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Not that she had ever talked with Ian about her dead husband, a tender-hearted man with laughing brown eyes, beautiful dark skin and a talent for charming a smile out of anyone.
Ian’s voice grew softer. “Would you be insulted if I told you I’ve done basic research about all my sources? I know that Isaac has been gone for five years now, and you haven’t remarried. And as for boyfriends…”
She’d stopped listening, Isaac’s name lingering in her mind. A man she’d loved until he’d succumbed to cardiovascular disease and left her much too early.
“Hey.” Ian bent down and caught her lowered gaze.
Even though the tears didn’t come as freely anymore, she still cried every once in a while, especially during cold nights when the rain tapped at her windows and she didn’t have anyone to cuddle next to in bed. She missed waking up in the morning to find him reading the paper at the kitchen table, missed how he’d come home from his construction work to wrap her in a bear hug. Missed the unconditional love she’d been craving her whole life—something she’d never really felt from the African-American parents who’d adopted her.
All in all, she guessed she missed the knowledge that he’d always be there for her. It clawed at her to know that she’d already gotten her big chance for love and it was gone for the rest of her days. After all, who found that sort of connection twice in a lifetime?
“Everything’s okay.” Rachel glanced up at Ian again. “But I don’t date much. I’m…too busy, you know?”
The journalist nodded, but she couldn’t say he was convinced. He still had a knowing look about him. “I’m up on your schedule. Three days a week working for Nate Williams as a paralegal. The rest of the time you’re helping the professor by rounding up evidence…. Check that. You were helping the professor.”
Rachel swallowed at the mention of it. So he’d noticed the way she’d pulled away from Gilbert. You couldn’t fool someone who made a living digging into places his nose didn’t belong.
As she started walking again, Ian fell into step with her. He was tall enough so that she had to lift her head to steal a peek at his face, but he wasn’t too tall.
Good kissing height, she thought, her lips tingling as she glanced at his mouth.
She saw him forming more words, heard them through her filter of loneliness and yearning.
“I noticed,” he said, “that lately you haven’t been very social with your friends, either, Rachel.”
“Told you.” She tore her gaze away from him and focused on the steamed window of a bakery, pastries and cakes decorating the display. “I’ve been busy.”
Oddly accepting, Ian merely nodded. Had he somehow gotten wind of what her friends were saying about her? Fellow Gilbert-admirers such as Sandra and David Westport who often asked her why she’d recently retreated into herself?
The adoption documents. The secrets of her life held in a safe.
As she and Ian continued moving past the boutiques and bookstores, she thought of all the rumors constantly circulating around Gilbert—questions about his relationships with some students, speculations about the tone of his friendly office meetings where the kids would hang out to shoot the breeze and get a good dose of optimism and counseling.
Dammit, Rachel thought. She should know better when it came to her mentor. He’d been nothing but caring and supportive with her, so how could she doubt him so much now?
She and Ian approached the Thai restaurant, and he slowed down, jerking his head toward the entrance.
“Come on,” he said. “Just a snack.”
Rachel brushed a hand over her flat belly. She’d grown up listening to parents who’d told her that she wasn’t worth the food they fed her, so, more often than not, she’d gone without the extras.
It was a pattern, she thought. Something to cling to.
“I’m not really hungry,” she said, even though her stomach was a little flitty. But maybe that wasn’t because of the lack of grub.
Maybe it was a different kind of hunger altogether.
Her heart thudded once again. Ian Beck.
Pure junk food.
“Don’t give me excuses,” he said, tugging on her jacket. “Let’s go inside. It’ll be warmer.”
She protested, but he wasn’t listening. No, instead she found herself easily giving in—yeah, like she put up a real fight—and followed him down a small stairway into the spicy aromas of the restaurant. Five tables clustered around a bar, where a lit menu offered dishes such as panaeng nuea and tom yam goong.
He got the pad thai and turned to her expectantly, blue eyes shining. “You like it hot?”
Somehow, she got the feeling he was referring to more than food. Her face flushed, and she returned his saucy grin. Heck, why not? Miss Popularity—that was her. But, honestly, she was tired of fretting and could actually use a laugh with the reporter—even if she was dangerously close to flirting with him.
“I’m really not in the mood for anything heavy,” she said, hoping he understood her meaning on more than one level. Then she spoke to the counterperson. “Just an iced tea and a glass of water, please.”
“Oooh. Push that envelope.” Ian dug in his back pocket for a wallet, producing several bills that would cover the total.
Rachel told him that she didn’t have any money on her, and Ian answered that it was his treat. Still, she knew she wouldn’t have been able to afford even this tiny bonus splurge on her budget, anyway. Ever since Isaac had fallen ill, she’d been burdened with financial troubles. It had even gotten to the point where she was ready to sell her home to pay all the outstanding medical bills. Thank God for her boss, Nate Williams, who had worked up a payment schedule when she’d refused his offer of assistance. Thank God for Gilbert, too, because he’d mailed her small loans on occasion over the years, even if the two of them hadn’t been as close as they’d been during her college days.
Before she’d let him down by dropping out.
Consequently, she swore she’d pay Gilbert back once she lifted herself up again, swore she’d become the type of person who could handle life on her own, even if it killed her. She would’ve liked to have accomplished this by her thirtieth birthday, but even that had passed by without success.
But what was new?
Ian retrieved a plastic marker with their order number on it and led Rachel to a table by the high window. Here, the two of them could see everyone’s feet as they walked by on the sidewalk: Ugg boots, business shoes, high-fashioned heels and Timberlands, just like the ones he wore.
With a flippant exhalation, he leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs again, showcasing his boots as he ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up.
“So, Spike,” she said, gesturing to his careless coif, “this is it, then? We’re just hanging out, getting heart-burn, oohing and aahing over noodles?”
“If you were eating anything, I’d be all for it.” He flashed another smile at her, and a slow beat of silence fluttered between them.
“What?” she asked, fidgeting, taking off her knit cap and adjusting her hair. It fell down to her shoulders in the usual tangle of dark curls.
“I’m just…” Ian leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I’m wondering about you, Rachel James. I can’t quite figure you out yet, and that’s pretty rare.”
“Do more research.” She smiled at the waitress who set the beverages and food on the table.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get to more than the basics about this whole story.” Ian dug into his meal as soon as the waitress left. Plastic fork halfway to his mouth, he said, “As far as you go, though, I know about Isaac, obviously. And your job and schedule, because I like to keep tabs on where my sources are when I need them.”
Wow, how heady, she thought as she downed most of her water. I’m his source, in spite of this incredibly intimate snack break and everything.
Not exactly a heart-pounding, fantasy-inducing revelation.
But it was better this way, business-only. Right?
While Ian stuffed noodles into his mouth, Rachel finished her water and began to sip her tea. It was thick and sweet, laden with cubes of ice.
Funny how they didn’t have much to talk about when he wasn’t trying to get a headline out of her. Was now a good time to get personal? Even at first sight, she’d wondered about the details of him: the way one ear was slightly higher than the other, the scuffs on his leather jacket, the been-there-done-that shade of his gaze. The occasional shadow that passed over his eyes during their interviews.
But…no. She didn’t have the gumption.
Instead, to cover the awkward pauses in conversation, she resorted to babbling, even though she’d made it clear that she didn’t want to talk about the hearings. But Gilbert was all they had in common, and it beat not talking at all, she supposed.
Still, in the back of her mind, she wondered if he was working his reporter mojo on her, even though her wariness didn’t stop her mouth from moving.
“So tell me,” she said, “when is that first article coming out?”
He washed down his food with the beer he’d ordered, then said, “My editor wants to start the series this coming Monday. It won’t be news so much as a column chronicling how the hearing affects the community. Each following installment will cover what happened the day before and—”
“And how the proceedings stir up the drama and mayhem with all the tawdry details. Jeez. That’s why I agreed to talk to you in the first place, Ian, because Gilbert doesn’t need theatrics. I’m doing damage control and trying to spread the good word about him.”
“Hey.” He set down his glass bottle. “I’ll be respectful of the situation.”
She considered the articles she’d recently seen in his paper and didn’t respond. He seemed to read her mind.
“Did it ever occur to you that, unlike the others, I’m not into the muckraking business?”
“Yes. But lately your paper is.”
A muscle in his jaw constricted. So did his fingers as they wrapped around the beer bottle. He seemed to be fighting himself about something. Those shadows in his gaze told her as much.
But just as soon as the emotion had appeared, it evaporated. He dug his fork into his noodles again, carefree as ever. “I report the facts as I see them, that’s all.”
“And how do you see them in this case?”
He paused, set down his fork, grinned. Yet this was no ordinary Beck-smile. No, this was partially feral, a twist on his charming act.
Rachel’s breath caught in her chest, but she still held his stare. She’d spent a lifetime backing down, backing away. And she was done with it.
Even so, she had the nagging feeling that, as soon as she left Ian, she’d go right back to hiding, ducking confrontation. Odd how she was empowered to stand up for herself only when she was around this particular guy. Somehow, he seemed to nonchalantly encourage her, bringing out what little strength she had.
In fact, it seemed that he rather enjoyed getting a rise out of her.
“I see it this way,” he said. “The administration believes that your Gilbert is ‘old fashioned’ and behind the times. They say he’s too much of a friend to the students, and would love to replace him with someone new.”
“Is that what you believe?”
“I don’t have the luxury of believing anything.” Ian rested his arms on the table, still dangerous. “As I said, I only report the facts.”
“You know those aren’t facts at all.”
“Who can be sure? That’s why there’s going to be a hearing tomorrow.”
“Hearing. Huh.” Even though things weren’t going smoothly with Gilbert right now, Rachel rose to the occasion, paying her mentor back for everything he’d done over the years, protecting him from the bottom of her heart. “It’s more like a witch hunt. Surely you’ve found that the administration has an agenda.”
For a spine-tingling moment, Ian’s gaze blasted into her. A hunter’s eyes.
Then he sat back again, apparently satisfied. “Smart man, that Gilbert, calling on the right people to defend him. All his favorite students from the past.”
“Not just ‘students,’ Ian. You’ve seen the list. Nate, our notorious defense lawyer. Kathryn, who was a model before that awful car accident. Jacob, an esteemed fertility specialist… Should I continue? Because I can.”
He took her bait, highly engaged by the fire he’d lit under her. “Please do.”
“An assistant to an ambassador— You know, it’s not going to be hard to show that Gilbert produced success in our own lives and for the world at large. The board is going to come off badly when we’re done with it….”
She stopped, suddenly aware that she wasn’t one of those successes she’d listed. She’d left Saunders during her junior year to marry Isaac, and it’d broken Gilbert’s heart. He’d bemoaned the education she was deserting, reminded her that she was just leaving before she could finish what she’d started. Truthfully, Rachel had suspected there’d been more to it than that. That her mentor had been grieving the loss of their relationship, knowing it would never be the same once she married and put Saunders behind.
Ian was watching her, a sympathetic light in his eyes. God, no wonder he was so damned good at getting his story. He really knew how to work his subject.
“It must’ve been hard,” he said, voice soft.
She stared at her tea. The creamy shade of brown reflected everything she’d hidden from all her life. The color of mixed skin that never quite belonged, a tint that had set her apart from family and community.
“What’s hard?” she asked.
“Coming back to find Gilbert, seeing he’s changed from the energetic, positive man you used to know.”
Gilbert. Because of his plea to return to Saunders for this hearing—and her great need to make up for all the disappointment she’d caused him—Rachel had seen him in person for the first time in months. Usually, they caught up with each other over the phone, but that hadn’t prepared her for the light that had gone out of his gaze, the wrinkles that had invaded his once-firm skin. But what hurt the most was seeing those proud shoulders slumped under the weight of all these heinous accusations. He’d been protecting so much, she thought, especially when it came to the biggest secret of all—his status as an anonymous benefactor who’d helped so many students during their worst days. Only one of the few who knew about this, Rachel was straining to stay silent, to make Gilbert believe that she and most of her other friends didn’t know about this bombshell.
Now, Rachel nodded to Ian, unable to deny the shock of Gilbert’s recently degraded appearance, the sadness of her friends who also loved the professor.
“Yes,” she said, voice choked, “it was hard seeing him this way. But that’s why we’re back, to bring him around again. Just like he did for us.”
“And just like someone else did,” Ian added.
Rachel froze while he eased out his notepad.
She should’ve seen this coming, but she wasn’t as good as this pro. He’d definitely been doing his research.
“Rumor has it,” he said, “that there’s been an anonymous benefactor who’s helped select students on campus for many years at their moment of greatest need. And guess what?” Ian offered her yet another cocky grin.
She stared straight ahead, giving nothing away.
“Those students just happen to include most of your friends,” Ian added. “Any comment?”
Chapter Two
Even the next morning, as Ian strolled over one of the manicured lawns that covered the Saunders campus, he couldn’t believe he’d been so blunt with Rachel James.
Kid gloves, he reminded himself. This particular woman required a little more finesse than most.
When he’d busted right out with that benefactor query, he’d been going for the shock effect, the pure second of truth in an interviewee’s eyes as he or she absorbed the question. Rachel hadn’t been any different than the other countless subjects Ian had ambushed for a story—it was just that her unguarded reaction had gotten to him this time. She had bent his heart as if it were heated steel, reshaping it until his pulse had finally cooled hours later.
It bothered him to be treating Rachel James like another cog in the wheel of his career, and this shocked Ian, a man who wasn’t so used to regret.
In fact, her reaction had caused him to really look at himself in the mirror this morning…and he didn’t like what had peered back at him: a man with the flint of self-loathing in his gaze.
Maybe he just felt bad about the way she’d left the little Thai restaurant without another word to him, slipping on her knit cap and walking out of the place with a dignity Ian could only wish for. Or maybe he was getting soft in his skills, just as his new editor had muttered last week.
Remorse. Emotional second-guessing. Hell, his job didn’t allow him those sorts of perks. Nope. His profession—damn, that was sure a noble word for digging up crud and slinging it over a page just to make a buck—demanded that he chase Rachel down again.
