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  He ran his hands through his own hair in frustration. College graduate and working-woman status aside, there was no way he would be able to let Lou out of his sight. Because, deep down, he knew nothing had changed—not really. Sure, she might look like she knew what she was doing, and in her mind, she was doubtless confident she could take on the world. Maybe she thought he was fooled by the way she pretended to know exactly what she was doing. But Lou Lofton needed watching over.

  And Mason Thorne was just the guy to do it.

  Chapter One

  So this was Mason’s idea of a promotion.

  Lou Lofton drove her gaze around the elegant ballroom of the Sonoran Embassy and slowly shook her head. This was what Mason thought was important work. Rubbing shoulders with the rich and political, observing the social ritual of the dinner party, which was such an integral part of international diplomacy. Being a newswoman, she was naturally impressed by the caliber and position of the people surrounding her. However, instead of attending the reception for General Papitou as a journalist covering the political and international implications of his visit to Washington, Lou was here as a reporter for “The Social Scene” section of the Capitol Standard. Her mission was not to interview the diplomats and legislators about their opinions on world affairs, as her gut reaction dictated. No, Lou was here to chronicle such politically charged topics as the glamorous guest list, the marvelous menu, and the gorgeous gowns, all of which were so vital to national security.

  It didn’t help to remind herself that, until two weeks ago, she had been assisting Henrietta for her “Helpful Household Hints” column. Lou’s assignments during her first year at the newspaper had consisted of such powerhouse issues as the limitless uses for baking soda and hot topics of controversy such as whether beef stock or beef bouillon was a better foundation for gravy. She had covered culinary incursions and household insurrections and had contributed significantly to the spring-cleaning of the nation’s capital. Why, the First Lady herself had written Lou not long ago, thanking her for that helpful hint about the use of pennyroyal oil as a natural flea repellent, a practice that had been common knowledge in Lou’s hometown. It was a dubious honor at best. But when she’d asked Mason to help her get reassigned to a meatier beat at the paper, this was what he’d come up with.

  She sipped her champagne and smoothed a hand over her sleeveless black cocktail dress, then tucked a pale brown lock of hair behind her ear. She shouldn’t have to rely on Mason for everything, she told herself. But where would she be without him? How could she have known when she walked into his office at the paper six years ago that things would turn out the way they had? Growing up in the mountains, her life had been so much simpler. If she’d stayed in Hack’s Crossing, she would have been married by now to Amos Hollis, the storekeeper’s son and one of Hack’s Crossing’s most eligible bachelors. She also would have had at least two kids by now, and she probably would have ended up a grandmother by the time she was forty. Then she could die of exhaustion by the time she turned sixty, the way her mother and grandmother had. That was how things had always been in Lou’s hometown. At least, that’s how they had been until Steven Destri arrived. After that, everything changed.

  She pushed thoughts of her past away and strode casually around the room, observing the guests and eavesdropping on conversations. These days, she tried to avoid memories of anything that had come before Mason entered her life. Or rather, before she entered his. She only wished their initial meeting could have been under different circumstances. As it stood now, Mason felt responsible for her because he thought it was his fault she’d been left without a family. And she felt indebted to him because he’d helped her out so much and enabled her to be what she was today. There were times when she almost resented him for that. But she couldn’t resent Mason if she tried. She’d probably fallen in love with him the day she found him in the barn, bound and beaten by her brothers.

  “Excuse me.”

  The sound of a lightly accented male voice behind her interrupted her thoughts, and Lou turned to find herself staring at one of the handsomest faces she’d ever seen. The stranger wasn’t much older than her twenty-five, with eyes the color of strong coffee and hair as black as the night outside.

  She couldn’t help but smile as she replied, “Yes?”

  Immediately, the man smiled back. “I hope I am not interrupting you. You seemed to be thinking about something—or perhaps…someone—and I could not help hoping it might be me.”

  Oh, very suave, Lou thought. But, as usual, she was helpless to keep from comparing this man to Mason, whose own approach to a woman would be bold and straightforward. Why was every man she met subject to such a comparison? Why couldn’t she just once meet a guy without instantly considering him lacking in some way?

  “I was thinking about something else,” she told the man evasively, trying to let him down gently. “I’m sorry.”

  “But not someone else,” he replied, his smile growing broader. He hurried on before she could contradict him. “I will just have to try harder. My name is Albert.” He dropped the sound of the t in his name to give it the French pronunciation. “Albert Michaud.”

  He extended his right hand formally, and Lou took it automatically. “Halouise Lofton,” she introduced herself. “Are you an attaché here at the embassy?”

  Albert shook his head. “I am one of the guests invited here from Sonora with General Papitou. You have heard of it?”

  Lou bit back a frustrated sound. What was it about her that made men think she was naive and ill informed? “You mean the Caribbean island nation of Sonora that just a few months ago experienced a bloodless coup and put General Marco Papitou in power?” she deadpanned. “The Sonora that until then was a fascist dictatorship that had been run by Lucius Senegal for twenty-two years and, before that, was run by his equally fascist and dictatorial father for thirty-seven years? The Sonora that until recently headed the list of countries notorious for human-rights violations? Is that the Sonora you’re talking about?”

  Albert had the decency to look sheepish. “American women,” he said with a guilty smile. “They keep themselves very well informed. Yes, that is the Sonora to which I was referring. Although many, many changes have occurred since General Papitou came into office. We will even be having our first democratic vote in only two weeks.”

  “There are those who would argue the alleged democracy of the upcoming election,” Lou said pointedly. Mason was investigating a story about that very thing, as a matter of fact.

  “No, no, no,” Albert denied, shaking his dark head in vigorous denial. “You could not be more mistaken. I am very close to the general, and he is a most honorable man.”

  “I see,” Lou replied politely. “I must have been misinformed.”

  “Indeed you must.”

  Albert relaxed at her concession, and Lou took a moment to size up her new companion. He could, after all, be a potential source for newsworthy information. Oh, the irony. She had finally escaped Mason’s supervision long enough to meet a dateable guy, and the only interest she could summon for him was as a possible source. Still, Albert seemed like a decent enough guy, if a tad smarmy. It could be handy to know someone who was very close to General Papitou, whom the world was still watching carefully, waiting to see if he would be an improvement over his predecessor or, as some suspected, even worse.

  Time to exercise her rarely used feminine wiles. Hopefully they wouldn’t be as ineffective with Albert as they seemed to be when she tried them on Mason. “Mr. Michaud,” she said softly, turning her southern twang up just a notch, since guys seemed to be charmed by it for some reason, “would you be so kind as to get me another glass of champagne?”

  Albert’s smile nearly blinded her, so brightly did it shine. “Miss Lofton, I shall be happy to.”

  Lou watched him retreat to the bar, her thoughts swirling. Albert Michaud might just be her ticket to the one place she really wanted to work—the newsroom of the Capitol Standa
rd. No more baking-soda brigade, no more designer gown detailing. Conveniently forgetting about her assignment to cover the social niceties of the embassy reception, Lou’s brain jumped track and headed off in a new direction. She reassured herself with the knowledge that she had a copy of the guest list and menu in her purse and had taken photographs of some of the fashions as they arrived. She’d file the story she was assigned to cover. But nobody had said she couldn’t pursue a hot tip if the opportunity presented.

  When Albert returned with her champagne, Lou offered him her most winning smile. “Now then, Albert. Tell me exactly what it is you do for a living and how you’re ‘very close’ to General Papitou.”

  ****

  “You want to do what?” Mason tossed his pencil angrily onto his desk in the newsroom and then rose to loom over and glower at Lou.

  “Mason, it will be perfect,” she assured him—though her voice wasn’t quite as steely as she wanted it to be. Even knowing him as well as she did, she could still be intimidated by the tall, solid strength in him. Hastily, she pointed out, “Albert will be a great source for a piece I want to do about what’s going on with the people down on Sonora. Between the coup and the upcoming election, there’s a compelling story in there. I want to be the one to write it.”

  “Oh, he’ll be the perfect source all right,” Mason agreed. “And that would definitely make a compelling story. For someone else, Lou. Not for you.”

  Lou glared at Mason, reining in her desire to wrap her fingers around his throat. Not because she didn’t feel like strangling him at the moment, but because she didn’t stand a chance of succeeding—he’d have her flat on her back in no time. And as often as she had indulged in such a fantasy, under the current circumstances, the image took on an entirely different meaning.

  Her heart kicked up an erratic pace at the idea of wrestling with Mason. She willed it to level off. In an effort to assert herself as a reporter and a woman, knowing she failed miserably at both where Mason was concerned, she tried again. “Look, I appreciate your getting me transferred from ‘Helpful Hints,’ but this society stuff is even worse. It’s no place for a newshound like me. I should be out on the front line, covering world events. My instincts and talents are being wasted in the pages of ‘The Social Scene.’ Dissecting celebrity guest lists and menus is not my idea of investigative reporting.”

  Mason had to forcibly control his desire to smile at Lou. God, she was adorable when she was angry. He loved how her West Virginia accent always got a little stronger whenever she was emotional. It was the perfect complement to the way her brown eyes flashed with fire in a face that was just too sweet to be anything other than, well, adorable. And now she wanted to be a newshound. Seriously. Adorable. That was .

  ‘“Henrietta’s Helpful Household Hints’ is a totally respectable column,” Mason told her. “And so is ‘The Social Scene.’ And they’re probably the most widely read parts of the paper. You should consider it an honor to be part of teams like that. Besides,” he added, “that little tip you came up with about putting candlesticks into the freezer to remove wax saved my hide when I had Tracy over the night after Audrey. Don’t want to leave any of those telltale signs of previous adventures, you know.”

  No, I don’t know, Lou wanted to say. And listening to Mason describe his exploits with women when she had a serious problem on her hands only made her more frustrated. Why did he always revert to such adolescent tactics when she was trying to make him take her seriously? And why, after all these years, did it still bother her to hear him talk about his girlfriends?

  “Mason,” she began again, “I have been with the paper for over a year now, and I’m still not working in the newsroom. I have a nose for news—”

  “And a very nice nose it is, too.”

  “—And you know how well I can handle myself in a crisis situation,” she added, ignoring his comment. “I could be a big asset to, say…the Caribbean and Central America desk.”

  That got Mason’s attention. “That’s my beat, Lou. I don’t need any help.”

  She battled the heat she felt rising into her cheeks at the disapproval clouding his blue eyes. “Mason—”

  “Look, just bide your time with ‘The Social Scene’ for now, honing your skills and getting a feel for things. There’s plenty of time for you to move into the news room.”

  “But I hate working on “The Social Scene,’” she said. “Staking out the White House to find out how the First Lady runs the First Kitchen and what she serves to the First Guests isn’t why I went to college for four years.”

  “Hey, you never know who the First Guests at these little affairs might be,” Mason reminded her. “I heard Johnny Depp and Meryl Streep were at the White House last month. Not as a couple, of course, but still…”

  Lou ratcheted up her glare a few notches.

  Mason feigned confusion. “I thought you liked Johnny Depp.”

  “I like his movies fine,” she said through clenched teeth. “But I don’t lose any sleep at night over what kind of pâté he likes on his Sociables!”

  Mason lifted his hands in surrender. “Fine. So the Johnny Depp diet isn’t a major concern for you. But this is the best I can do right now, Lou. If you don’t like working with Henrietta, and ‘The Social Scene’ doesn’t suit your needs, then I don’t know what to tell you.”

  Lou expelled a frustrated breath and rubbed her forehead. She’d forgotten how quickly talking to Mason could give her headaches. “I want to work at one of the news desks, Mason.”

  Mason gazed at Lou intently. Like hell she was going to work at one of the news desks. No way would he see her put into some risky position. She’d been through enough of that. “A lot of other people on staff want that, too,” he told her. “You’ll have to get in line.”

  “Then consider me in line.”

  “Fine. You’re in line.” With a silent salute, Mason dismissed her, then sat down to work on the story he’d abandoned on her approach.

  Knowing there was little chance of changing his mind in his present mood, Lou pivoted with a swish of her skirt and exited the newsroom. It was lunchtime anyway. After she’d fortified herself, she could regroup and take on Mason again. She retrieved her lunch from the refrigerator in the break room and headed out to walk the three blocks to the Mall. It was wonderfully warm for late March, and the promise of spring hung heavy in the air. Soon the trees would be full green, and the cherry blossoms would explode in pink and white along the Tidal Basin.

  If someone had told Lou when she was a teenager that she would be a college graduate living and working in a city like Washington, she would have doubled up in laughter. Her life now was as far removed from her origins as it would be had she been abducted by a UFO and carried to a distant galaxy. It was like a dream now, everything that had happened after her family got involved with Steven Destri. There were times when she awoke in the morning surprised to find herself in her tiny Adams Morgan apartment, times when she still felt like the lonely, frightened teenager who left Hack’s Crossing behind. Through it all, Mason had stood beside her, had helped her get the life that had been blown apart back into some semblance of order.

  She supposed it was only natural she would feel a relentless kind of fascination with and attraction to the man who had been her savior and guardian for so long. But the adolescent infatuation she’d had for Mason had morphed into something else over the years, causing her to still view him in an ideally heroic way that couldn’t possibly be healthy. She needed to put everything in the past behind her, where it belonged—and that included her crush on Mason Thorne. So why couldn’t she? Especially when she had put everything else in the past behind her. Her uncle and brothers were locked up in Lorton Prison, their terrorizing and bullying at an end—there was no way they’d ever see the light of day again. But Mason…

  Well, Mason had a way of hanging around in her head and heart in a way that terrifying bullies didn’t. She just wished she knew what to do to dispel him from
both places.

  After she finished her lunch, Lou wandered back to the newspaper offices and tried not to dwell on any of it. She had a new life now, thanks to Mason. And a new project, thanks to Albert Michaud. No matter what Mason said about her position at the paper, he couldn’t stop her from seeing someone socially. And if seeing Albert socially meant she picked up little snippets of information that might find their way into her diary, well, that was nothing unusual, was it? Lots of people kept journals of their daily experiences. True, most of them didn’t record what might potentially amount to state secrets, but then, Lou Lofton wasn’t most people. She was a trained journalist—an investigative reporter—and she would do whatever necessary to assure her story was newsworthy and accurate. That meant having sources and contacts. And she’d just established her first one in Albert. Tonight, she’d be seeing him for dinner, and there was no way Mason could interfere. She’d show Mason who had a very nice nose for news. And if things worked out the way she planned, she’d be rubbing his nose in it.

  ****

  Dammit, where was she? Mason listened to the chirp of Lou’s phone ring at the other end of the line for the twenty-sixth time, then finally hung up. It was ten o’clock on a Wednesday night, and there was nowhere he could imagine she would be, since her social life was pretty much tied to his. Every Thursday, they ate dinner together at her apartment, every Tuesday, he took her out to eat, and one weekend a month, they made the drive across Chesapeake Bay to visit his sister and brother-in-law in Cannonfire, a tiny coastal community in Maryland. Along with the occasional lunch together in the newsroom or on the Mall, Mason was certain that constituted the totality of Lou’s social agenda. She didn’t seem to have any interest in acquiring boyfriends—or even girlfriends for that matter—and she was always home on weeknights when he called her. So where the hell was she tonight?