Maid of Dishonor (20 page)

‘They let you keep your passport?'

Jack shrugged. ‘They wanted me to leave and not having a
passport would have hindered that.'

Ellie shook her head. ‘You have a crazy job.'

He did, and he loved it. Jack shrugged. ‘I operate best in a
war zone, under pressure.' He loved having a rucksack on his back, dodging
bullets and bombs to get the stories few other journalists found.

‘Mitchell always said that it's a powerful experience to be
holed up in a hotel in Mogadishu or Sarajevo with no water, electricity or food,
playing poker with local contacts to the background music of bombs and automatic
gunfire. I never understood that.'

Jack frowned at the note of bitterness in her voice and,
quickly realising that there was a subtext beneath her words that he didn't
understand, chose his next words carefully. ‘Most people would consider it their
worst nightmare—and to the people living and working in that war zone it is—but
it
is
exciting, and documenting history is
important.'

And the possibility of imminent death didn't frighten him at
all. After all, he'd faced death before...

No, what would kill him would be being into a nine-to-five job,
living in one city, doing the same thing day in and day out. He'd cheated death
and received a second swipe at life...and the promise he'd made so long ago, to
live life hard and fast and big, still fuelled him on a daily basis.

Jack felt a hard knot in his throat and tried to swallow it
down. He was alive because someone else hadn't received the same second
swipe...

‘We're here.'

Ellie's statement interrupted his spiralling thoughts and Jack
hid his sigh of relief as she turned up a driveway and approached a wrought-iron
gate. Thank God. He wasn't sure if he could go much further.

Ellie looked at the remote in her hand, took a breath and
briefly closed her eyes. He saw the tension in her shoulders and the rigid
muscle in her jaw. She wasn't comfortable... Jack cursed. If he had been
operating on more than twelve hours' sleep in four days he would have picked up
that the shyness was actually tension a lot earlier. And it had increased the
closer they came to her home.

‘Look, you're obviously not happy about having me here,' Jack
said, dropping his pack to the ground. ‘Sorry. I didn't realise. I'll head back
to the bakery—hitch a lift to the airport.'

Ellie jammed her hands into the pockets of her cut-offs.
‘No—really, Jack...I told my father I'd help you.'

‘I don't need your charity,' Jack said, pushing the words out
between his clenched teeth.

‘It's not charity.' Ellie lifted up a hand and rubbed her eyes
with her thumb and index finger. ‘It's just been a long day and I'm tired.'

That wasn't it. She was strung tighter than a guitar string.
His voice softened. ‘Ellie, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable in your own
home. I told Mitch that I was happy to wait at the airport. It's not a big
deal.'

Ellie straightened and looked him in the eye. ‘I'm sorry. I'm
the one who is making this difficult. Your arrival just pulled up some old
memories. The last time I took in one of my father's workmates I was chased
around my house by a drunken, horny cameraman.'

He sent her his I'm-a-good-guy grin. ‘Typical. Those damn
cameramen—you can't send them anywhere.'

Ellie smiled, as he'd intended her to. He could see some of her
tension dissolve at his stab at humour.

‘Sorry, I know I sound ridiculous. And I'm not crazy about
talking about my relationship with Mitchell for this book you're helping him
write—'

‘I'm
helping
him write? Is that
what he said?' Jack shook his head. Mitchell was living in Never-Never Land. It
was
his
book, and
he
was
writing the damn thing. Yes, Mitchell Evans's and Ken Baines's names would be on
the cover, but there would be no doubt about who was the author. The sizeable
advance in his bank account was a freaking big clue.

‘Your father...I like him...but, jeez, he can be a pain in the
ass,' Jack said.

‘So does that mean you don't want to talk to me about him?'
Ellie asked, sounding hopeful and a great deal less nervous.

Jack half smiled as he shook his head. ‘Sorry...I do need to
talk to you about him.'

He raked his hair off his face, thinking about the book. Ken's
fascinating story was all but finished; Mitch's was progressing. Thank God he'd
resisted all the collective pressure to get him to write his. Frankly, it would
be like having his chest cracked open without anaesthetic.

He was such a hypocrite. He had no problems digging around
other people's psyches but was more than happy to leave his own alone.

Jack looked at Ellie, saw her still uncertain expression and
was reminded that she was wary of having a strange man in her house. He couldn't
blame her.

‘And as for chasing you around your house? Apart from the fact
that I am so whipped I couldn't make a move on a corpse, it really isn't my
style.'

Ellie looked at him for a long moment and then her smile
blossomed. It was the nicest punch to the heart he'd ever received.

ISBN: 9781460318515

MAID OF DISHONOR
Copyright © 2013 by Heidi Rice

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