Deadly Interest (3 page)

William inched his chair closer to mine;
we’d angled them a bit when the speeches began. He wasn’t much
bigger than Dan, just over six feet tall, but he was
broad-shouldered and trim. Sitting between these two, I couldn’t
help but compare. Dan’s Abercrombie and Fitch good looks were
stunning, but almost feminine-pretty. William with his smile lines
and solid build, was handsome in a real-man way. His light brown
hair had a tendency to curl in humid weather, and I found I
couldn’t get enough of looking at him. When he and I worked
together, I felt a level of comfort I’d never achieved with
Dan.

I almost wished he could read my mind right
now. I envisioned him grabbing my hand, whisking me out of this
stuffy party, and taking a long drive out to where the harsh lights
of the city didn’t interfere with the bright skyshow of stars.

I sighed, but it was lost in the audience’s
polite applause.

“
The nominees for this
year’s Davis Award for excellence in reporting are . .
.”

The master of ceremonies spoke slowly. One
at a time, he named three feature stories and those in the media
responsible for bringing them to light. I waited. I knew we were
fourth on the nomination list.

“
Midwest Focus
NewsMagazine
for ‘Crowning Glory.’
Gabriela Van Doren, anchor, and Alexandrine St. James,
reporting.”

William reached over and squeezed my
hand.

His simple gesture made my breath catch.

“
And our final nominee
tonight is . . .
Up Close Issues
for ‘Scandal in the Catholic Church,’ Dan Starck,
anchor.”

No reporter named on Dan’s story. I found
that interesting.

The crowd settled into an anticipatory
silence. I watched everyone at our table lean forward in unison, as
though straining to hear the announcement one half-second sooner
than anyone else.

The man at the podium grinned out at the
crowd, peering over his half-moon glasses. “And this year’s Davis
Award for Excellence goes to . . .”

There was no drum roll, but I felt the hard
beat in my heart.

“
Up Close
Issues
, for ‘Scandal in the Catholic
Church.’”

The gentleman at the podium smiled and
gestured toward our table as I sat back in my chair. My perfunctory
clapping was lost in the roar of the room’s applause.

Dan stood as the bright spotlight found him.
He didn’t blink, but I did, as the searing whiteness accidentally
hit me first, before moving to capture his look of surprise. It was
as practiced as my smile, I’d bet. He turned toward Pamela, kissed
her, and then made his way, grinning, through the round tables full
of beautifully dressed people, clasping outstretched hands, eager
to touch their perception of greatness.

William leaned over. “You okay?”

The taut strings of my smile were still
working, and I spoke between closed teeth. “No surprise,” I said,
not looking at him. “I’m fine.”

The spotlight clicked off, leaving us with
that immediate-loss-of-light blindness. I worked my mouth to loosen
it, and strove for serene.

Dan stood there, gazing out, looking like
the Reverend Jim Jones might have, right before urging his
followers to drink the Kool-Aid. As if born for this moment.

I felt a sudden, vicious stab of fury.

This was his moment. But it should have been
mine.

“
Thank you,” he said,
waiting to begin until the crowd quieted. His manicured hands were
wrapped around a crystal, flame-shaped trophy he hefted twice, as
though weighty. He spoke briefly about how wonderful it was to be
surrounded by so many pillars of the community.

He was right about that. There had to be
over a thousand people present, only a quarter of whom were media
folks. The rest were lawyers, bankers, business-owners, and
philanthropists who attended Chicago gala affairs as part of their
job descriptions.

I had to give Dan credit; his speech was
engaging. He came across as sincere, speaking in a modest manner of
how much this award meant to him and how he chose every single day
of his life to do the best job he could and how he’d never dreamed
of being awarded for such humble efforts.

“
Of course,” Dan was
saying now, “I owe a great deal of gratitude to so many
people.”

Here it comes, I thought.

Dan began summing up. He
hadn’t yet mentioned our station,
Midwest
Focus
, and he hadn’t mentioned me. I told
myself I didn’t care. But I knew Bass did. The little fellow’s head
stretched out, straining, and even from here, I could see the
glitter of anger in his eyes. Mona kept one hand on his back,
making small circles as though quieting a nervous
animal.

“
And I would be remiss if
I didn’t mention Alex St. James, over at our competing
station,
Midwest Focus
.”

Bass leaned further forward.

For the first time all night, I lost
awareness of William next to me. He faded as the room dissolved and
I could see nothing more than Dan standing there, bathed in the
only light on the planet. Would he really admit that this story had
been mine? That through luck and conniving he’d stolen it from me?
That I’d killed a man in the process and had nearly been killed
myself?

“
Her tenacity is
remarkable,” he said. “Like the little engine who says, ‘I think I
can,’ she works very hard at her job.”

I felt my mouth open.

He flashed a smile my direction that I
wanted to slap off of his smug face.

“
She was determined to
cover this story, and even though she couldn’t, her efforts should
be an inspiration to all of us to not let stalling and
wheel-spinning get us down.” He nodded in pontification. “She’s
quite the determined little thing, and she ‘thinks she can.’ That’s
an attitude I hope she’s able to maintain forever.”

He smiled, said a few more insipid things,
then bowed to the crowd amid more applause, to head back to the
table.

Behind the stage curtains, a band had set
up. Now with Dan’s speech complete, the heavy red draperies parted
and the sounds of tuning began.

“
Dan, dinner, and
dancing,” I said. “What more could anyone want?”

No one missed my sarcasm, and even as I
heard the tone of my own voice I felt petty and small.

“
Excuse me,” I said,
standing.

William stood up, following me through the
obstacle course of tables blocking my path. I knew I couldn’t stay
in the ballroom for one more minute. As I scooted to the open doors
at the far right of the room, I smiled with the grace of an
automaton at the people reaching to tap me and laugh as I
passed.

A man I recognized as a defense lawyer in
our building—one whose practice came under our station’s scrutiny a
year or so back—stood up, effectively blocking my path. His
well-fed face broke into the ugliest smile I’d ever seen. Raising
his wine glass as if in toast, he wiggled his bald head in a
drunken way, slurring his words when he spoke.

“
The little engine that
could,” he said, attempting a leer. “I like that.”

I didn’t break stride. “Excuse me.”

He moved, but I caught the drift of his deep
chuckle as I passed and I wondered if my face flamed as hot as it
felt.

All I wanted was to grab my shawl, pull off
my heels, and run, not walk, to my car. I wouldn’t, of course. I’d
never give Dan that satisfaction. What I needed was a moment to
pull myself together—the ladies’ room was just about a hundred feet
ahead. Duck in, pretend to do my business, and walk back out. Maybe
then I’d be able to fake it.

I almost laughed out loud when I remembered
my plans to dazzle.

William caught my elbow just as I crossed
the ballroom’s threshold.

I half-turned, but kept walking.

“
Hold on a minute,” he
said.

Like I hadn’t understood the tug on my arm.
Couldn’t he take a hint?

“
What?” I
snapped.

Bass came through one of the other sets of
double doors. He and William corralled me far off to the side,
tucked into the shadowed area created by the left-hand curved
staircase. “What?” I asked again, but my voice was weaker.

Bass’s hazel eyes glittered in the scant
light. He pointed the way we’d come; his hand shook. “Get back in
there.”

Slow-motion, it dawned on me that William
hadn’t let go. He’d adjusted himself, however, and instead of
gripping my elbow, he held a hand steady on my shoulder and his
fingers moved slightly on my back, almost in a caress. I watched
him shoot a look of fury in Bass’s direction.

“
Give her a minute,”
William said. Then to me, “Are you okay?”

With one man ordering me around and the
other trying to be Mr. Supportive, I nearly lost it with both of
them. I didn’t need either of them to tell me how to behave. What I
needed was to be alone and the two of them in the tiny space were
crowding me. I felt the rise of anger like bile in my throat, and
it took all my self-control to keep from slapping William’s hand
away and telling my boss to go to hell.

“
I’m fine,” I said with a
calm I didn’t feel.

Twin looks of disbelief on their faces made
me doubly determined to seek refuge in the bathroom and pull myself
together.

“
I need to use the
washroom,” I said. I turned to William and gave a quick arm-wiggle,
effectively dislodging his hand. “Do you mind?”

They both stepped aside. I squared my
shoulders and strode away.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, I suppose,
when Bass and William’s panicked eyes met me upon my return.

“
Can I get you anything?”
William asked, for the second time that night.

Dazzle, I told myself.

I braved a smile. “White wine. A Riesling,
if they have it. If you don’t mind.”

He moved to his feet with a swiftness that
surprised me. Relieved, it seemed, at being assigned a task.

Mona reached to grab my hand the moment he
left. “You hang in there, honey.”

I’d been about to thank her, when two men
stopped by the table. Both were older, businessmen types and
evidently good friends of Bass’. One clapped our station manager on
the back while keeping up polite conversation with the other. The
other fellow kept a more reserved stance but smiled and shook hands
all the way around as Bass introduced them.

Their names were familiar. More bigwigs. The
chattier fellow, slim but rather short, pointed his finger at me,
gunlike. “So you’re the little engine, huh?”

Bass shot me a warning look. I clenched my
teeth and said, “Apparently.”

The man chucked his friend on the shoulder
again and said something under his breath that I couldn’t
completely catch. It sounded like he said he wanted to see exactly
what my engine was capable of.

William returned, and placed a sparkling
glass of white wine in front of me. Its bowl was twice as large as
the other wine glasses at the table. I shot him a questioning
look.

He shrugged. “I asked them for their biggest
glass. You looked like you could use it.”

There was a hint of amusement in his face. I
reached for the glass with a grin and was warmed both by the first
sip and by his smile in return.

The second sip went down like warm honey,
and I let out a long sigh of resignation. I’d be stuck here for at
least another half-hour or so. To leave any sooner would be tacky,
and obvious.

The houselights had dimmed, the music began,
and waiters were now lighting large candle centerpieces at each
table.

Mona whispered to us that she hoped to get
her boy up on the dance floor soon and that getting him out of his
chair was half the battle. “Warm him up for tonight, you know,” she
said with a wink. I grinned at her and hoped Bass had remembered to
pack the Viagra.

Eyeing my wineglass, I thought about getting
myself warmed up. I pushed it farther toward the middle of the
table by its base, and wrinkled my nose. Nah. I didn’t need to risk
losing inhibitions tonight. I’d be liable to say something I’d
regret later.

“
Alex.
William.”

We both glanced up toward Bass at the sound
of our names. Mona had drifted off and Bass gestured us forward,
with an eager smile of encouragement. Rising, we obliged him by
coming around and joining the group.

“
These are two of my
staff,” Bass said to a gentleman who he’d called over. Close to
fifty, and tall, with a big-man’s build, he had a gray mustache, a
receding hairline, and wore circular frameless spectacles that were
a shade too small for his round face. Still, there was an
attractiveness about him that I couldn’t dismiss. I watched his
glance touch lightly on William, as Bass made introductions. They
shook hands and spoke briefly before he focused on me.

“
You’re Alex St. James,”
he said, without the customary question mark at the end of the
statement. His right hand gestured vaguely in the direction of the
stage. “The reporter Dan Starck mentioned in his
speech.”

I was biting the insides of my cheeks,
wondering how long I’d be forced to deal with the aftermath of
tonight’s remarks, when he offered his thick hand.

“
The same, I’m afraid,” I
said, shooting him a lips-only smile. My dad taught me young to
have a solid handshake, telling me that it didn’t matter that I was
a girl, that people respected a good grip. He’d made me practice
with him until I got it right and then started goofing with me with
all sorts of silly handshakes until I started giggling. This man
shook back with a firmness that matched my own.