Free Space in His Heart by Roxanne St. Claire Page B

Stockard. Jess,
thanks for handling the arrangements.”
    “You bet,” she responded. “Here’s my cell
phone. Call me as soon as you know what the editorial decision
is.”
    While giving him the number, she leaned her
elbows on the table and pulled the sides of her hair up, revealing
fine bones and creamy skin. As she hit the speakerphone button, her
gaze moved to Deke, relief shining in her deep brown eyes.
    “See? That wasn’t so bad.”
    Wordlessly, he stood, knowing the daggers he
shot at her had to be felt. She dropped her hair and it fell around
her face, hiding her expression before turning to Colonel Price and
Skip Bowker. “Do either of you have any idea who could have sent
something to the media? Any unhappy ex-employees?”
    “My guys are clean,” Skip responded. “We
haven’t had any problems, and I don’t have a clue who would talk to
the media.”
    “Whatever piece of paper he claims to be
looking at is a fraud,” Colonel Price added with certainty.
    The conversation stopped when Jessica’s cell
phone rang. As soon as she answered, her face brightened and she
gave a thumbs-up to Colonel Price.
    Into the phone, she lowered her voice and
turned from the group watching her. “What do you think of Stockard?
He’s the best story on the Cape. Can I call you next week? I have
an idea for a feature.”
    When she snapped her phone shut, Deke started
to leave the room, avoiding her smug smile of triumph.
    “Commander.” He hadn’t made it out the door
before she called him. He stopped, but didn’t turn.
    “I just wanted to thank you,” she said from
behind him.
    He spun around with such force that she
literally backed up. “I’ve already had enough of your fluffy little
assignment and your bulldozer approach. You have no
idea— none —what kind of fire you’re playing with.” He forced
his mouth closed before he told her that a man’s life depended on
getting that shuttle up on February thirteenth. She didn’t need to
know that.
    Colonel Price stepped into the hallway.
    “Excellent work, my man.” He gripped Deke’s
shoulder in congratulations. “And good thinking on your part, Miss
Marlowe. I’m happy to have you on our team.”
    Great. Price was supposed to kick her out,
not welcome her aboard.
    “I’m sorry I blindsided you,” she finally
said, a gentle truce in her eyes and voice. She reached out and,
for the second time that day, burned his arm with the warmth of her
soft fingers.
    His gaze dropped to her hand and traveled
back to her face. Her lips parted slightly and she attempted a
smile. “Couldn’t we just try and work together?” she finally
asked.
    An unfamiliar twist seized his gut. He took a
shallow breath and leaned closer to her. “You are naïve and
relentless.” Her eyes widened in surprise. “In my opinion,
sweetheart, that is a dangerous combination.”
    He turned and followed Colonel Price. He
didn’t trust himself to stay that close to her for one minute
longer.

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Seven

    Bill Dugan killed time logging his billable
hours and reading email while he waited for Jessica to call him
back. Hell. He billed sixty hours this week alone, he noted as he
logged out of the TimeSheets program. He ran a hand through his
thinning hair and stood to stare at the wintry gray waters of the
Potomac outside his office window.
    Some adventurous sailors were out, trying to
take advantage of a sunny, if chilly, November Saturday. He, of
course, was stuck at his desk, racking up time so that Tony Palermo
could get even richer when the British conglomerate that owned Ross
& Clayton handed out year-end bonuses.
    He mentally calculated how much Tony would
make this year. Too damn much, that’s what. A digital tone on his
desk phone interrupted his math. The readout flashed one of the KSC
phone numbers. Jessica must have finished with Newsweek .
    “How’d it go?” he asked without preamble.
    “Fine. Perfect. We deflected the story and I
planted a