by Marta Perry
“Right.” Looking relieved, he backtracked into the office he’d come out of.
Following his directions, they reached the indicated door in moments. Amanda paused for a moment, refreshing her memory of the layout. If anyone she knew was on duty in the communications room, they’d probably be all right. Whispering a silent prayer, she opened the door and slipped inside.
The woman at the nearest station turned at their entrance. Thanking heaven for a familiar face, even if she couldn’t come up with a name at the moment, Amanda gave her a pleading look.
With a hint of a smile, the woman turned back to her instruments as if she didn’t see them.
“We’re okay,” she murmured to Ross.
He nodded, taking in the room with a thoughtful glance. “I was right. You can’t go anywhere in Charleston without finding someone you know.”
“It’s really a small town, despite appearances.” She watched the intent faces, longing for a sign. They were as tense as she was, focused on their jobs with lives in the balance. All the more so, because one of those lives was one of their own.
She fought to untangle the radio chatter she picked up, knowing that it must sound like so much gibberish to Ross.
“Reports are coming in from ships engaged in the search,” she murmured quietly. “Negative, so far.”
He clasped her hand warmly in his. “They’ll find him.”
She nodded, but dread began to pool in the pit of her stomach. The need for action had driven her this far, but what could she really accomplish here? Win was out there, somewhere. There was a lot of ocean to cover, and in a few hours it would be dark.
A hand went up, halfway down the row of technicians, beckoning to them. Amanda moved almost without awareness, grasping the back of his chair to steady herself. There was a chatter of static, and then a voice came through, identifying sender and location.
“That’s Adam’s patrol boat.” She reached for Ross’s hand, found it and gripped it hard.
The anonymous voice suddenly came through clearly. The room around them fell silent as others strained to hear.
“…have the wreckage in sight.”
Please, Lord, please…
“Sighting two victims. Preparing to attempt the transfer.”
Two. Where was the third? Win…Her heart seemed to stop. She felt Ross’s arm go around her, supporting her.
Static. An endless wait. Static again. Then…
“Two victims, one rescue swimmer on board. All alive.”
The room erupted in cheers. Amanda couldn’t cheer. She could only sag against Ross, grateful for the strength of his arms around her.
Thank You, Lord. Thank You.
Chapter Fifteen
“This surely was one good news day.” Cyrus looked down at the Bugle, spread across his massive oak desk and rubbed his palms together. The front page of the Bugle covered the rescue, lauding Win Bodine as a hero.
Which he was, Ross agreed. “We don’t have a heroic story with a happy ending that often.”
As Hugh had said he would, Win had given his life jacket to one of the victims and then managed to keep both of them safe and together until help arrived. You didn’t get much more heroic than that.
“Those Bodines have more lives than a cat,” Cyrus said. “Good thing, considering the jobs they go into.”
“It’s hard on the people who are waiting to hear if they’re dead or alive.” Ross would never forget the time he’d spent with Amanda and her grandmother yesterday. Never.
Amanda had leaned on him in a time of crisis. That was a sign of trust he hadn’t expected, given how things had been between them recently.
That trust would be gone soon. He faced that bleakly.
In a few days the story would break. Then she’d need all that strength she’d shown yesterday to get through the scandal.
She’d go through it with her head high. He had no doubt about that. But it would cut her to the bone, and she’d never be quite the same.
He’d like to say he’d give anything to protect her from that, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t true. He wouldn’t give up his career.
He tried to assure himself that it wouldn’t make a difference if he did. Cyrus would run the story anyway. Somehow that didn’t make him feel any better.
“Too bad.” Cyrus closed the paper and put it aside with an air of finality. “They’re going to go from rejoicing today to grief tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” That shook him. “You’re surely not thinking to break the story that soon.”
“There’s no point in waiting that I can see.” Cyrus’s tone expressed sorrow laced with determination. “Besides, we’ve had the public’s attention for the past few days. We can’t afford to lose it at this point, you know that as well as I do.”
Ross had rushed into print once before, eager to get the story out, and lived to regret that. At least this time he wasn’t depending on anyone else’s information, but even so, he wanted it ironclad before it went out with his byline. “Let’s take it slower. We can’t afford to make accusations without proof.”
“We have the records of Winchell’s contracts, one after another awarded to him by Bodine’s office. We have the photos of the two of them meeting yesterday.” Cyrus ticked off the facts.
He was being swept along too fast. “It’s not enough. There’s no law against the two of them meeting at the festival, despite appearances.”
Cyrus’s shaggy eyebrows lifted. “What about the packet?”
Ross felt as if he’d missed a step in the dark. “Packet?”
“Didn’t you look at the pictures you took?” Apparently taking the answer for granted, Cyrus grabbed a folder from his desk, shaking the contents out onto the surface. “Look. If that’s not incriminating, I don’t know what is.”
Ross took the photo Cyrus held out and saw the thing he’d completely missed in his efforts to get as many shots as he could. Winchell, holding out a bulky envelope to Brett Bodine.
Wordlessly, Cyrus passed him another. In this shot, Bodine was stuffing the envelope into his jacket pocket. Maybe that explained why the man had been wearing a jacket on such a hot day.
“I never saw them.” He shook his head. “Just snapped as many as I could get without being seen. With everything that happened afterward, I…”
He’d been too busy worrying about Amanda. Trying to help her in any way he could. And all the time, the proof about her father was in the camera he carried.
Here was the big story he’d been looking for since he came to the Bugle. A step back toward the life he wanted.
So why wasn’t he happier?
Amanda entered the newsroom later than her usual time, but with a light step. The family had been up until all hours, rejoicing over Win’s safe return.
Of course Win had wanted to downplay it, so they’d tried to go along, but tears had never been far from the surface.
“Amanda!” C.J. was the first to spot her, and she came at a half run to envelop her in a hug. “Nobody thought you’d come in today.”
“I didn’t think that.” Jim elbowed C.J. over to get in on the hug, pressing his cheek against Amanda’s. “I knew all along that this gal was a pro. Glad everything turned out okay, sugar.”
Those treacherous tears threatened to spill over again. “We are, too. Thanks, Jim.”
The rest of the newsroom staff had gathered around her by then, wanting to share in the happiness, and her heart swelled. It really did feel as if all of Charleston had been praying with them and now shared their happiness. That had been the message on the flowers Miz Callie received that morning from Cyrus, coming so early that he must have had to wake up the florist.
Flowers for joy, not for condolence. A shudder went through her at the thought of how easily it could have gone the other way.
She pulled back, squeezing C.J.’s hand. “Thanks, everyone, so much. I just can’t tell you how much it helped to know folks were praying with us.” She wiped away a tear
that had escaped. “I’ve got to thank Cyrus, too, and then I’d best get back to work.”
She escaped down the hall that led to Cyrus’s office, blotting her eyes with a tissue. Maybe in a day or two she’d have gotten over this tendency to cry at the least little thing. Though even time probably wouldn’t erase the memory of those hours when they hadn’t known whether Win was alive or dead.
She couldn’t think of that without thinking of Ross. He’d stayed with her through it all. At the time she hadn’t even questioned turning to him in the crisis. It had seemed the most natural thing in the world. For all his sharp edges and occasional cynicism, he’d been a rock when she needed him.
Oh, she’d have gotten through it without him. She had her family and her faith to see her through. Her heart chilled. Ross didn’t seem to have either of those. Small wonder that he’d turned cynic.
Maybe she could make a difference. Things had been rocky between them, but maybe, given time and patience, there could be a future for them. After yesterday’s seemingly miraculous rescue, she could believe in another happy ending, couldn’t she?
Cyrus’s door stood ajar, and she paused, hearing voices. He had someone with him. She’d have to come back later.
Then she realized that the second voice belonged to Ross, and her heart gave a silly little leap. Smiling, she reached toward the door.
“…the Bodine story.” Ross’s voice was a low rumble. They must be talking about the coverage of Win’s rescue.
“The photo of Brett Bodine has to go above the fold on page one.” Cyrus’s voice rang out clearly. “Showing him accepting the bribe tells the whole story in a single picture.”
Her breath caught in her throat, feeling as if it would strangle her. Brett…bribe…what on earth were they talking about? Those two words didn’t belong in the same sentence.
“…seems pretty clear,” Ross was saying.
Ross…plotting against Daddy. Her heart seemed caught in a vise that tightened cruelly as she tried to comprehend what she was hearing.
Her fingers closed on the edge of the door. She’d confront them, tell them—
Wait. Stop and think. She took a steadying breath, then another. Pulled her hand away from the door.
That was always her default reaction, wasn’t it? Rush in without thinking.
Not this time. Not if Daddy was in trouble and Ross was his betrayer. The vise on her heart gave another, stronger twist.
She had to find out what they were planning so she’d know what she was fighting. There had to be a logical explanation for this. Would Jim know?
She rejected that. Jim was many things, but not much of an actor. He couldn’t have greeted her the way he had if he’d been in on a story that would discredit her father.
No, this had Ross’s fingerprints all over it. Ross had been lying the whole time he’d been supporting her. Comforting her. Kissing her.
Her cheeks flamed. She had to find out the truth. She backed silently away from the door and headed for Ross’s office.
There’d be no euphoria at the breaking of this story, Ross knew. Just a dogged determination to do his job, coupled with a bone-deep despair over what that was going to do to Amanda.
God, if You’re there, if You still listen to me, help her.
Once this broke, she wouldn’t appreciate the thought that he prayed for her. The dagger in his heart dug a little deeper.
Could he warn her? Totally unprofessional, but how could he let her be blindsided?
He swung his office door open and froze in his tracks. Amanda wouldn’t be blindsided. She stood at his desk, reading the file of notes on the investigation.
She looked at him, face white, eyes blazing, and shook a sheet of paper at him. “How can you possibly believe this? You’ve met my father. He wouldn’t do anything like this.”
He closed the door behind him. No one else needed to know what they’d say to each other.
“I wouldn’t have thought you’d go through my desk, either. Looks like we’re both wrong.” But the indignation he tried to drum up rang hollow.
Twin flags of scarlet burned in her cheeks. “I was coming to Cyrus’s office to talk to him. To thank him for the flowers he sent to my grandmother. And guess what I heard? You and Cyrus planning a front-page story framing my father.”
“We’re not framing anyone.” He took a step closer, trying to keep his voice low. Trying to keep some control over the situation. “We’re not printing anything but the truth. If you wanted the truth, you should have asked us, not come searching in my desk.”
“I had to know what I was fighting.” She slapped the paper down on the stack.
“There’s no fighting about it. The decision has already been made. The story runs tomorrow.” He reached toward her, knowing she didn’t want him anywhere near her, but unable to stop the gesture. “At least you’re forewarned now.”
“Forewarned?” Her voice rose. She was teetering on the edge. Hardly surprising after everything that had happened the previous day. “You’re going to print lies about my father. Don’t you know that will destroy his career? And the family…” She stopped, her voice breaking.
“I’m sorry for all the people who are going to be hurt.” She probably didn’t believe that. “But you have to realize that your father’s the one who brought this down on you. Not the newspaper.”
“He’s innocent. He would never—”
“Look.” He pulled the condemning photograph from the folder he held. “Just look at it and accept the truth. That’s your father taking money from a contractor who’s gotten way more than his fair share of business from the base, thanks to your father’s influence.”
The picture shook her. He could see that in the way her eyes darkened and her lips pressed together as she tried to assimilate the pain.
Her reaction shook him, too. The need to comfort her nearly overwhelmed him. Yesterday she’d leaned on him, and he’d been there for her. Today—
Today he could do nothing.
She shook her head, thrusting the picture away from her. “There’s an explanation. There has to be. Just talk to him.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? You at least interviewed that slumlord before you ran the story.”
“This is Cyrus’s decision, not mine. I’m an employee of this paper, just as you are.”
“Not anymore.” She straightened, bracing herself with her fingertips on his desk for a moment, and then walking around it toward the door, avoiding him as she might a skunk in the road.
“Amanda—” But what could he say? Naturally she wouldn’t keep working here after this.
“It’s funny.” She paused, hand on the doorknob. “I spent all this time trying to show you that you were wrong about me.” She turned to face him. “But maybe you were right all along. I really am that sweet Southern girl you thought I was. And my family is more important to me than anything else.”
She yanked the door open and walked out of his office and out of his life.
Chapter Sixteen
She’d been looking for her father for hours without success. Amanda’s stomach churned as she picked up her cell phone to try once more. Why wasn’t he picking up? If she didn’t get to him in time to stop that story from going to press…
The call went immediately to messages. Gritting her teeth, she ended the call. Little point in adding yet another “where are you?” to the ones she’d already recorded.
She crossed her tiny living room in five steps and stared out the front window, catching a group of tourists with cameras pointed in her direction.
Letting the curtain fall between them, she took a deep breath. A few tourists was nothing compared to the crowd that would descend on Mamma and Daddy’s house if that story ran. She couldn’t let that happen.
She picked up the phone again. Time to bring in the big guns. She hadn’t wanted to call Mamma, fearing her mother would read the anxiety in her tone, but she couldn’t waste any more time, not wh
en her mental clock ticked away the hours until the paper went to press.
“Mamma? Hi, it’s Manda.”
“Sugar, what’s goin’ on with you? How about comin’ over for supper tomorrow? I’m making Brunswick stew.”
“That sounds great, Mamma. Maybe I will.” Or maybe they’d all be too busy dealing with fallout to eat. “Right now I need to get hold of Daddy. He’s not picking up his cell phone. Do you know where he is?”
“Goodness, I…I don’t know. He had to go out this evening, but I don’t believe he said…”
“Mamma, this is important.” She couldn’t keep up the facade that was just a casual call, not when the need for action pounded in her brain and tightened every muscle. “Where is he?”
“Sugar, you make it sound like life and death.” A thread of uneasiness laced her mother’s voice.
She took a breath and sent up a wordless prayer that she wasn’t making things worse. “It’s important. You and Daddy don’t keep secrets from each other, no matter what he says. Whatever he’s involved in, the newspaper is about to blow it wide-open. I’ve got to get to him.”
Silence for a long moment. “He’s at Battery Park, meeting with…someone.”
She suppressed the urge to press for more answers. Time enough for that once she’d found Daddy. “Thanks, Mamma.” She hung up and darted for the door.
A few minutes later she was pulling into a parking space bordering the park. She could have walked, but if she missed Daddy here, she’d waste time running back for her car. She stepped up the high curb and stood on the sidewalk, surveying the park.
Battery Park, covering the end of the peninsula that was Charleston, was a popular tourist destination, but by now most of them had probably headed for dinner or back to their hotels to put their feet up. Stilling her nervous impulse to rush through the park, she stood where she was, scanning the area methodically.
No sign of him, and her heart sank. Time was running out. If she—
There he was, leaning against the wall, looking out over the water toward Fort Sumter. Another man stood next to him. Not, she realized with relief, the contractor who’d been in the photo Ross showed her.
