Space in His Heart (9 page)

“Or kill it,” she added deftly. “I’m at
Kennedy now, Paul. I can get him in a few minutes.” She paused a
moment. “Oh, by the way, any awards coming your way for the IBM
story?”

“No Pulitzers yet, but a ton of email and
letters. It really got noticed and I’ve had a few juicy assignments
because of it.” The reporter chuckled. “I owe you on that one,
Jess.”

A satisfied smile lit her face, making it
obvious that she expected a favor in return for whatever she’d
given him in the past. “Why don’t you hold a minute? I have
Commander Stockard available for you.” She stabbed the hold button
and looked up at Deke. “Ready?”

He stood and moved into the chair next to
her, his resentment rolling in waves that he hoped she could
feel.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Everything
you’re about to say is true, isn’t it?”

“True enough.” He reached for the hold button
and met her challenging gaze. “Let’s get this over with.”

After her introductions, the reporter
attempted some small talk. “You’re not taking
Endeavour
up
in February, are you, Commander Stockard? You’re taking
Atlantis
up in May, I understand.”

Deke didn’t try to keep the annoyance out of
his voice. “Correct. But since I’m involved with the pre-launch
preparation for both missions, let me address this so-called memo
you have.”

“Fine. How have cost cuts affected
safety?”

“They haven’t.” The smartest thing she’d said
was to bury him in facts and Deke began immediately. In ten
minutes, he could hear the reporter’s keyboard quiet as he either
ran out of steam or interest. Even Jessica stopped taking
notes.

“All that may be true, Commander,” Paul
finally said. “But you can’t eliminate all risk, can you?”

“You know, Mr. Zimmerman, we all take risks
in this business, but not stupid ones,” he answered slowly. “I
don’t want to die and neither do the men and women I fly with. We
participate in or review data from nearly thirty inspections that
take place on every piece of equipment on a shuttle prior to
launch. When we sit on that launch pad with sixty tons of liquid
hydrogen under us, we intend to come home.”

The clicking of Paul’s keys stopped
completely. “I appreciate your time, sir. I hope I get the
opportunity to speak with you again.”

“If it’s necessary.”

Deke watched Jessica quickly slide the
speakerphone closer to her, giving him a warning look. Hey, he
played her game. He didn’t have to play nice.

“We can get you a pass for the launch, Paul,”
she offered brightly. “Can we expect a response today from your
editorial board on this story?”

“I’ll give you a call before eleven and let
you know what’s happening. Thanks again, Commander Stockard. Jess,
thanks for handling the arrangements.”

“You bet,” she responded. “Here’s my cell
phone. Call me as soon as you know what the editorial decision
is.”

While giving him the number, she leaned her
elbows on the table and pulled the sides of her hair up, revealing
fine bones and creamy skin. As she hit the speakerphone button, her
gaze moved to Deke, relief shining in her deep brown eyes.

“See? That wasn’t so bad.”

Wordlessly, he stood, knowing the daggers he
shot at her had to be felt. She dropped her hair and it fell around
her face, hiding her expression before turning to Colonel Price and
Skip Bowker. “Do either of you have any idea who could have sent
something to the media? Any unhappy ex-employees?”

“My guys are clean,” Skip responded. “We
haven’t had any problems, and I don’t have a clue who would talk to
the media.”

“Whatever piece of paper he claims to be
looking at is a fraud,” Colonel Price added with certainty.

The conversation stopped when Jessica’s cell
phone rang. As soon as she answered, her face brightened and she
gave a thumbs-up to Colonel Price.

Into the phone, she lowered her voice and
turned from the group watching her. “What do you think of Stockard?
He’s the best story on the Cape. Can I call you next week? I have
an idea for a feature.”

When she snapped her phone shut, Deke started
to leave the room, avoiding her smug smile of triumph.

“Commander.” He hadn’t made it out the door
before she called him. He stopped, but didn’t turn.

“I just wanted to thank you,” she said from
behind him.

He spun around with such force that she
literally backed up. “I’ve already had enough of your fluffy little
assignment and your bulldozer approach. You have no
idea—
none
—what kind of fire you’re playing with.” He forced
his mouth closed before he told her that a man’s life depended on
getting that shuttle up on February thirteenth. She didn’t need to
know that.

Colonel Price stepped into the hallway.

“Excellent work, my man.” He gripped Deke’s
shoulder in congratulations. “And good thinking on your part, Miss
Marlowe. I’m happy to have you on our team.”

Great. Price was supposed to kick her out,
not welcome her aboard.

“I’m sorry I blindsided you,” she finally
said, a gentle truce in her eyes and voice. She reached out and,
for the second time that day, burned his arm with the warmth of her
soft fingers.

His gaze dropped to her hand and traveled
back to her face. Her lips parted slightly and she attempted a
smile. “Couldn’t we just try and work together?” she finally
asked.

An unfamiliar twist seized his gut. He took a
shallow breath and leaned closer to her. “You are naïve and
relentless.” Her eyes widened in surprise. “In my opinion,
sweetheart, that is a dangerous combination.”

He turned and followed Colonel Price. He
didn’t trust himself to stay that close to her for one minute
longer.

Chapter Seven

Bill Dugan killed time logging his billable
hours and reading email while he waited for Jessica to call him
back. Hell. He billed sixty hours this week alone, he noted as he
logged out of the TimeSheets program. He ran a hand through his
thinning hair and stood to stare at the wintry gray waters of the
Potomac outside his office window.

Some adventurous sailors were out, trying to
take advantage of a sunny, if chilly, November Saturday. He, of
course, was stuck at his desk, racking up time so that Tony Palermo
could get even richer when the British conglomerate that owned Ross
& Clayton handed out year-end bonuses.

He mentally calculated how much Tony would
make this year. Too damn much, that’s what. A digital tone on his
desk phone interrupted his math. The readout flashed one of the KSC
phone numbers. Jessica must have finished with
Newsweek
.

“How’d it go?” he asked without preamble.

“Fine. Perfect. We deflected the story and I
planted a feature.”

Naturally
, he thought with a rueful
smile. Did he really think Jessica Marlowe could possibly fuck up?
He smoothly congratulated her.

“What was your strategy?” Bill asked as he
uncapped his Montblanc pen. Better take notes so he could give Tony
every detail. She rattled on about circuit inspections and
something called a PLIC while he scratched notes.

“Whoa. You’re getting technical on me,
Jess.”

She laughed. “It’s in the water down
here.”

“Well, it sounds like you put Zimmerman off
for now, but do you think we should worry about a bad seed being
planted at
Newsweek
?”

“This reporter totally owes me for IBM. I’m
thinking cover story. I’ve got his headline.
America Falls in
Love with Space Again
.” With a start, he realized she was
serious. He heard that ring of confidence he’d noticed in
think-tank sessions. “Give me a few weeks and Paul Zimmerman will
be putty in our hands.”

“That a girl,” he said, adding a measure of
warmth to his own voice so that she wouldn’t be insulted by the
politically incorrect usage of the “G” word.

He had to be careful. He couldn’t actually
say what everyone knew. Women owned the PR field, so it really
didn’t matter what you called them. It was a female’s business.
Unless, of course, you owned the shop.

“Now you go enjoy that barbeque tonight,
Jess. You earned it.”

“Did you hear about that?” She sounded
surprised. “Nice of Stu, isn’t it? He’s a good guy.”

Stu?
Didn’t take her long to cozy up
to his client.

“Congratulations, again, on the good work.
I’ll put a memo in your file.”

He heard her hesitation. “Sure. Thanks,
Bill.”

He didn’t even put down the receiver after he
disconnected her call, but punched in Tony’s home number from
memory. A terse voice mail only frustrated him.

Flipping open his PDA, he typed three letters
into the digital phone book. Would Carla be at home on a Saturday
or the office? The office, he decided, as he dialed it.

He’d promised to keep her informed on
Jessica’s progress. After all, Jessica would be working for her
when this was all over.

It was all quid pro quo in this business.

* * *

The cars were lined up for blocks in the
neighborhood of Canaveral Groves where Stuart and Wendy Rosen lived
with their seven-year-old twins, Adam and Jake. Jessica arrived
nearly a half hour late, but knew Stuart would understand. After
the
Newsweek
interview, she’d gone into her office to
debrief the account team back in Washington and mentally unwind
from the roller-coaster ride she had taken that afternoon.

The last part had been the hardest. She
didn’t like doing NASA’s damage control.
They
had to figure
out how to make the damn things safe to fly. She had to turn the
astronaut into a celebrity and get home.

Which wouldn’t be too hard if he could only
do to the camera what he did to her with one intense look. Like the
one he’d given her in the hall a few hours earlier. What had he
called her, naïve and relentless? Oh, and sweetheart. Called her
that a lot, she noticed.

Jessica dabbed on a little lip gloss using
the rearview mirror for a final check. A bulldozer. An
overachiever. She’d been called them all. And when faced with such
a tenuous hold on her hard-earned position, she couldn’t care less.
Ever since a grade-school-aged Jessica realized that bringing home
straight A’s erased the sadness in her father’s eyes, she’d done
whatever was necessary to succeed.

She tucked her yellow silk shell deeper into
the top of her white jeans and took a deep breath as she started up
the walk to Stuart’s house. She didn’t have to explain her motives
to Deke Stockard or anyone else.

“Hey, it’s ‘No News is Good News’ Marlowe!”
Stuart waved from his patio and stepped out the door to greet her.
“What a day, huh? Come on in and meet Wendy.”

A petite woman with short sandy hair and a
quick smile arrived a second later. “We’re so glad you’re here.
Even more so after today. Stuart tells me you were masterful.”

Jessica held out a bottle of Chardonnay and
laughed self-consciously. “I don’t know about that. I didn’t do the
interview.” She leaned forward in a half-hug. “I’m delighted to
meet you, Wendy. Stuart talks about you incessantly.”

“Stuart talks incessantly about everything.
That’s why I love him.” She returned the hug and led Jessica back
into the kitchen.

“I appreciate the chance to get to know
everyone like this,” Jessica said, taking the glass of wine that
Wendy offered.

“Always better to see your crew away from the
office and meet their better halves,” Wendy said, lifting a tray of
stuffed mushrooms. “Come outside with me while I feed the hungry
mob.”

They stepped through a doorway that led to
the patio where torch lamps cast a shimmering golden tone on the
pool and outside speakers carried Bonnie Raitt’s blues through the
air. A boisterous group of familiar colleagues gathered
poolside.

Too familiar.

Deke Stockard held a longneck in one hand and
pointed the other toward the sky, punctuating a story with the
animated gesture. They all broke into laughter and he lowered his
arm to rest it casually on the shoulder of a stunning blonde in a
tight denim skirt and low-cut crop top.

The girl laughed heartily at whatever Deke
had said and gazed up at him with admiration. He responded with a
relaxed smile, something Jessica wasn’t sure she’d ever seen
before. Then he raised the bottle to take a sip of beer just as he
caught Jessica staring at him from across the patio. The bottle
froze.

“Oh, there’s Deke and, um, Caryn.” Wendy
turned to Jessica, interrupting the dance in her stomach at the
sight of him. “She’s his girlfriend. Sort of. I guess.” She guided
Jessica to the group. “Okay, stop all the tall tales from Stockard
and Clark and meet our guest of honor, Jessica Marlowe.”

“I’ve already had the pleasure, Wendy,” Jeff
Clark jumped in. “It’s nice to see you again, Jessica. This is my
wife, Debbie.”

Jessica made her way through the
introductions, ending with Deke’s sort-of girlfriend. Who was sort
of gorgeous.

A giggle lilted in the breathless voice that
matched a nearly flawless face. “We’ve heard all about you. I’m
Caryn Camden.”

Jessica looked away from Caryn’s perfectly
made-up blue eyes to Deke’s navy ones. He took a sip and swallowed,
studying her with the same intensity he had earlier in the
afternoon. Jessica’s nerve endings tingled with the same
response.

Caryn leaned just a little closer to Deke, so
Jessica turned to Debbie Clark. “Did your husband tell you he’s
been media trained, Debbie?”

“He talked about it for two days. I think he
secretly wants to be on the
Today
show. By the way, great
work today.” Debbie touched her arm in congratulations.

“It was a team effort.” Jessica glanced at
Deke.