Page 38 of Moonlight Over Seattle

Something touched her foot and she saw it was Toby. He stared up at her with wide, pleading eyes.

“I wish I could, baby,” she told him, “but the rescue center told me it’s best if you don’t get table scraps.”

“He does a great job of acting like an orphan without means of support,” Jordan observed, seeming to come out of his reverie.

“I know. I fed him twenty minutes ago and still feel guilty.” She leaned down, grabbed one of Toby’s toys and tossed it into the yard. Delighted, he went tearing after it, only to be distracted by a butterfly.

Everyone had finished eating, so Nicole headed into the kitchen to fetch dessert. Jordan followed her.

“Can I get something for you?” she asked brightly.

“No, but I’ve been wondering why you invited your neighbor. He seems nice and the conversation has gone smoothly, partly because of him, I suppose, but I still can’t help wondering.”

“Wow, the conversation has gone more smoothly because of Barton,” she said in a dry tone. “Isn’t that enough reason to issue an invitation?”

“You must know him fairly well to realize he’d be helpful.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I only moved into the house a short time ago. But I made a good guess, with no ulterior motives involved. I asked a couple of other neighbors as well, but they had plans. What’s so important about who was invited to dinner?”

Jordan looked conflicted, his brow creased. “It doesn’t matter. I’m a reporter, I like to know things.”

Her smile flashed unexpectedly. “Oh, you’re a reporter now? You didn’t appreciate being called that the other day.”

He sighed. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, that Syd wants me to stretch as a writer. She’s always kept an eye on my career. We went through some tough times together when we were both reporters, including two days as hostages when we were covering events in the Middle East.”

“Good heavens.” Nicole felt an odd flutter inside as she considered the possibility that Jordan could have been murdered and they would have never met again. “That must have been an awful experience.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone, but going through it together forged a bond we’ll never lose. Syd kept her head, probably a lot better than I did.”

Nicole pursed her lips. “It seems out of character for you to reveal information to me. Perhaps you’re the one with an ulterior motive. Are you hoping to win sympathy and get me to drop my guard?”

“In case I haven’t made it clear enough yet, this isn’t an exposé.”

“You’d just ignore a juicy tidbit that might boost PostModern’s circulation?”

“There’s a difference between looking for a scandal and reporting something you happen to learn.”

He ran his fingers through his dark hair and Nicole wondered if his lovers did the same thing. The time they’d kissed in high school, his hair had been short and prickly against her palm. She’d figured he was going for a tough square-jawed I-can-take-anything persona.

Shaking her head to clear irrelevant memories, she filled her whipped cream canister.

“Do you see the difference?” Jordan prompted.

“Not if the information you ‘learn’ isn’t relevant or necessary to reveal. And especially if it isn’t even reported correctly.”

“The subject of an article isn’t always the best judge of what needs to be reported, or what the readers like to know. Don’t you believe in freedom of the press and free speech?”

“Definitely. In fact, we’re starting a blog for the agency. My partners suggested I write about what it’s like to be interviewed by you for these magazine articles.”

His gaze sharpened. “Are you comparing a blog to freedom of the press?”

“Who’s to say what a blog is? They’re still figuring out what things on the internet represent and even after they do, I bet they keep redefining it. Besides, no matter what, it’s about freedom of speech.”

He was massaging the back of his head and neck, a drawn expression on his face. “Okay,” he agreed finally, “you have a point. But why do you need to write about me?”

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