The Way Home

by Irene Hannon

  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 sta
rted 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 ans
wer—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.”