In Destiny's Shadow. Ingrid Weaver

up when she remembered the sound of the van running over Fredo’s body. She brushed the folds of her skirt. She had thrown out the one she’d worn last night. “I was there. He was shot. The people who did it are dead, too.”

      “Are you all right?”

      “Yes, I’m fine.”

      “Did you get pictures?”

      “No, Neil. I did not get pictures.”

      “You don’t need to shout.”

      She did some more nose-breathing, striving for calm. Neil Tremblay wasn’t as insensitive as he sounded. He was just doing his job as her editor. She switched her phone to her other ear. “Sorry.”

      “Did you get a statement from the police at the scene? Are they finally admitting it was Titan?”

      “I didn’t wait for the police. There was too much going on at the time. Afterward I called in a tip anonymously.” She looked at the paper. “So far there’s nothing about it in the local news. It’s probably too early. I’ll follow up on Fredo’s murder and on what I learned from him when I finish this interview with my new lead.”

      There was a silence. “You should have been more forthcoming with the police, Melina,” he said. “You still have nothing solid to run.”

      Neil was using his reasonable voice, the one he adopted when he was about to say something she didn’t like. She pushed herself off the bed and paced as far as the window. She fingered the geometric pattern at the hem of the curtain. “We’ve discussed this before, too, Neil. I want to hold off running anything until I can cover Titan’s arrest. My contact at the FBI has been ducking my calls, so I’m sure they’re closing in. I want to be there when they do.”

      “I admire your determination, but you have to understand my position. I’ve given you all the leeway I can and still have nothing to show for it.”

      “This new lead could pay off big,” she began.

      “That’s what you said when you flew to North Carolina in September, and again when you flew to Texas last month. Nothing came of those leads, either. It makes me wonder whether you’re using this story as an excuse to keep traveling.”

      “Neil—”

      “If it was only up to me, I’d give you carte blanche, you know that. But I have to answer to the board and I can’t continue to justify your expenses.”

      “Are you cutting me off?”

      “Don’t put it so harshly, Melina. This is for your own good. It’s time to reassess our priorities. We should direct our energy to more worthwhile pursuits.”

      “Neil, this is worthwhile. I have the inside track with a friend of one of Titan’s victims.”

      “Great. Write it up as a human interest piece and we can run it in the Sunday supplement.”

      “He can give me more than that. It seems that Titan is after this guy’s family. I want to find out why.”

      There was a stuttering creak on the line. Melina recognized the sound of Neil’s chair. She pictured him leaning back behind his desk, the Manhattan skyline beyond his window a dramatic backdrop, his gaze directed at the ceiling. He did that a lot.

      She pushed aside the curtain to look at the mountains in the distance. She didn’t know what the range was called, but the skyline sure was different from what she was used to. “Two more days, that’s all I’m asking.”

      “And then?”

      She hesitated.

      “Will you give me your answer when you come home?”

      “My answer about this story?”

      “No, about us.”

      Oh, damn. Melina turned her back on the view and sank down on the windowsill. She didn’t want to go into this now. “I can’t promise that, Neil.”

      This time his silence was longer. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped. “I miss you, Melina.”

      “Neil…”

      “I know we agreed not to discuss it until you got back.” The chair creaked again. “But you’re still thinking about what I said before you left, aren’t you?”

      “Yes, I think about it,” she said.

      “Good. You can have your two days. Let me know what flight you’re taking. I’ll meet you at the airport the day after tomorrow.”

      The call ended as it had begun, with business. Melina should be pleased that Neil had relented about the expenses, but the victory was a small one. The larger battle was awaiting her on her return to New York.

      She placed the phone on the windowsill beside her, then bent forward, dropping her face into her hands. You’re still thinking about what I said before you left, aren’t you?

      Marriage wasn’t something she liked to think about—she hadn’t seriously considered it for eight years—but this was the third time that Neil had proposed.

      He had popped the question in his office with the same ring he’d offered the first two times. It hadn’t exactly been romantic, but she had been in a hurry to get to the airport, and he kept the ring in the top drawer of his desk.

      There were many points in his favor. He was a nice guy. Mature, respectable, emotionally stable and financially comfortable. They had countless things in common, from their fondness for jazz to their interest in foreign films. They had a terrific working relationship and they enjoyed each other’s company. Their dates weren’t passionate but they were pleasant. She genuinely liked him, and she was certain he would make a great father. Those were all sensible elements to build a solid marriage on. If she set aside her emotions and thought logically…

      Right. Set aside her emotions, use her brain. Seek the truth. That was what she did best. That was what being a good reporter meant.

      But this wasn’t a story she was contemplating. This was her life.

      My work is my life. That was what she had told Anthony only a few hours ago. And it was. It had given her a structure to cling to when the rest of her world had fallen apart. Chasing a lead across the country, walking into dark alleys, getting shot at by criminals didn’t frighten her half as much as taking another leap of faith with her heart.

      Would her feelings be any different if Neil had intense green eyes instead of comfortable brown? Would she be logically weighing the pros and cons of commitment if Neil had thick black hair that he wore in a bandit queue, and a defiant gypsy hoop in one ear? Would she be hesitating like this if he had a tall, lean body that moved with the pulse-skittering, sexy grace of a prowling wolf?

      Groaning, she crammed the heels of her hands against her eyes. What was wrong with her? Anthony had nothing to do with her relationship with Neil. He was a source, that was all. A source she still didn’t completely trust. A source who could be extremely useful because he had a personal ax to grind with Titan.

      He also had a strangely stimulating effect on her. When he was near, everything seemed more vivid, as if her senses were somehow more acute. Granted, the circumstances last night had been exceptional and that could have influenced her perception, yet Anthony Caldwell wasn’t an ordinary man. He projected an impression of energy, a feeling of leashed power.

      That was what drew her. There was far more to Anthony than met the eye. It was only natural that, as a reporter, she would want to discover what made him tick, what secrets he kept. And it was totally understandable that, as a woman, she would respond to that…that…She fumbled for a word. How could she describe it? What was it about that man that made him so different?

      Whatever it was, it was inconvenient. He hadn’t told her anywhere near enough after he’d brought her here last night. She would have to push him harder during their interview. She only had two days to get results. Otherwise, she would have no excuse left