Heart of the Matter by Marta Perry Page B

him, and I promised to help her.”
    It didn’t escape his attention that she was carefully editing what she said to him. Well, fair enough.
    If he could gain her trust by helping her with her little genealogical problem, it might ease things between them in other ways.
    “This relative—was he in the service?”
    She nodded. “He ran away from home to enlist, as far as we can tell.”
    “That’s simple, then. The military records—”
    She was shaking her head, and that recalcitrant strand of hair swung back against her cheek again. His hand itched to smooth it back for her, and he clamped down on the ridiculous urge.
    “It’s not that easy. He apparently signed up under a false name. That’s what upsets my grandmother—the possibility of never knowing what happened to him.”
    He didn’t know a lot about World War II, but the problem intrigued him. “You’re assuming he died in service, are you?”
    “I guess we are. I’d think he’d have gotten in touch with the family sometime if he’d come back safely.”
    He prodded the problem with his mind, intrigued in spite of himself. How would you go about tracing someone in those circumstances?
    “That is tricky. Would he have enlisted locally?” He shook his head. “Probably not, if he didn’t want to be recognized. Unless he wasn’t very well-known.”
    “That’s a thought.” She absently slid the hair back behind her ear, frowning at the screen. “I was trying to look at enlistments from Charleston, but you’re right. He’d have been recognized for sure if he’d gone there. But if he went someplace else, how do I begin finding him?”
    He pulled over the office chair from the adjoining desk and sat down next to her. He didn’t miss the involuntary darkening of her eyes at his closeness. Didn’t miss it, but tried to ignore it, just as he tried to ignore his own longing to put his hand on her arm.
    “Do you know anything about the circumstances? Exactly when he enlisted? Did he have a car? Any other means of traveling very far? Where were the enlistment centers in the area?”
    “Some of that I know.” A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “But you’re pretty good at this investigative stuff, aren’t you?”
    “I should be. It comes with the job. Any journalist should have an overdeveloped sense of curiosity.”
    Her eyebrows lifted. “I have to admit I’m wondering why you’re so eager to help me with this. This afternoon…”
    “Maybe that’s why.” He forced the words out, not used to apologizing. “I guess I owe you an apology. I came on pretty strong.”
    Her eyebrows lifted. “Are you sure you want to admit that?”
    “All the books on managing staff say that the good boss admits when he’s wrong.”
    “I see.” The dimple next to the corner of her lips showed briefly. “I’m delighted to know that you’re trying to be a good boss. Is scaring everyone in the building half to death part of that?”
    Was he really enjoying this semiflirtatious exchange? Maybe he ought to back away, but he discovered that he didn’t want to.
    “You’re exaggerating. Nobody is that intimidated by me.”
    Her eyes widened in mock surprise. “Then why does Billy run in the other direction every time he sees you?”
    “Billy?” He tried to think of a newsroom staffer by that name and failed. “Who’s Billy?”
    “Billy Bradley. The mail room boy who delivers mail to your office several times a day.” Her expression said that he should have known that. “I’m sure those books of yours would tell you that a good boss knows something about all of his people.”
    “Maybe so.” He could pull back from the intimacy of this conversation at any moment. Maybe he should. But he didn’t want to. “If you’re so smart, tell me three things about Billy Bradley.”
    “That’s easy. Billy helps his mother support two younger brothers. He plays soccer in the little spare time he has. And he longs to be an investigative