Without a Doubt. Kathleen Long
it had been made for her, the seams perfectly hugging her slender shoulders, the sleeves falling smoothly to the shirt’s precise cuffs. A rich brown jacket lay folded on the bench seat next to her, a perfect match for the slim, classic skirt that sheathed her lean hips and thighs.
“I guess you’re wondering why I called.” Sophie’s voice cut through the visual inventory Gary had been taking.
He nodded. She was absolutely right. He was wondering why she’d called. Certainly it hadn’t been for old time’s sake.
Gary knew she had no interest in picking up where they’d left off seven years earlier. She’d made her feelings crystal clear when they’d parted ways, and Gary had no desire to set himself up for that kind of hurt again. Ever.
He inhaled deeply, shoving the old disappointment out of his head. He’d truly loved her back then, but her heart had been cold and sharp-edged when she’d walked away—as cold and sharp-edged as the rest of her body appeared now.
Maybe she’d done him a favor way back when. Since their breakup, he’d avoided personal entanglements, focusing on honing his reporting skills. His stories had progressively grown bigger and broader, and now he’d attracted the interest of the L.A. paper.
Not bad.
Gary dropped onto the bench seat and Sophie mirrored the move.
“What’s up?” he asked, realizing he’d taken far too long to speak.
Her throat worked, and she stared at him as if studying every line and shadow of his face. “It’s been a long time.”
Her voice was soft, bringing memories of the tender times they’d shared rushing back.
Gary nodded, but kept his features expressionless. “You’ve certainly changed.”
Her solemn features broke into a smile, and for an instant he flashed back on the younger, softer Sophie.
The skin around her eyes crinkled. “Can’t say the same for you.”
He glanced down at the creases in his denim shirt and the coffee stain on his rolled-up sleeve. He met her gaze and arched his brows, rubbing a hand across his day-old beard. “We don’t all have to be live at five.”
“I guess we don’t,” she said softly.
“Speaking of which—” Gary took a long sip of the coffee the waitress had poured into his cup “—don’t you have a broadcast to get ready for?”
Sophie nodded, then splayed her hands on the glass tabletop. “I’ve got a little time first. How about you?” She lifted her gaze to his. “Can you give me a half hour or so?”
He could. The question was whether or not he wanted to. “Sure,” he answered, wondering what the woman was up to.
“I wanted to talk to you about the Hernandez story.”
Even though he’d mulled over the possible reasons she might want to see him since her call, it was safe to say the Hernandez case hadn’t appeared anywhere on his mental list.
He narrowed his gaze, his curiosity beginning to percolate. “Go on.”
“How did they work the identification?”
It was a simple question. Too simple for someone like Sophie. She knew the ropes. Hell, she’d covered the story. Gary’s investigative nose began to itch.
“I thought you knew the case.”
“I do.” Her features brightened and she ran the fingers of one hand across the table. To the left, then to the right. To the left. To the right.
She stilled suddenly, catching herself in the nervous move.
“I want to hear it from you. Step by step. Just in case there’s anything I’ve forgotten.”
He frowned, not believing her motivation for a second. “Why?”
“I have a source who’s wondering about a child’s parentage.”
“A kidnapping?” He straightened now, wanting to know every detail.
Sophie shook her head and tucked her wispy brown hair behind her ears. “Not necessarily. Could be mistaken identity.”
He leaned forward, close enough that Sophie sat back, pressing herself against the padded bench seat.
“I’m not following you.”
She measured his expression, her eyes reading his face. She tipped her head and pressed her lips together, her stare never leaving his. “Off the record?”
Now she had his full attention. “Sure.”
“What if a child was presumed dead, but there might be a possibility that child was alive? Where would you start?”
Now Gary was the one who straightened against his seat. “What about the body?”
“No body.” Her features tensed.
Gary pursed his lips. “How?”
“Fire.”
The images crystallized in his mind. The black-and-white of the burned-out home. The photos of the mother and daughter who had perished in the blaze, the child’s remains obliterated by the heat of the inferno.
He’d heard rumor of how crazed Sophie had been after the deaths. Not that he could blame her, but did she really believe anyone could have survived? After five years, hadn’t she let go of the grief and moved on?
“You’re not talking about a source, are you?”
Her eyes widened, as if the fact he’d seen right through her surprised her. She shook her head.
“What brought this on?”
“I saw someone.”
The pain in her voice gripped at his gut and twisted. For a crazy moment, he longed to reach across the table and take her hands. Longed to pull her into his arms and smooth away her heartache. But seven years was a wide void to cover, and he had no intention of bridging that gap.
“Who?”
Sophie shook her head. “No names. Just help me.”
Help her? Words Gary thought he’d never hear uttered from Sophie’s gorgeous lips. She’d never let herself need anyone, had she?
“Please, Gary.” Her eyes pleaded with him now, eradicating any bitter feelings he still held for her. “Tell me where to start.”
And so he detailed every step of the Hernandez case. Every inch of the investigation, the identification, the reunion of the kidnapped child with her mother.
As he walked back toward his car, he found it impossible to quiet the whirling thoughts and questions racing through his brain.
Who had Sophie seen? When? Where?
What had sparked her reporter’s brain to question the validity of her niece’s death?
Then one thought silenced all of the rest.
She’d reached out to him. She’d asked for help.
Maybe Sophie’s sharp edges hadn’t won out yet after all.
“THOUGHT YOU DIDN’T LIKE these fluff pieces,” Cookie said as he drove the WNJZ van across town toward the Alexander home.
“It’s not a fluff piece.” Sophie wondered momentarily if her tone sounded as defensive as it felt. “The powers that be loved the profile angle.”
She glanced out the window, watching as the South Jersey scenery shifted from row house to duplex to suburban chic. “You have to admit Maggie Alexander is the perfect example of an everyday citizen who’s making a difference.”
“Her brother’s not bad either.”
Sophie