LITMIR.BIZ

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neck bulged, and his face turned an alarming shade of purple. Pressing all ten fingertips to the desktop, he levered his stocky body out of the chair and leaned forward. The threatening stance merely widened J.T.’s grin.

      “Now you listen to me, Conway, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I don’t have time for it. Now get back to work. I’ve got a paper to run.”

      “This is no game, Charlie.” J.T. withdrew an envelope from the inside pocket of his suitcoat, leaned forward and tossed it onto Charlie’s desk. “That’s my formal resignation. It’s effective in two weeks.”

      Without bothering to open the envelope, Charlie tore it in two and tossed the halves over his shoulder in the general direction of the overflowing wastebasket.

      “Nice shot,” J.T. drawled as the pieces hit the top of the pile and slid to the floor. “But I still quit.”

      Charlie spat out a string of curses that turned the air blue. When that failed to faze J.T., he plopped back down into his chair, plucked a half-chewed cigar from the ashtray and stuck it in his mouth. “All right. What’s this about?” he growled. “Is this a bluff to get more money? Hell, man, you’re already the highest-paid reporter in Houston. Not to mention your generous expense account.”

      “This isn’t about money.”

      Leaning back in his chair, Charlie laced his ink-stained fingers together over his belly and rolled the foul-smelling stogie from one side of his mouth to the other. He never lit the disgusting things anymore. At his wife’s insistence, he’d quit smoking a year ago. She would skin him alive if he started again.

      However, whenever Clarice wasn’t around he always had an unlit cigar stuck in his mouth like a nasty, brown pacifier.

      “Then what is it you want? More vacation? A bigger picture with your column? A fancier car? A bigger desk? What?” Before J.T. could answer, an arrested look came over Charlie’s face. “Aw, hell, don’t tell me this is another push to get your own office. How many times do I have to tell you, the other reporters would set up a howl if I okayed that. No. No way. Forget it, Conway. It ain’t gonna happen.”

      “Charlie, you aren’t listening. I’m not putting the squeeze on you for anything. I’m resigning. Period. That’s it.”

      Charlie stared at him. Slowly his anger faded into shock. His flabbergasted expression was so comical J.T.’s grin returned.

      “You’re really serious,” the older man said in an incredulous voice, sagging back in his chair as though he’d just had the wind knocked out of him.

      “I’m serious.”

      “Have you lost your mind? Dammit, man, you’ve been with this paper for twelve years. You’ve built a name for yourself in this town. Why in God’s name would you throw away a successful career? Are you having a midlife crisis or something?”

      “Maybe.” J.T. hesitated, not sure he wanted to explain his reasons. However, from his boss’s expression it was apparent that he wasn’t going to accept the resignation until he did.

      “I want to write a novel. That’s what I’ve always wanted to do with my life, not be a reporter. When I took this job it was supposed to be temporary, but I got caught in a rut. Anyway, I have enough money put away to live comfortably for a few years, so I decided to give it a shot.”

      “Oh, good night, nurse. Not another one,” Charlie muttered, rolling his eyes. “I’ve never met a reporter who didn’t think he had the next great American novel in him. I thought you were different. Shoulda known better.”

      “Looks like it,” J.T. replied with his usual nonchalance, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Normally he was slow to anger, but Charlie’s derision touched off an uncharacteristic spurt of fury that he barely managed to hold in check.

      Charlie slammed his hand down on his desk. “Do you know what the odds are of getting a book published? Particularly a novel? You’re living in a dream world.”

      “Actually…I have an in. An old friend of mine is a vice president at Hubbard and Rhodes Publishing. He wants to see my manuscript when it’s finished. But that’s not the only reason I’m leaving. I also want to devote time to finding the rest of my family if I can.”

      “Why, for Pete’s sake? I’d think after learning that that hard-nosed cop was your brother the last thing you’d want would be to go looking for another one. Hell, this one may turn out to be even more annoying.”

      “Matt’s not so bad. Anyway, my missing sibling may be a sister.”

      “Humph. That could be worse. I’ve got four of them. Take it from me, sisters are a real pain in the arse. They’re either driving you nuts with all their chatter and giggling and all that feminine clutter, or worrying you to death making eyes at boys. I spent half my twenties checking out the losers that came sniffing around my sisters.”

      J.T. grinned, his good humor restored. He had a mental picture of Charlie protecting his sisters like a junkyard dog. They’d probably wanted to kill him for his efforts. “You may be right, but I have to try. If I don’t I’ll always wonder.”

      For most of his life J.T. had known that he was adopted, but it hadn’t been until six weeks ago that he had made the startling discovery that he was one of a set of triplets, and that his old nemesis, Matthew Dolan, was actually his brother.

      Until recently Matt had been a detective with the Houston Police Department. He and J.T. had been butting heads for the past twelve years whenever J.T. showed up at a crime scene to get the story.

      Discovering that they were brothers had been a shock to both of them. At first neither he nor Matt had been ready to initiate a search for their missing triplet. Recently, however, J.T. had grown curious.

      “How the devil do you expect to find this person, with nothing to go on except that he or she presumably has the missing third piece of a medallion and was adopted at age two? Talk about your needle in a haystack. It’s a waste of time.”

      “Not necessarily. As a matter of fact, I already have a lead to check out.”

      “Humph. So you’re determined to do this, are you?”

      “Yep. I’ve put it off too long already.”

      Charlie rolled his eyes and muttered another curse. “All right, fine. Do what you gotta do. But there’s no need for you to quit. Take a leave of absence.”

      “I don’t—”

      Charlie held up his hands. “Just hear me out. You take all the time you need. Go write your novel. Look for your other sibling. When you’re done and you find out you’re not Hemingway, then you come back here. Your job will be waiting.”

      “Charlie—”

      “No, I don’t want to hear it. I’m not going to let you throw away your career on a whim. Just go get all this nonsense out of your system once and for all, then come back here where you belong.”

      J.T. was torn between exasperation and gratitude. It touched him that the cantankerous old coot thought enough of him to hold his job open, and it irritated the living hell out of him that he ridiculed his dream.

      He held the older man’s gaze for several moments. What if Charlie was right? What if his talent didn’t go any deeper than knocking out sensationalized accounts of the news? It was a depressing thought—one he refused to accept.

      J.T. wasn’t in any mood to argue, though, and he could see by Charlie’s bulldog expression that he wasn’t going to back down. Hell, why fight it? He could always resign later.

      “Okay. You’ve got a deal,” J.T. finally said.

      “There is just one condition.”

      “Uh-oh, here it comes.”

      “Aw, don’t get your shorts in a wad. I just want your promise that if

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