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Deadline
Metsy Hingle
Washington television reporter Tess Abbott is the best in the business, always getting the story and the truth. When the race for governor heats up in her home state of Mississippi, Tess jumps at the chance to cover it.Among the dozens of media competing for an "exclusive," Tess meets newspaper reporter Spencer Reed, who is about to uncover the biggest political scandal of his career. Despite the rivalry and the adrenaline, focusing on the race becomes difficult for Tess when she receives an anonymous phone call from prison–a call that leaves her reeling.The unsettling message stirs her memory, bringing back childhood nightmares–nightmares of murder. When a local man turns up dead–with personal information about Tess in his possession–the two journalists quickly realize there is a sinister connection between Tess's past and the election. As the pieces of the puzzle fall into place Tess's safety is compromised, and she and Spencer must find a killer primed to finish a job he started so long ago.


“Quit sulking,” Spencer told Tess as he drove along the interstate, heading for the Mississippi prison where her father had spent the last twenty-five years of his life.
“I’m not sulking. I just don’t understand why you insisted on coming with me. I don’t need a chaperon or a bodyguard. I have been inside a prison before, you know.”
“I’m sure you have. But I’m not here as a chaperon or a bodyguard. I’m here to help you get some answers.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, Spencer, I’m an investigative reporter. I know how to get answers.”
“I know you do,” Spencer told her, and bit back a grin. She’d pitched a fit when he’d shown up that morning, insisting on accompanying her to the prison where her father had been incarcerated. “But getting those answers may not be as easy as you think.”
“Would you stop treating me like I’m some kind of…cream puff? I know how to conduct an interview and find out what I need.”
“Oh, don’t go getting your panties in a wad, Tess. There’s no chance I’d mistake you for a cream puff. But you’re not dealing with a bunch of politically correct socialites down here. You’re dealing with die-hard, Confederate-flag-waving Southerners who will see you as a Yankee not to be trusted.”
“And you think you can do better?” she challenged.
“Sure,” he said confidently. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a homegrown boy. I’m one of them and I can be trusted. Unlike a Yankee like you!”

Also by METSY HINGLE
FLASHPOINT
BEHIND THE MASK
THE WAGER

Deadline
Metsy Hingle

www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)
In memory of my beloved aunt Doris Hingle, whose love lives on in the hearts of all who knew her.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
While writing this book, I relied on both the technical and emotional support of many people to bring it to fruition. Without them, I would have been lost. My heartfelt thanks go out to the following people for their help in bringing life to Deadline:
Valerie Gray, my editor and friend at MIRA Books, whose insight and help truly make me a better writer.
Dianne Moggy, Editorial Director of MIRA Books, for her trust in me and support.
Karen Solem, my agent, for her unending support.
The amazing MIRA staff, who continue to astound me with their support.
Sandra Brown, my dear friend, for her friendship, love and for allowing me to bounce my story ideas off her.
Hailey North, my dear friend and fellow writer, for her friendship, support and e-mails.
Bill Capo, TV investigative reporter for Channel 4 News in New Orleans, for his friendship and support, and for answering my questions about the inner workings of the newsroom.
Marilyn Shoemaker, my fan and researcher, for digging out all those tiny details that helped me create the town of Grady, Mississippi.
Bill Greenleaf, press communications specialist with the Mississippi Department of Corrections, for answering all my questions about the inner workings of the state prison systems.
A special thank-you goes to my children and family, whose love and support enable me to spin my tales of love, hope and happily-ever-after.
And, as always, to my husband, Jim, who is my love, my family and all things to me.
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for picking up a copy of Deadline. I hope you find it to be a real page-turner, and that it keeps you on the edge of your seat.
If this is the first time you’ve read any of my work, I do hope you enjoy it. For those of you who are familiar with my books, you won’t be surprised to find that Deadline is set in the South. This time I’ve moved the setting from my hometown of New Orleans to my neighboring state of Mississippi in the fictional town of Grady.
As always, one of the greatest joys for me as a writer is hearing from readers, and I’d love to hear from you. Your comments, opinions and feedback on my books mean a great deal to me. So please keep those letters, cards and e-mails coming.
In fact, as a special thank-you I’ve created two gifts for you—a commemorative bookmark for Deadline and a recipe card for the mint julep that’s mentioned in the story. While supplies last, I’d be happy to send both the bookmark and the recipe to each reader who writes and requests them. Simply either write or e-mail me and say that you’d like one of my commemorative Deadline bookmarks and the mint julep recipe used in Deadline.
Until next time, happy reading!
Metsy Hingle
P.O. Box 3224
Covington, LA
U.S.A. 70433
www.metsyhingle.com

Contents
Prologue (#u792e5e44-14c2-500a-8921-126348401b72)
Chapter One (#uf9d742ca-2b9a-5869-ba44-64119d1e9f4b)
Chapter Two (#u50a06187-04d1-5ff1-b675-b1def0943d1d)
Chapter Three (#ud8acb9dd-3383-5bad-8904-1a4186e82f86)
Chapter Four (#u9908a24a-9ce0-587b-805c-99a8d0afe8be)
Chapter Five (#udb8083d4-c3f1-5600-8759-90df1f7fbc31)
Chapter Six (#u3467f023-a8ce-5528-a500-ef7079b9013d)
Chapter Seven (#ua50c71f2-ba3c-590b-80c2-7d50e383b7cf)
Chapter Eight (#uced3583f-4233-5614-8ebd-eb1fbefd8fa7)
Chapter Nine (#ua293becf-3a75-5ac6-866e-de83e7bfca76)
Chapter Ten (#u2da8ef7e-9713-5bf0-b469-7cd998462c47)
Chapter Eleven (#u43ee2814-377d-5ad4-8a1e-38f529ed57a3)
Chapter Twelve (#u0fa1ceba-4c2b-52a2-9697-cc9d53266647)
Chapter Thirteen (#u08aed378-1171-501a-9422-20110784a921)
Chapter Fourteen (#u796b2fdc-ef33-5328-9622-16ba5de77447)
Chapter Fifteen (#u3566e3ff-a29d-5c30-b90e-92e783fb6f3a)
Chapter Sixteen (#ue3bb6fc9-6ff4-5ccf-9837-04f1ba44c972)
Chapter Seventeen (#u9efa2a19-c264-52df-95c2-1147a26cfd26)
Chapter Eighteen (#u5bb350bd-cb44-5246-80f8-d6298c70ec22)
Chapter Nineteen (#uc97d2376-c1bd-5c4a-acc9-9c2186900156)
Chapter Twenty (#u7ab5775c-4523-52bd-87fe-1e2845f4dd5f)
Chapter Twenty-One (#u13122323-5967-5e40-ba40-42838ada1f2e)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#u858d5475-1335-5b6f-ba95-e3b16a1297fa)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#u7ddd795e-8f24-5dde-94e1-b19777b44b20)

Prologue
“It wasn’t a suicide.”
Skimming over her notes for Channel Seven TV’s noon news report, Tess Abbott barely registered the caller’s comment. Instead, she shifted the telephone to her other ear and underlined the alarming statistics that she’d uncovered in her investigation on plastic surgery being performed on teenage girls.
“Did you hear what I said? It wasn’t a suicide,” the woman repeated, her Southern drawl even more pronounced. “He was murdered.”
Suddenly Tess jerked her gaze away from her notes and gave her full attention to the caller. “Who was murdered?”
“Jody Burns.”
Every muscle, every nerve in Tess’s body went still at the mention of her father’s name. Two months ago when the news broke about her father’s suicide in prison, the media had been all over the story—especially the tabloid bottom-feeders. They’d come out of the woodwork, dogging her at the news station, pestering her grandfather at the Capitol. They’d even staked out her apartment on the outskirts of Washington, D.C., in an effort to get some reaction from her. As an investigative TV reporter, she had understood the media’s frenzy over the story. After all, the death of the man who had killed the only child of the powerful senator from Mississippi twenty-five years earlier was news in itself. Coupled with her grandfather’s outspoken views on stronger penalties for criminals, the suicide of Jody Burns was all the more newsworthy. While the reporter in her had understood the hunger for a juicy story, the child in her who had lost both her parents that long-ago night had resented the intrusions. She resented it even more now, she realized, her jaw tightening, because she’d thought all the hoopla over Jody Burns’s suicide was finally behind her. “Listen, I don’t know who you’re working for and the truth is, I really don’t care. But I’ll tell you the same thing I tell everyone else. No comment.”
“But—”
“And unless you want me to file harassment charges against you and whatever outfit you’re working for,” Tess barged ahead, “don’t call me again. Ever.”
“Wait! Please, don’t hang up! I’m not a reporter. I swear it!”
There was just enough desperation in the woman’s voice to pique Tess’s interest. She hesitated a second, then said, “All right. Then who are you and why are you calling me?”
“I am…was a friend of your father’s,” the woman corrected. “And I’m calling you because Jody didn’t kill himself like they said. They murdered him and made it look like a suicide to keep him quiet.”
Tess squeezed her eyes shut a moment, fighting back the images that flashed through her mind—images of herself awakening from a bad dream, of entering the den and seeing the father she adored kneeling over her mother’s body, covered in her blood. Shaking off the memory, she said, “How Jody Burns died is of no concern to me.”
“But he was your father.”
“He ceased being my father the night he killed my mother,” Tess informed her, making her voice as cool as her heart for the man she’d once called “daddy.”
“But he didn’t kill her.”
Tess started to tell the woman that she was wasting her time, that Jody Burns was no innocent. After all, she should know, Tess reasoned, since she was the one who’d found him still holding the bookend in his hand that he’d used to smash in her mother’s skull. But before she could get the words out, a knock sounded at her office door.
“Hey, Tess,” Jerry Wilson said, sticking his head inside the door. “You’re up in fifteen.”
“I’ll be right there.” When the door closed behind him, she said, “I have to go.”
“But what about your father? Don’t you want justice for him?”
“Some would say he got the justice he deserved—even if it came twenty-five years late,” Tess countered, recalling her grandfather’s words when they had first learned of Burns’s death.
“Then they would be wrong,” the woman insisted. “Jody Burns didn’t belong in that prison. He was not the one who killed your mother.”
“A jury thought otherwise.”
“The jury was wrong. And your father was going to prove it, too. That’s why he was killed and it was made to look like a suicide.”
Jerry tapped at the door again. “Tess.”
“Coming,” she said.
Regretting that she’d allowed the conversation to even get started, and aware that she needed to get to the set, Tess said, “Listen, I have to go.”
“That’s it? Aren’t you going to do anything?”
“No.”
“I would have thought you would want justice.”
“I’m all for justice. But there’s nothing I can do.” Softening, she said, “Listen, if you really believe what you’ve told me, then you should contact the police.”
“The police! They’re the last ones I can go to. Oh, God, this was a mistake. I never should have called you.”
“Wait!” Tess had been an investigative reporter long enough to recognize panic in the woman’s voice. “What do you mean you can’t go to the police?”
“Because I can’t risk it. If he was to find out that I knew…No, I can’t take that chance.”
Oh, what she wouldn’t have given to see the woman’s face, Tess thought, to be able to look into her eyes, read her. “Listen, if you’re in some kind of trouble—”
“I’m not. At least not yet. But if he finds out that I know and that I called you, God knows what’ll happen to me.”
Tess could practically taste the woman’s fear. “If who finds out? Tell me who it is that you’re afraid of.”
“I can’t. I’ve already said too much.”
“Then tell me who you are, how to reach you,” Tess said. “I’ll help you.”
“The only way you can help me is if you finish what your father started. Don’t let him get away with murder again.”
“Again?” Tess repeated.
“God, don’t you understand? The person who had Jody killed is the same one who killed your mother. And unless you do something, he’ll get away with it this time, too.”
But before Tess could demand more information, the connection was severed and a dial tone buzzed in her ear.

Chapter One
“Good afternoon. This is David Rabinowitz with the noon report for Channel Seven News. At the top of our news is this morning’s emergency landing of an American Airlines 747 at Reagan International Airport following reports that a bomb was on board.”
Veronica “Ronnie” Hill sat back in her chair in the control room at Channel Seven News and studied the studio monitors. As the show’s producer for the past ten years, she watched the broadcast with a critical eye. The new anchor was a good choice, she decided, satisfied with his delivery. While his boy-next-door good looks would certainly appeal to the female viewers, the fact that he’d reported sports for a rival network would draw in the male viewers. All in all, they were counting on seeing a jump in the ratings with the new guy on board.
“To give us an update on the situation, we’ll go live to Reagan International Airport where Tess Abbott is standing by,” David said.
Ronnie frowned when it took an extra two seconds for the monitors to do a split screen. Then the screens split in two with a view of David seated at the studio news desk on the left, and a view of Tess standing outside the airport complex on the right. But it was Tess on whom Ronnie focused. She made a dramatic image, Ronnie thought, with her booted feet planted firmly on the ground. An early-October wind whipped her mocha suede skirt against her legs and her dark hair swirled about her face and shoulders. Behind her, crash trucks zoomed by, followed by a swarm of military vehicles and more cars with flashing lights. To her left a jumbo jet bearing the American Airlines logo sat idle and detached from the jetty. Hordes of personnel flocked around the plane.
“Tess, this is David in the Channel Seven studio. Can you give us an update of what’s going on out there at the airport?”
“Well, David, as was reported earlier, an American Airlines flight that was en route to La Guardia Airport in New York made an emergency landing here at Reagan International around nine-fifteen this morning after a passenger on the plane informed a member of the airline’s flight crew that there was a bomb aboard the aircraft,” Tess began her report.
“All right, go to a full screen of Tess,” Ronnie whispered.
As though the cameraman could hear her, the monitor switched to a full-screen view and zoomed in on Tess. Holding the microphone in front of her, she ignored the noise and activity behind her and looked directly into the camera. “My sources tell me that it appears that the bomb threat was a hoax. No bomb or any explosives were found on board the plane. I’m also told that the passenger has since confessed to being despondent, having recently broken up with his girlfriend. He now says he claimed to have a bomb on board in order to get his estranged girlfriend’s attention.”
“That’s some attention getter,” David remarked.
“Unfortunately, it’s probably going to get him the wrong kind of attention,” Tess replied. She pushed the hair that blew across her face out of her eyes. Without missing a beat, she continued. “Because the federal authorities now have him in custody and will be charging him.”
“Do we know who the guy is?” David asked.
“The authorities haven’t released his name yet,” Tess said, her voice strong and sure above the scream of the wind and the noise around her. “But according to an unnamed source, the person in custody is a thirty-two-year-old male who boarded the flight in Virginia.”
“What’s it like there inside the airport, Tess?” David asked.
“I’d call it controlled chaos, David. As a safety precaution, two of the terminals were vacated before the American flight landed, and all incoming and departing flights were suspended.”
“There must be a lot of unhappy travelers, not to mention some crazed ticket-counter agents,” David commented.
“Well, as I said, it’s chaos, but it’s controlled. In addition to the displaced passengers from the American flight that was deplaned, we have a lot of passengers whose scheduled flights have been suspended. So there are a lot of people waiting inside the terminal,” Tess explained with a nod of her head to the airport complex. “And they’re unsure if, or when, they’ll be able to continue with their travels.”
“Are tempers running high?” David asked.
“Surprisingly, no. Most of the people that I spoke with were concerned, but very understanding. I think the feeling is that they would rather be safe than sorry.”
“Any idea how long before flights will be under way again?”
“The last report I received said that all flights were still suspended, but…just a moment, David.”
While Tess pressed her free hand against her headset and listened, Ronnie studied the young woman she’d worked with for the past three years. Despite her initial misgivings when Tess had been hired, the girl had proven herself to be more than just another pretty face. She was bright, hardworking and easy to get along with—something that Ronnie couldn’t say about all of the reporters under her direction, or even the news anchors for that matter. No, Tess Abbott was a good one, she mused. While very little impressed her in this business, Tess had. Somehow the girl had managed to keep her cool and do a good job even during the circus atmosphere following her father’s suicide and her grandfather’s appearances on Capitol Hill. Never once had she brought anything personal into the newsroom. In short, Tess was a real pro. That’s why seeing the shadows under Tess’s eyes now, and remembering her distracted demeanor all week at work worried her. Something was wrong.
“David, I’ve just been told that the airport has been cleared for incoming flights again,” Tess reported. “And all other flights will resume within the hour. It’s suggested that anyone who is either meeting an incoming flight, or scheduled to fly out this afternoon, check with the airlines first for updated arrival and departure times.”
“Thanks, Tess.”
She nodded. “Reporting live from Reagan International Airport in Washington, D.C., for Channel Seven News, this is Tess Abbott.”
The screen switched from Tess back to David in the studio. “In other news today, the president addresses the nation tonight. Among the key topics will be the nation’s economy.”
Tuning out the rest of the news report, Ronnie drummed her fingers on her desk and considered the best way to approach Tess. She liked the girl, considered her a friend. And because she did, she needed to get Tess to open up and tell her what was wrong so they could fix it. Never very good at mind games, Ronnie picked up the phone and dialed Tess’s cell phone.
“Tess Abbott,” she answered on the third ring.
“Tess, it’s Ronnie.”
“Hi, Ronnie. Hang on a sec, will you?” she said. “Eddie, I’m going to head over to the theater to do the interview with that playwright. I’ll just meet you there.”
“Do I have time to grab some lunch?” the cameraman asked.
“As long as it’s a quick one,” Tess replied. “Okay, sorry about that, Ronnie. What’s up?”
“Tell Eddie to take a long lunch and see if you can push your interview back a couple of hours,” Ronnie instructed.
“Why?” Tess asked, her voice wary.
“Because you and I are having lunch. I’ll meet you at Vincent’s in thirty minutes.”
“What’s going on, Ronnie?” Tess demanded suspiciously.
“That’s what I intend to find out.”
And before Tess could argue, Ronnie hung up the phone. After making a quick stop in her office for her car keys and purse and to advise her assistant where she’d be, Ronnie headed out of the station, intent on getting some answers.
“All right, Ronnie,” Tess said once the two of them had been seated at a table and placed their orders. “What are we doing here?”
Ronnie reached for the basket of crackers on the table. “Well, since all I had for breakfast was coffee and a bagel, I’m hoping we’re about to have lunch because I’m starved.”
Tess eyed her skeptically. “You and I both know that you don’t ‘do’ lunch without a reason, Veronica Hill. And if you think that by feeding me you’ll be able to convince me to pull another weekend shift as news anchor, I’ll save you the trouble. The answer is no.”
“My, my, you are a suspicious one,” Ronnie said as she began to butter a cracker. She glanced up, looked across the table at her from behind the tortoiseshell-framed glasses. “As it so happens, the weekend news shifts are covered.”
“All right. I’ll bite. What are we doing here then?”
“I’m your producer. Can’t I ask you to lunch once in a while?”
“You can, but you don’t. Not without a reason,” Tess told her.
Ronnie sighed. “Sometimes I think you know me a little too well.”
“It works both ways. That’s why we make a good team. So why don’t you tell me just what it is you want.”
“I want to know what’s bothering you.”
“Nothing’s bothering me,” she replied. Yet even as she made the statement, Tess knew it wasn’t true. She’d been bothered a lot lately. First by the anonymous phone call claiming Jody Burns’s death hadn’t been a suicide. And now by the response from the Mississippi prison system after she’d made some inquiries about his death. According to the medical examiner and the review board’s reports, Jody Burns had been greatly depressed the week prior to his death—which in itself seemed odd since he was up for parole. But, following an investigation, his death had been ruled a suicide due to strangulation by hanging in his cell.
The waitress arrived and served Tess her minestrone soup and Ronnie her green salad. Once she was gone, Ronnie said, “Then explain to me why you look like you haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in a week?”
“Gee, thanks, Ronnie. I think you look nice, too.”
“Oh, don’t get all pissy on me,” Ronnie told her as she dragged the strip of lettuce through the side of creamy Italian dressing. She paused, glanced up and met Tess’s gaze. “On your worst day, you look better than most of us do after a week at a health spa. Now quit pretending you’re insulted and tell me what’s wrong.”
“I told you, nothing is wrong.”
The waitress who’d taken their orders stopped at the table again and topped off their ice water. She eyed Tess curiously from beneath lashes thick with blue mascara. “Excuse me, but aren’t you that news lady? The one from Channel Seven who does those investigative reports?”
“No, that’s her sister,” Ronnie offered before Tess could respond.
“Oh,” the waitress replied, her expression falling. “I guess that explains the resemblance.”
Tess bit the inside of her cheek at the fib. She didn’t kid herself. Unlike some of the reporters on the show, she never for a moment believed herself to be a celebrity simply because she appeared on television to report on a story. And although it didn’t happen with great frequency, she was occasionally recognized.
“People confuse them all the time,” Ronnie told the girl. “But Tammy here is actually Tess Abbott’s older sister.”
“Well, now that you mention it, I can see that you look older than the lady on the news. But your sister’s good. I liked her report on the plastic surgery stuff.”
“Thank you. I’ll tell her,” Tess managed to say.
“You do that. Your orders should be up in a minute. Can I get you anything else?” she asked over the din of voices.
“No, thanks. I’m fine,” Tess said.
“Me, too,” Ronnie echoed.
“That wasn’t very nice,” Tess admonished once the waitress had moved on to the next table.
Ronnie shrugged. “If you’d told her the truth, we’d have had half the people in this place craning their necks and stopping by the table to chat with you.”
“I’d think that would make you happy. You’re the one always looking for ways to pump up the station’s ratings. The truth is, I’m surprised you didn’t get her to swear she’d tell everyone to tune in to the show tonight.”
“I considered it,” Ronnie advised her. “But if I had, we wouldn’t have been able to finish our little chat. Now, are you going to tell me why you’ve got circles under your eyes that look like they belong to a raccoon? Or am I going to have to torture you to get the truth?”
She’d probably do it, too, Tess thought. Despite her small stature, the feisty redhead in the chic navy suit had the heart and soul of an army drill sergeant. One of the first things she’d learned about the producer was that the woman didn’t know the meaning of the word no. Still, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to share with Ronnie, or anyone, the reason behind her sleepless nights. Instead, she said, “If I’m looking tired, it’s probably because you’ve been working me too hard.”
Ronnie waved aside her comment. “You’re an investigative reporter. You’re supposed to work hard. It’s in your contract.”
“Funny, I don’t recall seeing that particular clause.”
“Oh it’s there all right, buried in the fine print.”
Tess lifted her eyebrow skeptically as she added more sugar to her tea.
“Trust me, the boys in black make sure it’s standard in everyone’s contract,” Ronnie explained, referring to the top brass at Channel Seven News.
She could almost believe it, Tess thought. She had covered as many stories during the past few months as she had for the entire previous year. The primary reason was that they’d been short staffed after losing a veteran reporter to a news station on the West Coast, and another reporter had been placed on doctor-ordered bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy. As a result, Tess had been forced to pull double and sometimes triple duty working as the station’s investigative reporter, society reporter and occasionally filling in as news anchor.
“Just be glad you’re not a producer. Producers have to sign the thing in blood,” Ronnie claimed before taking another bite of her salad.
“In that case, I’ll stick to reporting.”
“Smart girl. It’s probably what I should have done. If I had, I wouldn’t be sitting here trying to find out why my top reporter looks like hell and has been moping all week.”
Ignoring the accusation, Tess said, “You love working in that pressure cooker and you know it.”
Ronnie curved her lips into a smile. “True. But if I’d known it was going to take over my life so completely, I would’ve at least held out for more money. A word to the wise, kiddo. If Stefanovich ever shows up at your desk singing your praises and dangling a fancy title at you, run. Otherwise, he’ll reel you in like a fish. And before you know it, you’ll be working eighteen-hour days and making the same money you did as a reporter.”
“I’ll be sure to remember that.” The truth was, she hadn’t really minded the extra workload during the past few months. Work had kept her too busy to think much about Jody Burns’s death or the ending of her year-long romance with Jonathan Parker. But now with David in the news-anchor spot and Angela due back Monday from her maternity leave, her days weren’t nearly so busy, Tess admitted. Neither were her evenings now that Jonathan was out of the picture. As a result she no longer dashed out of the station to attend some event, or dragged herself home late at night to crawl into bed and collapse. No, now she lay awake at night and thought. And the one thing she couldn’t stop thinking about was that phone call she’d received and the woman’s claim that Jody Burns’s death had been murder. Mostly, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the woman’s claim that someone other than Jody Burns had killed her mother.
“Earth to Tess.”
Tess yanked her attention back to Ronnie. “Sorry. Did you say something?”
“You’re really starting to worry me, kiddo. That’s the second time you’ve zoned out on me since we got here.”
Tess set her soupspoon aside and sighed. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”
“That’s obvious,” Ronnie reminded her. “This trouble sleeping wouldn’t have anything to do with Johnny, would it?”
“No,” Tess replied, not bothering to remind Ronnie, again, how much Jonathan detested being called Johnny. She’d long suspected that Ronnie only called him that because she disliked the man and wanted to irritate him. “As I told you at the time, we ended our relationship amicably. He and I are still friends.”
“Uh-huh.” Ronnie reached for her glass of tea and took a sip. “So he didn’t come by the station yesterday to try to get you to change your mind about marrying him?”
“No. He didn’t. If you must know, he came by to pick up the key he’d given me to his apartment.”
“Any second thoughts about turning down his proposal?”
“None,” Tess assured her. “You were right. Jonathan and I were all wrong for each other. I just can’t believe it took me so long to see it.”
She patted Tess’s hand. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. We all make mistakes—especially when it comes to men.”
“Easy for you to say. I dated the man for nearly a year and not until I was faced with the prospect of marrying him did I realize that he and I would never work. You, on the other hand, knew it almost from the start.”
Ronnie smiled—the smile of a woman who had lived nearly fifty years and was wiser for it. “That’s because I wasn’t emotionally invested in the relationship. You were. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that when it comes to the male species, women don’t always see things clearly—especially if our emotions are involved.”
But she should have seen it, Tess thought. Yet, despite the fact that she enjoyed Jonathan’s company and being with him was easy, there had been no real passion between them. It wasn’t until he’d surprised her with an engagement ring for her birthday that she’d been forced to face the truth. She didn’t love him. At least not in the way you should love someone you married. “That still doesn’t make it right. It was unfair of me to lead him on the way I did.”
“Come on, Tess. Johnny’s a big boy. I don’t recall you holding a gun to the man’s head and forcing him to go out with you.”
“I know. But it was still embarrassing for him. He’d told his family and friends, even my grandparents, that he was giving me the ring. They were all expecting an engagement announcement, not a breakup.”
“So he was embarrassed,” Ronnie conceded. “From what I saw of him yesterday, he didn’t appear to be suffering from a broken heart.”
It was true, Tess admitted. Her refusal had appeared to bruise Jonathan’s ego far more than his heart.
“He’ll get over it,” Ronnie assured her.
Tess had no doubt that he would. Jonathan knew what he wanted—a dutiful wife whose dreams and desires mirrored his own—which was to see himself in the White House someday. But that woman wasn’t her. It could never be her because she had her own dreams, her own desires, and she had no intention of abandoning them. Nor did she want to be with a man who would expect her to do so. “Still, I can’t help wishing I hadn’t let things reach that point.”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe the reason you let things reach that point was because you knew it’s what the senator wanted?”
“It wasn’t my grandfather’s mistake. It was mine.” Although the senator had introduced her to Jonathan and hadn’t hidden the fact that he’d welcome the up-and-coming attorney as a grandson-in-law, he hadn’t forced her to go out with the man. “As you pointed out, no one held a gun to his head and forced him to go out with me.”
“So I take it the senator isn’t giving you grief for breaking up with golden boy?”
“He’s not happy about it, but he’s accepted it,” Tess replied. And she hoped that was true. Her grandfather had been furious with her over her decision to end things with Jonathan. If there was one thing she’d learned in the years since she’d come to D.C. as a four-year-old to live with him and her grandmother, it was that her grandfather did not like it when things didn’t go according to his plan—be it on Capitol Hill or in his family. Her turning down Jonathan’s proposal was not part of his plan. But marrying the man was not part of her own plan.
“So no more schemes by the senator to throw you and Johnny together?”
“I made it clear to my grandfather that I’m not going to change my mind,” Tess informed her. The final straw had occurred ten days ago when she’d arrived for her weekly dinner with her grandparents and had been advised that Jonathan would be joining them. Her grandmother had been clearly distressed by the senator’s announcement, but Tess had been furious with him for, once again, trying to run her life. As a result, she had left the restaurant, leaving him to explain her absence to Jonathan.
“I can imagine how that went over. I got the impression at that charity dinner last month that the senator had earmarked Johnny boy as his future grandson-in-law.”
“He may have, but it wasn’t his decision to make. It was mine, which is what I told him.” The day after the scene in the restaurant, she’d threatened to sever all contact with her grandfather if he continued to interfere in her personal life.
Ronnie arched one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “And what was the senator’s response to that?”
“Let’s just say, he wasn’t thrilled with my decision.” The truth was, she and her grandfather had barely spoken since that night. “And I’d really like to drop the subject.”
“Sure,” Ronnie told her as she slathered butter on another cracker. She paused, looked up at Tess. “So if it’s not the senator or Johnny causing you to lose your beauty sleep, what or who is?”
“Ronnie,” Tess said, making no attempt to hide her exasperation.
“Two chicken specials,” the waitress declared and Tess was grateful for the interruption. After the young woman removed the salad plate, she placed the plate of grilled chicken with a rice pilaf in front of Ronnie. She paused at the sight of Tess’s soup, which had barely been touched. “Something wrong with the soup?”
“No. It’s fine, but I’ve had enough. You can take it,” Tess told her.
She added the soup plate and cup to her tray and promptly served Tess her own plate of chicken. “You ladies let me know if you need anything else,” the woman declared and hustled off in the direction of the kitchen.
“This looks good,” Tess said as she picked up her fork.
“If that’s your subtle way of ignoring my question, you should know me well enough by now to realize that I’m not going to stop hounding you until you tell me what’s wrong.” When she said nothing, Ronnie asked, “Is it work, Tess? I know sticking you with Kip on that last assignment wasn’t fair, but I didn’t have a choice. The jerk’s uncle wields a lot of power around here.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with work. It’s personal.”
Ronnie paused, and a concerned look came into her hazel eyes. “All right, Tess. I’ll back off. But as your friend, I have to tell you that I’m worried about you. I’ve never seen you this stressed out before—not even when all that crap was going on about your father’s suicide. Just so you know, if you need to talk, I’m here.”
“Thanks, Ronnie. I appreciate it.” Yet Tess wasn’t at all sure she wanted to share with anyone the thoughts that had been running through her head since she’d received that phone call. But mostly, she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to voice aloud what had been really troubling her—the idea that perhaps someone other than Jody Burns might have been responsible for her mother’s murder.

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