Midnight Special Coming on Strong - By Tawny Weber Page 0,52

on climbing the career ladder, was empty. Was lonely. Heck, she’d been hoping for a little sorrow.

“Seriously? It’s that great?” she asked.

“Seriously.” Robin gave her a rueful smile. “I can tell that’s exactly what you were hoping to hear.”

Marni’s own smile was a little weak around the edges.

“I guess I’d hoped you’d tell me that giving it all up was a mistake. That family, a relationship, love, that they all trump ambition.”

“Can’t tell you what I don’t believe.” Robin paused, watching Marni over the edge of her own glass as she sipped her drink. “But I can give you a little advice if you want it.”

That’s why she was there, wasn’t it? Even as her shoulders sank despondently, Marni made a bring-it-on gesture with one hand.

“Your climb up the ladder is yours. Not mine. You get to choose your baggage. And you might be better at carrying certain things. A relationship, kids, all that stuff isn’t at odds with a great career. I’ve interviewed plenty of people who have both. I’ve worked with a few, too.”

Hope was like a tiny seed trying to sprout against all odds. Marni had never before thought it possible, but suddenly she wanted to believe she could do it all. That she was strong enough, clever enough, dedicated enough to balance the successful career of her dreams with other things. Things like kids, family. Love.

Hunter’s love. She swallowed hard against the painful lump in her throat.

“Would you put a story aside if you knew it’d cause a problem for someone you cared about? Ever?”

Could she set aside this story, sit on the news that Beverly Burns was still alive, no thanks to her husband? Could she ignore the information she’d discovered that proved Charles Burns had tried to blow up his wife, along with that building? But that a sexy, dedicated FBI agent had dragged her out of there before she’d been decimated? Could she pretend the FBI wasn’t hiding the rumored late Mrs. Burns away, in exchange for as much dirt as they could get on her husband?

Marni wanted to think she could.

For love.

But she wasn’t sure.

“Set aside a story for a man?” Robin mused, her face screwed up as if she’d just tasted something nasty. “I’ve never met a man who made me ask myself that, girly. If I did, though, I have to think he’d make the question moot. Because if he was the man for me, he’d know I couldn’t take that path. The story, the truth...it’s everything.”

Not for the first time in the past couple of days, Marni was beset by doubts. Her stomach churned, misery making her ill. What did it say about her ambition, her dedication, if she wasn’t willing to break a story because it might upset someone?

Shoulders as heavy as concrete, she wondered if she’d been fooling herself all these years. Because now, when faced with a shot at the biggest story of her life, she didn’t want to take it. Not because she was afraid of success. But because she didn’t want to betray Hunter.

“You’ve got some big choices to make,” Robin observed quietly.

Marni met her gaze with her own troubled one, comforted by the sympathy in her aunt’s blue eyes.

“You make them while worrying about how others will live with your decision, and you’ll never be happy.” The older woman set her glass aside, then after a visible hesitation, got up and crossed the room to sit by Marni. “You make them by asking yourself if you can live with them. Then, whatever others think, you’ll know you’ve done what’s right for you.”

“Even if it hurts someone?”

“Girly, we all get hurt. That’s life.”

* * *

HUNTER CLIMBED THE STEPS of the federal court building, his briefcase in one hand, coffee in the other.

His gut burned as he downed the dregs, and he found no satisfaction from crushing the cardboard cup and spiking it into the trash.

He was getting used to that dissatisfaction. Caffeine and fury had fueled his past forty-eight hours, and as far as he could tell, the rage roiling in his gut wasn’t going to dissipate anytime soon.

It was a toss-up what had infuriated him more.

Waking to find the train had arrived in San Francisco and Marni had disappeared. Not a word, not a note, nothing.

Or finding out she was a reporter.

So far, she’d turned in jack, though. At least, his sources hadn’t been able to dig up a whisper of any story, except for that initial call to her editor that Murray