Challenging Andie Page 2

  Andie considered his proposal for a moment. She never took strange men up on their offers. Never took a chance. She’d done what she came here to do, and the rest of the day stretched before her like a black hole of nothingness, filled only with the prospect of sitting alone at home, brooding over the past.

  “Let’s get out of here, find a little pub nearby, and have lunch together,” he suggested.

  It was a new day, a new beginning.

  Andie pulled in a breath. And nodded.

  Chapter Two

  The Audi in front snaked through the narrow streets of the nearest village, and slowed at the entrance to a pub. A large black metal signpost held a painted sign with a bull on it, with the name The Black Bull, beneath.

  Andie followed the Audi into the car park.

  Here, ten miles or so from home, no one knew her. The freedom was exhilarating.

  The past two weeks had been full of friends and concerned neighbors. Full of dodging the press that had camped out on her doorstep. Today, when she’d peeked through the curtains and seen the lack of vehicles on the street outside her door she’d taken advantage of the situation to bolt for it. They’d be there on her return; she had no doubt about that. Her luck couldn’t hold out for much longer.

  But right now, she was anonymous.

  And about to share lunch with a man whose smile melted her insides. What could be better?

  Ryan’s car pulled into a space and she quickly found one too. By the time she had the door open he was there.

  “This looks good,” he said.

  “Does it for me.” They walked in and settled at a table in the corner. The old, traditional pub had black beams covering the ceiling. It smelled of beer and home cooked food.

  Andie’s stomach growled—reminding her she’d skipped breakfast.

  Ryan had to stoop to get in through the door. He really was incredibly tall; he must be around 6’4”. The way he filled the space available made her breathless.

  “I’ll get a menu. What are you drinking?”

  “Soda and lime.” A glass of wine would be nice, but she was driving, and wine went straight to her head.

  “Back in a minute.”

  She watched his departing back all the way to the bar where he placed their order with a waitress who looked as though her dreams had come true as they spoke. Andie guessed he had that effect on every woman he met. He was probably a player, used to whisking women off here and there. Completely different from the men she usually dated. They didn’t grow men like that in Fullstowe. Not that she’d found anyway.

  He sauntered back to the table clutching two glasses.

  “I decided to try one of these too.” He placed the two identical glasses on the table. “They’re bringing the menus over.”

  Right enough, behind him the waitress followed, gaze firmly stuck to his backside. Andie smothered a grin. She couldn’t blame her. He had a pretty impressive back view.

  “Here you are.” The waitress blushed as she caught Andie’s eye, knowing she’d been well and truly busted.

  “Thanks.” Andie put the poor girl out of her misery with a smile. She wasn’t Ryan’s girlfriend or lover, so the little stab of irritation as the waitress leaned over to show off her cleavage while she handed him the menu really wasn’t warranted.

  “She was checking you out,” she murmured, once the waitress was safely behind the bar again.

  “Was she?” His look of amazement was genuine. “I didn’t notice.”

  Andie held back the eye-roll, and concentrated on the menu.

  “I think I’ll go for shepherd’s pie.” That way there’d be no need to defrost one of the many individually portioned meals that stuffed her freezer. Everyone had been so kind, delivering more lasagna and pasta bakes than she could possibly eat. It was their way of showing they cared for her; that they sympathized. It had been the same when her grandmother died a year ago. The entire village had pulled around her like a protective cloak. They’d all been there in the weeks and months since. Everyone but her mother.

  She’d flown in for the funeral and settled the funeral expenses. Once she’d seen the friends and neighbors were being so supportive she’d taken it as carte blanche to leave again. Back to work. They need me, she explained.

  I need you too. Andie’d thought, but it would have been unfair to speak the words. They’d seen each other so little over the years that her tall, rangy mother was practically a stranger, and after an evening when Emily had focused all her attention on the twenty-four news channel over dinner, she’d quite frankly, been relieved to see her go.

  Guilt prickled at the resentful feelings that sliced through Andie. It was wrong to think ill of the dead. Wrong to feel such anger towards the woman who’d given birth to her. Her grandmother’s death a year ago hadn’t been unexpected, but it had been a blow that had left Andie shocked and devastated.

  Gran had always been there for her. She had given Andie a home, ever since she was a little girl. A place she belonged. After a year or two the feelings of missing her mother melted away under the bright sun of her grandmother’s total love. She’d felt strong, safe, and secure. Even after Gran was gone, that feeling hadn’t gone away, surrounded as she was with Gran’s things. Gran’s life.

  Andie hadn’t seen her mother since the funeral. Now, she’d never see her again.

  She closed her menu.

  Ryan waved at the waitress, who picked up her pad, and trotted over like an obedient pony.

  “We’ll both have the shepherd’s pie.” His gaze flicked to Andie. “Do you want anything else?”

  Andie’s emotions tumbled like a load of washing in the drier at the intense focus of his gaze. “No, that’ll do.”

  Ryan looked at her mouth, then back to her eyes. “I guess we better learn a bit more about each other. I’m Ryan Armstrong.”

  “Andie Harte.” Andie watched his eyes, waiting for the flicker of recognition. There wasn’t one, and she surreptitiously let out the breath she’d been holding.

  Silence stretched between them, until nerves forced her to elaborate. “I’m a teacher but school’s out for the summer, so I guess I’m on holiday.”

  A half smile lifted the corner of Ryan’s mouth. “Lucky you. I’m on holiday too, but only for a week, whereas I guess you’re off for the whole summer?”

  “Perk of the job.”

  “What age do you teach?”

  “Primary school. I teach the infant class, five and six year olds.” Andie couldn’t hold back a smile at the thought of her small class. They were so sweet, on a good day, but loved to make as much mess as possible with paint and clay. Sometimes she spent more time cleaning up after the day was done than she did in the craft activities.

  “Five year olds, now that’s scary.” He shuddered.

  Andie laughed. He really was charming. “Do you live around here?”

  “No. I was just out here today…” His voice trailed into silence, and a pensive look flickered over his face. “To see someone.”

  “Oh.” Andie was keeping him from seeing someone. “Are you meeting them this afternoon?”

  Ryan leaned forward. “Well, actually—”

  “Here’s your food,” the waitress said, all brisk efficiency now.

  He waited until she’d left before continuing. “I came to see you.”

  Andie blinked. See her? But they’d only just met, and it was a chance encounter, wasn’t it? She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him. “You better explain that,” she whispered.

  Ryan’s brow pleated. He picked up his fork and twisted it around in his large hand. “Will we eat first?”

  “No.” Andie stared him down. “We bloody won’t. I want to know what you mean when you said you came to see me. And I want to know now.”

  *****

  If he was a five year old who’d spilled paint all over the floor, Ryan couldn’t have felt more in trouble. He swallowed. “Don’t be angry.”

  Andie’s expre
ssion didn’t alter, but at least she was still there, sitting opposite him. Although she might not be for long if he didn’t do a good job of explaining himself.

  He put the fork down on the table. “I’m a journalist.”

  Andie blew out a breath and tossed back the long waves of blonde hair that tumbled around her face. “Right.” She picked up her bag. “You can settle the bill.” She swung her legs to the side, getting ready to stand.

  “Wait.” He touched her arm.

  She shot him a glance.

  His hand fell away.

  “Whatever story you were trying to get, you’ve blown it, mister,” she hissed between compressed lips. “I thought the photographers hanging around outside my house were bad, but you…you’ve taken bad to a whole new level.”

  Her barb hit home. He’d made a mistake trying to meet her first and tell her later. One that was backfiring on him big time. He pushed a hand through his hair. “I’m not trying to get a story. I’m not that type of journalist. I’m a war correspondent.”

  “Prove it.” Anger sparked in Andie’s eyes.

  Ryan pulled out his press accreditation pass and his air ticket. “I flew in from Bekostan last night. I knew your mother.”

  Andie’s eyes clenched tight shut. Her face contorted in a grimace.

  “I know you’re angry.” Ryan rubbed his jawline with the back of his knuckles. “When I arrived at your house to see you this morning you were just leaving, and I saw reporters coming down the road—”

  “So, what? You followed me?” Her voice was high and angry. “You stalked me in the queue and got talking?”

  “You stumbled,” Ryan reminded her. “And you were scared. The time wasn’t right to tell you.” She was going to walk away. He just knew it. And when she did, he’d have to follow. Not following wouldn’t be an option.

  Andie settled back into the chair again. Picked up her knife and fork. “I’m hungry. So you’ve got until I’ve finished my lunch to explain what you’re doing here. After that, we’re history.”

  Her fingers shook as she scooped a forkful of shepherd’s pie into her mouth. Her spine was ramrod straight. She crossed her legs, picked up the salt, then put it down, unused. She swallowed, and her gaze fixed on his. “Stop staring at me like that,” she muttered.

  Ryan met her glare head on.

  “You better start talking, otherwise I’m out of here.” Her voice shook.

  Ryan swallowed a mouthful of his drink, the lime’s sharp taste rolling over his tongue in a citrusy wake-up call. He pulled in a deep breath. “Your mother and I worked for the same news network, ERC. I met her in Bekostan about a year ago. We didn’t know each other very well, but we often covered the same story.”

  “So you were colleagues.”

  “Yes.”

  “And when she died…” There was a telling choke in her voice. “Were you there?” She stared down at her plate again, and continued eating.

  “No.” There was tension in his jawbone from biting down so hard, and Ryan concentrated on releasing it. He should have been there. If he had, he would have been the one pulled from the taxi. Unfortunately Emily had seized the opportunity in his absence. “I was covering a different story when your mother went to interview Arnat, the rebel leader.”

  “I never really heard what happened.” Andie set the fork down and pushed the unfinished plateful of food away as though her appetite had deserted her. “The news agency just told me there were reports that she’d been pulled out of her car and—”

  “—and killed. Yes.” Ryan battled an unfamiliar urge to envelop her hand with his. She needed human contact, especially now. Her mouth trembled. She looked as though she was holding herself together by an effort of will, but doubtless if she wanted someone’s touch it wouldn’t be his. “I was on the streets, returning to the hotel, and heard about it minutes after it happened. We got into a car and drove to the house in the middle of Rexa that had been designated as the meeting place. Somehow the military junta discovered the rebel leader was going to talk to the press.”

  Andie squeezed a napkin between her fingers. “Keep talking,” she whispered.

  “The car was riddled with bullets. Her driver was dead and the doors were open. There was no sign of Emily.” Just a river of her blood staining the seat red and flowing into the street. Details no daughter needed to hear.

  “Why didn’t they leave her body?” Andie’s voice was laced with agony. “Why didn’t they leave me at least something to bury?” Her clear blue gaze fixed to his. “Her coffin was empty, Ryan. I couldn’t even feel…” She broke off and buried her face in her hands. Her body shook as she cried silently.

  “The deniability factor. Without a body the international community can consider her missing. What they hadn’t expected was the photograph.”

  A photograph had been smuggled into the hotel where all the news agencies were staying. It showed Emily Harte’s body laid out on the dry dirt before some sort of a rough dwelling made of blood or paint-stained corrugated iron. The photographer had never been identified, but the general consensus was that it was probably a rebel sympathizer who understood how important confirmation of her death would be to the rebel cause.

  “I saw the picture in the papers—but you know, with Photoshop…” Hope lit in her eyes suddenly.

  Ryan shook his head. “I saw the original. There’s no question that the picture was faked, Andie. I’m sorry.”

  She gasped, then her body shuddered and tears ran unchecked down her face.

  A gust of wind lifted the bottom of Andie’s hair, and a strand brushed against her cheek.

  The door to the pub opened, and a crowd of laughing students crowded into the quiet space, disrupting the ambience.

  Feeling eyes on him, Ryan glanced over to the bar to see the barmaid staring over, a frown marring her pretty face. “We should go.” Ryan stood, walked to the bar to settle the bill, and returned to the table. “Come on, we can talk in my car.”

  She came with him as quietly as a sleepwalker. Shock must have robbed the fight from her. He knew all about how grief could affect people. Had seen it firsthand more times than most people in the aftermath of conflict. Sometimes anger was uppermost, sometimes the eviscerating rawness of grief as a loved one was wrenched away. Sometimes, facing the truth left the victim numb and pliant. As Andie was now. Sadness settled on Ryan’s shoulders, weighing him down like a heavy cloak. Her solitary journey into pain was inevitable. Nothing he could say or do would bring relief. Frustration bloomed, expanding to a cavern of powerlessness.

  He opened the door and helped her inside.

  The hotel management had asked him to return Emily’s things to the news agency where no doubt they’d be boxed up and forwarded, perhaps with a brief note.

  He’d only learned Emily was a mother when he arrived at the station with the little package under his arm. The news had shocked him to the core. The thought of someone being handed a loved one’s effects by a stranger, as he had, was unthinkable.

  Then and there, he’d decided that someone needed to make sure Emily’s daughter was okay. He was that someone. “I need to...”

  “I can’t face talking about my mother’s death,” Andie muttered. Her head was bent and her hands lay still in her lap.

  “I don’t expect you to.”

  A sweep of damp eyelashes, then her red-rimmed eyes stared into his.

  “It’s too soon,” he said, wondering at the echoing ache inside as he gazed at her tear-stained face. “Let’s go to your house. We can talk for a while. Are you able to drive?”

  Andie nodded mutely and swept her tongue over her bottom lip. She reached for the door handle. “Follow me home.”

  *****

  The first indication that something was definitely up was the cars lining the street as Andie drove down it. By the time she arrived at her house, the full horror of the situation became clear. Cars were everywhere. A small crowd of people all started shouting and running her direc
tion as she pulled into the only available parking spot. She blinked at the rapid fire of camera flashes as she climbed out of the car, and stopped dead as a woman stepped into her path, thrusting a microphone under her nose.

  “Miss Harte, what do you think of the news?” the poised brunette she recognized from the evening news asked. “Can you talk to our listeners for a moment?”

  The crowd pushed closer, buffeting Andie. Thoughts tumbled chaotically. What were they talking about? “Uh…”

  “Leave her alone.” A tall figure pushed through the throng of photographers. “Miss Harte has no comment at this time.” Reaching her side, Ryan clasped her arm tightly. “Say nothing,” he warned quietly. “We’re getting out of here. Follow me.”

  “Miss Harte, please. Your reaction…”

  Andie grabbed her bag from the passenger seat, slammed the car door and locked it with the key fob. Ryan’s arm slipped around her shoulders, effectively shielding her from view as the flashes reached a crescendo like a fireworks display. He walked her to the car he’d abandoned in the street and helped her quickly inside.

  “Buckle up,” he ordered, revving the engine.

  Andie took one brief last look at her home, before they left the circus behind, and made for the motorway. “What were they talking about? What news?”

  Ryan’s jaw clenched. “Let’s not worry about that now. We need to ensure we’re not followed.” He glanced into the rearview mirror. “I don’t want to go to London. They’ll identify me soon enough, and then the whole crowd will turn up at my apartment.”

  He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, located a number, and called it. “Brianne? Hi, it’s Ryan. I’m in England. Is the key for the cottage in the usual place? I need to lie low for a while.” He listened for a moment, then his shoulders relaxed. “Okay, under the third plant-pot, got it. Yeah, I’m fine, I’ll call you later. Thanks, honey.”

  He disconnected the call and glanced at Andie. “We’re going where they won’t find us. It’s about half an hour down the coast. Why don’t you close your eyes and have a sleep for a while?”