Читать книгу The Way Home - Irene Hannon, Irene Hannon - Страница 10

Amy took one last look in the mirror, nervously brushed a stray strand of hair back into place and glanced at her watch. Cal Richards was late.

For a moment she wondered if he’d stood her up, then quickly dismissed her doubt. There might be many things she didn’t like about the assistant prosecuting attorney, but somehow she sensed he was a man of honor who played by the rules and kept his promises. If he was late, there was a reason.

Amy had no idea where they were going for dinner, so she’d chosen a middle-of-the-road outfit—nice enough for a dressy place, but not too dressy for a casual restaurant. She looked at herself critically. Since the only pleasant thing Cal Richards had ever said to her related to her appearance, she’d taken pains to look especially nice tonight. Her fashionably short, slim black skirt and two-inch heels enhanced the line of her legs, and the jade-green, jewel-neckline jacquard silk blouse softly hugged her curves and shimmered in the light. A wide, black leather belt emphasized her small waist, and a clunky hammered gold necklace and matching earrings added an elegant touch. She’d softened her usual sleek, businesslike hairstyle by blow-drying her fine hair into gentle waves that fluffed around her shoulders, and she’d added a touch of eye shadow that brought out the green of her eyes.

Amy studied her image for another moment, then gave a satisfied nod. This was definitely the right look, she decided. She could be any young woman going out on a Friday-night date. The fact that there was an ulterior motive—well, if she was lucky, Cal Richards would quickly forget all about that.

The doorbell rang and Amy’s pulse kicked into high gear. She forced herself to take a couple of deep, steadying breaths, squared her shoulders, plastered an artificial smile on her face and then walked purposefully toward the door, determined to give this evening her best shot. As she reached for the knob, the image of a boxing match, complete with a gong followed by the voice of an announcer saying “Round one,” suddenly flashed through her mind. An appropriate analogy, she reflected, her lips quirking wryly. Then, with her adrenaline pumping for the battle of wits ahead, she opened the door.

The sight that greeted her instantly wiped the smile off her face. It appeared Cal Richards had already fought round one—and lost. His tie was askew, his hair was mussed and he was holding a bloody handkerchief to his nose and sporting a rapidly blackening eye.

She stared at him speechlessly for several seconds before she found her voice. “Good heavens, what happened?” she finally sputtered, her face a mask of shock.

“Where’s your phone?”

“What?”

“Your phone. I need to report a mugging.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding!”

He glared at her, his voice muffled behind the handkerchief. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“No. I mean…I can’t believe this! Look, come in. Sit down. Are you all right?” She took his arm and guided him toward the couch, pushing the door shut with her foot. Once he was seated she scurried for the portable phone and handed it to him. “I’ll get some ice. And a towel.”

“Don’t bother.”

She ignored him and headed toward the kitchen. By the time she returned, the phone was lying on the coffee table and he was trying vainly to staunch the flow of blood with his very inadequate handkerchief. She thrust the towel into his hand.

“Here. Use this. And tilt your head back. Then put this on your eye.” She placed the ice bag in his other hand.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re bossy?” he grumbled, wincing as he gingerly settled the ice bag against his bruised skin.

She grinned. “I think my sister might have said that a few times through the years.”

“Well, she was right. Listen, the police will be here in a few minutes. I’m sorry to put you in the middle of this.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“Two thugs jumped me in the parking lot. I didn’t even see them coming,” he said in disgust. “I’m usually more alert than that.” And he would have been tonight, too, if he hadn’t been so preoccupied with this obligatory date, he thought ruefully.

Amy frowned and sank into the nearest chair. “I’ve never heard of anything like that happening here before.”

“There’s always a first time. No place is really safe, Ms. Winter. You ought to know that. You cover the crime beat.”

She sighed. “Look, can we move past the ‘Mr.’ and ‘Ms.’ business? It’s starting to seem kind of silly.”

Even with only one good eye, his piercing gaze was intimidating, and she shifted uncomfortably. But instead of responding, he suddenly closed his eyes and leaned wearily back against the couch.

Amy frowned. He looked pale. Maybe he was hurt worse than he was letting on, she thought worriedly as a wave of panic swept over her.

“Look, Mr. Richards, are you sure you don’t need an ambulance or something?” She rose and hovered over him nervously.

He opened his good eye and she thought she saw a glimmer of amusement in its depths. “Just make it Cal. And no, I’ll be okay. But thanks.”

The doorbell rang, and with one last worried glance at him, she hurried to answer it.

For the next few minutes she stayed in the background while the officer and Cal spoke. They obviously knew each other, and their mutual respect was evident. Cal described the two young men as best he could, told the officer they’d only been interested in the hundred dollars in his money clip and roughing him up a bit, and once more declined medical assistance.

“I’ve been taken care of,” he said, directing a brief smile toward Amy.

“Okay, then.” The officer stood and closed his notebook. “I’m awfully sorry about this, Cal.”

“It’s not your fault, Mitch. You guys do the best you can. You can’t be everywhere at once.”

There was a warmth in Cal’s voice that Amy had never heard before, and she looked at him curiously. Up until now, she’d only seen two sides of him—the incisive prosecuting attorney at work in the courtroom, and the reticent, abrupt, potential news source who held her profession, and as a result, her, in low esteem. This human side, this warmth, was new. And quite refreshing. Not to mention appealing, she realized with a jolt.

“We haven’t had much trouble in this area before.” The officer frowned and sent a troubled look toward Amy. “Have you heard or seen anything suspicious recently, ma’am?”

“No. Never. But I’ve only lived here six months.”

Mitch stared at her for a moment. “Aren’t you on TV? One of the news shows?”

“Yes.”

“This would have to happen on my beat,” he said in dismay. “Listen, you’re not going to…”

“No!” Cal and Amy answered in unison, and with equal vehemence. He sent her an amused look and she flushed.

“There’s more important news to report than a mugging,” Amy said with a shrug.

“Yeah.” Mitch frowned and turned his attention back to Cal. “This was probably just a freak incident. Still, we’ll beef up patrols in this area for a while. And if we get any leads on those two, we’ll let you know.”

“Thanks.”

Amy let the officer out, then returned to the living room. Cal was standing now, the ice pack still clamped against his eye, but his nose had stopped bleeding. “Could I use your bathroom? I’d like to clean up a little.”

“Sure. Right down the hall.”

She watched him disappear, then sank onto the sleek, modular couch. She’d speculated all week about how this evening would play out, but never in a million years would she have dreamed up this scenario!

Cal was gone a long time, and when he returned the only lingering physical evidence of the mugging was the black eye. Aside from that, he looked great, she realized, getting past his face for the first time all evening. His dark gray suit sat well on his broad shoulders, and she figured he must put in time at a gym to maintain such a trim, athletic appearance. Despite the trauma of the past hour, his white shirt still looked crisp, and his elegant red-and-navy-striped tie was now ramrod straight. He’d restored order to his thick, dark brown hair, as well, and for once his brown eyes seemed friendly rather than adversarial.

“Feeling better?” she asked.

“Much. I rinsed out the towel. It should be okay after it’s washed, but I’ll be happy to replace it if you prefer.”

Amy waved his suggestion aside. “Don’t even think about it. I’m just sorry about all this.” She sighed and leaned back. “Well, so much for our date.”

He weighed the ice pack in his hand and raised his brows quizzically. “Are you calling it off?”

She looked at him in surprise. “Aren’t you? I mean, you were just mugged! You can’t possibly feel like going out.”

He shrugged. “I’ll admit those two thugs hurt my pride. And my pocketbook. But not my appetite. And I still have my credit cards. I’m willing to give it a shot, as long as you don’t mind being seen with a guy who has a shiner. Besides, this way I can get all the unpleasantness out of the way in one night—a mugging and this date.” His teasing tone and crooked grin softened his words.

Amy stared at him. He was actually smiling at her! Genuinely smiling! And suddenly her pulse did the oddest thing. It started to race. Not the way it did when she was nervous about confronting a hostile source for a story. No, this was altogether different. This was almost a pleasant sensation. And why on earth had a thrilling little tingle just run up her spine? Good heavens, if she didn’t know better, she’d think she was attracted to the man! Which was ridiculous. After all, this wasn’t even a real date. It was a strategy. And she would do well to remember that, she admonished herself.

Amy swallowed and tried for a flippant tone. “Putting my date on par with a mugging isn’t the most flattering comparison I’ve ever heard.”

He smiled again. “You must admit there is a similarity. The muggers wanted money, you want information. But I guarantee they were more successful than you’ll be.”

“Maybe I should resort to strong-arming, like they did,” she replied pertly, getting into the teasing spirit.

He eyed her speculatively, the quick sweep of his gaze lingering just a bit too long on her shapely, crossed legs. “Unless you’re a black belt, I don’t think that will work. Or maybe you’re referring to something besides physical force,” he countered with a lazy smile.

Amy stared at him. The man was actually flirting with her! The buttoned-up, stuffed-shirt, play-by-the-rules assistant prosecuting attorney was letting his hair down! The transformation in his demeanor was amazing! Apparently he had a sense of humor after all.

Or did he? she wondered, her eyes suddenly growing troubled. Maybe he wasn’t teasing. Maybe he was hinting that he might be willing to answer her questions if she cooperated in other ways. He had made it clear that he thought she was attractive. He hadn’t struck her as the type to even think along those lines, but, after all, she hardly knew him. And it wouldn’t be the first time someone had suggested such a thing. She just hadn’t expected it from him, she admitted, oddly disappointed. He seemed somehow to radiate integrity and honor and…well, goodness, corny as that might sound.

Amy hoped her first impression was right, that his last remark had just been innocent flirting, but in case she was wrong, she needed to clarify the parameters of this date right now. She rose, tilted her chin up and gazed at him levelly.

“Look, Mr. Richards, don’t get the wrong idea. I—”

“I thought we were past the ‘Mr.’ stage.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know what you’re thinking right now, and I might be jumping to conclusions, but let me make something very clear. I want to find a way to make my coverage on the Jamie Johnson story stand out. I want that very much. Enough to go to some pretty extreme lengths, including spending five hundred dollars for a date with a man who dislikes me on the slim chance that I might get some piece of information I can use. But I don’t intend to make a…personal…investment in this story. That’s not my style. It never has been, and it never will be.”

Now it was Cal’s turn to stare. Good heavens, did she really think he was insinuating that for the right “personal investment,” as she put it, he might be willing to offer her a few crumbs of information? What kind of man did she think he was? he thought indignantly. He opened his mouth to set her straight, then suddenly recalled some advice Gram had once offered, which had always held him in good stead: Think before you speak. And put yourself in the other person’s shoes before jumping to conclusions.

He stifled his sharp retort and instead took a moment to study the woman across from him, looking for the first time past her superficial beauty. There was spirit in her deep green eyes, and intelligence and sensitivity, he realized. Her posture was defiant, but the subtle quiver in her hand as she reached up to brush a stray strand of hair back from her face was more revealing. To the world she might appear brash and assertive and so ambitious that she was willing to push the bounds of ethics for the sake of a scoop, but suddenly he knew better. Amy Winter had principle. And character. Yes, she wanted success. But not at any price.

He admired her for that, admired her for setting clear boundaries and taking a stand. After all, she really didn’t know him, he reminded himself, and the crime beat was filled with seedy characters. With her looks, she’d probably been propositioned more times than she could remember as a trade-off for information. Once more he felt a surge of anger. Not at her this time, but for her. She’d obviously been subjected to offensive behavior and suggestions often enough to make her suspect his motives.

Instinctively he reached out to touch her arm, but at her startled jerk, he withdrew his hand immediately. He could feel her tension quivering almost palpably in the room. She was like a young colt, he realized. Skittish and suddenly unsure and ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. It was not the behavior he’d expected from the sophisticated, glib, always-in-control newswoman he’d encountered up until now.

“Look, let’s sit down for a minute, okay?” he suggested gently.

She eyed him warily, trying to read the expression in his eyes. The man was like a chameleon, changing from moment to moment. She could deal with the difficult, evasive assistant prosecuting attorney. She was used to that type. She could also deal with men who thought they could barter for favors. Unfortunately, she’d had experience with that type, too. But the way Cal Richards was looking at her now—with compassion and concern and a disconcerting insight—threw her off balance. And for a woman who liked to be in control, that was not a pleasant sensation. After all, she might know that confrontation made her uncomfortable, but she’d always done a good job hiding that from the world. Until now. For some reason, she had a feeling Cal had picked up on it. And that was downright scary. A “danger” signal flashed in her mind, and somehow she sensed that it would be a lot safer if he left right now, if they forgot about this date and—

“Please.”

The single word, quietly spoken, and the warmth in his eyes, melted her resistance. Even though she had a feeling she was making a mistake, she did as he asked and gingerly sat on the couch, folding her hands tightly in her lap. He sat beside her, keeping a modest distance between them.

“I think we need to clear the air here,” he said, his gaze locked on hers. “I was only teasing a few minutes ago. For the record, I do not indulge in, nor condone, physical affection except in the context of a committed relationship. It seems that might be one of the few things you and I agree on. Besides keeping my mugging out of the news, that is.”

He smiled then, his eyes reassuring and warm, and Amy looked down, twisting her hands in her lap, feeling like an idiot for overreacting. There was no way she could doubt his sincerity, and a flush of embarrassment rose to her cheeks. Drawing a deep breath, she forced herself to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions,” she said quietly.

“I have a feeling you had reason to.”

She conceded the point with a nod. “I don’t always meet the most ethical people in my work.”

“I can imagine.”

She looked down again. “Listen, why don’t you just go home and get some rest? You’ve been through enough tonight. Just forget about the date, okay?”

Cal frowned and studied her profile: smooth forehead, finely shaped nose, firm chin, the slender sweep of her neck. At the moment she looked more like a fragile and vulnerable woman than a brash reporter. An unexpected surge of protectiveness swept over him, and his frown deepened. Now what was that all about? He didn’t even like Amy Winter! And she’d just let him off the hook, released him from the obligation to go on the date he’d been dreading. This was his chance to make a quick exit. Except, strangely enough, he suddenly didn’t want to leave.

When the silence lengthened, Amy glanced up cautiously and tried to smile. “Are you still here? I thought you’d be out the door in three seconds after that reprieve.”

So had he. Why was he still sitting here? For a man who spent his days finding answers to difficult questions, this one left him stumped. Maybe it was simply his sense of fairness, he rationalized. After all, she’d paid good money for this evening, and he owed her dinner. That was certainly the easy answer—even if he had the uncomfortable feeling it wasn’t the right one. But now was not the time to analyze his motivation for wanting to stay. He could think about that later. In fact, he would think about it later—whether he wanted to or not, he realized ruefully. And he had a feeling that the answer was going to be a whole lot more complicated than simple fairness. Still, it was a good enough response to Amy’s question.

“I owe you dinner. And I pay my debts.”

She hesitated. Then, with a little shrug, she capitulated. “We could at least make it another night, if you’d prefer.”

“Like I said, as long as you don’t mind having an escort who attracts attention, I’m game.”

With or without the black eye, Cal Richards would attract attention, Amy thought. Tall, distinguished, handsome—he’d turn women’s heads in any room he entered. If he thought the black eye was the only reason he’d be noticed, he was either slow or totally without vanity. And she knew it wasn’t the former. The fact that it must be the latter was refreshing. In her world, appearance—for both men and women—was at least as important as skill and often received far more attention. To discover someone who seemed totally unaware of his appeal was a rare—and pleasant—occurrence.

“I’m used to attention,” she hedged.

“I’m sure you are. Even Mitch recognized you. I imagine that gets old.”

She shrugged. “Not yet. It’s still kind of fun, most of the time.”

Cal shook his head. “Well, to each his own. Personally I prefer anonymity.”

“Then maybe we should cancel tonight. Because between the two of us, I guarantee we’re going to attract attention.”

He frowned. “Well, I have an idea, although it’s not much of a date for five hundred dollars,” he said slowly.

“What?”

“Let’s have dinner here.”

She stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

Amy hesitated, then shrugged. “Okay.” She took a quick mental inventory of her freezer. “I think I have a couple of frozen microwave dinners. And I might have a—”

“Whoa!” He held up his hands. “I wasn’t asking you to supply the food.”

She frowned. “Then what did you have in mind? Pizza?”

He grinned. “Hardly. Will you trust me on this?”

She shrugged. “Why not? Nothing else tonight has turned out the way I expected.”

“Look at the bright side. The evening has to get better, because it can’t get any worse.”

Amy had to admit that he was being an awfully good sport about the whole thing, and she smiled in return. “Too true.”

“I’ll just need to use your phone again.”

“Okay. I’ll set the table.”

“We’ll salvage this evening yet,” he promised with an engaging grin as he reached for the phone.

As Amy got out plates and silverware, she glanced once or twice toward Cal. He was mostly turned away from her, but she caught a glimpse of his strong profile now and then. He wasn’t exactly handsome in the classic sense, but there was something about his face, some compelling quality—call it “character” for lack of a better term—that touched her. It was odd, really. In an evening full of surprises, this was the most surprising of all—the discovery that she was actually starting to like Cal Richards. It didn’t make any sense, of course. She was still convinced they were polar opposites in many ways, not to mention at odds professionally. Nevertheless she had a strange feeling that somewhere deep inside, at some core level, they were more alike than either had suspected. It was an intriguing, unsettling and surprising thought.

But the surprises for the evening weren’t over yet, it seemed. When she returned to the living room, Cal had put on one of her favorite jazz CDs.

“I like your taste in music,” he commented.

“Thanks.”

“Dinner will be here shortly.”

“Can I ask what we’re having?”

He grinned. “I think I’ll surprise you.”

She tilted her head, a small smile lifting her lips. “I like surprises.”

“Really? I’ll have to remember that.”

She started to say “Why?” then caught herself. It was just a meaningless remark. After tonight, the only time their paths would cross would be in the courtroom, she reminded herself, surprised at the sudden slump in her spirits. She forced herself to focus on the present, reminding herself she had a job to do tonight. That was what this evening was all about after all. With an effort she smiled. “Would you like something to drink?”

“That would be great.”

“Would you like a soft drink, or something stronger?”

“Do you have any wine?”

Amy bit her lip. She was pretty sure she had some wine left from a gathering she’d had at Christmas-time. “I think so.”

“It’s not something I indulge in often, but I could use a glass tonight.”

Amy returned to the kitchen and rummaged around in the refrigerator, triumphantly withdrawing a bottle of merlot. She had just enough for two glasses, which she carried back to the living room, handing one to Cal.

He waited until she was seated, then lifted his glass. “May the rest of the evening be better,” he said.

She raised her glass. “I’ll second that.”

Amy wasn’t sure if it was the toast or the wine or just the fact that they both seemed to let their guard down, but from that moment on, the evening took a decided turn for the better.

By the time they’d finished their wine, dinner arrived, and it was like no “carryout” Amy had ever seen. It came via courier—two gourmet dinners from one of the city’s finest restaurants, on china plates inside domed food warmers, complete with salad and a chocolate dessert to die for.

Amy could only stare in awe as Cal arranged the food on the table, shaking her head in wonder the whole time. “Well, if you can’t go to the restaurant, bring the restaurant to you,” she murmured finally. “I’m impressed. You must have good connections to get this kind of treatment. I didn’t think ‘carryout’ was even in their vocabulary.”

Cal shrugged. “The owner and I go way back. Trust me. I’ll owe him for this,” he said over his shoulder with a grin. Then he stepped back and surveyed the table. “Now, all we need is a little candlelight, and we can pretend we’re actually at the restaurant.”

“That I can supply.”

As they leisurely made their way through the dinner, Amy realized that she was truly enjoying herself. Cal was a good conversationalist, moving with ease from topic to topic, displaying an impressive knowledge and insight on everything from world events to Broadway musicals. The more they talked, the more she realized how much they had in common. Their tastes in art and music were similar, and they were surprisingly in sync politically. It wasn’t until they started talking about more personal things, especially their careers, that their differences emerged.

“So tell me why you went into broadcast news,” he said as they sipped their coffee and dug into the rich dessert.

Amy cupped her chin in her hand. “For the glamour. And the excitement. Not to mention it pays well,” she said with a grin.

“Is money that important?”

“It is when you don’t have it.”

“So I take it you don’t come from a wealthy background.”

She made a face. “Hardly. I grew up on a farm in Ohio. We weren’t poor, but there was never any money to spare. It never bothered my sister, Kate. She was perfectly content with that life and had no desire to leave the farm. I, on the other hand, was drawn to the lights of the big city. I figured there was more to life than cows and plows, and I was determined to find it.”

“Have you?”

She looked surprised. “Sure. I mean, this—” her arm swept the room, with its panoramic view of the city lights “—is what I’ve always wanted.”

“And you’ve never looked back? Never questioned your decision?”

Amy shifted uncomfortably under his suddenly intense gaze. Funny he should ask that, when she’d done that very thing not long ago. But as she’d told herself then, it was too late for second thoughts. And anyway, she did like her life and her job.

“Not really. Sure, there are some parts of my job that I don’t particularly care for. But someday, if I play my cards right, I’ll snag an anchor slot and have the freedom to pick and choose the kind of stories I cover.”

“Such as?”

“Human-interest pieces. Stories about ordinary people who do extraordinary things. Feature reporting, more in-depth than what I do now, where you have the time to do stories that leave people uplifted and inspired. I get to do a bit of that now, but not nearly enough. It’s really satisfying to shine the light on good, decent people instead of the dregs of humanity who usually dominate the news. There are good people out there, and I like to find ways to give them their moment in the spotlight. I think it would also help young people to see that nice guys don’t always finish last.”

Amy had gotten more and more passionate as she spoke, and Cal’s attentive—and approving—gaze, as well as the sudden warmth in his eyes, brought a flush to her cheeks. She didn’t usually get so carried away, nor did she typically reveal so much about her personal feelings. She had no idea why she’d done so tonight. She did know it was time to shift the focus. “So now you know all the reasons why I left the farm and never looked back,” she finished lightly. “And how about you? What’s your background? How did you get into law?”

He gave her a quick smile. “I guess turnabout is fair play. I grew up in Tennessee, in the shadow of the Smoky Mountains. Unlike you, I had to think long and hard about leaving.”

“Why did you?”

He shrugged. “A lot of reasons. For one thing, law seemed like a career where I could do some good, help people, advance the cause of justice. I was pretty idealistic in the early days.”

His reasons for his career choice made many of Amy’s sound shallow and self-serving, she realized, and she took a sip of coffee while she mulled over his answer—especially the past tense in the last sentence. “And you aren’t idealistic anymore?”

His eyes grew troubled. “When the system works the way it’s supposed to, when I can really help someone and justice is served, it’s incredibly satisfying,” he said slowly. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t happen nearly often enough.”

“Is it happening in the Jamie Johnson case?”

“I guess we’ll see when the verdict comes in.”

“But you think he’s guilty.”

“I’m prosecuting him.”

“You’re avoiding the question, Counselor.”

“That’s right.”

She sighed. He’d easily deflected her few subtle probes about the trial during the evening. So far, she had nothing usable, no lead that would give her the edge she so badly wanted. Then again, she hadn’t pressed all that hard. For some reason, her heart just hadn’t been in it. Besides, it had quickly become apparent to her that while she was a good reporter who knew how to ask the right questions, he was an even better attorney who knew how to avoid answering them.