Just This Night (13 page)

BETH

W
e arrived at Fiesta Island ten minutes later. The sun sparkling off the water momentarily blinded me as I stepped out of the truck, and I quickly reached for my sunglasses. It was your typical perfect San Diego weather day. Seventy-five degrees with a light breeze. In December. Back home they were probably going through yet another snowpocalypse, digging themselves out of freezing snow.

Instead, I was here. Outside. On the perfect beach day. Children's laughter and screeches echoing through my ears while the salty seaweed smell tickled my nose. Suddenly it didn't seem like the worst assignment in the world after all. I mean, let's face it, there weren't a lot of jobs that paid you to spend the day on the beach. Sure, it wasn't going to be a boon for my career, but it wasn't exactly torture on the rack either.

Plus, maybe it'd give me some time to talk things over with Mac. Find out the real scoop on the mysterious daughter and the evidently absentee mom.

We hadn't talked much on the way over. He'd driven, I'd scarfed down the breakfast he'd brought me from home. The
breakfast I had cooked, but hadn't had a chance to eat. The breakfast he'd carefully packaged up and brought to work, in case I was still hungry. What a guy—I bet he cut the crusts off his daughter's PB&J every morning, too.

After Mac parked the truck, I jumped out, walking around to the back to help with the gear. I grabbed the tripod while he swung the camera strap over his shoulder. Then together we walked down to the shore where the swim lessons were taking place. I smiled as a lifeguard came up to us and introduced herself as Darcy.

“The children are so excited you're here!” she informed us, her own eyes twinkling with a matching enthusiasm. “We've never met a real life TV celebrity like yourself, Ms. White.”

I could feel my cheeks heat. “Oh no. I'm hardly a—”

“'Scuse me?”

I felt a tugging at my skirt and looked down. A little girl with thick black braids gazed up at me with wide eyes.

“Yes, sweetie?” I asked, dropping down to her level to greet her.

“Are you the reporter lady?”

“Um, yes. I'm Beth White. I work for News 9.”

The girl's mouth stretched into a huge grin. “Can I have your autograph?”

I wanted to laugh. Me, give an autograph? That was a first.

But the girl was so sincere—so earnest in her request—how could I turn her down? Instead I found myself scrambling for a pen and notepad and scribbling my name onto it, feeling more than a little self-conscious as I did so. I wondered if Mac thought I was putting on airs. I finished with a smiley face and then ripped the paper from the pad, handing it to her.

She stared down at my scrawl, as if I had written my name in pure gold. “What do you say to the nice lady?” Darcy prompted, looking amused.

“Thank you,” she whispered shyly. Then she bolted, back to her friends. From behind Darcy I could see her showing off
her paper. “I got the TV lady's autograph!” she informed them proudly. And a moment later I found myself surrounded.

“Kids, kids!” Darcy exclaimed. “Ms. White doesn't have time to sign all your autographs. She's very busy!” The lifeguard turned to me apologetically. “I'm sorry. As I said before, they're just excited.”

“Oh, I don't mind,” I assured her, feeling a warmth rise within me. And to think I'd almost turned down this assignment! “Mac's got to set up and get some B-roll anyway. I can sign until he's ready for me.” I glanced over at Mac for confirmation and he nodded, looking a little amused.

And so I got down on my knees and began signing. Notebooks, napkins, a volleyball—one kid even requested I sign his forehead. I drew the line on that, of course, not wanting his parents to freak when he got home. Still, it made me laugh. And soon we were all laughing together and my personal troubles seemed far, far away.

Maybe this assignment was meant to be a punishment. But it was turning out to be a real pleasure.

At that point Mac was ready and so I grabbed the microphone and proceeded to interview the children. I took care to give face time to every child brave enough to speak, even though I knew I wouldn't be able to use every soundbite in the actual piece. Still, they were so excited, I didn't want to leave anyone out. And they were smart, too, spouting off facts about the importance of water safety and wearing life jackets. By the time I was done I was more than a little impressed.

After I finished the interviews, Darcy stepped back in, continuing her water safety lessons. Mac shot video of an overly dramatic drowning dramatization and the kids' grossed-out reactions to the idea of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

I stood back, watching him work the scene, just as thoroughly as he had for the breaking news fire. He could have taken it easy—phoned it in this time. It wasn't an important story. But he shot it as if it could be Emmy worthy. And I had to admire him for that.

Well, that and the way his jeans showcased his perfect
backside every time he crouched down on the sand. Oh Lordie. My face heated and I forced myself to turn away.

After he finished shooting, we walked back to the truck to write and edit the story. As I scribbled down my script, the wind picked up and I brushed my hair from my face for what felt like the thousandth time. At this point I probably resembled a beach bum Medusa and would definitely have to spend a few minutes to brush my hair back and secure it with mega hairspray before my live shot.

When I had finished writing and voicing my story, I popped out of the truck so Mac could begin his work piecing the story together. Kicking off my shoes, I stared out over the water, once again allowing myself to enjoy the beautiful day.

Take that, Stephanie. I'm having a good time, despite your best efforts.

“I gotta admit, this beats the hell out of a dirty, smoky fire.”

I looked up to see Mac emerge from the truck and my heart flip-flopped in my chest, despite my best efforts. God, why did he have to look so damn delicious all the time? It would be a hell of a lot easier to play professional if he were some ugly troll. Why did he have to be so tall, so broad-shouldered, so self-possessed as he walked toward me? Why did he have to lock those mesmerizing blue eyes on me or flash those perfectly straight, white teeth? It wasn't fair.

“Yeah,” I said, exchanging my view of him for that of the ocean, praying the ebbs and flow of the tide would serve to calm my raging hormones. “Not bad at all.”

I could feel him watching me, his eyes roving over my body, and I stifled the urge to squirm under his gaze.
You have no power over me,
I scolded him silently in my head, only wishing I had the courage to say it out loud.

Or, you know, really believe it to be true.

“You were really good with those kids, by the way,” he observed. His voice was casual, but I thought I could hear the thread of something else underneath. Something admiring? “After all, you know what they say about working with kids and dogs . . .”

“I'm sure you'd know better than me,” I muttered.

He blushed and I immediately felt bad for bringing it up. But before I could speak, the radio in the live truck crackled to life. “Unit Five, are you ready?” Saved by the live shot.

Mac's eyes flickered to me. “You good to go?” he asked.

I started to nod—then remembered my unruly hair. “Give me one minute. I've got to fix this,” I said, gesturing to the locks in question. Richard expected his reporters to always look perfectly coiffed, despite the weather. And I wasn't about to give him any reason to doubt my ability to do this job. Whether it was by uncovering scandal or just ensuring a good hair day.

Mac glanced at his watch. “Okay, but hurry,” he said. “We have four minutes before we're live.”

I nodded, dashing to the truck and grabbing the bottle of hairspray he had been toying with at my desk earlier in the day, then ran back to the beach. I'd forgotten my mirror, so I had to brush and spray by feel.
It should be fine, though
, I considered. After all, we were on a beach. I should look a little windblown.

Suddenly laughter and squeals of delight broke out amongst the children. I glanced over, wondering what was suddenly so funny. I realized, uncomfortably, they were all laughing and pointing at me.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Your hair!” cried Marla, the brown braided girl who'd originally asked for my autograph.

I frowned. “What's wrong with my hair?” I asked. It couldn't be
that
windswept, could it? I mean, not enough that little kids would find it funny. I glanced worriedly over at Mac, who was just now looking up from his viewfinder.

“Two minutes to . . .” He trailed off, a horrified look washing over his face.

“What?” I demanded, adrenaline now spiking through my veins. We had two minutes. We didn't have time for a problem. Confused, I reached up to try to pat my hair down—maybe some of it was sticking out in a weird direction? But everything felt in place. Everything, except . . .

I pulled my hands away and looked down at them. My eyes widened. My breath caught in my throat.

My palms were stained a bright blue color.

Which could only mean . . .

“How in the hell . . . ?” I whispered, horror rushing through me.

I reached down, grabbing the seemingly innocent bottle of hairspray. With trembling hands, I pumped a small stream onto the sand. Sure enough, the mist stained the crystals blue.

Suddenly, Stephanie's words came raging back to me.
You don't even know the word sorry
, she'd said.
But you
will.

Now I was beginning to believe her.

MAC

I
watched, for a moment frozen in place, as Beth reached for her hair, batting it madly with her hands, as if she would be able to brush out the blue by sheer force of will. But obviously that wasn't going to work—at least not in the next sixty seconds, before she was due to be live on TV.

“Forty-five seconds,” the producer barked in my earpiece, back at the station. “Talk to me, Jake. I don't see Beth. Is she ready? Are you guys going to make your slot?”

I glanced over at Beth, who was so, so not ready. I opened my mouth to inform the producer, but before I could speak, she caught my eye, shaking her head desperately from side to side.

Shit. We couldn't miss our live shot. That was certain death in TV news. But at the same time, she couldn't exactly go on air like this—looking like a deranged Smurf. That would equally spell career doom. But what alternative did we have? My mind raced madly, trying to come up with a solution on the fly. There was no time to go down to the water to try to rinse the blue out. And no time to retrieve my baseball cap from the truck . . .

Think, Mac. There's got to be a way.

Then, suddenly it hit me—with all the force of a ten-ton truck. Something Ashley used to do to me all the time on rainy days when we were bored and stuck inside. She'd dubbed it the Bald Game, and it was actually pretty funny the first fifty-three thousand times we'd played it.

Now it might just save Beth's career.

“We'll be ready,” I barked at the producer, then stuffed the lens cap over my camera so the folks back at the station couldn't watch what I was about to try to pull. I turned to Beth. “Get in position and kneel down,” I instructed. “Kids, gather around Beth, okay? As close as you can.”

“Mac, I can't go on like—” Beth cried. But I waved a hand to cut her off; I had no time to explain. Instead, I met her wide, fearful eyes with my own and gave her my best reassuring look.

“Do you trust me?” I asked softly.

It was admittedly kind of a loaded question, given our recent history, and I wouldn't have been at all surprised if she'd shaken her head no. But instead, she squared her shoulders and nodded. Whether to my credit, or because there was no alternative, I had no idea.

But I'd take what I could get.

“Twenty seconds,” the producer shouted in my ear. “Mac, what's wrong with your shot? We can't see anything.”

“We'll make it,” I told them, with an assurance I didn't quite feel. Running up to the kids, I hoisted little Marla up onto Beth's shoulders, then dropped down to face her. “You're going to be the superhero, okay?” I told her. “But there's something I need you to do.”

She nodded solemnly, staring back at me with ultra-serious eyes.

“Now put your hands right here,” I instructed, placing them over the bright blue stain on Beth's head. “Cover up the blue spot.”

Marla did what she was told, now beaming with excitement at being singled out. Below, Beth's eyes widened, as she started to realize what I was trying to do.

“Whatever you do,” I told Marla. “Don't let go.” I turned to the rest of the kids. “Are you guys ready?”

The group cheered. Okay, that would have to be good enough. I raced back to my camera.

“Five seconds,” the producer said.

I yanked off the lens cap and pointed to Beth.

“Go!”

“Good afternoon. I'm down at Fiesta Island,” she began with a slight tremble in her voice. But as she continued, I could hear her confidence growing stronger. “Where, I have to say, I'm having a great old time hanging with these guys.” She gestured to the kids. “We're all here as part of a city-wide water safety initiative that was introduced this year by . . .”

I watched through the lens of my camera, pretty much holding my breath, while praying the little girl would keep her hold on Beth's hair.

Ten more seconds. Just ten more seconds . . .

“And you're clear,” the producer proclaimed into my earpiece. “Thanks, guys.”

I let out a breath of relief. Looking up from the camera, I gave Beth a thumbs-up. She let out a shriek of excitement and the kids all cheered, hugging her, hugging each other, jumping up and down. Beth reached up to help little Marla from her shoulders and gave her a big hug. “Thank you,” she said, her voice cracking a little. “You just saved the day.”

Marla grinned like the Cheshire cat itself, puffing out her chest with pride. “He said I was a superhero,” she said, pointing to me.

Beth laughed. “I think he might be right,” she agreed, planting a kiss on the top of the girl's head. “Now go on, Supergirl. Go finish your lesson.”

As Marla danced over to the others, Beth rose to her feet and turned to me, giving me a shaky smile. I beamed back at her, feeling a little like a superhero myself.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I thought I was totally dead there.”

“Please,” I scoffed. “They're going to have to try a lot harder than that if they want to take us down.”

The smile slipped from her lips. She sighed and dropped down onto the sand, absently picking up the hairspray bottle. “That's what I'm afraid of.”

I gave her a rueful look. ‘Do you think
she
did it?” I asked, realizing there was no need to speak the name aloud. It was pretty obvious who would be behind such a mean trick.

Beth shrugged. “She promised to make me sorry. Gotta say, she's off to a terrific start.”

I scowled, the situation all too familiar for comfort. Another day, another station. God, sometimes I hated TV news. I mean, here I was, on the opposite end of the country, reliving the same old drama I'd tried to escape from back home. I was beginning to realize that no matter where I went, the story was always going to be the same. For every reporter like Beth—who truly seemed to want to right wrongs and make a difference—there were dozens of grown men and women, reenacting their own version of the TV News Hunger Games, vying for just a few more precious minutes of airtime.

I'd seen reporters like Stephanie too many times before. Addicted to the stress, the fast pace, the glory and the prestige. Falling victim to the idea that you weren't anyone—if you weren't on TV. And then, when that on-air identity was stripped for one reason or another, they crashed like drug addicts in detox, losing sight of themselves, chasing after the fleeting public persona like that was all that kept them glued together.

If Stephanie was like the others—and I had no doubt she was—blue hair would only be the beginning. I just hoped Beth would be strong enough to handle it. Maybe if I was there to help . . .

Then again . . . My thoughts drifted to another reporter who I'd once tried to protect. Victoria herself. But I hadn't been able to save her from the rotten business. And, in the end, I was the one who became the true victim. Well, Ashley and I, that was. And I had no interest in repeating that little slice of history, thank you very much.

No, it was better to stay professional. Stay aloof. After
all, the last thing I needed was to get dragged down into more drama. Mixed up in another scandal. The whole Boston fiasco had nearly ruined me—and Ashley was still suffering from the shrapnel. I needed to put her first this time. Keep my head down. Not cause a scene. Stay on the sidelines and let Beth fight her own battles and remain uninvolved.

It was for the best.

But it was also going to be hard as hell.

I realized Beth had risen to her feet and was pacing across the sand like a caged tiger, her hands still clutching the bottle of hairspray. “She wants to play?” I heard her mutter under her breath. “Well, I can play. I can—”

“Take the high road?” I suggested.

She whirled around, looking at me with scorn. “Why should I? She doesn't deserve that!”

“No. She doesn't,” I agreed. “She deserves all you could throw at her and then some. But Beth, you'll just be playing into her hands. Don't you see? She wants you to be pissed. So pissed that you'll do something stupid that will get you fired.” I shook my head. “You don't need to stoop to her level. You're better than that.”

Beth winced and I could tell my words were hitting home. She looked up at me, her eyes pleading. “It's just not fair. And I'm so mad.”

“It's okay to be mad,” I assured her. “You can bitch about it to me all night long if you want to. Just don't let her win.” I gave her a sorry look. “Trust me, I say this from experience.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” she asked, sounding curious despite herself.

But I only waved her off. It was the last thing I wanted to get into right about now. “Just . . . try to rise above and not let her get to you.”

“What if she tries something else?”

“I have no doubt she will. But we'll get through it. Whatever it is.”

She bit her lower lip. “We?” she repeated doubtfully.

Shit. Did I say we? So much for all my good intentions
of staying aloof.
Mac, the idiot knight in shining armor, charging in, once more with feeling.
I sighed.

“Yes,” I assured her. “Like I told you yesterday, we're a team. And I've got your back—no matter what.”

She let out a choking sob and against my better judgment I found myself pulling her into my arms. She felt so small, so fragile cradled in my embrace, and I felt a fierce protectiveness wash over me, despite my best efforts. Mostly because she was right—this wasn't fair. She had done nothing to deserve this and it killed me to just stand there and comfort her without promising to go forth and defend her honor, even though I knew it was the last thing in the world I needed to be doing.

I'd tried that long ago. And look where it had gotten me.

Okay fine, I couldn't fight her war. But I could pull her closer to me, until her body was flush to mine. I could let her head rest against my chest. Could stroke her hair, rejoicing in the silkiness of each strand—and assure her that, in her case, blue was still beautiful.

She pulled away then, looking up at me with large tortured eyes. My heart wrenched in my chest and I reached up, swiping away the tear that had slipped down her cheek. Her skin was so smooth—so impossibly soft.

Her lips parted, as if she was about to speak. But suddenly I found I didn't want her to. I didn't want her to say all the sensible things I knew she was about to say. I didn't want her to break the spell. I didn't want to be forced to let her go.

And so instead I did the dumbest thing I could have possibly done in a situation like this.

I leaned down. And I kissed her.