looked affronted. “How can you say ‘poor Zeke’? He’s the one using his position to take a cheap shot at me just because I didn’t leap into bed with him the moment he showed up.”
Carol shook her head. “I meant poor Zeke after you get through with him. From the look on your face, that cheap shot may turn out to be a lot more expensive than he bargained on.”
The Publishing House was a curious hybrid. Built behind a century-old sandstone facade, the new tower rose seventeen floors above Sydney’s historic Macquarie Street. Tara’s publisher was headquartered there, as was the editorial division of Zeke’s newspaper. When she parked outside, she wondered how she was going to cope with coming here on a regular basis, knowing that Zeke was only a few floors away.
Today it wasn’t a problem. She not only wanted him back in town, but seated behind the desk in his office so she could give him a large chunk of her mind.
Naturally, because she was fired up to confront him, he wasn’t there. His computer screensaver featured an animated figure walking through a never-ending series of doors that closed behind him one after the other, accompanied by cheerful sound effects. Across the screen scrolled the words, “Missed me by that much.”
It was an in-joke, related to Zeke’s love of classic television shows, she remembered, thinking of the hundreds of tapes in his collection. She wasn’t a fan but her pleasure had come from watching him while he watched the tapes. Some of them he knew practically by heart. Unwillingly, she found herself remembering long, rainy Sunday afternoons when they made huge bowls of popcorn and watched marathon sessions of old series.
Sometimes he had turned the sound off and made up his own dialogue, urging her to join in until they had both been helpless with laughter, she recalled. Inevitably, she had ended up in his arms, her laughter turning to passion as his kisses deepened. From the sofa, they invariably slid to the floor and made love while some old superhero flickered in the background. She couldn’t be certain but she suspected that their baby had been conceived at such a moment.
She made herself turn away from the screen, unwilling to be reminded of those days.
“Looking for Zeke?” came a familiar voice behind her. “He’s out.”
She spun around. “Matthew Brock. It’s great to see you. Still working for this newspaper then?”
He looked rueful. “Until the right man comes along to take me away from all this, I don’t have much choice. I finally stopped chasing Pulitzer prizes and settled for a steady paycheck and what little security this business has to offer.”
Matthew was a photographer and Tara had worked with him many times during her modeling days. “You never chased Pulitzer prizes, although you have the talent for it,” she said. “You always preferred security. A plateful of do-nuts and you’re anybody’s, you used to tell me.”
He rolled his eyes. “I never could put anything past you, Tara. You look great. I know you’re pretty involved with the kids thing, but if you ever want a modeling assignment…”
“I’m after blood, actually,” she cut in, remembering her mission.
He looked interested. “Zeke’s blood, by any chance?”
“Blood, bones, whatever.”
“‘Hell hath no fury,”’ he quoted, adding, “I gather you saw the column?”
She affected an expression of innocence. “Did he write a column concerning me?”
“Zeke knows better than that, but reading between the lines, it wasn’t very kind, considering the two of you used to be an item. Maybe that quote should be about a man scorned.”
“I didn’t scorn him, he left me,” she snapped then caught herself. Matthew was an old friend, not the enemy.
She jumped as her cell phone played the first few notes of “Jingle Bells.” Matthew grinned as she answered it. It was early for Christmas, but the tune was easy to hear in a noisy setting. By the time she flipped the phone shut, she could feel her face muscles tightening. She relaxed them with an effort.
“Problem?” Matthew asked.
“Only a potential benefactor calling to cancel our dinner engagement tonight. Apparently something came up. I’ll bet I know what.”
“You might be reading too much into this. Not everybody reads Zeke’s column.”
“There may be a corner of the African veld he doesn’t reach, but I happen to know this lady never misses it. She told me she’s thinking of supporting one large charity rather than a number of smaller ones but she’ll get back to me. In a pig’s eye.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh. When I get my hands on Zeke…”
“Maybe it’s just as well he isn’t around. He’s doing wonders for our circulation.”
She laughed in spite of herself. “You and your insecurity. The paper survived while Zeke was in America. It will survive again without him.”
“Wow, you really are out for his blood.”
“When is he due back?”
Matthew looked thoughtful. “He’s following a lead, something about a baby farming racket he’s working on.”
Something tightened inside her. “Baby farming? Isn’t that a bit out of Zeke’s line?”
Matthew shook his head. “Before agreeing to come back to Australia he negotiated the right to work on features of his choice. This is one of them.”
She kept her tone carefully neutral although every instinct shrilled a warning. “It sounds fascinating. What’s it about?”
Matthew shrugged. “I don’t know much. I only took a couple of pictures that Zeke wanted. A mother being united with a year-old baby that was apparently stolen from her, for one.”
Something inside Tara wound even tighter. “Really?”
He nodded, glad of her interest. “Yeah, it’s all very cloak-and-dagger. Zeke needed a shot of the hospital involved, so I used a long lens to avoid tipping them off. It’s a place with a flowery name. The Roses Private Hospital, that’s it.”
She could hardly breathe. “How fascinating.”
Concern flashed over his features. “Keep it to yourself, Tara. If anyone else breaks the story before Zeke is ready, he’ll kill me. It’s his baby.”
She felt faint. His baby. Matthew couldn’t know how his words stabbed her to the heart, but not because of a newspaper feature. Zeke’s infuriating column was nothing compared to what she had just learned. He was investigating the hospital where she had given birth less than a year ago.
She knew better than to hope that her baby had been stolen and given to someone else. She had only to remember her son’s lifeless form when the midwife brought him to her after attempts to revive him had failed. So she held no hope that things might be different for herself. But if Zeke managed to access the hospital records, and he was more than capable of doing it,
