An Independent Wife (4 page)

Chris Meaker, the photographer, was waiting for her at the airport the next morning and as she approached him with a grin and a wave he got to his feet, his tall, lanky body unfolding slowly. He gave her a sleepy smile in return and bent down to kiss her on the forehead. "Hi, doll," he said, his quiet, lazily deep voice making her grin grow wider. She liked Chris. Nothing ever upset him; nothing ever hurried him. He was as calm and deep as a sheltered lagoon. He was even peaceful to look at, with his thick sandy hair and dark brown eyes, his brow broad and serene, his mouth firm without being stubborn. And most important of all, he never made a pass at her. He treated her affectionately, like a little sister, and he was protective in his quiet way, but he never made any suggestive statements to her or in any way acted as if he was attracted to her. That was a relief, because Sallie just didn't have the time for romantic ties.

Now he looked her up and down and his level brows rose. "Ye gods, a dress," he said, mild surprise evident in his voice, which meant he was astonished. "What's the occasion?"

Sallie had to grin again. "No occasion, just politics," she assured him. "Did Greg send that envelope he promised me?"

"Got it," he replied. "Have you already checked your luggage?"

"Yes," she nodded. Just then their flight was called over the loudspeaker and they walked over to the boarding area and through the metal detector, then on to the waiting jet.

On the flight to the capital Sallie carefully read the brief Greg had prepared. Considering how little time he'd had, he had included a lot of detail and she became absorbed in the possibilities. This wasn't the type of reporting she usually did but Greg had given her what he had, and she'd return the favor by doing her best.

When they reached Washington and checked into their hotel it looked as if doing her best wouldn't be good enough. While Chris lounged in a chair and leafed through a magazine Sallie called the senator's wife to confirm the appointment Greg had made for an interview that afternoon. She was told that Mrs.

Bailey was sorry but she was unable to see any reporters that day. It was a polite, final brush-off, and it made her angry. She had no intention of failing to get the story Greg had sent her after.

It took an hour of phone calls to a chain of contacts but when the hour was up she had interviewed, over the phone, the hostess of the "drunken party" where the general had supposedly revealed the classified material. Everything was vehemently denied, except for the presence of both the general and Mrs. Bailey on the night in question, but when the indignant hostess muttered in passing that "Hell hath no fury" Sallie began to get the idea that Mrs. Bailey was a woman scorned.

It was a possibility. The general was a trim, distinguished man with metallic gray hair and a goodhumored twinkle in his eyes. After talking it over with Chris, who agreed with her theory, they decided to pursue that angle.

Forty-eight hours later, tired but satisfied, they caught a plane back to New York. Though her theory hadn't been verified by either of the two principals, the general or Mrs. Bailey, she was content that she knew the reason behind Mrs. Bailey's denouncement of the general. Once they had been checking they had found several restaurants in the capital area where the general had been seen dining with an attractive woman of Mrs. Bailey's general description. Senator Bailey had suddenly canceled a trip overseas to stay with his wife. The general's wife, who had shed twenty pounds and turned her graying hair into a flattering soft blond, was suddenly more in evidence at her husband's side. There was also only Mrs. Bailey's accusation against the general; no one else had added their word to hers and, moreover, the general had not been relieved of his post despite the furor in the press.

Sallie had telephoned all of that in to Greg the night before and he had agreed with her. ne article would be placed in that week's issue, and she had barely gotten it in under the deadline.

He was cryptic on the subject of Rhy, commenting only that the man was a mover, and by that she deduced that changes were being made. She would have preferred going on another assignment immediately, but Greg had nothing available and there were always expense sheets to complete and a report to type out. Thankfully, the weekend had arrived and she had a bit more time before she had to go in to the office.

On Monday morning, she reported to work with butterflies in her stomach, but to her relief and surprise the entire day went by without so much as a glimpse of her husband, though the floor buzzed with speculation on the changes he was making in the format of the magazine. She avoided the upper floors, no longer going up to see Greg when an idea came to her; she called him instead, and Brom commented that he'd never seen her stay in one place for so long before.

Tuesday was the same, except that that was the day the magazine hit the newsstands and Greg called to offer his congratulations. "I've just received a call from Rhy," he said gruffly, having picked up the shortened version of Rhy's name from her. "Senator Bailey called him at home this morning."

"Am I being sued?" Sallie questioned.

"No. The senator explained the entire situation and his wife is giving us a retraction of her previous statement concerning the general. You were right on target, doll."

"I thought I was," she agreed cheerily. "Do you have anything else I can do?"

"Just watch your back, doll. Several editors I know are mad as the devil that you're the only one who caught on to what was under everyone's noses."

She laughed and hung up, but the knowledge that her instincts had been right gave her a lift for the rest of the day. Chris came by at lunch and asked if she wanted to share a sandwich with him and she accepted. There was a small cafeteria in the building offering nothing more sophisticated than soup, sandwiches, coffee and cold drinks for those who couldn't get out for lunch, but the meager fare was more than enough for her. She and Chris shared a postage-stamp table and talked shop over cups of strong black coffee.

Just as they were finishing there was a stir among the other people eating lunch and the back of Sallie's neck prickled in warning. "It's the boss," Chris informed her casually. "With his girlfriend.-

Sallie sternly resisted the urge to turn around, but out of the comer of her eye she watched the two figures move down the cafeteria line selecting their lunch. "I wonder what they're doing here," she murmured.

"Testing the food, at a guess," Chris replied, turning his head to stare openly at the woman by Rhy's side. "He's checked into everything else. I don't see why he should overlook the food. She looks familiar, Sal. Do you know her?"

Sallie narrowed her eyes in concentration, examining the woman with relief, because that kept her from staring at Rhy. "You're right, she is familiar. Isn't she Coral Williams, the model?" She was almost certain of the woman's identity, that classic golden perfection could belong to no one else.

"So it is," Chris grunted.

Rhy turned then, balancing his tray as he moved to a table, and Sallie hastily lowered her eyes, but not before her heart gave a breath-stopping lunge at his appearance. He hadn't changed. He was still lithe and muscular, and his hair was still the same midnight black, his strong-boned face still hard and sardonic, tanned from long exposure to the sun. By contrast the woman at his side was a graceful butterfly, his exact opposite in coloring.

"Let's go," she said in a low tone to Chris, sliding out of her chair. She sensed Rhy's head turning in her direction and she carefully turned her back to him without any show of hurry. Chris followed her out of the cafeteria, but she was burningly conscious of Rhy's gaze on her as she left. That was twice he had stared at her. Did he recognize her? Was her walk familiar to him? Was it her hair? That long braid was distinctive enough in itself, but she didn't want to have her hair cut because he would certainly recognize her then.

She was still shaken when she returned to her desk, due in large part to her reaction to Rhy's appearance. No other man had ever attracted her the way he did and she found to her dismay that the situation was still the same. Rhy had a raw virility, an aura of barely leashed power that set her heart to pounding and forcibly reminded her of the nights she had once spent in his arms. She might be free of him emotionally, but the old physical ties seemed to be as strong as ever and she felt vulnerable.

Out of habit she picked up the phone and called Greg, but he was out to lunch and she dropped the receiver back into the cradle with a ragged sigh. She couldn't just sit there; her nature demanded that she take some sort of action. At last she scribbled a note to Brom asking him to notify Greg that she'd taken ill with a headache and was going home for the rest of the day. Greg would see through the excuse, but Brom, wouldn't.

She hated to run away from anything, but she knew that she needed to think about her reaction to Rhy, and once she was home she did exactly that. Was it only because he was her husband, because she knew him as she knew no other man? He was her only lover; she'd never even been attracted to another man as she had been to Rhy. Old habits? She hoped that was it, and when she realized that she hadn't felt the least flicker of jealousy over Coral Williams she was relieved, because that proved she was over Rhy. All she felt for him was the basic urge between a man and a woman who found each other sexually alluring, nothing more. Certainly she was old enough to control those feelings, as the past seven years had proved to her.

The phone rang late that afternoon and when she answered it Greg said curtly, "What happened?"

"Rhy and Coral Williams came into the cafeteria at lunch while Chris and I were there," she explained without hesitation. "I don't think Rhy recognized me, but he kept staring. That's the second time he's stared at me like that, so I thought I'd better clear out." That wasn't exactly the reason, but it was a good excuse and she used it. Why tell Greg that seeing Rhy had upset her?

"You thought right," Greg said, sighing. "He was in my office not long after Brorn brought your note up. He wanted to meet you, since you're the only reporter he hasn't met personally. Then he asked me to describe you, and he got a funny look on his face when I did."

"Oh, no," she groaned. "He's latched on to something-he would!" she said in swift disgust. "He's as fast as a snake. Did he ask where I'm from?"

"Be prepared, doll. He didn't ask that, but he got your phone number."

"Holy cow," she groaned again. "Thanks for doing what you could, Greg. If Rhy does find out I'll cover our tracks."

Greg hung up and she began pacing the floor, waiting for the phone to ring again. What should she say? Should she try to disguise her voice? But afternoon faded into evening and still the expected call didn't come, so at last she bathed and went to bed. But she slept restlessly, falling into a deep sleep only in the early hours of the morning.

It was the phone that woke her in the morning, the insistent ringing intruding slowly into her consciousness. At first she thought it was the alarm clock and she tried to shut it off but the ringing continued. When she realized it was the phone she grabbed it and in her haste dropped it to the floor.

She hauled it UP by the cord and at last got the receiver to her ear.

"Hello," she muttered sleepily, her voice sounding thick.

"Is this Miss Jerome?" a deep, husky voice asked. There was a husky quality to that voice that tingled her nerves, but she was too sleepy to pick it up.

"Yes, this is she," she acknowledged, stifling a yawn. "Who is this?"

"I'm Rhydon Baines," the voice said and Sallie's eyes popped open. "Did I wake you?"

"Yes, you did," she said baldly, unable to think of any polite assurance to give him, and a deep chuckle made her shiver with reaction. "Is anything wrong, Mr. Baines?"

"No, I just wanted to congratulate you on the job you did in Washington. That was a good piece of reporting. Sometime when you're free come up to my office for a talk. I think you're the only reporter on my staff I haven't met personally and you're one of my best."

"-I-I will," she stammered. "Thank you, Mr. Baines."

"Rhy," he corrected. "I prefer to be on first-name basis with the staff. And by the way, I apologize for waking you up, but it's time you were up anyway if you're going to be at work on time." With another chuckle he said goodbye and hung up and Sallie gasped as she looked at the clock. She was going to be late if she didn't hurry, but Rhy would wait a long time if he was waiting for her to put in an appearance in his office!

The morning went by without anything happening, though she kept a weather eye out for any sign of Rhy. She had to trust Greg to warn her if she should disappear into the ladies' room, but her phone remained silent. Brom was sent out on an assigm-nent to L.A. and their little cubicle was silent after he left; her nerves began to fray under the strain. She ate an apple at her desk for lunch, not daring to risk going to the cafeteria or even venturing outside the building on the chance she might run into Rhy. She was beginning to feel like a prisoner!

Shortly after lunch Greg called and said, "Come up here, Sal. I don't want to talk over the phone." Her heart leapt into her throat and she rushed up

the stairs to the next floor. Greg's door was open, as usual, and she went in. Greg looked up from the papers he was reading and his expression was grim. "Rhy's secretary just called. He wants your file. I had to send it up. I had no choice. He hasn't returned from lunch yet, so you've got a few minutes of grace. I just thought I'd warn you."

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Thanks for trying," she said, and managed a whimsical little smile. "It was a dumb idea, anyway, trying to hide from him. He probably won't care one way or the other."

Greg smiled in return, but his eyes were narrowed with worry as she left his office.

Deep in thought and facing the fact that Rhy would know her identity very shortly, she punched the elevator button instead of taking the stairs. She took a deep breath and braced herself.