his pocket. He couldn’t risk startling her into flight before he’d got all the material he needed for the feature.
His lips tightened as he recalled Cilla Godwin contemptuously flicking the piece he’d written back at him over her desk that morning.
‘It’s a cop-out, Hunter,’ she’d declared. ‘There’s nothing of substance there. You haven’t even touched on why she decided to go the lonely hearts route. There’s more to this one than meets the eye, and you’ve missed it. See her again, and this time find out something useful.’
And Sam, reluctantly aware that her criticism was justified for once had gritted his teeth and nodded.
It hadn’t really surprised him that tracing JanieCraig had thrown up a complication. Perhaps all the others had used false addresses too, although he didn’t think so.
No, he decided grudgingly, Cilla was right, damn her. Janie Craig was indeed something of an enigma—an irresistible challenge to any journalist.
And tonight, he realised, frowning, would probably be his last chance to solve the puzzle she presented.
He leaned back in his corner of the taxi and reviewed what he’d got so far.
Presumably she’d believed she’d covered her tracks sufficiently well, because she’d clearly been shocked to see him there, literally on her doorstep.
And what a doorstep, he reflected, his frown deepening. An elegant terrace house in a quiet cul de sac, which she shared with her sister. She could hardly support the upkeep of a property like that out of her freelance earnings, so the sister must be the one with the money.
Older? he speculated. Unattractive and sour about it? Jealous of her younger sibling, but reliant on her too? Not wanting her to find a man, perhaps, and make a life for herself, thus forcing Janie to subterfuge?
The possibilities were endless, but he had to establish the truth. And to do that he had to get Janie Craig to trust him. Something she’d not been prepared to do so far, he conceded ruefully.
And which he wouldn’t manage by throwing down the gauntlet to her in the open street as he’d just done.
And, what was worse he’d no idea what had prompted him to challenge her in such an overtly sexual way. Any more than he knew why he’d kissed her at their first meeting—or begged her to stay…
And, not for the first time, he found himself wondering what the hell he’d have done if she’d agreed. And unable to produce a satisfactory answer.
One drink, Ros told herself nervously. That was all she was committed to, no matter what Mr Alexander’s unbounded self-esteem might hope or believe.
And during the time it took to consume a single glass of wine she would make it abundantly clear that she never wanted to set eyes on him again, and that she would not hesitate to take legal action if he persisted.
And not even he could find her message ambivalent this time.
The whole sorry mess could so easily have been avoided if only— if only —she’d stayed quietly at home and minded her own business.
Instead she’d pranced off to meet him, dressed to the nines and sending out all kinds of misleading signals.
That black dress would be going to the nearly-new shop as soon as she’d had it cleaned, she decided grimly, and those shoes with it. She’d tell Janie there’d been some kind of accident, and reimburse her for them.
It was unnerving that Sam Alexander now knew where she lived. And she’d had to apologise abjectly to Pam’s mother, who’d left a furious message on the answering machine, when she’d come back from the library.
And to think I complained that I was in a rut, she thought wearily. Welcome back dull normality.
Except that she didn’t really mean it. And it was too late, anyway. Because her life had already changed quite incontrovertibly.
And, in some strange, confused way, she knew that even if she had the power to do it she would not change it back.
She was tempted to show up that evening in sweatshirt and
His lips tightened as he recalled Cilla Godwin contemptuously flicking the piece he’d written back at him over her desk that morning.
‘It’s a cop-out, Hunter,’ she’d declared. ‘There’s nothing of substance there. You haven’t even touched on why she decided to go the lonely hearts route. There’s more to this one than meets the eye, and you’ve missed it. See her again, and this time find out something useful.’
And Sam, reluctantly aware that her criticism was justified for once had gritted his teeth and nodded.
It hadn’t really surprised him that tracing JanieCraig had thrown up a complication. Perhaps all the others had used false addresses too, although he didn’t think so.
No, he decided grudgingly, Cilla was right, damn her. Janie Craig was indeed something of an enigma—an irresistible challenge to any journalist.
And tonight, he realised, frowning, would probably be his last chance to solve the puzzle she presented.
He leaned back in his corner of the taxi and reviewed what he’d got so far.
Presumably she’d believed she’d covered her tracks sufficiently well, because she’d clearly been shocked to see him there, literally on her doorstep.
And what a doorstep, he reflected, his frown deepening. An elegant terrace house in a quiet cul de sac, which she shared with her sister. She could hardly support the upkeep of a property like that out of her freelance earnings, so the sister must be the one with the money.
Older? he speculated. Unattractive and sour about it? Jealous of her younger sibling, but reliant on her too? Not wanting her to find a man, perhaps, and make a life for herself, thus forcing Janie to subterfuge?
The possibilities were endless, but he had to establish the truth. And to do that he had to get Janie Craig to trust him. Something she’d not been prepared to do so far, he conceded ruefully.
And which he wouldn’t manage by throwing down the gauntlet to her in the open street as he’d just done.
And, what was worse he’d no idea what had prompted him to challenge her in such an overtly sexual way. Any more than he knew why he’d kissed her at their first meeting—or begged her to stay…
And, not for the first time, he found himself wondering what the hell he’d have done if she’d agreed. And unable to produce a satisfactory answer.
One drink, Ros told herself nervously. That was all she was committed to, no matter what Mr Alexander’s unbounded self-esteem might hope or believe.
And during the time it took to consume a single glass of wine she would make it abundantly clear that she never wanted to set eyes on him again, and that she would not hesitate to take legal action if he persisted.
And not even he could find her message ambivalent this time.
The whole sorry mess could so easily have been avoided if only— if only —she’d stayed quietly at home and minded her own business.
Instead she’d pranced off to meet him, dressed to the nines and sending out all kinds of misleading signals.
That black dress would be going to the nearly-new shop as soon as she’d had it cleaned, she decided grimly, and those shoes with it. She’d tell Janie there’d been some kind of accident, and reimburse her for them.
It was unnerving that Sam Alexander now knew where she lived. And she’d had to apologise abjectly to Pam’s mother, who’d left a furious message on the answering machine, when she’d come back from the library.
And to think I complained that I was in a rut, she thought wearily. Welcome back dull normality.
Except that she didn’t really mean it. And it was too late, anyway. Because her life had already changed quite incontrovertibly.
And, in some strange, confused way, she knew that even if she had the power to do it she would not change it back.
She was tempted to show up that evening in sweatshirt and
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