2

“You want what?” Jane struggled to keep her voice even. Day two of the new Jane, only nine fifteen on Tuesday morning, and her vow to be upbeat was taking a beating. Alex, leaning against his chaos of a desk and offering her a bulging file folder, was asking the impossible.

Find Moira Kelly Lassiter? How?

An hour earlier, Jane had bought a subway fare card at the Riverside T station, then grabbed a soggy cup of coffee from the instantly inquisitive guy at Java Jim’s.

“Aren’t you—?” he’d begun, his eyes calculating.

“No.” She’d almost burst into tears. Not anymore. It seemed like everyone was looking at her. They all knew who she was from TV. And now they all thought she’d made a mistake.

“You are too!” he’d yelled after her. “You cut all your hair off, but you’re the one who…”

But she was through the turnstile and into her new life. Through the newly opened door. She glanced skyward, at Mom. Gotcha.

Unfolding the Register as the train racketed through Brookline’s yellowing maple trees and plunged into the subway underground, Jane tried to keep her elbows from poking the sleeping commuter beside her. Bridge Killer stuff, of course, on the front page. Wonder if Jake—? She wished she could call him. Get the scoop.

Her heart fluttered, tempting her. Maybe one call, briefly, just to— No way. She turned the page. Pushed Jake out of her mind. She was focused on a new job, not on an off-limits relationship. Not on the only man in the past year or so—since Alex—who’d made her wish that …

No. Work.

Governor Lassiter was up in the polls, according to the Register’s latest. Election looming. Lassiter’s wife canceling her schedule again. Gable campaign scrambling. No issues. No depth. The Register needed her.

Jane had crossed the busy street in front of the Register’s six-story yellow-brick offices and yanked open the heavy glass door, in the throes of a high-speed mental pep talk. Her lawyers promised they’d appeal the verdict. Maybe Sellica would change her mind. Jane would be vindicated. Channel 11 would clamor to take her back.

And tomorrow she’d be extra nice to Java Jim.

Jane had beeped her new ID card through the security reader, waved to the guard at the front desk, punched the elevator button. Punched it again, for punctuation. She’d tackle this newspaper challenge, same way she’d tackled every tough problem. On her own.

Except now, hearing her first assignment—it seemed semi-impossible. She reached up to worry her hair, a left-over-from-J-school nervous habit, but her hair wasn’t there anymore.

“So, Jane?” Alex came from behind his desk, urging the manila file folder toward her. In tasseled loafers, wire-rimmed glasses, and loosened tie, casually attractive, he still seemed more rumpled-preppy street reporter than influential news executive. His wife—having removed him from Boston’s most-eligible-bachelor list—was some corporate honcho. “Here’s the background I had Archive Gus dig out for you. Lots of photos. Think you can find her?”

No, she wanted to say. I can’t “find” Moira Kelly Lassiter, because she’s not lost. She’s just—home. Apparently not wanting to come out. Plus, Alex was assigning her the candidate’s wife? Like some foofy society reporter? Hardly destined to make headlines.

“Alex, maybe she’s tired.” Maybe she could gently derail this idea. “Maybe Moira doesn’t like campaigning. Not all political wives are willing to keep standing in the background, staring adoringly at their husbands.” Jane pushed up the sleeves of her black turtleneck, glad that Alex also wore jeans. Newspaper work did have its fashion pluses. “I should look into campaign contributions, or that union thing. The crime bill. Profiling Moira Lassiter seems kind of—puff.”

Alex had started shaking his head before she was halfway through her plea. “My other political reporters are covering those angles. But Moira, seems she’s suddenly off the radar. What if it’s a face-lift? Great story. Maybe rehab? Hell of a story.” Alex ticked the ideas off on his fingers. “Exhausted? Bored? Depressed? Sick? Unhappy? All front-page stuff. You’re with me on this, right?”

“Ah, sure, Alex,” Jane said. She put her hand to her hair, took it down. She was the new kid now, and it was key to be a team player. “I’ll make some calls, sniff around, see what I get.”

“We’ll play it up big.” Alex held up two fingers at a harried-looking man who’d arrived outside his glass-walled office. Two minutes, Alex mouthed. He turned back to Jane. “All set?”

“I’ll have to go through Lassiter’s scheduling gorgons. If they say no—”

“That means another door will open, right?” Two red lights flashed on Alex’s desk phone, his intercom buzzed, the man waited in the doorway. “We’re counting on you, Ryland. Find out what’s happened to Moira Kelly Lassiter.”