Hunched over the desk, Van pressed the telephone receiver closer to his ear. He should have found another place from which to make the call. The bedlam behind him nearly drowned out his editor’s voice on the other end of the phone. He was disappointed at not being tapped for the invasion force, but grousing didn’t change the situation. Didn’t the other guys understand there was enough news to go around?
A dry laugh escaped. He used to be like the others, pushing down colleagues to be first in line for the best assignments. Mere months ago, he’d have complained if he wasn’t picked for the invasion team. What had changed?
Cora’s face appeared in his mind, and he smiled. Not what, but who. His sweet, beautiful partner was the difference in his life. Not that he was lackadaisical, but a level of contentment now permeated his existence, and never in a million years would he have anticipated his transformation. If they knew, the other reporters would think he’d gone soft. They ribbed him enough about his co-authoring situation.
Too bad whatever assignment the bureau chief was giving him didn’t include Cora. He’d popped into the chief’s office after the man had barked at him to hurry, then he’d waved Van off with a “Come back later” and a sneer. Not typically friendly, the man was now in a chronic bad mood.
“When are you going to know where you’re going?” Mr. Atkinson’s tinny voice crackled through the phone lines. “I need to figure out how to cover your column.”
He shrugged and then rolled his eyes. His editor couldn’t see his actions. “Dunno. Later is all he said. Once he finishes with the guys he’s sending with the troops, he’ll probably collar me. I can call you afterwards.” Van raked his fingers through his hair. “Cora can handle our column. No need to pair her with anyone else.”
“Is that jealousy in your voice, Toppel?” A warm chuckle came through the line. “I know she’s capable. I hired her. Remember? You were the skeptic, but that has all changed if you’re to be believed.”
“Why wouldn’t you believe me?” Van frowned and squirmed in the chair. “I’ve spilled my guts over a phone line in a room filled with reporters.”
“No need to get testy. I’m yanking your chain. What you do in your personal life is none of my business as long as you’re not letting your relationship get in the way of doing your job. I’m well aware of Miss O’Malley’s reputation as a pot-stirrer, so I put little stock in what she has to say.”
Van blew out a deep breath. “That’s a relief. I’m persuasive, but pleading my case over the telephone has limitations.”
Atkinson guffawed. “You mean you can’t use those puppy-dog eyes of yours like you can with the ladies.”
“Very funny.”
“That’s me. A real comedian. Anyway, I wish the chief had asked me about reassigning you. Your shared stories with Miss Strealer have been a big hit with our readership. We’re receiving hundreds of letters about the articles, some of which wonder whether you two are seeing each other, so I guess your little tête-à-tête might work out to our favor. I’d be a fool not to let you date.”
“Who dates in the middle of a war? Worrying about when the next bomb is going fall puts a damper on a night out. We spend lots of time together, but it’s for research, interviews, and brainstorming.”
“Yeah, that would be a problem, but you’re a smart boy, Van. You’ll figure something out. The more I think about it, you should add this angle to your stories. Give the readers a peek into your life with Miss Strealer.”
“Boss, have you forgotten I’ve been pulled off our series?”
Atkinson growled. “How long before you ship out? Surely, you can pencil-whip a couple of pieces and get them to me by tomorrow.”
“You want me to pull an all-nighter?”
“There’s a war on. Who sleeps?”
“I try to get the luxury of a couple of hours.” Van let sarcasm paint his words. “But I won’t look like much when this is all over.”
“Then it’s a good thing your appearance doesn’t matter to me.” Atkinson’s voice warmed. “In all seriousness, you do need to get some rest. You’re no good to me if you kill yourself through exhaustion, but could you squeeze one piece out tonight? Four hundred words.”
“I can swing that unless the chief puts me on a boat or plane tonight.” Van’s heart lifted. Another piece for their column meant time with Cora before he left. Would he be able to focus on the article rather than his lovely colleague? “Any chance of getting me assigned to the group covering the invasion?”
“No way. That decision sits directly with the chief, and it seems he’s already made his choice. Good luck with the other assignment.”
“Yeah. Thanks, anyway.” Van hung up the phone with a clatter. The noise in the room had dissipated. He glanced around and smiled. Most of the boys had cleared out, probably in search of the next great scoop. No sign of Cora. Had she left the building, too? Might be tough to find her.
Van jumped up and trotted out of the room and through the hall peeking in each room. Nothing. He clattered down the stairs. The White Stag first then her boardinghouse. Where else would she go?
He pushed open the door, and a breeze stroked his face, cooling his hot skin. Blotting the perspiration at his hairline and on his upper lip, with his sleeve, he glanced left then right. Which direction? A flash of yellow across the street caught his attention, and he cringed. Miss O’Malley?
Nope. Cora talked with three women and their children. One of the little girls wore a dandelion-yellow blouse. His chest eased. Thank You, Lord, for helping me find her. He parked himself on the bench at the curb and watched Cora interact with the ladies.
Her smile was gracious and genuine, and the women seemed intent upon her words. They nodded and periodically responded. What story was she chasing? One for their column or had she already struck out on her own? Would she even miss him when he was gone?