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“I like my solitude.”

“You’ve made that abundantly clear.”

“Time’s ticking.”

She let him have it then. With both barrels. “I think Vanessa Merritt killed her own baby.”

Gray clenched his teeth to keep from saying anything.

She talked nonstop for the next several minutes. He lost track of how many, but certainly more than five. She talked him through several motives for why the First Lady might destroy her child, then detailed for him the steps she’d taken in making inquiries and the roadblocks she’d encountered.

“Now Mrs. Merritt has gone ‘into seclusion.’ Don’t you think that’s odd?”

“No,” he lied.

“When she retreated from public life after the child’s death, that was understandable. Jackie Kennedy did the same when she lost her baby. But it was for a specified time, and we’re past that. If she’s only resting, as insiders insist, then why isn’t she staying with her father? Or why hasn’t she gone to their home in Mississippi?”

“How do you know she hasn’t?”

“I don’t,” she admitted with a frown. “But it’s been announced that she’s in Dr. Allan’s care, and he’s still in Washington. I don’t get what the big secret is all about.”

“There is no big secret.”

“Then how do you account for Anna Chen’s strange behavior? She was always a reliable source, willing to cooperate.”

“You pissed her off?”

“I don’t know her well enough to make her angry.”

“I don’t know you at all, and you’ve made me angry.”

“She was scared,” Barrie said stubbornly. “I recognize fear when I see it.”

“Okay, maybe she was scared,” he said impatiently. “Maybe she’d just seen a mouse. And maybe Vanessa’s behavior is a little unusual, but doesn’t she deserve privacy to do her grieving?”

This Barrie Travis, this reporter with the sexy voice, was bringing up the ambiguities he himself had entertained. His gut in a knot, he stood and walked to the edge of the porch. “Christ, what she must be going through.” He plowed his fingers through his hair, squeezed his eyes shut, and tried forcibly to keep his own demons at bay.

Several moments passed before he remembered that she was there. He caught her staring up at him, a strange expression on her face. “It wasn’t just an affair. You truly loved her, didn’t you?” she said in a hushed voice. “You still do.”

Cursing himself for consenting even to five minutes with her, he bent down and, for the second time that morning, picked up her big leather bag and pushed it into her arms. “Time’s up.”

His hand encircled her biceps as he pulled her to her feet. To steady herself, she gripped one of the posts supporting the porch roof. “After everything I’ve told you, is that all you have to say?”

“You’re on a single track going nowhere, Miss Travis. All these inconsistencies are distortions of the facts, pieced together by your warped imagination and ambitious little mind to create an ugly but sensational story.

“For whatever it’s worth, I advise you to drop this thing before you upset somebody in the administration who could really hurt you. Forget about that baby and how he died.”

“I can’t just forget it. Something about his death doesn’t ring true.”

“Suit yourself. But whatever else you do, forget about me.” He went inside and locked the front door.

Chapter Twelve

When Howie received the su

mmons to the general manager’s office, his bowels turned to water. Leaving the men’s room, he went directly to the carpeted office on the second floor. An aloof secretary told him that “they” were waiting for him and to go right in.

Jenkins was seated behind his desk. Another man was standing in front of the window, while another occupied an armchair. “Come in, Howie,” Jenkins said. Rubber-kneed, he advanced into the office. Typically, an unscheduled meeting like this meant bad news, like a drastic drop in ratings, a major cutback in budget, or a comprehensive ass-chewing.