Read Online The Abduction of Mary Rose by Joan Hall Hovey - Free Book Online
Authors: Joan Hall Hovey
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it was like to wake up one morning and realize your whole life is a lie. God, did everyone in town know her mother?
She was overreacting. It was an innocent enough comment, and it was also true. She had been lucky. She just didn't feel very lucky at the moment.
He flashed her another smile and stood up. "It'll just take me a couple of minutes to copy these. She noticed then that his eyes were almost the same shade of blue as his denim shirt. He was good-looking in a rough-hewn sort of way, though definitely not her type. He reminded her of one of the Vikings she'd read about in school. All he needed to complete the picture was a horned helmet and a sword.
Eric Grant returned shortly and handed her back her copies of the articles. He seemed quieter, thoughtful. If he had any further comments he was keeping them to himself. At least he wasn't a total dork. In his favour, he'd tried to talk her out of including her phone number and email in the write-up, but she held her ground. What was the point of doing this at all if people couldn't contact her?
"They can contact you through the paper," he told her. But she knew that by the time she got back to whoever had written they could have changed their mind about talking to her.
With the interview over, Naomi thanked him and left his office. He offered to walk with her to her car, but she said no, that was fine. She'd taken up enough of his time.
With each step she took across the wood-grained laminated floor, she imagined eyes burning into the back of her neck her like thin, hot lasers ¾ those of receptionists, journalists, even customers she'd passed who were standing at the counter, already knowing her secret, which of course was impossible. She was being paranoid. If she felt like this now, what was she going to do when the article came out in the paper? Crawl under the bed?
Stepping into the bright afternoon sunlight, the world tilted and her head spun. She had to grab onto the wrought-iron handrail to keep from tumbling down the stone steps. When the dizziness passed, dread grew inside her at what she had just done. The railing was slippery under the dampness of her hand as she made her way down the stairs.
Had she made a mistake coming here? Acted too impulsively, putting herself out there for public fodder? Maybe Mr. Hayward was right and she hadn't thought it through well enough. Well, too late now for regrets. It was done. The die was cast.
Whatever she had set in motion, so be it.
Chapter Nine
Eric Grant had noticed her as she came through the door. Impossible not to. Even in casual pants and jacket, she was striking. Yet it was a quiet beauty she possessed. A certain exotic aura about her. Great cheekbones. She wore little makeup, (or was expert as making it look that way), and her thick sheen of dark hair was pushed back in a careless way that gave the impression her looks were not of major importance to her. But it was more the purpose in her step that had captured his attention. The erect shoulders, the stride. This was a woman on a mission.
Now Eric watched from the office window as she emerged from the building. He tensed seeing her grab the railing, hesitate on the steps. But then she seemed okay, as okay as she could be considering what she had to be going through. An attractive, self-contained woman who in that moment looked like a lost child separated from all that was familiar to her. As he watched her descend the steps, he could feel her uncertainty, her confusion. He wanted to rush out there and tell her to forget the story, he'd toss the tape in the trash, but somehow he knew she would resent it, that any such grandstanding on his part would only stiffen her resolve to have the story published.
He wondered if she was already having second thoughts about going public and half-expected he'd get a call asking him to pull the story, which he would do in a heartbeat, no matter what the boss said. But she didn't call. It couldn't have
She was overreacting. It was an innocent enough comment, and it was also true. She had been lucky. She just didn't feel very lucky at the moment.
He flashed her another smile and stood up. "It'll just take me a couple of minutes to copy these. She noticed then that his eyes were almost the same shade of blue as his denim shirt. He was good-looking in a rough-hewn sort of way, though definitely not her type. He reminded her of one of the Vikings she'd read about in school. All he needed to complete the picture was a horned helmet and a sword.
Eric Grant returned shortly and handed her back her copies of the articles. He seemed quieter, thoughtful. If he had any further comments he was keeping them to himself. At least he wasn't a total dork. In his favour, he'd tried to talk her out of including her phone number and email in the write-up, but she held her ground. What was the point of doing this at all if people couldn't contact her?
"They can contact you through the paper," he told her. But she knew that by the time she got back to whoever had written they could have changed their mind about talking to her.
With the interview over, Naomi thanked him and left his office. He offered to walk with her to her car, but she said no, that was fine. She'd taken up enough of his time.
With each step she took across the wood-grained laminated floor, she imagined eyes burning into the back of her neck her like thin, hot lasers ¾ those of receptionists, journalists, even customers she'd passed who were standing at the counter, already knowing her secret, which of course was impossible. She was being paranoid. If she felt like this now, what was she going to do when the article came out in the paper? Crawl under the bed?
Stepping into the bright afternoon sunlight, the world tilted and her head spun. She had to grab onto the wrought-iron handrail to keep from tumbling down the stone steps. When the dizziness passed, dread grew inside her at what she had just done. The railing was slippery under the dampness of her hand as she made her way down the stairs.
Had she made a mistake coming here? Acted too impulsively, putting herself out there for public fodder? Maybe Mr. Hayward was right and she hadn't thought it through well enough. Well, too late now for regrets. It was done. The die was cast.
Whatever she had set in motion, so be it.
Chapter Nine
Eric Grant had noticed her as she came through the door. Impossible not to. Even in casual pants and jacket, she was striking. Yet it was a quiet beauty she possessed. A certain exotic aura about her. Great cheekbones. She wore little makeup, (or was expert as making it look that way), and her thick sheen of dark hair was pushed back in a careless way that gave the impression her looks were not of major importance to her. But it was more the purpose in her step that had captured his attention. The erect shoulders, the stride. This was a woman on a mission.
Now Eric watched from the office window as she emerged from the building. He tensed seeing her grab the railing, hesitate on the steps. But then she seemed okay, as okay as she could be considering what she had to be going through. An attractive, self-contained woman who in that moment looked like a lost child separated from all that was familiar to her. As he watched her descend the steps, he could feel her uncertainty, her confusion. He wanted to rush out there and tell her to forget the story, he'd toss the tape in the trash, but somehow he knew she would resent it, that any such grandstanding on his part would only stiffen her resolve to have the story published.
He wondered if she was already having second thoughts about going public and half-expected he'd get a call asking him to pull the story, which he would do in a heartbeat, no matter what the boss said. But she didn't call. It couldn't have
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