LITMIR.BIZ

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Connection was too influential for that to happen; he had given it too many years and won for it too many Pulitzers to idly stand by while it was managed—mismanaged—by an amateur. Even if Alexis was sick and probably not thinking straight, he couldn’t help lashing out. Even if the woman sitting across from him had sacrificed as much blood and sweat as he had, he was so angry that his hands shook as he paced the room.

      “I don’t wonder you haven’t called her. The Connection is a huge responsibility. Huge! But to hand it over to some fledgling girl! I am absolutely astonished! You have me at astonished, Alexis!”

      Unused to being rebuffed, Alexis clenched her teeth. For goodness’ sake, didn’t the man understand that she had no choice? Apparently not, judging from his mocking, caustic words.

      “And another thing. Has it never occurred to you that Valetta has her own life?”

      “Oh, that she does,” Alexis said quietly.

      “Well, then, you understand my point. It’s very likely that she won’t take kindly to a disruption, not of this magnitude. She might even be married.” Lincoln held his breath. “Is she?”

      Alexis’s answer was terse and to the point. “She is not.”

      Alexis said no more but it was enough for Linc, although he couldn’t say why. Afraid to let her see the relief in his face, he crossed the room to stare across the city rooftops as he tried to regain his composure. Millions of people walking the streets below read the L.A. Connection every day, shared their coffee with his editorials, read columns written by reporters that he had personally groomed, traded their stock according to what his power brokers wrote. “What the bloody hell can she know about running a newspaper?” he muttered.

      “Perhaps you should ask her. She may want your help.”

      “Such big plans!” he scoffed. “And supposing that Valetta does come home. Supposing she does take over the paper. What if she doesn’t want my help? Have you considered that?”

      “It will be up to you to see that she does. If she does, maybe we can talk about a partnership. What do you think? Would you be interested in a partnership with Valetta Keane?”

      Lincoln’s black brow was an angry furrow that matched the deep lines of his gaunt cheeks. “My, my, Alexis, you seem to have this all figured out very neatly.”

      “It’s not that complicated when you think about it. I don’t have that many options, but I won’t allow the Keane family paper to die for the sake of a young girl’s tantrum. Or perhaps you would prefer I did?” Alexis left off with a shrug, suddenly looking drained as she sank deeper into her leather chair.

      Lincoln watched her implode but he was in no mood to be generous. Too much was at stake. “What about Valetta?” he asked grimly. “You don’t say what she’s done with her life, but I’ll bet the bank you’ve had her watched all these years.”

      Alexis smiled bitterly. “That’s why you’re my managing editor, Lincoln. Nothing escapes you. Well, guess what? Valetta started her own small-town paper about five years ago. She calls it The Spectator. Appropriate, don’t you think? I suppose it’s something in our genetic makeup. Printer’s ink instead of blood, perhaps. Oh, her paper is nothing to speak of, call it a rough draft for the rest of her life, but she’s been getting some very interesting notices lately, statewide. Not unimportant when the state happens to be New York. Still, it’s given her enough practice for my purposes. I’m rather proud of her, actually.”

      “Then why don’t you tell her? Why aren’t you running this errand for yourself, Alexis? Why send me?”

      Because she’s ready for you…. And you’re ready for her.

      But Alexis didn’t say that. Truth was a commodity, language her coin of choice, and she was not known for her generosity. She would say as much as she needed and not one word more. Her eyes fixed, she parried the truth. “To be honest, I’m too weak to travel, but she… she always had a soft spot for you.”

      Lincoln was unimpressed. “Come on, Alexis, she was just a baby last time I saw her, a boy-crazy high- school kid.”

      “Surely she’s grown up in the last ten years. I would hope she’s learned a few things on the way.”

      “About men?”

      “About life, Lincoln.” She sighed, although she would have liked to scream for the fool Lincoln was being. For the fool he took her for, too, thinking she’d never known how he felt about Valetta. The truth was, he had been partially the cause of Valetta’s abrupt departure ten years before, even if he didn’t know it. Personally, she had always thought she had been more than generous, allowing Valetta to leave home. She could have stopped her, if she had really wanted. Found a way to force her to return home, if she had really wanted. Brought the brat home in bloody leg irons, if she had really wanted. Except for the one fly in the ointment: Valetta’s colossal schoolgirl crush on Lincoln Cameron. It had blinded Valetta, consumed her as nothing Alexis had ever seen.

      And Lincoln Cameron had been a potent mix, his handsome, scowling face in the news all the time—at a podium delivering a speech, at the helm of a sailboat, at a black-tie event with his arm around some starlet’s shoulder. Valetta had kept an album full of Lincoln’s exploits and pored over them, day and night. As a result of her infatuation her schoolwork began to falter, she moped around the house writing silly love letters to the one man on earth who didn’t know she was alive. Lincoln Cameron’s powerful figure loomed large on Valetta’s limited horizon, and the fool hadn’t even known it. Men!

      Puppy love, Alexis had called it in a moment of acute frustration. Valetta hadn’t appreciated that. Words were spoken. Unfortunate words that should not have been said by either sister. When Valetta bolted, Alexis had not stopped her, almost relieved to see the brat gone.

      Valetta needed time to grow up; Alexis understood that. Recognizing that she wasn’t going to be the one to help her sister, she gladly stepped aside for their aunt Phyla. Her mother’s long-lost sister, the same aunt who, with her own two hands, had built herself a log cabin in the Adirondacks and had not left the mountains since. If Aunt Phyla could tame wild raccoons and live in the company of bears, surely she could tame a spirited teenager with raging hormones.

      If Lincoln had had any opinions at the time, he had kept them to himself. Now, ten years later, watching him prowl her office like an elegant panther, rooting about her knickknacks, not understanding his discontent— or perhaps he did—perhaps she was reading him all wrong. Adjusting her sights, she allowed herself a mental shrug. If things hadn’t turned out precisely as she had planned, there was still time. If Lincoln had been Valetta’s first heartbreak, he was going to be her last love, if she, Alexis, had anything to say about it. And not a bad choice, she thought, as she watched him pace about. Yes, the time had come. Lucky you, Mr. Cameron.

      Lucky Valetta.

      Chapter Two

      Lincoln had much to think about, flying out to Albany two days later. Mainly, that the unspoken subtext to his conversation with Alexis had been clear: no Valetta, no partnership. Oh, Alexis had been subtle, her touch light, but the message was in her jaundiced eyes, in her exhaustion, in her merciless request. She had no time to spare for the niceties. Her time was limited, her risk was great, and her revenge would be sweeping. No two ways about it. If he didn’t bring home her recalcitrant sister, he would find himself out of a job, not a pleasant thought at his age. Forty was the witching season, and though his power was unconstrained, it would not be so again in his lifetime. There simply was no bigger newspaper in the country, and working anywhere else would be a step down. And what of the four thousand employees of Keane industries who depended on the paper for their livelihood? His responsibility was heavy. So when he landed at Albany International Airport,

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