by Anne Manning

Chapter 1

The end of a tunnel had never looked so inviting, Cassandra Mercer thought as shelugged her carry-on down the interminable jetway at Dulles International. Once through thedouble doors and into the terminal, she scanned the crowd, searching.

"Cassandra, darling, here."

Cassie smiled and raised her hand in answer, quickening her pace against the current ofhuman bodies toward the tall, elegant woman in the cream wool suit.

"Mother," she whispered as arms enfolded her. Cassie dropped her carry-on and purseand squeezed just as hard, inhaling the ephemeral scent of White Diamonds.

Finally Astrid Montgomery held her away a bit. "Let me look at you, darling." One fineeyebrow arched under the pure white waves of her fashionable haircut. "You're thin andpale."

"And you're beautiful, as usual." Cassie glanced around. "Where's Daddy?"

"The head," Astrid replied, making Cassie laugh at her use of Navy jargon. "He's takingthose prostate pills, you know."

"Here's my little girl." Jim Mercer's booming voice drowned out all the noise aroundthem.

"Daddy!" Cassie threw herself into her father's arms and, in spite of all her bestintentions to act her age, big fat, happy tears plopped down her cheeks. Astrid took out a lacyhandkerchief and wiped Cassie's, then dabbed at her own.

"Your father has talked of nothing but your coming home ever since you called with thenews."

"Ah, like you've had anything else on your mind," Jim responded. He loosened his bear-hug and gazed down into Cassie's eyes. "Your mother has been planning which restaurants we'regoing to eat at for the next three weeks."

"Restaurants? You still don't know how to cook, Astrid?" Cassie said.

Jim hooted. "Lost cause, love."

"Then why on earth did you marry her, Daddy?"

"She's the best newsman I ever met." Jim put his arms around them both and winked atCassie. "Got a killer body, too."

"Jim, stop it."

Ignoring his wife's pretended outrage, Jim pulled them toward the signs pointing to thebaggage claim area. "Let's get your luggage and get you home, sweetheart."

"Before we go home, if you don't mind, Daddy, I have to go to the bureau office first.I'm supposed to see Charlie about my assignment."

"It can't wait a day for you to get some rest?" Astrid said.

"The bureau chief in Paris was adamant I get over to the Washington office as soon as Igot here. Didn't bother to say what the hurry was, though."

Astrid and Jim exchanged a glance that Cassie, with twenty years' experience in thenews business, could hardly have missed.

"What?" Her eyes flicked from one to the other.

"Nothing, Princess." Jim pulled them along.

"Oh, look. Cassie Mercer. That's her." A young woman's voice carried across thecorridor. "Hi, Cassie."

Cassie jerked her head toward the sound of her name and waved, completelyflummoxed.

No more than twenty paces further, another young woman, this one with a toddler intow, cut in front of them and turned, walking backward ahead of them.

"Ms. Mercer, would you autograph my copy?"

"Sure... Your copy of what?"

"Modern Home. The one with the poll." The woman waved the magazine infront of Cassie's eyes.

As she read the words on the cover, Cassie's mouth dropped open.

She took the magazine and looked into her own eyes. Her standard publicity shot gracedthe cover. Beside her cool, professional smile were the words: Cassandra Mercer, the mosttrusted woman in America.

"This is a gag, right?" she said.

"Nope. Here," Jim said, his voice crackling with amusement as he handed her apen.

Cassie mechanically signed the cover of the magazine and muttered, "Thank you."

"Come on, Princess, before more of your fans swarm us."

By the time they'd reached the baggage claim area, Cassie had finally recovered fromthe shock of the long flight and her unexpected celebrity.

"Okay, what's going on?"

"Well," Astrid said, pulling a copy of Modern Home from her own bag. "Readit for yourself."

Cassie took the magazine and leaned against a pillar, scanning the article while herfather went to collect her luggage. The yearly poll asked readers of the largest circulationwomen's magazine in the country to name the people who had earned their trust.

It hadn't even been close. She'd outdistanced the second place finisher, the President ofthe United States, by ten percent.

"Your quick trip home starting to make sense?" Astrid said.

Cassie closed the magazine and handed it back to Astrid. "Cassandra Mercer is the mosttrusted woman in the America, and ATV is cashing in on the positive publicity."

"The honchos at ATV have something cooking and you, my treasure, are the mainingredient."

"Come on, girls, we're parked in the short-term lot." Jim led the way out the automaticdoors, wheeling Cassie's two oversized suitcases. As he approached the shiny brown Lincolnparked in the first row, he popped the trunk and unlocked the doors. Over his shoulder he said,"Maybe you'll get the prime-time news magazine ATV's got in the works."

"That would be nice," Cassie replied. "I hear there's going to be a big-time budget forsome real investigative journalism." Even as she said this, she noticed her mother's satisfiedsmile. Slipping into the backseat, she ordered, "Give, Mother."

"Oh, I have my hunches," Astrid replied with a coy glance.

Jim huffed as he got into the car and twisted the key in the ignition. "Don't listen to her,Princess. She doesn't have any facts to back those hunches up."

"Jim, you know perfectly well..."

Her parents' voices dimmed to a hum as Cassie's eyes were drawn to the grimy rear ofthe bus chugging along ahead of them toward the four-lane access road. She sprang forward.

"Do you see that?" Cassie pointed to the bus. On the big sign was her picture and thestylized clock that served as ATV's logo. And one more thing.

America trusts Cassie Mercer.

Astrid turned, her Cheshire smile even broader. "They're all over--busses, billboards,newspapers. And you know, darling, the grapevine is full..."

"Astrid, don't spread rumors."

"What rumors?" Cassie said.

Astrid waved away Jim's warning. "Cassandra knows how to evaluate unsubstantiatedinformation." She turned back to Cassie. "There are big changes in the making at ATV. Mymoney is on your replacing Rebecca Winston at the White House."

"Why would they want to replace her?"

"Personality conflict. Now, I understand the President's political views are a bitreactionary, but Winston's been so confrontational, no one at the White House will even talk toher. She has zero access over there."

Jim snorted. "If I was still bureau chief, she'd'a been pounding the pavement or waitingtables by now."

"Yes, dear. If you were chief," Astrid cooed. She quirked a look at her husbandbefore saying, "I have to get him back to work. He's driving me insane."

Cassie grinned as she stretched on the luxurious leather seat. "Maybe we can find a nicewar zone for him to report from. Afghanistan? Iraq? Ah." She sat up and leaned on the front seatand whispered in her father's ear. "The Vatican, seat of international intrigue."

"My sainted mother would haunt me if I started looking for dirt on the Holy Father." Jimpunched a button on the radio and smiled in the rear-view mirror at her as the localcountry-music station came on. "Sit back and enjoy the ride, Princess. Looks like we're in for sometraffic."

"Thanks, Daddy," Cassie said, pecking his cheek.

"Ah," she whispered as Trace Adkins' raspy baritone spiced the air.

Cassie rested and enjoyed the smooth ride, the good music, the sound of her parents'voices as they argued about the possibilities for their daughter's future.

But, right at this moment, it didn't really matter where ATV's plans had her going.

After ten years, it was just good to be home.

* * * *

Four-thirty. Way too early to be leaving the office. Way too much to do, but... BillMacAllister shrugged off guilt along with his jacket, slinging it over his shoulder as he waitedfor the elevator to arrive. He smiled at the squeal of the doors as they opened.

"You'd better get this thing into the shop for service, Raymond," he said to theattendant.

Raymond laughed, his dark face crinkling in good humor. "I'm waitin' to trade it in on anew model. What's the chance, sir?"

"Not a one, man. I promised to cut spending."

"You might be taking the stairs soon, then. Ol' Bessie here ain't in the best ofhealth."

"Wouldn't hurt me or any of the rest of this bunch to take the stairs once in a while." Billleaned against the wall of the ancient elevator as it creaked toward the second floor.

"Early night, sir?"

Sliding his hands into his pockets, Bill nodded. "I couldn't concentrate."

Raymond echoed his nod. "Are you doing all right today?"

Bill couldn't hide he knew exactly what Raymond was talking about. First anniversarieswere the hardest, he'd been told.

"I'm okay, Raymond. Thanks for asking."

"I hope so, sir." The man's dark eyes reflected the concern Bill heard in his voice. "Thisis going to be a bad night for you. If you need some company, I'll be glad to stay."

Bill's throat went tight and he couldn't respond. Raymond didn't seem to notice, thoughBill knew there was little the man didn't see.

"She was a fine lady. What happened was a terrible thing," Raymond said. "If there'sanything you need, even if it's just somebody to talk to, you call me."

"That means a lot to me, Raymond."

Raymond shrugged. "It ain't nothing, sir." He smiled. "Besides, you got the best beer inWashington, and there ain't no other place in this town to get a decent game of cards."

The elevator shuddered to a stop and the doors opened with much protest.

Glad for the chance to lighten things up a little, Bill laughed. "It's been too long, that'sfor sure. We'll get a game together soon." He stepped out into the hallway.

Raymond's smile broadened. "Good deal, sir. Good night."

The doors closed, leaving Bill alone in the wide corridor. Allowing himself only amoment's pause, he started toward the sitting room at the end of the hall, past the room they'dshared. The room where so much of his life had ended.

"You're doing all right, Bill," he told himself, thinking he'd make it past the doortonight, but he froze as a tickle taunted his nose, just the hint of lilac. The door opened at a touch,though he'd ordered it locked, and the scent of lilac flooded out. He'd hoped one of the domesticstaff had spilled her perfume on the carpet, but as he entered, he saw her antique crystal bottle inits place on the dresser.

The gentle scent she'd worn for as long as he'd known her wafted around his head,evoking memories of her. Her eyes, amethyst in certain light. Her trim ankles--she had terrificlegs. Her raven hair.

Her presence was so strong he thought she must be here. She wouldn't be the first spiritto roam this house.

Even as he formed the thought, Bill knew the truth was more prosaic. He just couldn't lether go.

At that moment, his eyes lit upon the lacquer box on the dresser, the box holding herashes. Why hadn't he taken her home yet? Crossing the room, he picked it up with tremblinghands.

"I'm home, honey," he whispered to the ashes inside.

Afraid he'd drop it, he set the box back on the dresser and backed against the bed. Justlike that morning, when he'd found her, so cold and pale, yet still so beautiful, his knees gave outand he sank to the floor. Just like that morning the tears, tears he'd thought long dried,flowed.

Resting his elbows on his knees, he gave himself over to his grief. It was all he had leftof her.