Heart of the Matter (4 page)

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

R
oss 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.”

“I trust it will be.” She took a cautious step back. “If it isn’t…” She stopped, apparently not able to think of a sufficient threat to end that sentence.

“You don’t need to worry about that. I’ll make sure of it.”

Amanda couldn’t know just how much he meant that. He wouldn’t make the mistake again of rushing into print without being sure of his ability to back up his facts.

But he also wouldn’t give up. He had no desire to hurt Amanda or her family. But if Brett Bodine was involved in a kickback scheme, the world was going to know about it, thanks to him.

She was actually shaking. Amanda detoured to the restroom instead of going straight back to her desk.

One of Cyrus’s nicer eccentricities had been to have the women’s room copied after the one in an elegant downtown department store, with plush love seats in a small sitting area and art deco black-and-white tile in the restroom. She went straight through, headed for the marble sink with its beveled mirror.

Ridiculous. This was idiotic, to let herself be so affected by what that man said or thought of her. She stared at herself in the mirror, disliking the flushed cheeks. Not only had she been affected, but she’d undoubtedly let him see it.

Grabbing a paper towel, she wet it and pressed it against her cheeks. She couldn’t let him get to her like this. This wasn’t who she was.

And he hadn’t really answered her questions. He hadn’t denied or explained anything. He’d stonewalled her, like a crooked politician fending off the press.

She tossed the towel in the trash and touched her hair, smoothing a strand back into place, regaining the polished facade she was careful to present to the world. Well, even if she hadn’t gotten the answers she’d gone into Ross’s office for, something had been gained. She’d actually confronted Ross Lockhart, and she was still in one piece.

She grimaced at her face in the mirror. More or less, anyway. And she still had her job, although he’d issued a not-so-subtle threat on that score.

Ross had implied that she was imagining the emotional currents that had swirled through the office during that interview. Little though she wanted to believe that, she forced herself to consider the possibility.

She couldn’t deny that she tended to rush headlong into her latest crusade. If she did deny it, her loving family would stand in line to protest. There was that incident with the woman who claimed her lawyer had stolen her inheritance. It turned out she had neither lawyer nor inheritance.

Tension had existed between Ross and her father. She certainly hadn’t dreamed that up. But it was possible that the two men simply disliked each other. Daddy could well have picked up on her feelings for her annoying new boss over the past few months. She hadn’t made a secret of them, certainly.

But that didn’t account for her conviction that her father had been hiding something. Brett Bodine never hid anything—everything he thought came right out his mouth. Anyone who knew him knew that. He should have exploded at Ross. He hadn’t.

She pushed herself away from the sink. Standing here brooding about it wasn’t doing the least bit of good. She had to think this through logically. If she talked to Daddy—

The reluctance she felt to broach the subject shocked her. She’d never hesitated to talk to her father, even though sometimes she’d known she’d have to be prepared to ride out a storm if she did. But then, never before had she suspected that Daddy was lying.

Enough of this. She strode out of the restroom and headed for her desk. She’d forget the whole thing, go and get some supper, maybe call Annabel, just for the assurance of hearing her twin’s voice.

But when she rounded the corner of the newsroom, she realized she’d forgotten something. C.J. was there, apparently waiting for her. In Amanda’s chair, in fact.

C.J. got up hastily when she spotted Amanda coming. “Hey.” She seemed to take a second look at Amanda. “Is somethin’ wrong?” Her tone was laced with a kind of reluctant concern.

“No, nothing.” She pasted what she hoped was a convincing smile on her face. “I didn’t realize you were still here. We don’t expect our interns to work late, you know.”

C.J.’s face tightened, as if she interpreted that as a criticism. “I was writing up the descriptions of the Coast Guard base, like you asked me to. Or was that just busywork to keep me out of the way?”

Amanda pressed her lips together. The truth was that she’d forgotten all about giving C.J. that assignment, and the kid was astute enough to know that. She cleared her mind and prepared to deal with the problem in front of her.

“The assignment isn’t busywork, but it’s true that I need to get a sense of where your writing is now. And it wouldn’t have been appropriate to take an intern to that sort of interview. You see that, don’t you?” C.J. nodded, perhaps a bit reluctantly.

“Okay, then. Let’s have a look at what you’ve written.”

The intern put a couple of sheets of paper in front of her on the desk. “I was just doing some rewriting on the printouts. If you want, I can input the changes and print it out again.”

So C.J. wanted to present her with the best work possible. That was a good sign.

“Not necessary. Believe me, I’ve deciphered worse than this.”

She breathed a silent prayer as she bent over the sheets, hoping she wouldn’t have to correct too much. Cyrus had handpicked his intern, and Cyrus was erratic enough to make the decision based on whatever standard he thought important at the moment.

But C.J.’s writing proved to be surprisingly smooth and insightful. She read it once, quickly, and then went back over it again, checking a few places. Finally she looked up at the young woman, recognizing the tension that emanated from C.J.

“Relax, C.J. This is good, very good.” C.J.’s breath came out in a whoosh of relief. “Thanks.” She seemed to make an effort to sound blasé, but a hint of eagerness showed through. “You marked some things, though.”

“Let’s take a look.” At her gesture, C.J. pulled up her chair. She held the papers flat so that they could go over them together.

“This is a very effective word picture.” She tapped one paragraph. “Notice how you’ve used exact details to get the image across. Now, down here, the observation isn’t quite as visual. Do you see what I mean?”

“Got it.” C.J. scribbled a few words on the sheet, seeming determined to get it exactly right. She flipped to the second page. “It’s the same thing here, isn’t it?” She stabbed another paragraph with her pen.

“You’ve got it.” C.J. slashed an arrow and then began making notes on the back of the sheet.

“You can go home,” Amanda said gently. “You don’t have to work on it right now.”

C.J. moved her shoulders restlessly. “It’s hard to get anything done there. The landlord turned off the airconditioning. He says it’s broke, but everyone thinks he’s just trying to save money.”

“In this heat? How long has it been off?”

“Ten days, maybe. My grandmother’s been takin’ a walk to the market every day, just so she can go in where it’s cool.”

That was unconscionable, as hot as the weather had been. Her mind flickered to the cool, welcoming dimness of her small carriage house apartment.

“Hasn’t anyone complained to the landlord?”

“Doesn’t do any good. He’s always cutting corners like that—keeping it hot in summer and cold in winter. Besides, folks figure if they complain too much, he’ll treat them even worse.”

“But—” C.J. shook her head. “No use talking about it. I’d rather work.”

A relatively polite way of telling Amanda it was none of her business. She watched as the intern went over her work again, scribbling eagerly.

Had she had that sort of initiative at C.J.’s age? She doubted it. She’d been excited to get off to college, true, but she’d been looking forward to starting over with new people, creating a different identity for herself other than just being one of the Bodines. She’d been as excited about football games and parties as about what she might learn.

C.J. looked up from the page. “If I do this whole thing again, will you read it and tell me what you think?”

“Sure thing.” She smiled, pleased at the sign C.J. was willing to accept criticism and learn from it. “You have a lot of drive, don’t you?”

C.J. shrugged, but this time there wasn’t any sullenness attached. “My grandmother always tells me that if I want something, it’s my job to do what it takes to get it.”

Her thoughts flickered to Miz Callie. “You know, my grandmother would say exactly the same thing. I guess we have that in common.”

Amanda half expected C.J. to back away from that suggestion. Instead, she got a tentative smile that revealed an eager, slightly scared young woman behind the tough exterior.

Another piece of Miz Callie’s advice popped into her mind.
God sends people into our lives for a reason, Amanda. Always watch for that, because He might have a special job for you to do.

Maybe C.J. was destined to be one of those people for her.

Ross locked his office door and started down the hallway, his steps echoing emptily on the tile. He’d stayed at the computer long after the editorial offices had grown quiet, familiarizing himself with every tidbit of information that might possibly affect the investigation.