Free To Catch the Moon by Diana Dempsey Page A

time.
    “Do you have time for a coffee?” he asked.
“Or perhaps a drink later?” And then he smiled again.
    Hot damn . Professional ethics required
that she keep reporters covering the Gaines case at a distance. She
knew that and so did he. Milo Pappas was making one bold
proposition by requesting private schmooze time.
    Of course, he also knew that most red-blooded
American women would mow down their ethics with an automatic weapon
to get a one-on-one with him. But clearly that was no problem. This
was not a man who had any compunction about using his charm to get
what he wanted—in this case, inside information.
    She crossed her arms over her chest. “If you
had more questions about the case, why didn’t you ask them at the
press conference?”
    He didn’t miss a beat. “Because at the press
conference Kip Penrose was doing all the talking. I wanted to get
my answers from you.”
    “You could call the D.A. office’s press
person. She’d be able to answer all your questions.”
    “I’m sure she could.” He smiled again. “But
she’s still not you.”
    Smooth talker . Alicia eyed this Milo
Pappas, with his perfectly symmetrical features, curly dark hair,
and bedroom eyes. Of course, she could play it safe, like she
always did. She could keep her late-night date with her faithful
but boring doctor boyfriend, who in the past few minutes had flown
out of her mind so completely it was as if he’d been carried off by
a tornado. Or she could entertain herself by getting together with
this drop-dead-gorgeous network news star who would pass through
her life but once. And throw a kink in his plans by staying
tight-lipped about the case.
    “Mr. … Pappas, is it?”
    He smiled again. This time at her. That old
hard-to-fool thing again. Damn .
    She kept her voice cool. “I’m in trial at the
moment.” It was only a white lie: she would be if Penrose hadn’t
made her postpone. “So I can’t take time for a coffee. But if you’d
care to meet for a drink later I could probably swing that.”
    He smiled. Something in his grin told her she
wasn’t coming off quite as offhand as she might hope. “Terrific,”
he said. “Where’s convenient for you?”
    She thought fast. Her meeting with Penrose
and Joan Gaines would be in Pebble Beach and would probably be over
around eight o’clock. “How about eight-thirty at the bar at the
Mission Ranch in Carmel? Do you know where that is?”
    “I’ll find it.”
    She nodded and walked away. She could feel
his eyes on her back as she walked toward the courthouse doors.
Right before she disappeared through them, he spoke again.
    “I’m looking forward to it,” he called.
    She hated her immediate gut reaction. Which
was that she wasn’t only looking forward to it. She could hardly
wait.
     
     

Chapter 5
     
     
    By ten o’clock Monday morning, a hired
limousine was speeding Joan north through Silicon Valley on Highway
101. Pebble Beach was an hour behind her; San Francisco lay another
hour of four-lane freeway ahead. She rode in the rear nursing a
fizzy water with lime, on her lap a forgotten yellow legal pad.
    This was a must-do trip. She absolutely had
to have a new suit for Daniel’s funeral: she certainly couldn’t
wear the same one she’d worn to her father’s service. That had been
televised, too. Serious shopping meant San Francisco, yet she knew
a buying spree two days after her husband had been murdered could
be badly misconstrued.
    She sipped and recrossed her legs, impressed
with her own problem solving. She’d simply made this a stealth
mission. Even though she wouldn’t be staying overnight, she’d
booked a suite at the Ritz-Carlton, and arranged for Neiman Marcus
to assemble some selections and bring them over. Joan would be
closeted in the suite, so no one would be the wiser. And while she
was at it, she’d have her hair and nails done, too.
    Joan stared out the limo’s tinted windows as
it rocketed past 101’s University Avenue exit, which