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Authors: Anna Sullivan
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back was to the crowd, her expression hidden from the cameras.
She could have shoved him off; the physicality would have gone a long way to salving her nerves. But not her conscience. She couldn’t bring herself to humiliate him in public. To cut all ties. The notion that she was still holding out hope for some sort of normal father-daughter relationship put an extra snap of disgust—for herself as much as him—in her voice. “Campaign not going well?”
“I’m up against Worthington,” he shot back, his smile going a little grim. “He has three sons, and they’re all serving their country.”
“Too bad you only have one worthless daughter.”
“You wouldn’t be worthless if you’d do your duty.”
Maggie absorbed that blow and wondered why, after all these years, hearing him toss off his subterranean opinion of her so casually should still hurt. But it did.
“How you could fail to understand this after living all your life as a military brat escapes me, Margaret,” he said. “Having a daughter with military wings on her flight suit would trump Worthington and his sons, all three of them.”
“Maybe you should have thought of that when it might have meant something,” she murmured. Again, she tore free of his grip, this time walking away without a backward glance.
“You’ll have to forgive my daughter,” she heard him say, voice raised as he played the proud, loving father and made excuses for what he’d see as her unforgivable behavior. “I’m afraid Margaret has a schedule to keep. She has her own airport here on the island. It’s small, to be sure, but growing by leaps and bounds.”
The crowd parted again to let her through. She kept her eyes, achingly dry and hot, aimed carefully forward, pretended she didn’t hear the murmurs of sympathy, feel the hands that reached out to touch her arm. Sympathy, even the mere idea of it, made her chest tighten painfully, had tears burning in her throat.
Running into Josiah Meeker was just the ticket to put the steel back in her spine. The crowd opened up and there he was: tall, cadaverously thin, with all the warmth of the winter Atlantic and the slime quotient of what washed up on its shore. His gaze slid over her, head to toe and up again, and took her back to a tiny storeroom where she’d been trapped, helpless. Until she kneed Meeker’s balls up into his ribcage and made her escape.
She’d kept it secret, in deference to his family and with the understanding that if she even thought he was up to his old tricks, all bets were off. Meeker lived in fear of the knowledge she carried. And hated her for it.
“If you’ve overcome your loathing of publicity, Joe, there are some guys from the local news over there. They’re probably only second-string reporters, but I bet they like a good story. I’ve got a doozy—”
He looked around, saw the faces turned toward them, and the twist to his mouth slid away, along with all the color in his face.
Maggie stepped around him and continued on her way.
The crowd closed behind her, swallowing Meeker, and good riddance. She’d pretty much eaten her limit of crow, even with getting the last word on Josiah Meeker. So, of course, as she headed for the blessed peace of her car, who should fall into step with her but Dexter Keegan?
“Will this day never end?” she muttered, not quite under her breath.
“Inevitably,” he said, “and on a high note if you’ll have dinner with me.”
“You want high notes, find yourself an opera singer.”
“Hmmm, not up to the wit I’ve come to expect from you, Solomon. Something weighty on your mind? Or someone?”
You
, she wanted to say,
you and your preoccupation with me
. It wasn’t ego; it was suspicion. And fear. Admiral Solomon had sent his spies before, digging into her life, her relationships, looking for a weakness he could exploit in order to drag her onto the path he’d mapped out for her life.
It hadn’t occurred to her at first, but Dex was
She could have shoved him off; the physicality would have gone a long way to salving her nerves. But not her conscience. She couldn’t bring herself to humiliate him in public. To cut all ties. The notion that she was still holding out hope for some sort of normal father-daughter relationship put an extra snap of disgust—for herself as much as him—in her voice. “Campaign not going well?”
“I’m up against Worthington,” he shot back, his smile going a little grim. “He has three sons, and they’re all serving their country.”
“Too bad you only have one worthless daughter.”
“You wouldn’t be worthless if you’d do your duty.”
Maggie absorbed that blow and wondered why, after all these years, hearing him toss off his subterranean opinion of her so casually should still hurt. But it did.
“How you could fail to understand this after living all your life as a military brat escapes me, Margaret,” he said. “Having a daughter with military wings on her flight suit would trump Worthington and his sons, all three of them.”
“Maybe you should have thought of that when it might have meant something,” she murmured. Again, she tore free of his grip, this time walking away without a backward glance.
“You’ll have to forgive my daughter,” she heard him say, voice raised as he played the proud, loving father and made excuses for what he’d see as her unforgivable behavior. “I’m afraid Margaret has a schedule to keep. She has her own airport here on the island. It’s small, to be sure, but growing by leaps and bounds.”
The crowd parted again to let her through. She kept her eyes, achingly dry and hot, aimed carefully forward, pretended she didn’t hear the murmurs of sympathy, feel the hands that reached out to touch her arm. Sympathy, even the mere idea of it, made her chest tighten painfully, had tears burning in her throat.
Running into Josiah Meeker was just the ticket to put the steel back in her spine. The crowd opened up and there he was: tall, cadaverously thin, with all the warmth of the winter Atlantic and the slime quotient of what washed up on its shore. His gaze slid over her, head to toe and up again, and took her back to a tiny storeroom where she’d been trapped, helpless. Until she kneed Meeker’s balls up into his ribcage and made her escape.
She’d kept it secret, in deference to his family and with the understanding that if she even thought he was up to his old tricks, all bets were off. Meeker lived in fear of the knowledge she carried. And hated her for it.
“If you’ve overcome your loathing of publicity, Joe, there are some guys from the local news over there. They’re probably only second-string reporters, but I bet they like a good story. I’ve got a doozy—”
He looked around, saw the faces turned toward them, and the twist to his mouth slid away, along with all the color in his face.
Maggie stepped around him and continued on her way.
The crowd closed behind her, swallowing Meeker, and good riddance. She’d pretty much eaten her limit of crow, even with getting the last word on Josiah Meeker. So, of course, as she headed for the blessed peace of her car, who should fall into step with her but Dexter Keegan?
“Will this day never end?” she muttered, not quite under her breath.
“Inevitably,” he said, “and on a high note if you’ll have dinner with me.”
“You want high notes, find yourself an opera singer.”
“Hmmm, not up to the wit I’ve come to expect from you, Solomon. Something weighty on your mind? Or someone?”
You
, she wanted to say,
you and your preoccupation with me
. It wasn’t ego; it was suspicion. And fear. Admiral Solomon had sent his spies before, digging into her life, her relationships, looking for a weakness he could exploit in order to drag her onto the path he’d mapped out for her life.
It hadn’t occurred to her at first, but Dex was
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