The Way Home. Irene Hannon

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      In the meantime, she intended to take to heart what he had said. While she didn’t agree completely with his assessment of the press, he had made some valid points. And he’d given her a couple of ideas for related stories that could round out her coverage when there wasn’t much to report on in the trial itself. All in all, it had been a productive morning, she decided. She had some good ideas, and she had a ray of hope—which was probably the last thing Cal Richards had intended to give her, she thought, a wry smile quirking the corners of her mouth.

      As she turned to go, she glanced back at the door through which the reticent assistant prosecuting attorney had disappeared. He was an interesting man, she mused. Not to mention good-looking. Too bad they were on opposite sides—in his opinion, at least. Not that it mattered, of course. He wasn’t her type anyway. Not even close.

      Besides, even if he was, she didn’t have time for romance. She had a career to build.

      “If looks could kill…”

      Cal stopped abruptly outside the jury selection room, the scowl on his face softening as he glanced at his colleague.

      “It’s not that bad, you know. We’ll get this jury. If not in this century, then surely in the next.”

      This time Cal smiled. Bill Jackson, who could go for the jugular in the courtroom better than anyone Cal had ever encountered, also had an amazing ability to ease the tension in any situation. It was a pretty unbeatable combination in an attorney, and Cal was glad he was assisting on this trial.

      “Believe it or not, I wasn’t even thinking about the jury.”

      “No? Then what put that look on your face?”

      “A run-in with the press.”

      “No kidding! I thought you had them all trained to keep their distance.”

      “So did I. I think this one’s new.”

      “What’s his name?”

      “It’s a her. Amy Winter.”

      Bill gave a low whistle, and Cal raised his eyebrows. “You know her?”

      “Unfortunately, no. But I’ve seen her on TV. Man, she’s a looker! And you’re right. She’s only been around a few months. Must be good, though, to get an assignment like this so quickly.”

      “She’s pushy, anyway.”

      Bill shrugged. “Same thing in the news game.”

      “Yeah, well, I don’t appreciate being called at home.”

      Bill looked at him in surprise. “How’d she get your unlisted number?”

      “Beats me. I didn’t ask. I just told her to back off.”

      “And how did the lady respond to that?”

      Cal’s scowled returned. “Let’s just say I don’t think I’ve seen the last of Amy Winter.”

      Bill chuckled as he reached over to open the door.

      “This could be interesting. Two people equally unwilling to bend. You’ll have to keep me informed. In the meantime, we’d better get on with the jury selection or there won’t even be a trial to write about.”

      As Cal followed Bill into the room, he gave one last fleeting thought to Amy Winter. Bill had called her a “looker,” and his colleague was right. But that wasn’t why she lingered in his memory. He’d met plenty of attractive women, and he’d rarely given them a thought once out of their presence. No, it wasn’t her looks that intrigued him. It was the look that had appeared in her eyes, then quickly vanished, when he’d spoken harshly to her. For the briefest of moments she had seemed somehow…vulnerable was the word that came to mind. Yet that seemed so out of character for someone in her profession. Reporters got the cold shoulder all the time. Surely they built up an immunity to it. Why would she be any different?

      And she probably wasn’t, he told himself brusquely. Most likely he’d imagined the whole thing. Besides, why should he care? Amy Winter was a stranger to him. And a reporter to boot. She was aggressive, ambitious, competitive, single-minded, brash—qualities he didn’t particularly admire in either gender. He ought to just forget her and hope she honored his request to back off.

      Except he didn’t think she would.

      And for some strange reason, he didn’t think she was going to be so easy to forget.

      Chapter Two

      Amy took a sip of her drink and glanced around glumly. A charity bachelor auction was the last place she wanted to be on a Saturday night. If her TV station hadn’t bought a table and their lead anchorwoman wasn’t the MC—making this a politically expedient event to attend—the proverbial wild horses couldn’t have dragged her here. Spending an entire evening watching women bid on dates was not exactly her idea of a compelling way to use her precious—and rare—free time.

      “Why the long face?”

      Amy turned to find one of the younger copywriters from her station at her elbow. She shrugged, groping for the woman’s name. Darlene, that was it. “I can think of other places I’d rather be.”

      “Yeah? Spending an evening mingling with a bunch of hot-looking guys doesn’t seem so bad to me. Have you checked out the program?” She waved it in front of Amy’s face. “It’s got all their pictures and bios.”

      “No. I’m not planning to bid.”

      “I wasn’t, either, until I got here. But I met several of the auctionees during the cocktail hour and now I’ve got my eye on Bachelor #12—over there, by the bar.” She gazed at him longingly. “Man, a date with that dude would be worth a couple hundred bucks! Did you meet anyone interesting?”

      Amy shook her head. Actually, she’d only just arrived, putting off her appearance as long as possible. It had been a grueling and frustrating couple of weeks and she was exhausted. Though she’d tried repeatedly to contact Cal Richards—even waylaid him a couple of times enroute to the courthouse—and spent hours in the courtroom after the trial began, he’d hardly spoken to her. Apparently he’d said everything he intended to say at the one encounter when he’d made it clear what he thought of the news media.

      Amy sighed. She hadn’t given up on finding an angle on this story. But the assistant prosecuting attorney wasn’t making it easy, that was for sure. Still, she was due for a break. In fact, she deserved one. After all, she’d paid her dues. She’d put in the long hours, sacrificed her personal life, worked the midnight shift in the newsroom, all in the name of career advancement. And she’d accomplished a lot. But not enough. She had her sights set on an anchor slot. And she’d get there, just like Candace Bryce, she vowed, as the celebrity MC stepped to the microphone.

      “Ladies, please take your seats so the wait staff can serve dinner—and we can get to the real purpose of this evening. You’ll have about an hour to enjoy your food and plan your strategy. Bon appétit!”

      “Our table’s over there,” Darlene indicated with a nod, leaving Amy to follow.

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