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beach house?
    Well, wouldn’t they? The inner voice teased her. You’d talk, if it were anyone else.
    That should have occurred to her. The newsroom was a hotbed of gossip, mostly false. She could only hope Ross hadn’t gotten wind of it.
    “Our relationship is strictly professional,” she added. Obviously she’d have to make that clear to C.J. and to the newsroom in general. To say nothing of herself.
    He joined them, and that increased awareness made her feel stiff and unnatural. She nodded toward the door. “Shall we go in?”
    Fortunately she knew the petty officer on duty at the desk. That would make it simpler to ask a favor.
    “Hey, Amanda.” Kelly Ryan’s smile included all of them. “You’re expected. Go on up.” She thrust visitor badges across to them.
    “Is anyone free to take our intern on a tour while we’re in with my father?” Sensing a rebellious comment forming on C.J.’s lips, she went on quickly. “I’d like her to gather background color for the articles we’re doing. Okay?”
    C.J. subsided.
    “Sure thing. I’ll handle it.” Kelly waved them toward the stairs.
    They headed up, leaving C.J. behind with Kelly, and she was still too aware of Ross, following on her heels. Drat the kid, anyway. Why did C.J. have to suggest something like that? It wasn’t as if she didn’t feel awkward enough around Ross already.
    Ross touched her elbow as they reached the office. “One thing before we go in. This is my interview, remember.”
    “How could I forget?” She just managed not to snap the words. She’d like to blame C.J., but the annoyance she felt wasn’t entirely due to the intern’s mistaken impression.
    She shot a sideways glance at Ross and recognized what she felt emanating from him. Tension. A kind of edgy eagerness that she didn’t understand. What was going on with him?
    They walked into the office. Her father, imposing in his blue dress uniform, rose from behind his desk to greet them.
    Under the cover of the greetings and light conversation, she sought for calm.
    I don’t know what’s going on, Father. I’m not sure what Ross wants, but it must be something beyond what he’s told me. Please, guide me now.
    Her gaze, skittering around the room as the two men fenced with verbal politeness, landed on the framed photo on her father’s desk. The family, taken at the beach on their Christmas Day walk last year. It was the same photo she had on her desk. Somehow the sight of those smiling faces seemed to settle her.
    She focused her attention on Ross. He was asking a series of what seemed to be routine, even perfunctory, questions about her father’s work and the function of the base.
    “The Coast Guard is now under the Department of Homeland Security,” her father said, clearly not sure Ross knew anything about the service. “Our jobs include maritime safety. Most people think of that first, the rescue work. But there’s also security, preventing trafficking of drugs, contrabands, illegal immigrants. We protect the public, the environment and U.S. economic and security interests in any maritime region, including lakes and rivers.”
    This was her father at his most formal. He could be telling Ross some of the kinds of stories she’d heard over the dinner table since she was a kid—exciting rescues, chemical spills prevented, smugglers caught. Why was he being so stiff?
    A notebook rested on Ross’s knee, but he wasn’t bothering to write down the answers Daddy gave. Maybe he was just absorbing background information. She often worked that way, too, not bothering to write down information she could easily verify later with a press kit.
    But that didn’t account for the level of tension she felt in the room—tension that didn’t come solely from Ross. Her father’s already square jaw seemed squarer than ever, and his lips tightened at a routine question.
    “I don’t see why you need information on our local contractors.” He bit the words off