by Neesa Hart
She stilled, inside and out. “Oh?”
“It’s the first installment in the series about you and Wishing Star. I’m turning it in this afternoon. I wanted you to read it before you saw it in the paper.”
“I see.”
“Cam—” He paused. “I told you yesterday that I’d read your background file.”
“And that you didn’t necessarily approve of my father.”
“He shouldn’t have used you the way he did.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Hell, all those pictures of you standing with him at press events while he pretended he wasn’t using you for sympathy votes and good PR. I’m not a rookie, Cam. I know how it works.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“Did he give you the time of day if there weren’t reporters around?”
She hesitated. “Not generally.”
Jackson swore beneath his breath. “I didn’t think so.”
“Maybe if they’d stopped taking pictures, he would have stopped inviting them to do it.”
His gaze narrowed. “You felt like a science experiment, didn’t you?”
“It was scary and confusing. All those lights. I couldn’t hear what was going on. They’d ask me questions, and I couldn’t hear them. My father always seemed angry after it was over.”
“And you hated it.”
“I wouldn’t say I hated it. It just didn’t make me feel very good about myself.”
“You’re afraid that’s going to happen to your Wishing Star kids, aren’t you?”
“Yes. When your story appears, it’ll make waves. People will notice. The press is like that. They look for smoke, and if they don’t find a fire, they start one.”
“Cammy—”
She held up a hand in surrender. “Okay, not all of you. Just some of you.”
“We’re not a separate species, you know? We’re just like anyone else. There are good reporters and bad reporters. Reporters with scruples and reporters without ’em.”
“But you have power. And a lot of you misuse it.”
“Some do,” he conceded. “I can’t change that.”
“But you wanted to.”
The statement made his gaze narrow. “What do you mean?”
She shrugged. “It’s just a feeling I have. Some things you’ve said—I take it you aren’t always enchanted with the way the members of your profession behave.”
“Journalism is like any other job in the world. We have our share of snakes.”
“Still, Jackson. Why so wary? Level with me.” She paused. “You owe me.”
“How do you figure that?”
“That kiss you gave me. It says you want a little more from me than a good scoop.”
He took a long sip of his coffee. “You could say that.”
“So for that, don’t I get to know a little more about you than the rest of the general public?’’
“You think I’m hiding something?”
“I didn’t say that. You’re acting suspicious.”
“I don’t want you to analyze me.”
“Fair enough. How about if I just take what you tell me at face value and leave the analysis to you?’’
His full mouth twitched. “Are you kidding?”
“No.”
“You can’t do that, and you know it.”
“Sure I can.”
He snorted. “I’ll bet. I can’t walk away from a good tip, and I’ll bet you can’t walk away from the spilled guts of a bona fide nutcase.”
“Are you?”
“A nut? I don’t think so.”
“Then you’re safe with me.”
Awareness glittered in his gaze. “You think so?”
She refused to take the bait. “You’re safer with me than just about anyone else I know. I keep secrets.”
“And you think I have some.”
“I’m sure of it. I just want to know what makes you tick. How did you become the avenging angel of the downtrodden and helpless?”
His hands tightened on his coffee cup. He shifted his gaze to study the dark liquid. “I don’t know. It wasn’t a decision I made one day. And to be honest, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with the way people characterize what I do.”
“You don’t like the accusations, do you?”
“I don’t like being told that I go into a story looking for some kid’s life to exploit. No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“I became a journalist because it seemed like a noble thing to do. I could write a little. People seemed to respond to the way I told stories. I was attracted to the pace and the pressure of the business. Like most college journalism majors, I had dreams of being the next Bob Woodward.”
“Someone ruined your dreams, didn’t they?”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t someone, it was a series of events. I got to Washington thinking I knew everything, that I could count on the world to judge me for my talent.” His cynicism was unmistakable.
“It didn’t work out that way.”
He grunted. “I got a job. I was a copy editor at the Post. I started watching the way things worked. I saw people get used, people’s lives get ruined for the sake of a story.”
Several seconds of silence passed between them. Cammy slipped her hand across the table to squeeze his fist. “Young dreams are the hardest kind to let go.”
He studied her for a minute. “How many of your dreams did you lose along the way, Cammy?”
She shrugged. His gaze narrowed. “More than I did, I bet,” he said. “Why are you afraid to let me do this story? What don’t you want me to find?”
His verbal arrow hit its mark, and he knew it. The regret in his gaze wouldn’t allow her to resent him for it. “It’s not that,” she admitted. “I don’t have anything to hide.”
“But there are things you’d rather I didn’t find out?”
“Maybe. The way things went in my life, well, it’s not a very pretty story. It’s not especially gruesome. I mean there’s nothing really awful about it, but I don’t really like to tell it unless I have to. It seems like a waste of energy to kick all those old ghosts around.
“Speaking of which . . .” she continued. Her hand still gripped his fist. Gently, she turned it over and spread the fingers so she could rub her finger on his bandage. “Are you ready to tell me about last night?”
He hesitated, then tapped the folder. “It’s in there,” he said. “What I was feeling is in there. I think you’ll know when you read it.”
“What about Leo?”
She waited, but the shutters she expected never fell. His expression remained open, almost vulnerable despite his strength. He absently touched the bandage. “Not today,” he finally said.
“Soon?”
“Probably.”
She released his hand. “I understand.”
“You’re not going to push?”
“I’m your friend, not your therapist. You want someone to push you, call Mike.”
His face relaxed. “Do you think I should?”
“I would if I were you.”
“But you aren’t going to insist?”
“Not yet.”
“What’ll push your buttons?”
She waved the folder at him. “I haven’t read this yet. If I think you’re dancing on the dark side, I’ll quit giving you free professional advice and insist you start paying for it. From him, not me.”
“You wouldn’t treat me.”
She paused, considering carefully the risk in what she was about to reveal, then decided she owed him her honesty. “There’s a rule in this business that says a good doctor never shrinks a head she’s grown fond of.”
He leaned across the table, his grin engaging. “Are you fond of my head?”
“Guilty.”
“Fond of anything else?”
“You might be embarrassed.”
“Try me.”
“Well, your butt’s not so bad, either.”
“And here I thought you were interested in my mind.”
“It’s wrapped awfully nice.”
“I see. So it’s purely a physical thing with you?”
“You have no idea.”
“Is this a good time for me to ask you if you had an unusually strong relationship with your mother?”
He laughed. It felt good, she realized, to hear him laugh again. “Worried about my id, my ego, or my sexual problems?”
“Do you have sexual problems?”
“Want to find out?”
“Well, whatever’s wrong with you, it’s definitely not your ego. Besides, I’m a Jungian. You want Freud, you have to talk to Mike.”
Jackson leaned back in his chair. “What if Costas says I have sexual hang-ups?”
“Knowing you, you’d probably take it as a compliment.”
His low chuckle made her toes tingle. Cammy was struck by the warm feeling that had begun to work its way through her limbs as she studied him in the early morning light. There was something incredibly potent in that charisma of his. Being in his presence had the power to make her feel weightless and buoyant. He reached for her hand, then pulled it to his mouth to kiss the palm. “I’m glad I found you today. I feel much better now.”
“Me too,” she confessed.
“Better enough to agree to have dinner with me Friday after next?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Is there a catch?”
“So suspicious.”
“Only because Mike told me he’d talked to your boss and we’re expected at the Harrises’ on Friday. Were you going to tell me that ahead of time, or did you just want to spring it on me?”
“I was working my way around to it.”
“Do you think you could have dreamed up a worse hell for me? I mean, I’ll be trapped at the table with two journalists and my business partner.”
“Hey,” he squeezed her hand. “I’ll be stuck with two shrinks and my boss. It’s worse for me than it is for you.”
She shook her head. “Shrinks don’t bite.”
He grinned. “You still haven’t told me whether or not you’ll go on Friday.”
“I was under the impression it was required.”
“We could play hooky.”
“We’d start rumors.”
“Would that be so bad?”
“I wouldn’t want to explain it to Mike.”
“If I were you, I’d worry more about Sheila Harris.”
“Matchmaking?”
“Like a mother hen.”
“Oh dear.”
His eyes twinkled. She wasn’t sure she’d actually seen anyone twinkle before. “Want to give them something to talk about?”
“Not especially.”
“Damn.”
“I’ll think about it between now and then, and I’ll let you know. If I were you, I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
He blinked. “I didn’t mean I wanted to wait that long to see you again.”
She indicated the folder. “I have to read this before I decide if I’m still speaking to you.”
“Cam—”
“I’m kidding.” Before she could think better of it, she pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “No matter how awful it is, I’ll forgive you.”
“It’s not awful.”
She rose from the table. “See? I told you that there was nothing wrong with your ego.”
Jackson drummed his fingers on his desk as he continued to stare at his phone. “Ring, damn it.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, he decided he was acting like a teenager waiting for a date. He’d been edgy since he’d handed Cammy his story that morning. Scratch that. He’d been edgy since the first time he’d walked into Mike Costas’s office and found her looking him over like a lab specimen.
A sharp knock arrested his attention. He glanced up irritably to find Krista watching him with undisguised curiosity. “What do you need?” The sharp note in his voice made him wince.
Her eyebrows lifted. “You never told me which photos you want to run with the Glynn story. Layout is asking for negatives.”
“Sorry.” He began to forage through the contents on his desk. “I got distracted.”
“I’ll bet.”
He ignored the remark as he rummaged through foam coffee cups and overstuffed envelopes. Finally, he found the pile he wanted, flipped quickly through the pictures, then handed Krista the one he’d checked. “That one. It’s a great shot.”
She took it but didn’t budge. Seconds ticked by. She waited, looking expectant. He searched his brain but came up empty. “What?”
“The other shot,” she prompted.
“What other shot?”
Krista rolled her eyes as she advanced toward his desk. “Geez, Jack. Sometimes, I don’t know why I bother. I shot a roll of Dr. Glynn the day after we attended her session. You wanted some individual pictures. Remember?”
“Oh.” He gave her a sheepish look. “And you took them, and very thoughtfully placed them somewhere on this hellhole I call a desk.”
“Good guess.” She rounded his desk to jerk open the second drawer. “I was afraid the floor would cave in if I added anything to the top. I put them in your drawer. I put the sticky note telling you they were in your drawer on top.”
“Wonderful. You expected me to notice a sticky note?”
“I marked it Urgent.” She located the folder and dropped it on his lap.
“You should have marked it Moron. I might have paid attention.”
Krista laughed. “Next time, I’ll remember. Pick one, Jack. Layout’s driving me nuts.”
He flipped open the folder and stifled a groan. Cammy Glynn had turned him into a first-class idiot, he concluded. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d mooned over a picture. Most likely some super-model in a bikini held the honor. All Cammy had to do was wear some loose-fitting dress and look into Krista’s camera to make his head spin. “Nice stuff,” he said as he flipped through the stack.
“I like the top one,” she told him.
He returned to it. Cammy was standing near the window of her office, talking on the phone. Krista had caught her at an unguarded moment, with the phone propped on her shoulder and her hands thrown wide, as she communicated something that her expression told him she felt extremely passionate about. “I like it too,” he said, then flipped back through the folder to a more formal shot of Cammy behind her desk. “But I think Dr. Glynn would prefer this one.”
“Hmm. If you say so. The top one catches her personality more.”
“I know.” He offered her the picture he’d selected. “Some people don’t like to see themselves in the newspaper.”
She shrugged. “If that’s what you want.” She would have collected the folder, but his hands tightened on it. “No, leave it. We’ve got three more articles in the series. I might use some of them.”
“You, uh, want anything enlarged?”
He glanced sharply at the innocent expression on her face. “Meaning?”
Krista tapped the two pictures she held against her jean-clad thigh. “I just shoot what I see, Jack. I don’t make editorial comments. That’s your job.”
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Okay, so I’m a little enamored of my subject. You’ve seen it happen before.”
“Your subjects are usually under the age of ten, and sure, you like them. But you like her.”
“What’s not to like?”
Krista nodded. “You got a point there. Not the usual type at all. She’s very genuine. She even gave me an invitation to that fund-raiser she’s having. Can you believe that? Said I could bring a date and everything, and that she’d be personally offended if I felt I had to take pictures while I was there.”
Jackson’s brows drew together. “Fund-raiser?”
“Yeah, you know. The Wishing Star reception.”
“I don’t think she mentioned it.”
“She must have. It’s in the press releases in her PR packets.” She gave him a dry look. “You didn’t read them, did you?”
“What makes you think that?”
“I know you. Geez, Jack. You could have at least read her press releases. You might have learned something.”
“Every reporter knows that you never learn anything from a press release.”
“Well, this time you would have. She’s having a big to-do at the Wilson. Gordon Stratton is supposed to be there.”
“President Gordon Stratton?”
“You know another one? His daughter is handling the publicity.”
“Macon,” he muttered.
“Who?”
“Never mind. When is this thing? Exactly.”
“Thursday the fifteenth of June at eight o’clock.” Krista tipped her head to one side. “I wonder if she’ll invite you.”
“Probably not.”
“Maybe you could get a press pass.”
He glared at her. “You’re a laugh a minute, you know that?”
“So I’ve heard. Anyway, you’d better check with her. You could do her some serious good if you covered the fund-raiser in one of your installments.”
“I could,” he concurred. The intercom on his desk buzzed. He cursed, then reached for it. “Puller.”
“Jackson, it’s Edna. I need pictures. I needed them yesterday.”
He glanced at the photographer. “She’s on her way.”
“Yesterday, Jackson. I needed them yesterday.”
“Okay, okay. She’s on her way now.” Krista started toward the door. “She’s walking toward the door,” he assured Edna.
Krista pulled open the door as he hung up. “I’ll run these down,” she told him over her shoulder. “Sure you don’t want me to make that enlargement for you?”
Jackson hurled a wadded copy of yesterday’s front page at her retreating back.
five
Frustrated, Jackson pounded on her apartment door one last time. “Cammy, I know you’re in there. I talked to your doorman.” He paused. “If you’re pissed at me over the column, can you at least tell me you’re all right?”
Nothing. He leaned his head against the door in frustration. He’d been trying to reach her for the better part of the afternoon. Costas’s assurances that she was tied up in therapy sessions had done little to calm his nerves. She’d left for the day without returning his phone calls. That had sent him over the edge.
