Heart of the Matter (3 page)

“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

A
manda 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.”