Inside the Capitol, the high domed walls of the rotunda
echoed with conversation. Members of Congress — new and
experienced — along with their staffs and families,
accepted refreshments from trays offered by uniformed
waiters. Grace Harrison helped herself to a glass of the
watery punch and strolled the perimeter of the crowded
gathering, eyes and ears on alert.
As the daughter of one of the nation's most popular
senators, Grace was an expert at handling the media and
especially at spotting any reporter who might be
specifically looking for a story on her family. Riley
Harrison had taught her well. He had also pleaded with her
to show up at this welcoming reception. Her assignment was
to help the rest of his staff keep the press at bay while
he worked the room.
"Dad," Grace had said, knowing that she didn't need to
finish her plea. Her father was well aware of her aversion
to any sort of political function. Fortunately, the public
was completely sympathetic to her desire to have a normal
life outside the spotlight. They even applauded her
efforts. They loved the fact that she still lived at home
with her parents and embraced her no-nonsense style and
her choice to pursue her career as a religious education
and program director for one of the city's oldest
churches. She was viewed as more normal and more in touch
with the public than most offspring of politicians — and
that translated into increased popularity and votes for
her father.
"Now, Gracie, I know you hate these things, but it's been
a while since I asked you to do anything like this and the
media will love it."
Grace sightings were a real coup for any D.C. reporter. In
spite of their respect for her preference to lead a quiet
life, the public ate up any news about Grace. Most
recently the Washington press had had a field day
speculating on the breakup of her long romance with a high
profile attorney. The simple explanation was that she and
Nick had both realized they were together more out of
habit and a friendship that dated back to their high
school days. But that was far too mundane for the newsman
to accept without two days of rumors and stories of a
heartbroken Grace.
When Nick began dating Grace's best friend Bethany, the
news fueled a fresh wave of rumors and conjecture.
Fortunately the election had turned attention away from
Grace and on to the possibility of meat-ier news. It was
ironic that in trying to maintain a low profile and get on
with her life, she had become material for the
gossipmongers. "But, Dad…"
"Ken's wife went into labor an hour ago, honey. You know
that I wouldn't ask otherwise. I really need your help. An
hour — that's it, I promise."
Ken was the senator's chief of staff and more than once he
had persuaded her father that Grace's preference for a
life of her own out of the spotlight, was a definite plus
with the voters. She owed him. "Okay. One hour," she
agreed, although she knew that it would be at least two.
Grace did her duty, mingling with members of Congress who
had been old family friends for years and introducing
herself to the newcomers who were clearly delighted to
meet the elusive daughter of Senator Riley Harrison.
Grace knew most of the press, so she spotted the new guy
right away. She leaned against a marble column and crossed
one ankle over the other as she studied him. If she hadn't
seen the press badge, she might have assumed he was a
staffer for a member of the new class of Congress.
Even in terms of being a journalist, he looked more like a
seasoned veteran than a rookie. The less experienced
reporters could never completely conceal their eagerness
and excitement at having landed an assignment to cover
their first event on the Hill. This guy looked anything
but eager or excited. He looked jaded, even a little
hostile, as if anticipating the event to be a complete
flop in terms of yielding anything of use to him. He
strolled around the perimeter of the room, with an air of
nonchalance, but his eyes scanned the crowd with practiced
skill. He wasn't yet sure what he was looking for, but
everything about him told Grace that he could recognize
even the slightest indication of a story.
She recorded his physical features — six feet, athletic
build, clothes selected as much for the air of casual cool
as their perfect fit. But it was the face that drew her
attention. Charcoal hair that might gray prematurely to
salt-and-pepper in a few years, eyes deep-set and
vigilant, watching everyone and everything in his
surroundings, skin that would sport an intriguing five
o'clock shadow by three and a mouth that promised a dimple
when, and if, he smiled.
He didn't appear to have noticed her, or if he had, he was
playing it very cool. Grace was used to being recognized
and had no doubt that he would be no exception. She paused
as he ambled closer. Then she saw him recognize her
father. His body posture changed to a predatory readiness
and his eyes brightened like a hunter who had just spotted
a sixteen-point buck. Grace scanned the room and saw the
other members of her father's staff occupied with
reporters from the other papers and local television
stations. This one was hers. She sighed, pushed herself
away from the cool marble of the column and stepped
directly in his path.
"Hi," she said with a bright, if completely artificial,
smile. He glanced at her. His eyes flickered with
recognition, but to her surprise he offered an equally
artificial smile and prepared to move on. "Quite a crowd,"
she added, raising her voice to be heard above the clamor
in the cavernous rotunda. She moved closer, effectively
trapping him between a marble column, the bust of Thomas
Jefferson, and herself.
It was obvious that he knew who she was. However, the only
thing she saw clearly reflected in those deep-set eyes —
which she now saw were a steely gray — was that she was in
his way. Grace waited as he waged the battle between
innate politeness and the need to keep tracking his prey —
her father, in this case. Politeness won.
"Yes, quite a crowd. Seems like everyone is here except
the President and his entourage." His smile was so tight
that the dimple never appeared and he looked over her
instead of at her. It was evident that he hoped that she'd
get the message and move on.
She checked the name on his press badge — Jud Marlowe —
and realized she knew the name but not the man. She tried
to think how his name might have come up. He shifted
slightly in order to see around her and the column as he
continued to track her father. That Jud Marlowe.
Marlowe was the reporter who had written a scathing expose
on Charlie Blackwell, a former business partner of her
father's and a dear family friend. Marlowe was the one who
had accepted documents and other information from a
supposedly trusted source without realizing that his
source had her own agenda when it came to ruining Charlie.
In an effort to save face and avoid a huge lawsuit, the
paper had fired him.
Grace frowned and sipped her punch. Obviously, he'd gotten
himself rehired. She glanced at the press badge again.
Washington Today. Millie Peterson's paper. That made
sense. Millie had worked hard to put together a staff of
slightly renegade journalists who weren't afraid to go
after a story on the slimmest of information.
"Would you excuse me?" he said, starting to make his move,
his attention still firmly on her father through the
gathering.
Grace wasn't about to allow this guy within ten feet of
her father. She shifted positions, making it impossible
for him to leave without physically pushing her aside, and
said, "I'm Grace Harrison."
He gave her his full attention for the first time since
she initiated contact. "I know," he replied and said
nothing more. Instead he studied her, clearly trying to
figure out why the reclusive Grace Harrison had actually
introduced herself to a reporter.
Jud Marlowe had been with the Washington, D.C. newspaper
nearly six weeks before he got his first big assignment to
attend a function at the Capitol.
This is it, he thought when managing editor Millie
Peterson called him into her office — the chance to show
them what I can do.
"Think of it as a rite of initiation," Millie told him.
"I want you to be on the lookout for a possible angle for
a Valentine's Day feature."
Valentine's Day? Jud bit his lip to keep from shouting it.
Millie was testing him, as she had been since she hired
him. Just how far could she push him before he stepped
over the line — again?
"Something not too warm and fuzzy — we like edgy around
here," she had added as if this were his first day at the
paper.
If Valentine's Day with an edge was what Millie wanted, he
was determined to be the man to give it to her. And
although he had his doubts that the Capitol function would
really yield pay dirt, he was willing to play the good
soldier and follow the lead.
The occasion was a reception following the swearing-in of
the newly elected freshmen class of the Congress. "The new
members might as well be wearing signs," Millie had
instructed. "They'll stand out. Look for things like which
old-timers are courting which newcomers. Look for staff
members who are just a little too attached to their
bosses. Look for —"
"Got it," Jud had interrupted as he headed for the door.
He'd really had it with Peterson's "coaching," as she
called it. Treating him more like a rookie with no
experience was more like it.
Valentine's schmalintine's, he thought as he scanned the
room. He was here for a story — hard news. He had a career
to redeem and if he couldn't find something to make Millie
forget all about Valentine's Day in this gathering, then
he might as well start looking for some other way to make
a living.
The problem was the senator's daughter had attached
herself to him like a leech. He tried politeness, which
did not work at all. He knew exactly who she was and her
presence at this event — given her reputation for avoiding
political functions — spoke volumes about the fact that
something was going on. He was well aware that any other
reporter in the room would be thrilled at being targeted
by Grace Harrison, whatever her motive. He wasn't going to
fall for it. The problem was how to ditch her so he could
concentrate on her father. He couldn't catch a break.
He was about to gently squeeze past her and move on when
she said, "I'm Grace Harrison."
"I know."
Jud looked directly at her for the first time since she'd
accosted him, curious as to why she was so desperate to
keep him occupied that she would actually introduce
herself. Her face was upturned because of the difference
in heights, so the first thing he noticed were the most
incredible pair of blue eyes he'd ever seen. Or maybe it
was the magnified effect of a pair of wire-rimmed glasses
that were completely wrong for the petite woman's gamine
face. Jud waited to see what she'd do next.
She offered her hand, "And you are…" She squinted at his
press badge.