“You’re thinking of firing me? After ten years?”
“I’m thinking of everything that can help WJQC back to the top. You’ve been slacking off, so you could be a big reason for the ratings slip. I know Armitage is no ball of fire. He’s old. He’s tired. But you should be giving one hundred percent and you’re not. You’re still the best news producer in the business as far as I’m concerned. Or you used to be. So I’m asking you to step up and do the right thing. Make this football player the face of the nightly news.”
“Or you will fire me?” she asked again just to clarify.
Milt nodded. Just a single dip of his head. “Your performance lately gives me just cause. At the end of six weeks we’ll reevaluate your efforts around here. If Jeremy isn’t camera ready and pitch-perfect, I’ll get someone that can make him into a dang news genius.”
She exhaled a deep breath. “You do realize that I could go to almost any station in the country and get another job?”
“Possibly, but not in Charleston. The city you claim to be so fond of.”
He had her there. Charleston had always been her home. She loved the vibrancy of the downtown district. She loved the history, the culture. She definitely didn’t want to leave. She swallowed and said, “And if he is camera ready?”
“Then you’ll go on as producer and even get a nice Christmas bonus this year.”
Not working at WJQC? Brooke had never even considered it. The station was her second home. She loved her job, every frustrating, tense moment of it. She was good at it. “Are we finished?”
“We are.”
She stood.
“Oh, one other thing...” Milt said. “Don’t discuss this conversation with Jeremy. It’s between you and me. He doesn’t need to know about our plans. You just become his friend, offer to tutor him. Don’t let him know there are conditions attached.”
“Heavens no, Milt,” Brooke said. “Conditions that include my continued tenure at WJQC.”
“It’s nothing personal, Brooke. It’s business. Jeremy seems like a nice guy. I don’t want him to know that you’re helping him for any reason other than your willingness to boost WJQC. I want Jeremy to believe from day one that we’re all a big happy family around here. But you can sleep on this, Brooke. Let me know first thing in the morning.”
Milt narrowed his eyes. “And, Brooke, don’t ever underestimate me again. If you’re not giving WJQC your all, don’t think I won’t know it. Because I will. Whatever’s happening in your personal life, leave it at home.”
Brooke exited his office. Her palms were damp and her knees were wobbly. It’s not like Camryn hadn’t warned her. The twin sisters had always had a secret radar that let them know the other was going off the tracks. And Camryn had told Brooke often enough that her obsession with finding their half brother was going to cost her big-time. And losing this job was definitely big-time.
If only Milt had warned her before, when he’d first suspected she was using company time for a personal matter. Now he was loading her up with extra work, an ultimatum and a project that might never prove successful. And she had no choice but to give in because if Jeremy failed, the loser would be Brooke.
She left early that day, to think, to wander the city she loved so much. She went to the Charleston Art Gallery, where a Lowcountry exhibit was opening that night. The paintings calmed her, made her appreciate all that South Carolina had to offer. When she went home, she knew what she was going to do.
CHAPTER TWO
DRESSED IN A beige tailored suit with a purple silk blouse, Brooke hurried to her door at seven thirty the next morning. After a long and restless night during which she’d accepted that she would do what Milt wanted her to and do the best job she could, she’d been up early to plan her approach to her newest project.
Why?
For many reasons. Admittedly, she loved this mid-size condominium on the third floor of a historic building just six blocks from the Battery. She had a mortgage on the condo and twenty-five years before she would pay it off.
She couldn’t give up the elegant lifestyle she had chosen for herself. A renovated Civil War–era building with antique Colonial furnishings and treasures she had collected for years. Extralarge closets that held nice clothes, numerous pairs of shoes and twenty handbags.
And that wasn’t even considering that WJQC was important to her. Her time there had evolved into more than a career. Her friends—other enterprising women in Charleston—often took a backseat to news deadlines and her WJQC family. She remembered when Milt’s third grandchild had been born. Trish, the makeup woman, had been her first good friend and still was. Was she willing to sit by and watch Trish and others at the station lose their jobs?
No. She would do what she could for Jeremy Crockett and hope he was a good student and willing to do what was necessary because he needed to learn a lot in just a matter of weeks.
Despite the unpleasant nature of Milt’s ultimatum, Brooke had hesitated to ask her sister for advice. She knew what Camryn would say. Don’t do anything foolish, Brooke. Stay the course.
She knew what her parents would say, so she didn’t call them. Follow your heart, dear. You can always move back in with us.
Ah, no to that last prospect. Even more than her walk-in closet and a location near the Battery, Brooke valued her independence. Her parents were great. She loved them, but living under their roof? Not going to happen.
She opened her front door to head to the stairs and her assigned street-parking space when her cell phone rang. She checked the digital readout, saw a name she recognized and immediately went back inside, dropped her briefcase and purse on a chair and sat down.
“Gabe, I hope you have good news.”
The private investigator who had been helping her track the whereabouts of her half brother, Edward, spoke the first words she’d heard from him in over a week. “Hey, there, Brooke. How are you doing?”
His cheerful attempt at a polite greeting was almost irritating, though it didn’t take much to irritate Brooke this morning.
“I’m fine,” she lied. “Are you back from Tennessee?”
“Just got back this morning,” he said. “Sorry, but no good news to report.”
“Not again. I was so hoping this lead would turn up something.”
“Well, me, too, kid, but it was a wild-goose chase. That Eddie McClaren I found in Riverside prison in Nashville isn’t our boy.”
She’d sent Gabe to the prison to personally interview this Eddie McClaren, a man the same age as her brother, and a criminal with a rap sheet that began back in his adolescence. She didn’t know what she hoped Gabe would find out to be honest. “Are you sure? Did you talk to him?”
“Of course,” Gabe said. “The guy opened up without much prodding. Turns out he was born in South Carolina like I discovered, but the papers for adoption weren’t okayed by his biological parents until he was seven. He was in foster care before that but his mother and father held on hoping he would correct his behavior. Didn’t happen, and he stayed in the foster system.” Gabe tsked. “Sorry, Brooke. It all seemed to add up until I actually spoke with the guy. He knew his parents, still is in touch with them. And his mother isn’t Marlene Hudson.”
Brooke closed her eyes and sighed at this latest disappointment. Of course, Marlene wouldn’t be in touch with her son. She had wanted no part of a relationship with any of her children. The twins’ older brother had been given up for adoption by their biological mother, Marlene, when the boy was only three. His memory of them, if any, would be spotty. “So where does this leave us?” she asked the investigator.
“I’ll keep following leads if you want me to. But, Brooke, my per diem ran out on this trip. I’m going to need an advance if I’m to keep the search going.”
Four times Brooke had come close to believing that Gabe had found her brother. Four times she’d had
to choke back her disappointment and transfer funds to Gabe’s bank account. But close was better than nothing, and Brooke couldn’t give up. Not yet. Edward had to be out there somewhere. “How much do you need, Gabe?” she asked.
“Six hundred will keep me going.”
“Okay. I’ll arrange for the funds to go into your account.” Gabe had come to her with excellent references, and she truly believed he was doing his best to locate her brother. But, realistically, how long could she keep paying him?
“Okay, kiddo,” Gabe said. “I’ll report back in a few days.”
She disconnected and let her thoughts wander to Camryn. She knew how her twin would feel about this latest transaction. She’d call it foolish and a waste of time and money. Camryn had never understood Brooke’s obsession with finding their half brother. Camryn had even balked at the idea of visiting their biological mother when Brooke had traced Marlene Hudson to Myrtle Beach. But true to their similar nature of always supporting each other, she had gone with Brooke. And she had even sympathized with Brooke when Marlene treated them coldly.
After talking with Marlene and realizing that the woman wanted nothing to do with her daughters, Marlene had let slip that the girls had a half brother. That bit of news was all Brooke needed to cope with Marlene’s bitter and hostile reaction. From that day on, she had focused her sights on finding this Edward.
Cam would never understand. She was happy with the family the girls had found with Linda and Craig Montgomery and didn’t want to know the woman who had given them up. That was fine for Camryn. She had two wonderful daughters, a husband and two stepsons who adored her. Brooke was basically a serial dater and didn’t plan on having any kids of her own. She wasn’t exactly jealous of Camryn. Her life decisions were her choice, but still she experienced loneliness sometimes.
She needed to know about Edward. Since that fateful day in middle school when she’d tried to sketch her family tree and found it pitifully lacking, she needed roots, a background, a story that was truly hers. She wanted a family tree that meant something. Unlike her sister, Brooke would probably never have children, but Edward was out there somewhere, a connection, a blood relative who might love and support her just as she would him.
Brooke headed off to work. She needed this job, this income, to maintain the lifestyle she’d come to love and to keep paying Gabe. And so, more than anything, she needed Jeremy Crockett to succeed, and perhaps, if she worked his butt off, he would.
* * *
JEREMY SET TWO cereal bowls on the kitchen island and filled them with Lucky Charms. To balance his kids’ dietary choices he cut up a banana on top and gave each child a glass of orange juice. “Come on, guys. The school bus will be here in fifteen minutes,” he hollered up the stairs to the second floor of his house.
Two sets of footsteps sounded on the maple staircase of Jeremy’s three-thousand-square-foot home in upscale Hidden Oaks, a suburb of Charleston. He’d closed on the home a year ago, having chosen it for its expansive backyard and gated security. Didn’t hurt that a creek ran across the property line of his three-acre estate, providing him with the opportunity to fish for rainbow trout. Not that he had yet. As soon as he felt secure in his position as anchor for WJQC, he might actually have time to enjoy himself.
Oh, sure, he’d signed a three-year contract. A fair offer, his attorney had told him, with a loophole or two in Jeremy’s favor if the job didn’t work out. Milt Cramer couldn’t fire him without due cause and without paying a sizable buyout. But Jeremy didn’t want out. He’d spent the last year examining his options, and now it was time to settle on something. He wanted to succeed at WJQC. He had altered his entire life to make this move. Plus, he had ideas for the news. Maybe inject a line or two about sports figures, funny or heartwarming stories to lighten up the day-to-day tragedies and tedium.
Jeremy accepted that he was a rookie. He knew what that meant on the football field, and after yesterday’s visit to the station, he knew what it meant in the newsroom. He had a lot to learn. Milt had told him that the pent-up bundle of nerves in the navy pantsuit Jeremy had met yesterday knew more about producing the news than anyone in the business, and she would educate him from A to Z.
What was her name again? Not good to forget the name of the one person who stood between you and abject failure. “Brooke,” he said aloud. “That’s right.”
“Who’s that?” his six-year-old son asked.
“Just a lady I met yesterday.”
“Are you going to marry her?” his nine-year-old daughter said with an obvious slanted eye of disapproval.
“What? No, of course not. I don’t even date anyone, as you well know.”
“Good. You should still love Mommy—” she directed a glance at her brother “—even if she is dead.”
“Stop talking about Mommy dying,” Cody wailed.
“Well, she did, even if you don’t want to talk about it,” Alicia added.
“That’s enough,” Jeremy said, his frustration growing. He was trying with his kids, trying to help them cope, but sometimes it seemed like a losing effort. “I will always love Mommy,” Jeremy assured them. “And we all miss her.”
“Then how come you didn’t marry her,” Alicia said.
Jeremy sighed. “Alicia, we’ve gone over this. Not marrying your mother was a very complicated decision.”
“But people who love each other get married.”
Jeremy shook his head. “Look, there’s something you don’t know. Your mother...” He stopped. Now was not the time to unravel the twisted strands of his relationship with Lynette, especially since the school bus could be pulling up at the gate. Besides, why burden a little girl with the truth? Fairy tales weren’t real. “We’ll talk about this later, okay? Please, get your backpacks and I’ll walk you down the lane to the bus stop.”
The stroll along the cool, shady path to the bus stop was pleasant enough this morning. Jeremy was grateful that his two children were teasing each other and pointing to a pair of chattering squirrels.
“Have a great day,” he said when the bus arrived. He kissed each child on the forehead, watched the bus drive down the two-lane road and headed back inside.
This parenting business was difficult. He’d never realized how hard it could be. Lynette had done all the heavy lifting regarding raising their two kids. Jeremy was the “fun parent” who Skyped every day, told funny stories and showed up every couple of weeks to buy tickets to theme parks and video arcades. But no one thought Lynette would die on a ski slope in Durango, Colorado, over a year ago. And no one thought Jeremy would take over as a full-time dad to two grieving kids.
Lynette was everything Jeremy had wanted for his life partner. Well, almost everything. She was a good mother. She was supportive of his career choice. Lots of pro-football wives resented the holidays they spent with no husband at the head of the table. Lynette never complained. She was happy to see Jeremy when he came to Colorado, and she was the first to wish him good luck on the field when he left.
The only problem was, they weren’t the typical husband and wife. They weren’t husband and wife at all. Over the ten years they’d been together, Jeremy had asked Lynette to marry him at least a half dozen times. The answer was always the same. Why spoil a good thing?
The problem wasn’t him. She loved him. The problem was marriage in general. Unlike Jeremy, Lynette had grown up in a privileged household, though no one would have guessed it upon meeting the down-to-earth woman. But she had her own money, her own interests, her own friends. She simply didn’t want to marry, and didn’t think she needed to.
And so the two remained faithful to each other without the license that Jeremy would have liked, but Lynette preferred to live without. They had two children and consulted each other about every major event or decision in the kids’ lives. Jeremy didn’t believe that Lynette had ever experienced the first twinge of jealousy when he w
ent out of town to stay in hotels and greet fans. She didn’t have to, and she knew it. And he never questioned her loyalty.
And when she had a freak accident on the ski slope that horrible day, Jeremy had gone to comfort his children. Unfortunately, he didn’t know how to comfort himself. That had been fourteen months ago. He’d flown to Colorado at least once a week to visit Cody and Alicia at their grandparents’ home until he’d purchased the house in Hidden Oaks and accomplished his goal of settling down. For the last year, he hoped he’d been providing his kids the secure life they needed.
He wanted to give them a good life, and quitting football and taking a job where he wouldn’t risk a concussion or a broken bone every week seemed the fatherly thing to do. He’d already spent a decade as a professional athlete, had plenty of money, and taking a pay cut to work at the news station wouldn’t cause any unnecessary stress to his bank account. At this point in his life, he considered himself a quiet, thoughtful man who took his responsibilities seriously. But it occurred to him that maybe he was a little dead inside.
Back in his bedroom, Jeremy put on trousers and a button-down shirt. He decided to skip a tie. He wasn’t on the air yet, wouldn’t be for a while, and when it was time he’d go through the dozen or so suits he had in his closet, add new ones and discard the old. For now, he’d keep it casual and hope that Brooke would see his determination in ways other than his dress.
“Marta, I should be home by six,” he said to his housekeeper.
“We’ll be fine, Mr. C. I won’t give the children any unhealthy snacks.”
“You’re already more qualified to be a parent than I am,” he said.
Marta chuckled. “I’ve been a parent four times, sir. It’s not like I don’t know all the tricks.”
Finding Marta had been a gift. Recently widowed, the strong woman with a hearty Scandinavian background needed something to occupy her time. She liked the idea of moving into the house in Hidden Oaks for the company, and so far she was proving to be everything Jeremy needed in a housekeeper. The kids didn’t exactly love her, but they listened when she spoke in that deep, no-nonsense way she had.
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