by Irene Hannon
A murmur swept the courtroom, and the judge banged his gavel until order was restored.
Cal waited until the room was completely quiet before he spoke again. “Please continue, Mr. Lewis. What happened next?”
“After the girl went in, Jamie got back in the car and took off with his tires screeching. When he got to the corner there was a blinking red light, but he didn’t stop. And that’s when I saw the man in the middle of the crosswalk. Next thing I knew, Jamie hit him. Then he slammed into a streetlight.”
Once again, the courtroom erupted, and the judge banged more forcefully on his desk. “Order, order,” he barked.
When quiet was once more restored, Cal put his hands in his pockets and rested one foot on the elevated platform where Eldon Lewis sat. “What happened then, Mr. Lewis?”
“I just kind of stood there in shock. Then Jamie got out of the car, so I knew he was okay. A couple of other cars came by a minute or two later and stopped.”
“Did you report this to anyone?”
The man looked down and shook his head. “No. I—I didn’t want to get involved, and other people had already stopped. So I knew someone would call the police.”
“Did you realize you were the only eyewitness?”
“No. Not until you folks told me.”
“Mr. Lewis, let me ask you one final question. Is there any doubt in your mind that the man you saw on the night of September fourth was Jamie Johnson?”
“No, sir. It was him, all right.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lewis. No further questions at this time, Your Honor, but I’d like to reserve the right to recall this witness.”
The judge nodded. “Does the defense wish to question the witness?”
Jamie Johnson’s lead attorney stood. It was obvious that the testimony of Cal’s witness had taken the defense team off guard, and Johnson himself was clearly angry. “The defense would like to request an adjournment until Monday so that we can process this new information over the weekend, Your Honor.”
“Very well. We will reconvene at ten o’clock Monday morning. Court dismissed.”
Amy instantly rose and headed toward the door, pushing through the crowd, her cell phone in hand. She needed to alert the station to get ready for a live feed. Steve was waiting in front of the courthouse, and she intended to catch Johnson on tape as he exited. She also needed to review the notes she’d taken and organize her thoughts for her on-camera report.
Steve was off to one side of the courthouse as she exited, and he quickly joined her.
“What gives?”
“The prosecution came up with an eyewitness.”
Steve gave a low whistle. “Big news.”
“I think Johnson and his lawyers will come out the front. They aren’t going to be expecting any of the TV stations to be here. I want to catch them off guard and see if we can get a comment.”
Steve hefted the camera to his shoulder. “I’m with you.”
Amy stepped to one side of the main door, her heart banging against her rib cage. She forced herself to take several long, deep breaths. Her lips and throat felt dry, and she wished she had a drink of water. But she didn’t dare leave her post. Johnson could be along any minute. And, thanks to Cal, she would at last have her scoop.
By the time the pandemonium in the courtroom quieted and Cal finished conferring with his own team, Amy had disappeared. A quick, sweeping glance of the room confirmed her absence—as well as the chaos in the opposing camp. His gaze lingered for a moment on Jamie Johnson, who was one angry jock. His defense team was huddled around him, and it was clear their plans were in disarray for the moment. But Cal expected a quick recovery. They would reappear Monday with both barrels loaded, and he fully expected that they would do everything they could to discredit Eldon Lewis’s testimony. Unfortunately, they might very well succeed. But he hoped that the man’s sincere recount would ring true with some of the jurors, or at least plant enough doubt to stave off an acquittal on the involuntary manslaughter charge.
As Cal gathered up his papers and stuffed them into his briefcase, Bill Jackson leaned over. “I sense wrath in the opposing camp.”
Cal glanced again toward the defense team. “That’s putting it mildly.”
“We certainly took them by surprise. I expect those guys will be putting in some long hours this weekend.”
Cal gave his colleague a brief, mirthless grin. “They’ll be well compensated for it.”
“Too true. Say, speaking of long hours, did you notice that our favorite reporter was in the courtroom again today? Talk about a coup! She’ll definitely have the scoop on this news.”
“Yeah.” Cal picked up his briefcase. He didn’t want to discuss Amy with Bill. “And as for those long hours…see you tomorrow.”
Bill made a face. “I’ll be glad when this is over, if for no other reason than I’ll finally have my Saturdays back.”
“Until the next case comes along,” Cal reminded him with a wry grin as he turned to go.
As he strode out of the courtroom, he ignored the venomous looks hurled his way by Johnson. The man was clearly holding on to his control with great effort. In fact, in the absence of his lawyers, who were almost physically restraining him, Cal suspected Johnson would be punching someone out. Probably him. His seething anger was almost palpable.
As Cal stepped into the hall, he once again glanced around for Amy, but she was nowhere in sight. He supposed she was already on her way back to the station. The story would probably be in the top slot on the six o’clock news, and time would be of the essence in putting the piece together. Though he could understand her haste, he felt oddly disappointed by her absence. Which was not a good sign. Somehow, some way, he had to figure out a way to get over the attraction he felt for her. Problem was, he didn’t have a clue how to go about it.
After detouring to drop some papers off in another part of the courthouse, Cal exited by a side door, glancing toward the main entrance as he stepped outside. The sight of Amy and the cameraman who had done the filming at Saint Vincent’s brought him to an abrupt stop. She must be waiting for Johnson to come out, he realized with a frown. Considering the man’s black mood, that might not be wise, he realized, suddenly switching directions. He needed to warn her to be prepared for the sports star’s anger.
Amy was so focused on the door that she didn’t even see him approach. But as he rapidly closed the distance between them, then paused a few feet away, Cal saw a great deal. He saw the slight tremor in her hand. He saw the pulse beating frantically in the hollow of her throat. He saw the way she nervously moistened her lips. He saw her swallow convulsively and take a deep breath. Most people would never notice those subtle signs of nervousness. But he did, which only caused his frown to deepen. Since when had he become something other than “most people,” he wondered? Since when had he become so attuned to her nuances?
Cal didn’t know the answer to those questions. All he knew was that right now, Amy was doing something she didn’t enjoy. And he suddenly recalled what she had told him that night in her apartment—that there were some parts of her job she didn’t particularly like. This kind of confrontational reporting was obviously one of them. A big one.
As Cal once again started forward, the main door suddenly opened and Johnson burst through, followed by his attorneys. Amy stepped forward and held the microphone out.
“Mr. Johnson, would you like to comment on the latest development in your case?”
Startled, he stopped and turned to her, his face growing even more thunderous when he saw the camera. “What the—?” He muttered an oath and roughly knocked the microphone aside. The violence of the action made Amy momentarily lose her balance, and Johnson reached over and gripped her arm as she teetered. He stepped close, towering over her. “You are asking for big trouble, lady,” he said through clenched teeth, his face only inches from hers.
She stood her ground and stared up at him defiantly. “If you don’t let go of my arm, you’re goin
g to be in even bigger trouble than you already are,” she said coldly.
It all happened so fast that Cal was momentarily stunned. He recovered at about the same time as Johnson’s lawyers, who interceded before he could reach Amy.
“Come on, Jamie,” one said placatingly as he put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Let it go. Remember what we talked about inside.”
The sports star hesitated for a moment, then released Amy’s arm, throwing in a shove for good measure. “Yeah. But stay out of my face, you hear me?” he called over his shoulder as his lawyers hurried him away.
Steve lowered the camera from his shoulder and shook his head. “Man, that is one angry dude. You okay?”
Amy drew a deep breath and nodded. “Did you get all that on tape?”
Steve grinned and patted the camera. “It’s recorded for posterity. Not to mention the six o’clock news.”
Amy managed a shaky smile. “Great. Listen, give me two minutes to go over my notes. Then we’ll do a live feed.”
“Sure thing. I’ll wait over on the bench.”
As he ambled off, Cal watched as Amy ran the palms of her hands down her slacks and closed her eyes. Though she’d stood her ground calmly and coolly with Johnson, the encounter had clearly been traumatic for her. At least clear to him, Cal amended. Yet she’d displayed an amazing degree of calm and bravado.
Cal knew that Amy considered these kinds of assignments a proving ground, a step toward the kind of reporting she really wanted to do, but watching her now, he wasn’t sure the prize was worth the price. And strangely enough, he suddenly wished he could just give her her dream so she wouldn’t have to deal with people like Johnson. But he knew that the best he could do was simply let her know someone cared.
“Amy?”
His voice was gentle, but she gasped and instinctively stepped back, her body tensing into a defensive posture as her eyelids flew open.
“Cal!” Her shoulders sagged and she tried to smile. “You startled me.”
“I’m sorry. I came out the side door just in time to witness your encounter with Johnson. Listen, I know you said you were okay, but are you sure?” he asked, his brow furrowed worriedly.
She drew a steadying breath. “Of course.”
His gaze moved to her arm, red beneath the edge of her short-sleeved jacket, and his own anger began to simmer anew. “You have grounds for assault, you know.”
She shook her head impatiently. “It’s not the first time something like this has happened. If I pressed charges every time someone threw his weight around, I’d spend half my life in court. It just shakes me up for a few minutes.” She frowned and glanced distractedly at her watch. “I need to get my report on tape. And I want to get back to the studio and do a little editing before airtime. It’s going to be tight.”
Cal nodded. “I’ll let you get to work, then.”
He started to turn away, but paused when she reached out and tentatively touched his arm. “Cal, I… Thanks.”
He looked back at her, thrown by the electric jolt that shot through him at her simple touch. And he wasn’t sure how to respond to her gratitude. He was glad she’d gotten her story. But the scene he’d just witnessed had upset him more than he cared to admit. The moment Johnson had touched her, he’d wanted to deck the guy. It wasn’t an impulse he had often, and considering that she was a strong, independent woman, he wasn’t sure she would appreciate the fact that he’d felt the need to “rescue” her.
But what disturbed him even more was the knowledge that this scenario wasn’t a one-time occurrence. This time there’d been plenty of people around to intervene. But what about the times when she was in danger and there was no one to step in? Cal wasn’t a man accustomed to fear. But the realization that Amy put herself in situations where she could get hurt—badly—made his gut twist painfully.
“Why do you do this to yourself?” he said abruptly. There was anger in his question, and bewilderment. The words—and tone—surprised him as much as they did her, judging by the startled expression on her face.
“It’s part of the job,” she said after a moment.
“But do you like doing this? Do you like dealing with scum like Johnson?” he persisted.
“Do you?”
He shrugged dismissively. “It’s part of my job.”
She just looked at him, and her silence spoke more eloquently than words.
He sighed and conceded her point with a nod. “Okay, you win. But do me a favor, will you? Make it an early night.”
Again she seemed momentarily taken aback. “Why?”
He frowned. Why, indeed? Because he thought she’d been through enough today? Because she worked too hard and needed a break? Because he didn’t like the fine lines of strain around her eyes? Because he cared about her more than he should, more than was wise, more than he wanted to?
The furrows in Cal’s brow deepened. There was no way he could verbalize any of that. Especially since he didn’t understand how he had come to feel that way.
“Never mind,” he said shortly, his fingers clenching the handle of his briefcase. “It’s none of my business, anyway.” And with that he turned and strode away.
Amy stared after him in confusion. Now what was that all about? First he was solicitous, then he was angry. Men! It was a good thing she wasn’t romantically involved. She’d spend her life trying to figure the guy out instead of focusing on her career. But as she watched Cal’s stiff, retreating back, she was startled to realize that maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad use of her time—especially if the man was Cal Richards.
Amy took a soothing sip of tea and sighed contentedly. She had a lazy Saturday morning all to herself to bask in the glow of the coup she’d pulled off yesterday. As the other stations scrambled to piece together something for their ten o’clock news programs, Amy’s coverage of yesterday’s events had been picked up nationally by affiliated stations, giving both her—and the story—coast-to-coast exposure. She’d even received a call from the station vice president congratulating her for her diligence and for her comprehensive coverage of the case.
Amy took another sip of tea and stuck an English muffin in the toaster. She was diligent. She’d worked hard to stay one step ahead of the competition on this story, and she’d succeeded. Yesterday’s piece had done exactly what she wanted it to do. It had gotten her noticed by the right people. Thanks to Cal’s tip. While she might have been in court anyway yesterday, there were days when she spent less time at the trial because of other assignments. Yesterday could very well have been one of them.
As she buttered her English muffin, she suddenly recalled Cal’s question yesterday about whether she liked dealing with scum like Johnson, and a shadow crossed her face. She hadn’t answered him directly. Because up until now, she hadn’t really answered it for herself. Mostly because it was irrelevant. Bottom line, it didn’t matter what she liked or didn’t like. The station chose her assignments, and she did what she was told. And did it well.
But as she munched on the muffin, she came face-to-face with something she’d been dancing around for the past couple of years. For some reason, she couldn’t avoid the question anymore, couldn’t chase it away to some dark corner of her consciousness. It demanded an answer. And the answer was simple. She hated dealing with people like Johnson. Hated it to the very depths of her being. And then came the inevitable follow-up question, the one she’d really been avoiding. If she hated it so much, was the end result worth all the stress and strain?
Amy stopped chewing. Up until now, she’d always kept her gaze firmly fixed on her goal—first an anchor slot, and ultimately a network position that would let her do in-depth issues reporting, such as the coverage she’d done around the Johnson case relating to alcohol abuse or with the Saint Vincent’s story. Solid, feature reporting that had the potential to create awareness about problems and change lives for the better. Those were the kinds of stories that gave her the greatest satisfaction. Because they counted for someth
ing. They made a difference. And their impact was far longer lasting than anything she would ever report about the Jamie Johnson trial.
Amy frowned. Funny. In the past, whenever she’d thought about her career, she’d always listed “celebrity status” and money as her top reasons for wanting a high-profile feature job. When had they slipped to second place? What had brought her to the realization that it was the opportunity to make a positive difference in people’s lives that was most important to her?
Amy’s gaze fell on the card that had come with Cal’s flowers. It was still lying on the counter, waiting for her to make what had been an oddly difficult decision—keep or pitch? Both choices seemed to symbolize something, and she wasn’t ready to deal with that yet. So she’d uncharacteristically made no decision and done nothing. She reached over and fingered the card thoughtfully. Until a few weeks ago, she was content and in control, certain about what she wanted out of life. Then along came Cal Richards, with his steadfast values, solid faith and clear priorities, to disrupt her equilibrium—both emotionally and professionally.
And yet…Amy couldn’t honestly say that she was sorry they’d met. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t too comfortable to reexamine her carefully crafted career plan. Maybe it wasn’t too comfortable to deal with her lapsed faith. Maybe it wasn’t too comfortable to think about just how long she planned to defer creating the family she ultimately wanted to have. But maybe it was time.
Amy sighed. For the last few years she’d sailed along, single-mindedly focused on one thing—making it big in broadcast journalism. She was now well on her way to achieving that goal. But meeting Cal had not only made her question that journey, it had also made her realize just how lonely it had been. Even more, it made her yearn for someone special to share it with. And different though they were, she couldn’t help but wistfully wonder for one brief moment what it would be like if that special someone was Cal.