a daredevil, so jumping out of a chopper feels normal to him. He’d say he’s in it for the excitement. Me, I couldn’t imagine a life that didn’t involve being on the water. My daddy was the same.” He paused, as if he looked deeper at the question. “Bottom line is serving our country, I guess.”
“Patriotism.” He tried not to let cynicism leak into his voice. Maybe he was jaundiced. He’d seen his father wave the flag too many times out of political expediency.
Adam’s gaze met his. “That’s somethin’ we take kind of serious around here. Charleston’s been a military town since the Revolution, and we have more military retirees here than most any place in the country our size.”
“All the more reason to highlight what you do and the effect it has on the community,” he said quickly, not wanting to get on the wrong side of the man. “Financially, for instance. I’m sure many companies in Charleston benefit from having the station here. It has to pump money into the local economy.”
And into someone’s pocket, if his informant was right.
“Sure, I guess so. My uncle Brett’s the one you should talk to about that, though.” He beckoned to Amanda’s father, who veered in their direction. “Me, I just know about cutters and patrol boats.”
Brett Bodine was probably in his early fifties, with a square, bluff face and a firm manner. He nodded, a little stiffly, and Ross wondered again what Amanda had been telling her family about her boss.
“Ross was just asking me about somethin’ I figured you could answer better, Uncle Brett.”
“What’s that?” The man was measuring him with his gaze, and it looked as if he wasn’t impressed with what he saw.
“He’s wanting to know about the base doing business with local merchants, that kind of thing.” Adam took a step back, as if leaving the field to his uncle.
Ross barely noticed. All his attention was on Brett Bodine. In the instant Adam had said those words, the man had reacted…a sudden tension in the erect figure, a flicker of wariness in the eyes, an involuntary twitch in the jaw.
Barely perceptible, unless you were looking. Unless your instincts were those of a trained interviewer, alert for the signs that you’d hit pay dirt.
Brett Bodine recovered quickly, Ross would say that for him. He’d managed a fairly pleasant smile in a matter of seconds.
“I’ll put you in touch with our information officer,” he said briskly. “She’ll be glad to answer your questions.”
She’d be glad to give Ross the canned speech, in other words. “In order to do a series of in-depth articles, I need to talk to the people who are actually involved in the work. Amanda thought you could help me with that.”
The man’s face tightened, as if he didn’t like the reminder that Ross was his daughter’s employer. “Our information office will—”
“Daddy.” Amanda stood next to them, and they’d been so intent on their battle of wills that neither of them had noticed her. “I told you how important this is. You’re not going to fob us off on someone else, are you?”
Us, she’d said. Apparently Amanda considered them a team. Well, if that’s what it took to get him what he wanted, so be it.
Bodine’s deeply tanned face reddened slightly in a flare of temper, but it eased when he looked at his daughter. He shrugged, seeming to give in to the inevitable.
“I guess not,” he said. “We’ll set it up for you to come in and talk in the next couple of days.”
The words sounded right, but again, Ross read the body language, and it said exactly the opposite. Something was going on—something that Brett Bodine obviously knew about.
And something that, just as clearly, Amanda didn’t.
For probably the first time in her life, Amanda was eager to leave the beach house. The party had been lovely, but she couldn’t control the stress she felt at having her boss there.
That was all it was. Surely she’d been imagining the tension she’d thought existed between Daddy and Ross. They didn’t even know each other. What did they have to be at odds about?
She popped her head in the kitchen door, looking for Miz Callie to say her goodbyes and thanks. Her grandmother probably shouldn’t still be putting on birthday parties for the family, but no one had enough nerve to tell her so.
The kitchen was empty, the dishwasher humming, but before she could turn away, Miz Callie came in from the deck.
“There’s the birthday girl. Come here, sugar, and let me give you a birthday kiss.”
“And one to grow on,” Amanda said, smiling, and kissed her grandmother’s soft cheek. For a moment she stood, Miz Callie’s comforting arms wrapped around her, and unexpected tears welled in her eyes.
She couldn’t think of her vibrant, energetic grandmother, the rock of the family, as growing old. It was too soon for that.
She blinked back the tears, knowing what had put that thought into her mind. For months Miz Callie had been obsessed with the idea of righting an old wrong. She kept saying that it must be done before she died; a constant reminder that their precious grandmother might not have too many years left hurt.
Miz Callie drew back and patted her cheek. “Amanda, honey, have you found out anything more about Ned?”
And there it was—the albatross that seemed to be hanging ’round all their necks these days. Ned Bodine, Granddad’s older brother. They’d none of them even known him, except Miz Callie. He’d left long ago, running off in 1942, never in touch with the family again. Every old-timer in the county believed he’d run out of cowardice, afraid to fight in the war.
Amanda’s cousin Georgia, the first one Miz Callie had trusted with her quest, had found out that what everyone believed wasn’t true. Instead, after a sad love story and a rift with his father, Ned had left the island to enlist under a false name.
And there the story ended, as far as they’d been able to discover. How could you trace an anonymous man who could have gone anywhere, used any name?
Miz Callie’s eyes grew suspiciously bright, and she patted Amanda’s cheek again, her hand gentle. “It’s all right, darlin’. You don’t need to say it. I guess it’s too much to hope for after all this time.”
Pain twisted her heart. “We won’t give up. There must be something else I can try.”
She glanced toward the deck where her cousin Georgia stood with her fiancé’s arm around her waist. Matt’s little girl, Lindsay, leaned against Georgia trustingly. Lucky Georgia. She’d not only found the first clues to what had happened to Ned—she’d found love in the process.
Miz Callie shook her head slowly. “Maybe it’s time to give up on learning anything more. The nature preserve is nearly ready to go. Maybe I’d best just make the announcement and be done with it.”
“But Miz Callie, the scandal…” She bit her lip. The family might be satisfied that Ned hadn’t been a coward, but they didn’t have the proof that would convince anyone else. Plenty of folks would be unhappy at Miz Callie’s plan to dedicate the nature preserve she planned for a small barrier island to a man they considered a disgrace to Charleston’s proud patriotic tradition. She had a vision of scores of military veterans marching down Meeting Street in protest. Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, Coast Guard—they’d all had a presence here at one time or another.
“I reckon we can live down a scandal if we have to.” Miz Callie wiped away a tear with the back of her hand. “I just want to get this done.”
“I know. But a little more time won’t hurt, will it?”
Please. They’d present a brave face to the world if it came to that. The family was agreed. But Miz Callie would be so hurt if folks she’d known all her life turned against her.
A fierce love burned in Amanda. She couldn’t let that happen.
“I’ll work on it. I promise.” She was the reporter in the family, after all. Finding out things was her job. At least it was more important than covering pet shows. “You’ll wait, right?” She looked pleadingly at her grandmother.
Miz Callie nodded. “I will. Don’t worry so much, darlin’. God will show us the way.”
She let out a relieved breath. She believed God would guide them, but she couldn’t help wanting to chart this course herself. “Good. I’ll…”
The sound of movement behind her stopped her words. She turned. Ross stood in the doorway. How long had he been there?
“I don’t want to take you away from your party, but I do need to get back to the office.”
“That’s all right,” she said quickly. “I’ll just get my things.”
Had he heard her conversation with Miz Callie or hadn’t he? It worried at her as she gathered her things. She had to say goodbye to everyone, had to endure all the teasing about being a year older and exchange a special hug with Annabel, aware all the time that her boss stood waiting.
Finally, she got out the door, walking to the car with Ross on her heels.
The air between them sizzled with more than the summer heat as she started the car and turned the air-conditioning on high. And that was her answer. He’d heard something of what Miz Callie said. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she did. It was just there, in his concentrated expression.
They passed the island’s park, the small collection of shops and restaurants, the old Gullah cemetery. Finally, as they approached the drawbridge that would take them off the island, she could stand it no longer.
“You heard what my grandmother said, didn’t you?”
If that sounded like an accusation—well, she guessed it was. She spared a fleeting thought for her fired colleagues. Maybe she’d soon be joining them.
Silence for a moment. She saw the movement of his head at the edge of her vision as he turned to look at her.
“I wasn’t eavesdropping, if that’s what you’re implying.” His tone was surprisingly even. “I realized that your grandmother was upset, so I didn’t come in. I’m not in the habit of listening in on the worries of elderly ladies.”
She wasn’t sure that she believed him. Still—
“You’d best not let her hear you call her elderly.” She managed an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I hate it when she gets upset.”
It was none of his business what Miz Callie had been upset about. Amanda had the sudden sense that the family skeleton had grown to an unmanageable size and was about to burst from its closet.
“You have a good heart.” He sounded almost surprised.
“I love her,” she said. “I’m sure you felt the same about your grandmother.”
He nodded, staring out the window at the marsh grasses and pluff mud.
There didn’t seem anywhere else to go with that conversation. She cleared her throat. “I hope meeting my people was helpful to you. For the articles, I mean.”
“Very. You’ll set up that appointment with your father as soon as possible.”
“Right.” When he didn’t respond, she glanced at him. “Don’t you want to talk to anyone else? My cousin Win is a rescue swimmer.”
She held out the prospect enticingly. Win, an outgoing charmer, would be delighted to be interviewed, and surely that would be more interesting to readers than Daddy’s desk job.
“What?” Her question seemed to have recalled Ross from some deep thought. “Yes, I suppose. I’ll think about it and let you know.”
Odd. Not her business, she guessed, how he approached the series of articles he said he was writing, but odd all the same.
She stole a sideways glance at him. His lean face seemed closed against the world, his eyes hooded and secretive.
Why? What made him so forbidding? The professional scandal they’d all heard of, or something more?
She gave herself a mental shake. This was the man who kept the entire news staff dangling over the abyss of unemployment. Maybe she felt a bit easier in his presence since this little expedition, but that didn’t mean she knew him.
Or that she could trust him any farther than she could throw him.
He was going to have to tread carefully with Amanda, Ross decided. Something had made her suspicious of him after that family party the previous day.
He stood back to let the high school student intern precede him into the newsroom, assessing the young woman as he did. Cyrus Mayhew had chosen the recipient of his journalism internship on the basis of her writing, not her personality.
C. J. Dillon was bright, no doubt about that. She was also edgy and more than a little wary.
Suspicious, like Amanda.
The new intern had no reason for her suspicion, other than maybe the natural caution of a young black woman from a tough inner-city school toward the establishment, represented at the moment by him.
Amanda, on the other hand…well, maybe she did have just cause. He’d told the truth when he said he’d stopped outside the kitchen because he’d realized her grandmother was upset. He’d just neglected to mention that he’d heard the word scandal used in relation to her family. Or that all his instincts had gone on alert.
If he wanted to find out what scandal in the Bodine family would leave the grandmother in tears, he’d better find a way to mend fences with Amanda.
Assigning the student intern to her might disarm her. From what he’d seen of Amanda’s relationship with everyone from the mail room kid to the cleaning crew, taking in strays was second nature to her.
“This way.” He moved ahead of C.J. to lead her through the maze of desks in the newsroom. A few cautious glances slid their way. C.J. couldn’t know that the looks were aimed at him, not her.
All right, so his staff didn’t trust him. That was fine with him. He was here to turn this newspaper around, not make friends. He didn’t need any more so-called friends who waited with a sharpened knife for him to make a slip.
Amanda’s desk was at the far end of the row. Focused on her computer, a pair of glasses sliding down her nose, she didn’t see them coming. She wore her usual version of business casual—well-cut tan slacks, a silky turquoise shirt, a slim gold chain around her neck.
That was a bit different from the way she’d looked at the beach house in an old pair of shorts and a Fort Moultrie T-shirt. He let his mind stray to the image. That had definitely been casual, to say nothing of showing off a pair of slim, tanned legs and a figure that would make any man look twice.
He yanked his unruly thoughts back to business. Amanda’s only usefulness to him was the opening she provided to the Coast Guard base. And given that tantalizing mention of scandal, to the Bodine family in particular.
He stopped a few feet from her desk, feeling the need for a little distance between them.
“Ms. Bodine.” Amanda, he thought, but didn’t say.
Her gaze jerked away from the computer screen. The startled look she turned on him softened into a smile when she saw that he wasn’t alone. No, the smile wouldn’t be for him.
“This is C. J. Dillon. C.J., I’d like you to meet one of our reporters, Amanda Bodine.”
“Hi, C.J. It’s nice to meet you.” Amanda held out her hand. After a moment, the young woman took it gingerly.
“C.J. is the winner of the journalism competition Mr. Mayhew set up in the local schools.” The contest had been another of Cyrus’s bright ideas for drawing attention to the Bugle, and all the staff should certainly be awareofit.
“That’s great. Congratulations.” She focused on C.J. “What did you win?”
Obviously the staff, or at least this member of it, hadn’t kept up-to-date. His decision was even more appropriate, then.
“C.J. has received a six-week internship with the newspaper. A chance to find out if journalism is the right career for her, as Mr. Mayhew said in his editorial about the competition.”
Which you should have read. The words were unspoken, but Amanda no doubt caught his meaning, since her lips tightened.
“You’ll be happy to know I’ve decided to assign C.J. to work with you for the duration. You’re going to be her mentor.”
“I see.” A momentary pause as Amanda turned to the young woman, and then came the smile that resembled the sun coming up over the ocean—the one she had yet to turn on him. “That’s great, C.J. I look forward to working with you.”
The ironic thing was that she probably did. For him, this brainstorm of Cyrus’s was nothing but a nuisance. He had no particular desire to have a high school kid wandering around his newsroom.
Still, paired with Amanda, she couldn’t do much harm. And if Amanda could persuade her that skintight jeans and a skimpy top weren’t appropriate professional apparel, so much the better.
“Don’t I have anything to say about who I work with?” The kid turned a belligerent frown on him. “I don’t want to run around town covering stuff like boat parades and charity races. That’s all she does.”
He’d been so intent upon ridding himself of the problem that he was actually surprised when the kid spoke up. Irritation edged along his nerves. She was lucky to be here. Still, she’d obviously done her homework and paid attention to bylines.
“C.J., that’s how everyone starts out,” Amanda said quickly, as if to block out his response. Maybe she sensed his annoyance. “You’re lucky you weren’t assigned to the obit desk. This is much better than writing obituaries, believe me.”
C.J. didn’t noticeably soften. “Not much,” she muttered.
“Hey, we do interesting stories. In fact, this afternoon we’re heading down to Coast Guard Base Charleston for an interview. You’ll have a chance to see the inside workings of the place.”
“We?” He stressed the word. Taking Amanda along on interviews hadn’t been part of his plan.
Amanda’s eyebrows lifted. “My father is expecting us at three-thirty today. I hope that works for you.”
He was tempted to make it clear that he didn’t need or want her company. But if he did, that could put paid to any more help on her part. He might need her goodwill to gain future access.
“Fine.” He tried to look as if he welcomed her company. “I’ll see you then.”
He turned away, startled to realize that on at least one level, he did.
Chapter Three
Amanda didn’t know whether she was more relieved or surprised that Ross didn’t fight her on the visit to Coast Guard Base Charleston, but he’d headed back to his office without further comment. Maybe he was beginning to see that she had something to offer. If this worked out well, maybe he’d…
She looked at C.J., and she came back to earth with a thump. Ross hadn’t changed his mind about her. He just hadn’t wanted to get into a hassle in front of the new intern.
No, that didn’t sound like Ross. He didn’t mind coming off dictatorial, no matter who was listening.
Thinking of him had brought a frown to her face. Amanda replaced it with a smile for C.J. Although, come to think of it, she wasn’t exactly feeling warm toward the young woman. What had she meant by her outspoken distaste for working with Amanda?
She nodded toward a chair at the vacant desk next to hers—vacant since Ross had decided that its occupant was expendable. “Pull that seat over, so we can talk.”
Wearing a sullen expression, C.J. rolled the chair to Amanda’s desk and plopped into it, folding her arms.
Amanda had to hide a grin. C.J.’s body language was eloquent. Still, she’d have to learn that she couldn’t call the shots at this point in her career. Any more than Amanda could.
“I suppose you’ve been working on your school newspaper,” she ventured, wondering what the key would be to opening up this abrasive personality.
C.J.’s lips pressed together. After a moment, she shook her head. “Have to be a teacher’s little pet for that, don’t you? Anyway, I’m not gonna write stupid stories about poster contests and decorating the gym. I want to write about important things. That’s why I entered the contest.”
That hit a little too close to home. “Sounds like we have something in common then,” she said briskly. “We both want to write more challenging subjects.” She’d never really regretted retuning home, but the truth was that with the paper’s already well-established staff, it was tough to move up. Especially when the new editor refused to believe she could write.
C.J. glowered at her for another moment, and then she shrugged.
Amanda resisted the desire to shake her. Working with this kid might be an exercise in suppressing emotions.
“Okay, then.” Might as well go on the offensive, since nothing else seemed effective. “How did you know what kind of articles I write?”
Another shrug. “I know what everyone who works for the paper writes. It’s my thing, isn’t it?”
So she’d put time and effort into this chance at success. Did she even realize that her attitude was working against her? With a more accommodating spirit and some advice on what to wear, C.J. could come out of this on the road to success.
Dismayed, Amanda recognized her crusading spirit rising. It was the same irresistible urge that led her to one lame duck after another, always convinced that somehow she could help them.
And she had, more often than not. Her brothers insisted that her victims, as they called them, responded because that was the only way they could get rid of her, but she didn’t buy that. That hapless Bangladeshi student at College of Charleston would have been sent home before he finished his degree if not for her organizing his fight to stay. And the article she’d written about endangered sea turtle nests had helped move along a new lighting ordinance.
Given C.J.’s attitude toward her, it was unlikely that the young woman would be one of her success stories. Still, she had to try.
“If you really mean to make journalism your career, an internship is a great place to start, especially getting one while you’re still in high school. I didn’t have one until the summer between my junior and senior years of college.”
C.J.’s eyes betrayed a faint spark of interest. “Where did you go?”
“University of South Carolina. I interned at the Columbia paper that summer. Writing obits,” she added, just in case C.J. had missed that part. “What schools are you looking at?”
C.J.’s dark eyes studied the floor. “Can’t afford USC, that’s for sure. Maybe I can work and take classes at Trident,” she said, naming the community college.
Amanda opened her mouth to encourage her and closed it again. She didn’t know what kind of grades C.J. had, or what her home situation was. It would be wrong for her to hold out hope without more information.
She hadn’t ever had to doubt that she’d be able to attend any college she could get into. Her parents had put a high priority on education for their four kids, no matter what they might have to sacrifice. C.J. might not be so lucky.
“How long you been here, anyway?” C.J. glanced around the newsroom, gaze lingering on Jim for a moment. As well-informed as she seemed, she undoubtedly knew that he wrote the kinds of stories Amanda could only dream about.
“Three years.” She’d had her reasons for coming home, good ones, but maybe it hadn’t turned out to be the smartest career path.
She was closing in on her ten-year college reunion, and still near the bottom of the journalism ladder, writing stories no one read but the people immediately involved.
C.J. eyed her. “If I had the edge you have, I’d sure be doing better by the time I got to be your age.”
Was C.J. the voice of her conscience, sent to remind her that it was time she accomplished something worthwhile? Or just an obnoxious kid who would alienate everyone who might be willing to help her?
She slapped one hand down on her desk, making the silver-framed photo of her family tremble. “Now you look.” She put some fire into her voice. “This internship can be the chance of a lifetime for you, but not if you go into it determined to annoy everyone you meet. You may be bright and talented, but so are a lot of other people. Talent won’t get you anywhere without hard work and plenty of goodwill. Got that?”
She waited for the kid to flare up at her. C.J. pressed her lips together for a long moment. Finally she nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” she muttered.
Well, that was progress of a sort. Maybe C.J. had what it took to get something from this experience. She prayed so.
As for C.J.’s opinion of her—there wasn’t much she could do to change that, because like it or not, it was probably true.
Ross’s finger hovered over the reply icon for a moment, then moved to delete. Finally he just closed the e-mail. He’d consider later what, if anything, he should say to his mother.
How long had it been since she’d been in touch with him? A month, at least. And that previous message had been much the same as this latest one—an impersonal recitation of his parents’ busy lives. A perfunctory question as to how he was doing. A quick sign-off.
As for his father…well, he hadn’t heard from his father since he left D.C. The last thing Congressman Willard Lockhart needed was a son who’d made the front page in the headline rather than the byline.
“Ross? Do you have a minute?”
He swung his chair around and rose, startled at the sight of the Bugle’s owner, Cyrus Mayhew. “Of course. What is it?”
“Nothin’ much.” Cyrus wandered in, moving aimlessly around the office.
Ross felt his hands tighten and deliberately relaxed them. When Cyrus got aimless and folksy, it was a sure sign there was something on his mind. He might not know a lot about his employer yet, but he did know that.
Cyrus picked up a paperweight and balanced it on his palm, then put it back. He moved to the window, walked back to the desk. Peered at Ross, blue eyes sharp beneath bushy white brows. Someone had compared Cyrus to Mark Twain, and he seemed to deliberately cultivate the similarity.
The tension crawled along Ross’s skin again, refusing to be dispelled. “Something special you wanted, sir?”
“Just wondering if you got that intern settled. Seemed like a nice youngster—maybe a little rough around the edges, though.”
That was an understatement. “I assigned her to work with Amanda Bodine.”
“Good, good. Amanda will take her under her wing. Might be a good role model for her.”
She would, but somehow he didn’t think that was all that was on Cyrus’s mind today.
“Was there anything else?” he prompted.
“Well, now, I wondered what’s going on with that tip we discussed. Anything in it?”
“It’s too soon to tell.”
Maybe he’d have been better off to keep that tip to himself. Was Cyrus really the elderly gadfly, intent on keeping the establishment honest? Or would he, like so many others, sell anyone out for a big story?
His stomach clenched. The face of his former mentor and boss flickered through his mind, and he forced it away. It didn’t pay to think about the mentor who’d sacked him without listening to explanations, or the friend who’d stabbed him in the back without a second thought.
“But you’re lookin’ into it, aren’t you, son?”
“I’m following up on everything we have, which isn’t much. An anonymous call from someone who said businessmen were paying graft to get contracts at the Coast Guard base. A couple of anonymous letters saying the same thing, but giving no other details.”
Cyrus nodded, musing, absently patting the round belly he was supposed to be dieting away. “We need to get on the inside, that’s what we need.”
“I’m working on that now, sir. I have an appointment with someone down at the base this afternoon.”
Maybe it was best not to mention who. And even more important not to mention that tantalizing fragment he’d overheard from Amanda’s grandmother.
“Good, good. Keep at it.” Cyrus rubbed his palms together, as if he were already looking at a front-page spread. “We can’t afford to let this slip through our fingers. This is the real deal—I can feel it.”
“I hope so.” For more reasons than one.
Like Cyrus, he wanted a big story for the Bugle, but even more, he wanted one for himself. He wanted to erase the pain and humiliation of the past year.
Irrational. No one could erase the past.
But one great job of investigative reporting could get his life back again. The need burned in him. To go back to the life he was born for, to dig into important stories, to feel he was making a difference in the world.
This was the best chance he’d had since he’d come to the Bugle. As Cyrus said, he couldn’t let it slip between his fingers.
Amanda stood outside the redbrick building on Tradd Street that was headquarters of Coast Guard Base Charleston, waiting with C.J. while Ross parked the car. She was beginning to wish she’d had a chance to talk to the intern about proper professional clothing before taking her out on this initial assignment.
Ross came around the corner of the building, and before he could reach them C.J. nudged her. “So, you and the boss—are you together?”
“Together?” For a moment her mind was a blank. Then she realized the implication and felt a flush rising in her cheeks. “No, certainly not. What would make you think that?”
C.J. shrugged. “Dunno. Vibes, I guess. I’m pretty good at reading them.”
“Not this time.” Her fingers tightened on the strap of her bag. What on earth had led the kid to that conclusion? Were people talking, just because she’d taken him to the beach house?
Well, wouldn’t they? The inner voice teased her. You’d talk, if it were anyone else.
That should have occurred to her. The newsroom was a hotbed of gossip, mostly false. She could only hope Ross hadn’t gotten wind of it.
“Our relationship is strictly professional,” she added. Obviously she’d have to make that clear to C.J. and to the newsroom in general. To say nothing of herself.
He joined them, and that increased awareness made her feel stiff and unnatural. She nodded toward the door. “Shall we go in?”
Fortunately she knew the petty officer on duty at the desk. That would make it simpler to ask a favor.
“Hey, Amanda.” Kelly Ryan’s smile included all of them. “You’re expected. Go on up.” She thrust visitor badges across to them.
“Is anyone free to take our intern on a tour while we’re in with my father?” Sensing a rebellious comment forming on C.J.’s lips, she went on quickly. “I’d like her to gather background color for the articles we’re doing. Okay?”
C.J. subsided.
“Sure thing. I’ll handle it.” Kelly waved them toward the stairs.
They headed up, leaving C.J. behind with Kelly, and she was still too aware of Ross, following on her heels. Drat the kid, anyway. Why did C.J. have to suggest something like that? It wasn’t as if she didn’t feel awkward enough around Ross already.
Ross touched her elbow as they reached the office. “One thing before we go in. This is my interview, remember.”
“How could I forget?” She just managed not to snap the words. She’d like to blame C.J., but the annoyance she felt wasn’t entirely due to the intern’s mistaken impression.
She shot a sideways glance at Ross and recognized what she felt emanating from him. Tension. A kind of edgy eagerness that she didn’t understand. What was going on with him?
They walked into the office. Her father, imposing in his blue dress uniform, rose from behind his desk to greet them.
Under the cover of the greetings and light conversation, she sought for calm.
I don’t know what’s going on, Father. I’m not sure what Ross wants, but it must be something beyond what he’s told me. Please, guide me now.
Her gaze, skittering around the room as the two men fenced with verbal politeness, landed on the framed photo on her father’s desk. The family, taken at the beach on their Christmas Day walk last year. It was the same photo she had on her desk. Somehow the sight of those smiling faces seemed to settle her.
She focused her attention on Ross. He was asking a series of what seemed to be routine, even perfunctory, questions about her father’s work and the function of the base.
“The Coast Guard is now under the Department of Homeland Security,” her father said, clearly not sure Ross knew anything about the service. “Our jobs include maritime safety. Most people think of that first, the rescue work. But there’s also security, preventing trafficking of drugs, contrabands, illegal immigrants. We protect the public, the environment and U.S. economic and security interests in any maritime region, including lakes and rivers.”
This was her father at his most formal. He could be telling Ross some of the kinds of stories she’d heard over the dinner table since she was a kid—exciting rescues, chemical spills prevented, smugglers caught. Why was he being so stiff?
A notebook rested on Ross’s knee, but he wasn’t bothering to write down the answers Daddy gave. Maybe he was just absorbing background information. She often worked that way, too, not bothering to write down information she could easily verify later with a press kit.
But that didn’t account for the level of tension she felt in the room—tension that didn’t come solely from Ross. Her father’s already square jaw seemed squarer than ever, and his lips tightened at a routine question.
“I don’t see why you need information on our local contractors.” He bit the words off sharply.
“We’d like to show how much money the base brings into the local economy.” Ross’s explanation sounded smooth.
Too smooth. She’d already sampled his interview style, and this wasn’t it. As for her father…
Ordinarily when Daddy looked the way he did at the moment, he was on the verge of an explosion. No one had ever accused Brett Bodine of being patient in the face of aggravation.
There was no doubt in her mind that he found Ross’s questions annoying. But why? They seemed innocuous enough, and surely that was a good angle to bring out in the articles.
“So you’ll let me have the records on your local contractors?” Ross’s expression was more than ever that of a wolf closing in for a kill.
She braced herself for an explosion from her father. It didn’t come.
Instead, he tried to smile. It was a poor facsimile of his usual hearty grin. “I’ll have to get permission to release those figures.”
He wasn’t telling the truth. Her father, the soul of honor, was lying. She sensed it, right down to the marrow of her bones. Her heart clenched, as if something cold and hard tightened around it.
Her father, lying. Ross, hiding something. What was going on?
Please, Lord.
Her thoughts whirled, and then settled on one sure goal. She had to find out what Ross wanted. She had to find out what her father was hiding. And that meant that any hope of keeping her distance from Ross was doomed from the start.
Chapter Four
Ross paced across his office, adrenaline pumping through his system. Lt. Commander Brett Bodine had been hiding something during their interview. He was sure of it. His instincts didn’t let him down when it came to detecting evasion.
Too bad those instincts hadn’t worked as well in alerting him that his so-called friend had been preparing to stab him in the back to protect the congressman.
He pushed that thought away. He’d been spending too much time brooding about what had happened in Washington. It was fine to use that as motivation—not so good to dwell on his mistakes.
This was a fresh case, and this time he would do all the investigative work himself. He wouldn’t give anyone a chance to betray him.
He’d have to be careful with Amanda in that respect. All of her wariness with Ross had returned after that interview with her father. Was it because of Ross’s attitude? Or because she, too, had sensed her father’s evasiveness?
He didn’t know her well enough to be sure what she was thinking, and he probably never would.
Pausing at the window, he looked out at the Cooper River, sunlight sparkling on its surface. A short drive across the new Ravenel Bridge would take him to Patriot’s Point and its military displays; a short trip down-river to the harbor brought one to Fort Sumter. Everywhere you looked in the Charleston area you bumped into something related to the military, past or present.
The Bodine family was a big part of that, apparently. Brett Bodine’s attitude could simply be the natural caution of a military man when it came to sharing information with the press. Ross didn’t believe that, but it was possible.
He’d have to work cautiously, checking and double-checking every fact. Still, he couldn’t deny the tingle of excitement that told him he was onto something.
Once he had the list of suppliers that Bodine had so reluctantly agreed to provide, he could start working from that end of the investigation. Finding the person who was paying the bribes would lead inevitably to the one accepting them.
Sliding into his chair, he pulled out the folder containing the anonymous notes and the transcript of the phone calls. He hadn’t felt this energized in over a year. This was the real deal—he could feel it.
He’d just opened the folder when a shadow bisected the band of light from the door he always kept open to the newsroom. He looked up. It was Amanda, with an expression of determination on her face.
“I’d like to speak with you.”
Closing the folder, he leveled an I-can’t-be-disturbed stare at her. “This isn’t a good time.”
Instead of backing off, she closed the door behind her and advanced on the desk. “It’s important.”
“Not now.” He ratcheted the stare up to a glare.
Her gaze flickered away from him. Good, intimidation still worked. Amanda believed that her job depended on his goodwill.
Whether it really did, he wasn’t so sure. Cyrus seemed to have a soft spot for her, for some reason. But as long as she believed it, she’d do as she was told.
Except that right now, she wasn’t. She clasped her hands together as if she needed support, but she didn’t back away.
“What exactly is the slant of the story you’re planning to do on the Coast Guard?”
He raised a dismissive brow. “I thought we were clear on this. Your only role is to arrange the interviews, not to contribute to the story, no matter how well you feel you know the subject matter.”
“I’m not talking about my contribution. Or lack of it. I want to know what you’re after.”
“My plans for the story don’t concern you.”
“They do when you use me to get to my father.” She shot the words back at him like arrows.
“Get to him?” Annoyance rose, probably because she was exactly on target. “That implies that he has to be protected from the press.”
Those green eyes widened. In shock? Or because she agreed and didn’t want him to know it? He expected backpedaling on her part. He didn’t get it.
“My father doesn’t need protection. But he also doesn’t deserve some kind of hatchet job, if that’s what you have in mind.”
Apparently Amanda could overcome her fear of him when it came to her family.
“Why would you assume that? I’m sure my interview style isn’t quite as laid-back as the one you generally employ in your painstaking search for the facts about the latest dog show or charity ball, but that doesn’t mean I’m planning a hatchet job.”
That was below the belt, and he knew it. After all, he was the one who assigned her those stories. And he’d been the recipient of enough sarcasm from his father to dislike using it on anyone else. Still, he had no choice but to keep Amanda away from the truth.
A faint wash of color came up in her cheeks. “You’re after something more than a profile piece, aren’t you?”
He stood, forcing her to look up at him. “You’re an employee of this newspaper, Amanda. If you want to continue in that, I’d suggest you keep your imagination in check. Anything I print about your father or anyone else will be the exact truth.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/marta-perry/heart-of-the-matter/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.