Pull Of The Moon. Sylvie Kurtz

the boom of Nick’s voice, the image vanished, leaving behind an empty table and chairs. Valerie swiveled her head to look at Nick frowning at her from the library entrance. At least this time she remembered where the flash of memory had come from—the photograph from Victorian Homes of a Thanksgiving dinner at Moongate the year before Valentina disappeared. “I thought I smelled toast burning.”

      “Someone’s bringing tea.” He disappeared into the room.

      Valerie hurried to catch up with him. Tea was good. Tea meant Rita Meadows would let her see the archives. Tea meant that Nicolas Galloway owed her an apology—not that she was holding her breath for one. And maybe it also meant food. Which made her think of Mike. He was going to be royally cranky that she was taking so long. A well-fed Mike was a happy Mike, and a happy Mike got her good footage. Payback from Mike, on the other hand, was never a good thing.

      “Sit,” Nick ordered.

      Arguing right now would be a waste of breath, so she chose a wing chair that gave her width and height, and deposited her portfolio and purse on the floor at her feet and the empty coffee cup on the side table. She didn’t play games, but she didn’t make easy prey, either.

      Nick paced the marble hearth of the fireplace as if he was drawing up some sort of war plan, and she pulled back her shoulders readying her defenses.

      “We need to set some ground rules,” he said. “One, you are not to wander unaccompanied on the grounds or in the house at any time. That goes for your friend with the camera outside, too. I’ve already sent someone to detain him.”

      Detain Mike? Good luck to anyone who tried to separate Mike from his camera. “Ms. Meadows has already given her permission to shoot.”

      “This is nevertheless Ms. Meadows’s private home and intrusion into her privacy will not be tolerated. We do not want a tabloid exposé that will exploit Ms. Meadows’s pain at the tragedy of her daughter’s kidnapping.”

      What bug had crawled up his butt? “Look, you’ve made it clear you don’t want me here, but if you think you can intimidate me into leaving, you’re wrong.”

      He rounded on her with High Noon intensity. “Right now, I’m cooperating, but don’t cross me, or you’ll regret the day you showed up on our doorstep.”

      Jeez, Louise, what did he think she was going to do? Blow her career by ticking off the man who paid her salary? “An exposé is certainly not our intention. At his niece’s request, Mr. Meadows asked his executive producer to put together these segments on Valentina’s kidnapping. Mr. Meadows expects clean and true reporting any time his station airs a package. This will be no exception.”

      “Ms. Meadows is the constant target of people who would prey on her pain for gain. There are certain facts we would rather not make public in order to protect the family from scam artists.”

      Okay, she could see why he might be a tad touchy on the subject. Her task was to mollify him and wow him with her ability to present a fair and balanced portrait of the family’s misfortune. “I understand your point, Mr. Galloway. As I said, we’re not out to prey on Ms. Meadows. But she was the one who asked that we tell her daughter’s story with the hopes of bringing her home.”

      “It’s been twenty-five years.” The statement sounded remarkably like a trick question.

      “I understand. But finding the child’s…location would allow Ms. Meadows closure, don’t you think?”

      His presence was an iceberg in a room too small to contain him, and she was uncomfortably aware of his proximity, of his stark and grim gaze—of his pain. Then, like the incidents in the foyer and the dining room, for a flash, his face wavered. A play of light and shadows had her chest heaving with a sweet ache of longing and her arms yearning to loop themselves around his neck.

      A chill pierced her skin, raised a crop of goose bumps. Her fingers clawed around the arms of the chair to keep herself from slipping into the unwanted fog once again. Her breath hitched in her throat and a pang of loss nearly swallowed her. How could that be? She shook her head and, when her gaze reconnected with his, the same un-yielding glower glared back at her.

      Nicolas Galloway was no friend.

      Yet his eyes stirred dark echoes of her recurring dream and spiked her blood with unease. Why?

      “Are you okay?” he asked, frowning.

      “Too much coffee.” She flashed him a smile that, to her horror, wobbled.

      With a sudden jolt as if she’d hit him, he turned his back on her and resumed his pacing. “Two, we’ll need approval over the final product.”

      Valerie shot to her feet. With the amount of blood, sweat and tears she spilled to write, shoot and edit a package, there was no way she was going to let him mess with her baby. “It doesn’t work that way.”

      “We have to be sure you haven’t inadvertently leaked privileged information.”

      She had the station owner and the interview subject on her side. Why was she letting him get under her skin? She forced a smile. “Well, then, you’ll have to take that up with the executive producer. Keep in mind that I do have a tight production schedule to adhere to if Ms. Meadows’s story is to air in time for the kidnapping’s anniversary.”

      Wrong tactic, of course. She knew that the second she uttered the words. Keeping the package off the air was exactly what Nicolas Galloway wanted.

      “That, of course, is your problem.” Nick’s pacing came to an abrupt halt and his gaze fixed on the doorway.

      Rita Meadows paused at the entrance to the door, holding on to the door frame as if she were dizzy. There was a lot of that going on today. Someone needed to check the furnace and see if the carbon monoxide level was okay.

      Rita’s recovery was quick. She pasted a work-the-room smile on her sculpted face, extended a hand and welcomed Valerie with the practiced ease of someone used to dealing with people. “You must be Valerie. Mr. Higgins speaks highly of you.”

      “As he does of you.” Rita’s hand was cold and brittle in Valerie’s and a wave of sympathy made Valerie squeeze warmth into her grip.

      Close-up, even with her understated makeup, Rita looked hollow-eyed, a little too thin, a little too pale. Her hair, the color of expensive champagne, was twisted ele-gantly at her nape, giving her a fragile kind of beauty that seemed somehow tragic to Valerie.

      Nick rushed to Rita’s side, cupped her elbow and led her to the sofa, where he stood beside her on guard like the pit bull of his reputation. Stray out of line, get too personal, his cutting expression said, and I’ll rip you to shreds.

      Aye, aye. Message received, she telegraphed back, and his frown deepened.

      She could see why some women might fall for him. The primitive quality he exuded told a woman that, as long as he was there, she would be safe from predators. For many—her friend Sheree among them—that promise of savage protection was the fodder of dreams. Personally, Valerie already had too much overprotection in her life. The last thing she needed was to add a man’s shadow to the one already stalking her.

      Rita looked up at Nick, touched his arm. “Is Holly bringing tea?”

      Nick gave a sharp nod, but his quick eye shift toward the door betrayed his uncertainty. He wasn’t going to leave to check on tea when there was an intruder sitting in his employer’s library waiting to pounce on her.

      Chill, she wanted to say. I don’t bite.

      “I know you must be tired from the flight,” Rita said to Valerie, “so I won’t keep you long.”

      “I just wanted to introduce myself and set up a convenient time to go over your archives. I have another interview on Thursday, but I’d like to tape yours on Friday.”

      “You may come by to look at the archives at any