Murder in Retribution (25 page)

In a provocative gesture, the reporter threw back her head and laughed at something Acton said, which inspired the photographer to interrupt with barely-concealed jealousy. They were both making a dead run at him, but he appeared completely oblivious to it, which was commendable, being has his wife was making a mighty effort not to interject a smart remark. Instead, said wife comforted herself by recalling that she’d carried off the palm, and thus managed to curb the urge to knock both their heads together.

At this point, the reporter deigned to notice Doyle. “Why, you’re the bridge-jumper, aren’t you?”

Doyle acknowledged that indeed, she was the bridge-jumper.

The woman shook her head. “I have to say—I don’t think I could have done it.”

Doyle remembered that Kevin Maguire, the reporter who had interviewed her from the same paper, had told her it was a great human interest story because everyone who read it would pause and wonder if they would have run such a risk. Apparently, he was right. “Please give my regards to Mr. Maguire,” she said; the man had done her a favor and Doyle was grateful.

“Will do,” the woman agreed, and with one last glance under her lashes at Acton, she left.

After giving instruction to close down the scene, Acton and Doyle walked back toward Acton’s Range Rover, parked a block away. He was quiet, and she broke the silence. “You should probably go straight home, my friend.”

“Come with me.”

She could see that he was in need of the cure—it was her experience that a good, hearty serving of ungentle sex tended to bring him out of the dismals. “I can’t,” she explained regretfully. “I’m slated to help at the clinic, and I’m past due already.”

He ducked his head for a moment, and then looked at her with an expression she knew very well. “Don’t stay late.”

“I won’t. Don’t be startin’ without me.”

“Not a chance,” he replied.