be giving a press conference at the courthouse later this afternoon," Ellen said. "I suggest you save your questions until then."
She pushed through the hospital's front door, bracing herself automatically for the cold. A pale wash of sunlight filtered weakly down on the pristine snow. On the far side of the parking lot a tractor rumbled along, plowing the stuff into a minor mountain range.
She headed across the lot for her Bonneville, well aware that hers were not the only pair of shoes squeaking over the packed snow. Looking down from the corner of her eye, she saw the loose lace flapping alongside a battered Nike running shoe.
"I meant it," she said, fishing her keys out of her coat pocket. "I don't have anything for you."
" 'No comment' don't feed the bulldog."
She cut him a glance. He had to be fresh out of high school, so wet behind the ears he shouldn't have been allowed to go out in the cold without a snowsuit. His face was finely sculpted. Black hair with a suspicious red cast swung down across his narrow brown eyes. He swept it back impatiently. Toung Keanu Reeves. God spare me. Not much taller than her own five feet seven inches, he had the build of an alley cat, lean, agile, with the restless energy to match. It seemed to vibrate in the air around him as if someone had plugged him into a high-voltage generator.
"Then I'm afraid your dog will go hungry, Mr. —?"
"Slater. Adam Slater. Grand Forks Herald"
Ellen pulled open the car door and hefted her briefcase across into the passenger's seat. "The Grand Forks paper sent their own reporter all the way down here?"
"I'm ambitious," he proclaimed, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet as if he had to keep himself ready to bolt and run at a second's notice. Cub reporter trying to race ahead of the ravenous pack.
"Are you old enough to have a job?" Ellen asked, cranky with his enthusiasm.
"You used to be ambitious, too," he said as she climbed behind the wheel of the car.
She looked up at him, suspicious that he might know anything at all about her.
"I have some contacts in Hennepin County ."
Contacts. He looked as if his contacts would have been the guys who stole the midterm from the algebra teacher's desk.
"They say you used to be good when you were there." Way back when.
"I'm still good, Mr. Slater," Ellen declared, twisting the key in the ignition. "I'm good in any zip code."
"Yes, ma'am," he chirped, saluting her with his reporter's notebook.
"Ma'am," she grumbled as she put the car in gear and headed out of the lot. Her gaze strayed to the rearview mirror as she broke for traffic on the street. Mr. Ambition from Grand Forks was bouncing his way back to the hospital entrance. "See if you ever have an affair with an older woman, you little twerp. Used to be good. I haven't lost it yet."
She wasn't entirely sure whether she meant her skills in the courtroom or her allure as a woman. As the reporter loped out of view, her gaze refocused on her reflection. Her face was more interesting than beautiful. Oval with a graceful forehead. Gray eyes—a little narrow. Nose—a little plain. Mouth—nothing to inspire erotic fantasies, but it was okay. She scrutinized for any sign of age, not liking the depth of the laugh lines that fanned out beside her eyes when she squinted. How long before she had to stop calling them laugh lines and start calling them crow's-feet?
A birthday was looming large on the horizon like a big black cloud, like the Hindenburg. Thirty-six. A shudder went down her back. She pretended it was from the cold and goosed the Bonneville's heater a notch. Thirty-six was just a number. A number closer to forty than thirty, but just a number, an arbitrary marking of the passing of time. She had more important things to worry about—like a lost boy and bringing his kidnapper to justice.
CHAPTER 2
The Park County courthouse was a
She pushed through the hospital's front door, bracing herself automatically for the cold. A pale wash of sunlight filtered weakly down on the pristine snow. On the far side of the parking lot a tractor rumbled along, plowing the stuff into a minor mountain range.
She headed across the lot for her Bonneville, well aware that hers were not the only pair of shoes squeaking over the packed snow. Looking down from the corner of her eye, she saw the loose lace flapping alongside a battered Nike running shoe.
"I meant it," she said, fishing her keys out of her coat pocket. "I don't have anything for you."
" 'No comment' don't feed the bulldog."
She cut him a glance. He had to be fresh out of high school, so wet behind the ears he shouldn't have been allowed to go out in the cold without a snowsuit. His face was finely sculpted. Black hair with a suspicious red cast swung down across his narrow brown eyes. He swept it back impatiently. Toung Keanu Reeves. God spare me. Not much taller than her own five feet seven inches, he had the build of an alley cat, lean, agile, with the restless energy to match. It seemed to vibrate in the air around him as if someone had plugged him into a high-voltage generator.
"Then I'm afraid your dog will go hungry, Mr. —?"
"Slater. Adam Slater. Grand Forks Herald"
Ellen pulled open the car door and hefted her briefcase across into the passenger's seat. "The Grand Forks paper sent their own reporter all the way down here?"
"I'm ambitious," he proclaimed, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet as if he had to keep himself ready to bolt and run at a second's notice. Cub reporter trying to race ahead of the ravenous pack.
"Are you old enough to have a job?" Ellen asked, cranky with his enthusiasm.
"You used to be ambitious, too," he said as she climbed behind the wheel of the car.
She looked up at him, suspicious that he might know anything at all about her.
"I have some contacts in Hennepin County ."
Contacts. He looked as if his contacts would have been the guys who stole the midterm from the algebra teacher's desk.
"They say you used to be good when you were there." Way back when.
"I'm still good, Mr. Slater," Ellen declared, twisting the key in the ignition. "I'm good in any zip code."
"Yes, ma'am," he chirped, saluting her with his reporter's notebook.
"Ma'am," she grumbled as she put the car in gear and headed out of the lot. Her gaze strayed to the rearview mirror as she broke for traffic on the street. Mr. Ambition from Grand Forks was bouncing his way back to the hospital entrance. "See if you ever have an affair with an older woman, you little twerp. Used to be good. I haven't lost it yet."
She wasn't entirely sure whether she meant her skills in the courtroom or her allure as a woman. As the reporter loped out of view, her gaze refocused on her reflection. Her face was more interesting than beautiful. Oval with a graceful forehead. Gray eyes—a little narrow. Nose—a little plain. Mouth—nothing to inspire erotic fantasies, but it was okay. She scrutinized for any sign of age, not liking the depth of the laugh lines that fanned out beside her eyes when she squinted. How long before she had to stop calling them laugh lines and start calling them crow's-feet?
A birthday was looming large on the horizon like a big black cloud, like the Hindenburg. Thirty-six. A shudder went down her back. She pretended it was from the cold and goosed the Bonneville's heater a notch. Thirty-six was just a number. A number closer to forty than thirty, but just a number, an arbitrary marking of the passing of time. She had more important things to worry about—like a lost boy and bringing his kidnapper to justice.
CHAPTER 2
The Park County courthouse was a
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