Private Scandals

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Marshall Pike had been waiting in his car in the CBC parking lot for more than an hour when Deanna finally walked out. He felt the quick, unbidden tightening of his muscles in response at the sight of her: part anger, part lust. For the past two years, he had been forced to content himself with images of her on the TV screen. Seeing her now in the gloom of dusk, short-skirted, her legs flashing as she hurried toward a dark sedan, exceeded his memories.

  “Deanna,” he called to her, climbing quickly out of his own car.

  She stopped, glanced toward him, peering through the rapidly deepening night. The quick, friendly smile of greeting faded. “Marshall, what do you want?”

  “You never returned any of my calls.” He cursed himself for sounding petulant. He wanted to appear strong, dynamic.

  “I wasn’t interested in speaking with you.”

  “You’re going to speak with me.” He clamped his hand over her arm. His gesture made Deanna’s driver spring out of the car.

  “Call off your dog, Deanna. Surely you can spare five minutes?”

  “It’s all right, Tim.” But she removed Marshall’s hand before turning to her driver. “I won’t keep you waiting long.”

  “No problem, Miss Reynolds.” He gave Marshall a measured look, then tipped his cap. “No problem at all.”

  “If we could be private.” Marshall gestured across the lot. “Your guard will be able to see you, Deanna. I’m sure he’ll leap to your rescue should I try to manhandle you.”

  “I think I can handle you alone.” She crossed the lot with him, hoping the meeting would be brief. The wind was bitterly cold and she didn’t relish speaking with him. “Since I can’t think of anything we’d have to discuss on a personal level, I assume you wanted to talk to me about Angela.”

  “It would have been difficult for you. Finding her.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “I could help you.”

  “Professionally?” Her brow quirked. The wind, and anger, brought color to her cheeks, a snap to her eyes. “No thanks. Tell me what you want.”

  For the moment, he stared at her. She was still perfect. Fresh, seductive. All luminous eyes and moist lips. “Have dinner with me,” he said at last. “The French place you always liked so much.”

  “Marshall, please.” There was no anger in her voice, only pity. It scraped like rusty blades over his ego.

  “Oh yes, I seem to have forgotten to congratulate you on your engagement to our dashing correspondent.”

  “Thank you. Is that all?”

  “I want the file.” At her blank look he tightened his grip. “Don’t pretend you don’t understand. I know Angela gave you a copy of her investigator’s report on me. She told me. She gloated over it. I didn’t ask for it before because I’d hoped that you’d come to realize what I could offer you. Now, under the circumstances, I need it.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  Rage darkened his face. “You’re lying. She gave it to you.”

  “Yes, she did.” Her arm was throbbing now, but she refused to struggle. “Do you really think I would have kept it all this time? I destroyed it ages ago.”

  He gripped both her arms now, nearly lifting her off her feet. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t give a damn what you believe. I don’t have it.” More furious than frightened, she struggled against him. “Can’t you understand I didn’t care enough to keep it? You weren’t important enough.”

  “Bitch.” Too incensed to think clearly, he dragged her toward his car. “You won’t hold that file over my head.” He grunted, his wing tips skittering on the pavement as he was yanked from behind. He went down painfully, bruising his hip and his dignity.

  “No, Tim, don’t.” Though she was shaking, Deanna grabbed her driver’s arm before he could haul Marshall to his feet and knock him down all over again.

  Tim adjusted his bulky coat, seeing Marshall was quelled. “You okay, Miss Reynolds?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Hey!” A baseball cap shielding his eyes, a camera on his shoulder, Joe raced across the lot. “Dee? You okay?”

  “Yes.” She pressed a hand to her temple as Marshall got to his feet. Perfect, she thought. Pictures at ten. “Yes, I’m okay.”

  “I was just pulling into the lot when I saw this guy hassling you.” Joe’s eyes narrowed. “The shrink, right?” He slapped a hand on Marshall’s chest before Marshall could step toward his car. “Hold on, pal. Dee, you want me to call the cops, or should Tim and I just show this creep what happens to men who push women around?”

  “Just let him go.”

  “Sure?”

  She looked into Marshall’s eyes. There was something dead in them now, but she couldn’t find any pity. “Yes. Let him go.”

  “The lady’s giving you a break,” Joe muttered. “If I catch you bothering her again, I won’t be so nice.”

  Silently, Marshall got into his car. He locked the doors, fastened his seat belt, before driving out of the lot.

  “Are you sure he didn’t hurt you, Miss Reynolds?”

  “No, he didn’t. Thank you, Tim.”

  “No problem.” Tim sauntered proudly back to the car.

  “I wish you’d let me punch him.” Joe gave a regretful sigh before looking back at Deanna. “Spooked you, huh?” He glanced at the camera on his shoulder, grimaced. “I got so pissed I didn’t get any tape of it.”

  That, at least, was something. “I guess there’s no point in my asking you not to mention this in the newsroom.”

  He grinned as he walked her to her car. “No point at all. News is news.”

  She didn’t want to tell Finn, but they’d made a deal. No holding back. She’d hoped Finn would have to work late, but as luck would have it, he opened the door and greeted her with a long, sloppy kiss.

  “Hiya.”

  “Hi yourself.” She rocked back on her heels and gave Cronkite the caress he was whining for.

  “We had a change in schedule, so I got home a little early.” The change in schedule had been canceling all of his appointments and spending his afternoon with Jenner reading through Beeker’s files. “Made dinner.”

  Cooperating, Deanna sniffed the air. “Smells great.”

  “New recipe.” With one brow cocked, he tipped a finger under her chin. “What?”

  “What, what?”

  “You’re upset.”

  She scowled and pushed his hand away. “Damn it, Finn, that’s irritating. Don’t you know a woman likes to think she has some mystery?” Still hoping to stall, she peeled out of her coat and hung it on the hall rack.

  “What happened, Kansas?”

  “We’ll talk about it later. I’m starving.”

  He merely shifted and blocked her path. “Spill it.”

  She could argue, but since an argument was precisely what she was hoping to avoid, what was the point?

  “Will you promise to hear me out and not overreact?”

  “Sure.” He smiled at her as he swung an arm around her shoulders and led her to the steps. They sat together near the bottom landing, with the dog happily at their feet. “Is it about Angela?”

  “Not directly.” She blew out a long breath. “It was Marshall. He sort of ambushed me in the parking lot.”

  “Ambushed?”

  His icy tone alerted her. But when she looked up at Finn, his eyes seemed calm enough. Curious, a little annoyed, but calm. “Just a figure of speech. He was upset. You know I haven’t returned his calls.” When Finn said nothing, she let the rest tumble out. “He was just angry and upset, that’s all. About that. And about the files Angela had sent to me. I told you about them. Marshall has it in his head that I kept them. Of course, with the investigation going on he’s worried. Naturally.”

  “Naturally,” Finn said pleasantly.

  He’d hear about the rest anyway, Deanna reminded herself. From Joe, or someone else in the newsroom. That would be worse. “We had a little sc
uffle.”

  There was a dangerous light in Finn’s eyes. “Did he put his hands on you?”

  Deanna shrugged, hoping to lighten the mood. “In a manner of speaking. It was really just one of those push-shove sort of things. But Tim was there,” she added quickly. “And Joe. So it was nothing. It was really nothing.”

  “He put his hands on you,” Finn repeated. “And he threatened you?”

  “I don’t know that I’d call it a threat. It was just—Finn!” He was already up, removing his coat from the rack. “Finn, damn it, you said you’d be reasonable.”

  He shot her one look, one stunningly frigid look that had her heart stopping. “I lied.”

  Her knees were knocking together, but she was on his heels as he strode out of the house. The cold and the look in Finn’s eye had her teeth chattering as she struggled into her coat. “Stop this now. Right now! What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to go explain to Pike why he should keep his hands off my woman.”

  “Your woman?” That tore it. She bounded ahead of him, slapping both hands onto his chest. “Don’t you pull that macho bullshit on me, Finn Riley. I’m not going to . . .”

  Her voice slid back down her throat when he propped his hands under her elbows and lifted her off the ground. His eyes were blazing.

  “You are my woman, Deanna. That’s not an insult, that’s a fact. Anybody who manhandles you, anybody who threatens you has to deal with me. That’s another fact. Got a problem with it?”

  “No. Yes.” Her feet hit the ground with a thump and she ground her teeth. “I don’t know.” How was she supposed to think when all she could see were those furious, deadly eyes boring into her. “Let’s go back inside and talk this through reasonably.”

  “We’ll talk when I get back.”

  She raced to the car after him. “I’m going with you.” There was still a chance, a slim one, that she could talk him down.

  “Go inside, Deanna.”

  “I’m going with you.” She opened the door, climbed in and slammed it shut. He wasn’t the only one who could slice flesh with a look. “If my man’s going to go make a fool of himself, I’m going to be there. Got a problem with that?”

  Finn slammed the door and turned the key. “Hell no.”

  The best Deanna could hope for now was that Marshall wouldn’t be home.

  The wind had picked up and held a fresh threat of snow. It raced through Finn’s hair, sent it flying around his face as he stalked up to Marshall’s door. He had only one thing on his mind and, like a skilled reporter, easily blocked out all distractions: Deanna’s mumbled curses, the occasional swish of tires on the street, the numbing chill in the air.

  “He’s not worth it,” Deanna said for the hundredth time. “He’s just not worth your making a scene.”

  “I have no intention of making a scene. I’m going to talk to him, and he’s going to listen. And then, unless I’m very much mistaken, you’ll never see or hear from him again.”

  He had been wanting a confrontation since the day Deanna had rushed out of the CBC Building in tears, and into his arms. Finn could already feel the grim satisfaction of pleasure postponed.

  Deanna saw his eyes slit like a predator’s as the door opened. Her stomach clenched and she had one wild thought: to jump between them.

  But Finn didn’t lunge, as she’d been half terrified he would. He simply strolled across the threshold and into the foyer.

  “I don’t believe I invited you in.” Marshall ran a finger over the black tie of his tuxedo. “And I’m afraid I’m on my way out.”

  “We’ll make this as quick as possible, since I don’t believe Deanna’s comfortable being here.”

  “Deanna’s always welcome in my home,” Marshall said stiffly. “You are not.”

  “What you don’t seem to understand is that we’re a team. When you threaten her, you threaten me. I don’t react well to threats, Dr. Pike.”

  “My conversation with Deanna was personal.”

  “Wrong again.” Finn stepped closer. The feral gleam in his eyes had Marshall stepping back. “If you come near her again, if you ever put your hands on her again, I’ll bury you, in every way you can imagine.”

  “There are laws to protect a man against a physical attack in his own home.”

  “I have better ways of dealing with you. Angela’s file on you made very interesting reading, Pike.”

  Marshall’s eyes slid to Deanna. “She doesn’t have the file. She destroyed it.”

  “No, Deanna doesn’t have it. But you don’t know what I have, do you?”

  Marshall’s attention snapped back to Finn. “You have no right—”

  “I’ve got the First Amendment. Steer clear, Pike, way clear. Or I’ll break you in half with it.”

  “You bastard.” Fear of exposure propelled Marshall forward. He swung out, more in panic than design. Finn easily avoided the blow and followed it by one punishing fist to the midsection.

  It was over in seconds. Deanna had done no more than squeak in response. Marshall had done no more than moan. And Finn, she realized as she gaped, had made no sound at all.

  Then he crouched down, impossibly graceful and smooth. “Listen carefully. Don’t ever come near Deanna again. Don’t call, don’t write, don’t send a telegram. Are you getting this?” He was satisfied when Marshall blinked. “That should conclude our little interview.” He stepped back to where Deanna still stood, openmouthed, on the stoop. Quietly, he shut the door. “Let’s go.”

  Her legs were jelly. She had to lock her knees to keep from swaying. “Good God, Finn. Good God.”

  “We’re going to have to reheat dinner,” he said as he guided her to the car.

  “You just—I mean you—” She didn’t know what she meant. “We can’t just leave him there.”

  “Of course we can. He doesn’t need paramedics, Deanna. I only wrinkled his tux and bruised his ego.”

  “You hit him.” Once she was seated, strapped in, she pressed both hands to her mouth.

  His black mood had passed. He felt almost sunny as he drove fast through the windswept night. “Not exactly my style, but since he swung first, it worked for me.”

  She turned her head away. She couldn’t explain, couldn’t believe what she was feeling. The way he’d sliced Marshall with words. Sharp and cold as a sword. Then he’d shifted his body aside, graceful as a dancer. She hadn’t seen the blow coming any more than Marshall had. He’d moved so fast, so stunningly. She pressed a hand to her stomach and bit back a little moan.

  “Pull over,” she said in a muffled voice. “Right now.”

  He did, terrified she was about to be sick, disgusted because he hadn’t reined in his temper long enough to make her stay home. “Take it easy, Deanna. I’m sorry you had to see that, but—”

  Whatever else he’d intended to say was lost as she lunged at him. In one fluid move, she tore off her seat belt and whipped toward him. Her mouth was hot and wet and hungry. Through his shock, and instant arousal, he felt the violent thud of her heart.

  And her hands. Jesus. Her hands.

  Cars sped by them. He could only groan as she dived deeper into his mouth, her tongue greedy, her teeth vicious.

  Both of them were panting for air when she leaned back.

  “Well,” he managed, but his mind was wiped as clean as glass. “Well.”

  “I’m not proud of it.” She flopped back in her seat, face flushed, eyes bright. “I don’t approve of intimidation or fighting. I absolutely don’t. Oh God.” With a half laugh, she squeezed her eyes shut. Her body was vibrating like an overheated engine. Intellect, she discovered, could be completely overpowered by glands. “I’m going to explode. Drive fast, will you?”

  “Yeah.” His aching hand trembled a bit as he turned the key