Triumph by Janet Dailey

lobby before he could ask questions.
    She pressed the button for the elevators to the higher floors, impatiently watching the numbers go down. Kelly prayed that no one would join her. She couldn’t make small talk. The strangest day of her life was finally catching up with her.
    The elevator doors opened silently and she stepped inside, jabbing at the control panel. She willed the doors to close, afraid she would see the man who’d stopped her on the street. The thick carpets in the lobby hushed every footstep, but the mirrored walls would give her a moment’s warning. She stared at her reflection until the doors finally drew together.
    The hush of the lobby was replaced by the faint whine of the car moving upward. Kelly watched the numbers light up, then unclasped her bag and got out her apartment keys before she got off. Once in the hall, she looked both ways.
    Quiet as the grave. Not a neighbor in sight. But then there never was. She sometimes wondered who they might be. Breathing more slowly, she unlocked her door, got inside, and relocked it.
    Kelly flung her bag onto an armchair and bent down to unstrap her stilettos, kicking them into a corner. She padded across the white carpet and pulled the ceiling-to-floor drapes tightly shut. This high up, it really didn’t matter. No one could possibly see in. But she didn’t care.
    It would be great to have someone to come home to. That hadn’t been the case for quite a while. But then she didn’t really think of the apartment as home.
    Now that she was here, she could have something stronger than iced tea. She made herself a drink, something she rarely indulged in, and curled up on the sofa, pulling the soft knit poncho over her bare legs.
    Kelly was so used to the hard work of chasing stories, she hardly thought about it. All of a sudden, this story seemed to be chasing her. After the shoot-out and tonight, she had to wonder whether it was worth it to constantly put herself in harm’s way.
    Adrenaline be damned. The mellowing effect of the drink was taking hold.
    She’d been harassed before, threatened more than once. But not at this level. There was no telling if it would be worth it. A little soul-searching—never her favorite indoor sport—seemed to be in order. To her chagrin, Deke had kept his distance, and not only because he had his own agenda.
    She wasn’t sure she even knew how to talk to someone anymore without turning it into a ratings-grabbing interview or grist for the news mill. That wasn’t all. Kelly didn’t remember the last time she’d read a book from start to finish, gotten on a horse and rode like the wind, or just plain breathed .
    Tough luck, she told herself. Breathing was automatic. She’d survive.
    In another hour, she fell into a troubled sleep.

    Deke entered his suite in a skyscraper hotel before dawn. A panoramic view of Atlanta was visible from every corner of the rooms. Vehicles cruised slowly down avenues and streets that confused everyone who didn’t live here—far too many were named Peachtree Something. But from up here, the metropolitan plan made some sort of sense. Beyond the city lights was a vast expanse of black. Another hour would change that, the endless green vista of Georgia appearing out of the mist as the sun rose.
    He went to a window, looking down at the city. Where was Kelly in all of that?
    Deke had no idea where she lived. It was no secret that news anchors pulled down big bucks. Most likely she had a house in one of the expensive suburbs that ringed Atlanta.
    What a day. First a stakeout, followed by a shootout. Then her. He’d tried not to say too much and ended up tipping his hand a little. Of course, Kelly Johns would have had to know exactly what he was up against to pick up on that.
    The lithe outline of the woman who came out to meet him had been instantly familiar to Deke—the fitted suits she wore on the air were famous. And so was her blond hair, even in a ponytail. It was the black-framed