Freedom's Price Read Free Page A

borrowed feeling of completeness.
    She could give him no more than that.
    But that was all right, because he wouldn’t want anything more.
    If he’d wanted more, he would have come back to San Salustiano. He would have found her again, years ago.
    “I’m not going to have time to do more than unlock the door and let you in. You can put your stuff in any of the extra bedrooms.” Liam’s voice broke into her thoughts. He glanced up from the road to smile at her. “You’ll have no problem figuring out which room is which. Mine’s the one that’s a mess.”
    “Ah,” she said, working hard to keep her own voice light. “I guess some things never change.”
    “If you’re hungry, help yourself to whatever you can find in the kitchen. It’s all up for grabs. My meeting shouldn’t go more than a half an hour. I’ll pick up a pizza and a paper on the way home. We can check the classified ads and see about finding you an apartment.”
    “Where’s your meeting?” she asked as he turned onto a street that was lined with well-kept and charming old town houses and apartment buildings.
    “Over at the
Globe
. That’s the newspaper office,” he explained.
    Marisala gave him a disgusted look. “I
know
what the
Globe
is. I read your column all the time, you know.”
    “I didn’t know. Hey, look at this—a spot right in front of my building. You must be some kind of good-luck charm.” A car parked along the street was pulling out, and Liam waited, signaling for the parking spot.
    “Santiago has a copy of the
Boston Globe
sent to his office every week,” Marisala told him, looking up at the building that Liam called home. It was six stories high and made of beautiful stone. “He always passed it on to me.”
    The parking space seemed only a few inches larger than Liam’s car, yet he zipped into it quickly and efficiently as he focused most of his attention on her. “Really? Every week?”
    “Every week for the past two years. It’s the first thing I look at when I open the paper.”
    “I’m honored.”
    “You wrote some very powerful articles. Although lately—”
    “Hey, did you get a chance to see the CNN report? You know, that piece I did on—”
    “San Salustiano,” she finished for him. “Of course. You know, if you’d written it for the
New York Times
, you might have won a Pulitzer.”
    “I chose CNN because my goal was for more everyday, average people to be aware of the problem—not to win awards.” The U.S. government had been sending weapons and financial aid to the so-called democracy that used terror and military force to rule San Salustiano. Liam’s series of news reports on the Cable News Network had brought forth a public outcry, and U.S. aid had stopped. Without that assistance, the people of the small island nation had quickly taken control of their government, democracy had been restored, and the war ended. A fair election had been held, and true leaders of the people—including Marisala’s uncle—had been voted into office.
    The island still had many problems, but at least fear of death or torture at the hands of the secret police wasn’t among them.
    “Besides,” Liam added, smiling at her as he pulled up the parking brake and turned off the engine, “I
did
win an Emmy.”
    “And I know you’d
much
rather have an Emmy than a Pulitzer.” Marisala smiled, amusement dancing in her eyes.
    Liam couldn’t keep from smiling back at her, but still, this was far too serious a topic for him to make jokes. “I wanted for the war to end,
cara
,” he said quietly. “I wanted only to know that you were safe.”
    Her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly as she gazed at him, and he realized how intimate his words must have sounded.
Cara
. Liam had never called Marisala that before. But somehow today the term of endearment was slipping out whenever he turned around.
    “I wanted to know that you and your uncle were safe,” he quickly amended. “You and Diego and Juan and