Deadline

“I saw you after court was adjourned,” she admitted reluctantly. “To avoid the media storm, Mr. Jackson put me in an office on the third floor that overlooks the front of the courthouse. I was watching from the window while he addressed the reporters. You were standing at a distance, leaning against a signpost.”

“You noticed me? From three stories up?”

He shot her that grin again, and it was even more aggravating this time. “I took you for a homeless person. Unshaven. Shaggy hair. That’s why I recognized you when you stepped out of the bathroom. I almost wish I’d gone ahead and sprayed you. It would have served you right for tracking me here.” She looked at the canister of spray, then lowered her hand. “As it is, I’ll leave you with a warning. Do not approach me or my children. If you do, I’ll call the police after all.”

When she turned to go, he said, “As long as you’re here, can I ask you a few questions?”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? No interviews. Ever.”

“Strictly background stuff.”

“No.”

“The girl. Kin to you?” He hitched his chin toward the window, through which Stef and the boys could be seen playing a game with paddles and a ball.

Amelia hesitated, but didn’t see a problem with answering him. “No relation. I hired her as a nanny for the summer.”

“And the old man who was flying the kite?”

“Family friend. He rents the house next door every summer. And that’s all you’re going to get from me.”

She turned to go, but again he stopped her with a question. “What would be the harm in us having a nice, neighborly chat?”

“During which you hope I’ll forge

t myself, let down my guard, and pour out my deepest, darkest secrets?”

He arched one sun-bleached eyebrow. “You have deep, dark secrets?”

“Good-bye.”

Moving quickly, he planted himself between her and the door, but he also raised his hands again. “Look, I understand why you might not trust me.”

“Oh, well, thanks for your understanding. Not that I care whether you understand me or not.” With disgust, she glanced at the photos. “Do you plan to publish those? Sell them to a tabloid?”

He looked offended. “Of course not.”

“Then why did you take them?”

“So I could…”

When he couldn’t come up with an explanation, she sidestepped him. Or tried. He moved to block her path. “Would you have talked to me if I’d walked up to you, looking like a homeless person, and introduced myself as a writer for NewsFront?” He gave her only half a second to answer. “Exactly. So, rather than scare you off—”

“You simply scared me.”

“You were scared?”

“Of course I was scared,” she exclaimed.

“Of what?”

“Of…I don’t know. I sensed—”

“What?”

“Something. I thought—”

“What?”