To Have Vs. To Hold

by MJ Rodgers

  Normally Adam would have insisted on meeting Gavin and Piper at the office. He wasn’t in the habit of inviting anyone into his home.

  But when they had called from the airport at 5:00 a.m. with news that couldn’t wait, he decided that he’d break a few rules rather than yank the warm, soft woman snuggled next to him out of bed and rush them both to the office.

  It was just as well he hadn’t tried. Whitney was definitely not an early riser. Even with all his coaxing, she had barely made it dressed and into the kitchen before Piper and Gavin were ringing the doorbell.

  “I wish I could tell you what we found out was good news, but it isn’t,” Piper began. “And there is no way to sugarcoat this. Patrice did go to Emery Pharmaceuticals nine years ago and offer them a computer disk that contained the formula for a revolutionary new fertility process. She also handed over data from five years of clinical studies, all showing that the formula resulted in no negative side effects.”

  “Are you saying that Emery just exchanged the formula for their stock, no questions asked?” Adam said.

  “They were in serious financial trouble, Adam,” Gavin explained. “Once their scientists had checked out the fertility formula’s efficacy and they determined the process hadn’t been patented, they knew purchasing it wouldn’t be violating any laws. To them it was a question of grabbing the opportunity the fertility process represented or going under as a company. It wasn’t a difficult decision.”

  “They had to know that breakthroughs like that didn’t just happen,” Adam said. “They had to know that a regular research lab had developed the process.”

  “Patrice told them that her scientist father had developed the process in his home lab before his death. She assured them it was hers to sell.”

  “And they believed her?” Whitney asked.

  Piper shrugged. “Why not? There was no patent around to call her a liar. She was holding out this lifeboat of a formula, the difference between their going under and surviving.”

  “So they took it and disregarded their doubts,” Adam said.

  “There’s more,” Gavin said. “Part of the agreement Patrice made with Emery was that close friends of hers—Kevin and Linda Carmichael of Overton, Nevada—be the first in their human trials.”

  “We know about them,” Adam said.

  “Yes, but what you may not know is that Patrice insisted on her own embryos being used for Linda.”

  “Wait a minute,” Whitney said. “Did you say Patrice’s embryos? I thought it was just her eggs?”

  “No, in Emery’s process, the egg is fertilized in a fertile female’s womb. The donor is given a special drug to stabilize the embryo against implant shock before it is removed and introduced into the infertile female’s uterus, who has also taken the drug.”

  “Was Patrice inseminated with Kevin Carmichael’s sperm?” Whitney asked.

  “No, not Kevin’s,” Piper admitted. “Emery tested his sperm and found his count was too low. When they told Patrice, she said not to worry, that she would arrange for another donor’s sperm.”

  “Emery didn’t ask whose, and she didn’t volunteer,” Gavin said. “Adam, I’m sorry. I really pushed for this answer, but it wasn’t any use.”

  Adam had been expecting news such as this since the moment he’d met Huntley and Brinkley Carmichael.

  “It’s all right, Gavin,” he said. “I know whose sperm she used.”

  Adam felt Whitney’s eyes coming to rest on his face. The room grew very quiet for a moment—uncomfortably so—as no one asked for elaboration.

  Gavin got to his feet. “That’s the bad news, Adam. Sorry, but it looks like Crowe-Cromwell’s claim is going to hold. Piper and I will see ourselves out.”

  When the echoes of the front door closing faded away, Whitney’s eyes drew to Adam’s face. Her voice was heartbreakingly sad. “Adam, she didn’t just give away her eggsshe gave away your children.”

  Adam went to Whitney and slipped his arm over her shoulders, hugging her to him. “No, Whitney. Huntley and Brinkley Carmichael aren’t my children.”

  “Adam, they must be. She conceived them during the time you two were together.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t father them.”

  She lifted her sad eyes up to his. “How can you be so sure?”

  Adam took a long, deep breath and let it out. “I suspected the truth the moment I saw Huntley and Brinkley. The shape of the girl’s chin, the boy’s forehead. When A.J. confirmed Patrice and Peter’s long-term relationship, I was sure. If Danny D’Amico had projected what Patrice and Peter’s children would have looked like, he would have drawn the faces of Huntley and Brinkley.”

  “Peter Danner was their father? Patrice was sleeping with him even that early in her relationship with you?”

  “I very much doubt she got his sperm by artificial insemination.”

  Whitney let out a long sigh. “It’s unbelievable. She was totally amoral about so many things, and yet she picked such worthy beneficiaries. I’ll never understand her, Adam.”

  Adam gave Whitney’s shoulders another squeeze before letting her go. “Come on. You need another cup of coffee.”

  “Yes. Please,” she said.

  He filled her cup and she took a healthy gulp.

  “Carver will file his debtor’s claim today, won’t he?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Will you fight it?”

  “I can’t without a reason.”

  “I would think the Rubins and D’Amicos and the Carmichaels would be reason enough.”

  “I meant a legal reason, Whitney. I’d like to see Patrice’s named beneficiaries get that money just as much as you.”

  Whitney sighed. “Sorry, Adam, I know you do. I shouldn’t have said that. My brain batteries are always this low in the morning. The caffeine should be kicking in soon and recharging them. I hope.”

  She drank the second cup and stretched into a very sleepy yawn. He watched the morning light streaming softly over her long, flowing hair, setting fire to its dark, silky strands.

  He’d been demanding and greedy during their night together. He’d been so hungry for her, he had allowed her very little rest. But she hadn’t complained. Quite the contrary. She had met his passion with an eagerness and hunger that surprised him.

  But then this woman always managed to surprise him. He had begun to wonder who was going to exhaust whom. And when they had finally fallen asleep, he’d found it equally satisfying and pleasing to wake up with her in his arms.

  “And you make coffee perfect, too,” she said, smiling, her eyes suddenly rising to his as though she knew he had been watching her and thinking of their night together.

  Her smile brought the sun over to him, filling the dark, cold and empty spaces Patrice had left inside him. This felt so good. Too good.

  He looked away. These were dangerous reactions, dangerous feelings he was having for her.

  He consoled himself with the fact that they were transitory. He wasn’t a man who repeated his mistakes.

  The thought brought unfinished business back to his mind. He looked at his watch. “Before I drive you to your car, Whitney, I would like to take care of something.”

  She nodded her response. When he left the kitchen for the study, she was right behind him, just as though she suspected what that something might be. He didn’t try to stop her. It seemed right to him that she be a part of this.

  He walked over to the fireplace and picked up a box of matches on the mantel. He returned to the desk and drew out one of the matches, striking it against the side. He picked up the picture of Patrice he had left lying there the night before.

  “I should have burned this seven years ago,” he said, bringing the flame toward the bottom edge of the picture.

  “Not so fast, Justice,” Ryson’s voice yelled suddenly, startling them both. Adam whirled in the direction of the doorway to see the sergeant stepping inside the room.

  “Get that, Ferkel,” Ryson said.<
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  Adam blew out the match and faced Ryson. When Ferkel tried to take the photo, however, Adam held it away from him.

  “It’s against the law to break into a man’s home, Sergeant,” he said in his cool, even tone.

  “We didn’t break in. We knocked and called out. The door was open. Lane and Yeagher must not have closed it properly when they left a few minutes ago.”

  “The door was closed when I walked by it a moment ago,” Adam said, “and no one knocked or called out just now. You tried the door, found it unlocked and let yourselves in.”

  “You’re mistaken,” Ryson said. “Get the photo, Ferkel.”

  “I’ll have a look at your warrant first,” Adam said coolly.

  Ryson stepped forward and produced the warrant, the sarcastic smirk he’d been wearing the whole time still intact on his lips.

  Adam read the warrant, then glanced at the signature. Jenkins. Of course. Adam knew Jenkins was one of those selfproclaimed law-and-order judges who signed anything a policeman put before him.

  Adam handed over the picture of Patrice. Ryson immediately took it out of Ferkel’s hands and read the message on the back.

  “Well, this cooks it for you, Justice,” he said, smirking once more. “In her own words and handwriting, Patrice admits to being afraid of you.”

  “That’s not what she says at all, and you know it,” Whitney protested. Ryson ignored her, directing all his attention toward Adam.

  “Why did you lie to us about destroying the note?”

  “I never said I destroyed her note,” Adam said, keeping his tone even.

  “Of course you did.”

  “If you think back, Sergeant, you’ll remember I merely asked Detective Ferkel here if he would have kept such a note.”

  Ryson’s brow furrowed. “That’s not what I remember, nor what I’ll put into my report.”

  “Then your report will be inaccurate,” Adam said calmly.

  “This looks like a map scribbled beneath her note here. Did you draw out their route so you could follow them?”

  “How would I know what route they would take?”

  “There are only a few ways to Canada from here. I’ll check this diagram against a road map. Search the place, Ferkel,” Ryson commanded.

  “You’d better not break anything,” Whitney warned. “I’m a witness as to the condition of Mr. Justice’s home.”

  Ryson’s smirk widened. “I’m quaking in my boots.”

  Adam watched the fire enter Whitney’s eyes with a touch of amusement. But amusement quickly turned to alarm when the hands by her sides balled into fists and she started toward Ryson.

  He was afraid that all that passion he loved in her so much was about to get the better of her good judgment. Adam stepped forward quickly to intercept her and fit his hand into the small of her back.

  “I’ll drive you to your car now, Whitney,” he said.

  And with that, Adam urged her firmly toward the door and out of the house.

  “I wish you’d stop riding in to rescue me,” she said with clear irritation as he opened the passenger door.

  “Rescue you, nothing. I saw that look in your eye. I was trying to rescue Ryson.”

  That brought a reluctant smile to her lips, just as he hoped it would.

  “I wasn’t going to give him a piece of my fist, just a piece of my…philosophy.”

  “Of course,” Adam said, stifling his grin as he circled around to the driver’s side.

  They were two blocks beyond the security gates when he noticed the familiar brown Chevy pulling in behind them.

  “Why are they hounding you?” Whitney asked, the frustration coming through in her tone as she swung around and noticed the tail. “Even a fool could tell you are not the kind of man who would hurt another—much less a woman.”

  “I appreciate your vote for acquittal. When the case comes to trial, I’ll see what I can do about getting you on the jury.”

  “You don’t seriously believe they can make a case?”

  “You should understand this, Whitney. I seriously believe they are going to try.”

  “And they are seriously going to fail. You had nothing to do with their deaths. Patrice and Peter died in an accident.”

  Whitney’s words had carried her complete conviction. Adam didn’t say anything in response. There was nothing to say. Unless he told her the truth. And he was hoping like hell he was never going to be forced to do that.

  “WELL, I SEE YOU’VE taken care of the wannabe millionaires for this morning,” Jack said as he slipped into the chair in front of Whitney’s desk. “Hey, you’re smiling. What’re you reading?”

  “Finally some good news,” Whitney said. “Checkmate’s tracked Chad Bister’s sister and aunt to Australia. They’re both still there and still alive. What’s more, they found out Bister used to be a technician at a local medical lab—the same lab Patrice went to to donate her embryos for shipment to Emery Pharmaceuticals in Vancouver. That’s how he knew that personal information about her. The creep was lying the entire time.”

  “Does it really matter, Whitney? From what you’ve told me about Crowe-Cromwell, it’s clear that they’re going to beat out the beneficiaries and everyone else and take all the money.”

  Whitney dropped the report on her desk and sunk back into her chair. “You’re right, of course.”

  Jack leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “Is the problem you’ve been wrestling with Patrice? Or is it Justice?”

  “Yes,” Whitney answered on a long, heavy sigh.

  Jack shook his head. “Both of them? Terrific. This is worse than I thought.”

  “The sheriff’s office believes Adam killed her and her lover, Jack. They were at his place this morning with a search warrant.”

  “What? Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

  “Because their suspicions are too damn preposterous to take seriously for a second. Adam is gentle, kind. He never would have hurt Patrice or anyone. He’s…wonderful.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned. You have fallen for him.”

  Whitney knew there was no point in denying it. “Yes.”

  Jack got up and circled her desk. He leaned against its edge and took Whitney’s hands into his. His voice was gentle. “As in ‘to have and to hold’?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Jack grinned down at her. “And I had a bet with Isabel you were going to end up an old maid.”

  “You’re in no danger of losing that bet, Jack.”

  “You can’t be saying what I think you’re saying.”

  “I can. I am.”

  “Whitney, if you want this guy for keeps and he’s not on board with the idea, bail out now while you still can with some shreds of your self-confidence left. I’ve been in these one-sided love affairs. They’ll rip you up inside.”

  “We’re still working together on the case.”

  “Forget the case. You never should have gotten mixed up in this crazy probate in the first place. Best thing you could do now is get Commissioner Snowe on the phone and tell her you’ve changed your mind and want to resign as G.A.L.”

  “I’ve never quit a case in my life, Jack.”

  “This is not quitting, Whitney. This is a strategic, midcourse correction. Only a fool keeps heading up a road with a Dead End sign posted on it.”

  A Dead End sign. Yes, Jack was right. Adam’s words the night before about not giving her a love pledge had been just that. But what Jack was suggesting would mean she would never see Adam again. Never. And that was such an awfully long time.

  Isabel poked her head around the open door. “You told me to remind you of your luncheon at Elliott’s.”

  Whitney’s eyes shot to her watch. “Whoops.” She bolted out of the chair. “I have to go, Jack.”

  “Have to, Whitney?”

  “All right, I want to see this case through to the end.”

  “Justice is going to be at this luncheon, isn’t he?”
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  “Don’t worry. I’ll keep a cool head.”

  “It’s the other parts of you I was concerned about,” Jack said, but he followed his admonition with a teasing smile. “Will you at least promise me one thing, Whitney?”

  “What?”

  “That you won’t let Justice hurt you. From everything they tell me down at the men’s club, he’s in great physical shape. If I have to call him out, the guy’s going to kill me.”

  “Bless you, Jack, for making me smile.” Whitney blew him a kiss on her way out the door.

  ADAM FORMALLY EXTENDED his hand to Dr. Grover McGrory, only to have it slapped in a very casual returning salute. McGrory presented nothing even remotely similar to the image of the dignified, scholarly professor. His stocky body was layered in what could have easily been taken for rags on a street person. His receding salt-and-pepper hair curled across his shoulders. He had five golden hoops piercing his left ear and dark hair growing out of a wart on his chin.

  McGrory first ordered an imported bottle of beer—with specific instructions to serve it in the bottle—and then the most expensive item on the menu.

  The moment the beer arrived, he upended the bottle, emptied its contents down his throat, let out a satisfied burp and slumped back in his chair.

  “Okay, Ms. West, Mr. Justice, you have a choice to make. Which do you want? A nice tale about Lydon Miller or the truth?”

  “The truth, of course, Dr. McGrory,” Adam said.

  “It will cost you,” McGrory said.

  “And what is your going rate for the truth?” Adam asked, careful to keep the disdain out of his tone.

  McGrory folded his arms firmly over his chest. “This is not a shakedown, Justice. I know your reputation for honesty and fair dealing. It’s the reason I’m here. The only payment I’ll require is your silence.”

  “Silence about what?”

  “You’ll both have to give me your word you will not tell anyone what I tell you.”

  “And why would you require such silence?” Adam asked.

  “You won’t understand why until you hear my story. And you won’t hear my story unless you agree to my price. That’s the deal. Yea or nay?”

  Adam studied the professor’s face. He could tell this man wanted to get something off his chest. He was more than curious as to what it might be. “All right, Dr. McGrory, you have my word.”