by Style, Linda
Later when she was gone…because right now sitting next to her had him thinking of things that had nothing to do with the case.
High maintenance, Santini. Not your type. Now if he could convince his body, he’d be a lot better off.
Frowning as she looked at the file, Macy suddenly jerked back. Closed the file. “I — I have another appointment, so unless you have anything else…” She pushed away from the desk. “I’m sorry. I really don’t see how this is doing any good.”
From the way she’d closed the file, he could only figure something she’d seen in it disturbed her. He was sure of it. But within seconds, she’d collected herself. She leaned forward. “I hope you didn’t think my coming down here to look at the case was going to make me change my mind about letting you see the boy.”
He almost laughed. Was he that transparent? “No, I didn’t think that at all,” he lied.
She raised one of her fine blond eyebrows in question, her expression dubious.
Despite himself, he laughed. “Okay, maybe I did…a little.”
Her full mouth turned up in a smile, but there was no smugness in her voice when she said, “An honest man. I like that.”
At which point, she stood, turned and walked toward the door, pink velour clinging in all the right places.
He sprang to his feet and followed. Before she reached the exit, he touched her shoulder. “Thanks for coming down. If you have a change of heart, please let me know.”
She turned. “It isn’t going to happen. I can tell you, though, after looking at the photo of both parents in the file, I don’t think there’s a resemblance.”
Disappointment, sharp and quick, shot through him. “Kids don’t always look like their parents.”
She nodded. “True. As I said, if someone doesn’t show to claim him, there will be DNA testing, and I’ll do what I can to ensure your case is one of the first tested.”
It wasn’t the answer he’d wanted…but it was something.
“Thanks. I guess it pays to know the right people.”
***
MACY HADN’T INTENDED on going to her office on a Saturday afternoon, but she didn’t have any other plans and she had to do something to get her mind off what she’d learned at Santini’s office. She unlocked the big double doors, went in, pulled out one of her other client files and sat at her desk, forcing herself to focus on the papers in front of her. The Joffrey case. A welfare mother was bringing suit against one of the largest health maintenance organizations in the country for not giving her daughter the same quality of care other clients received.
Even though Macy wanted more than anything to see Marilyn Joffrey receive monetary compensation for her loss, she knew all the money in the world could never replace the woman’s child.
And the Joffrey case couldn’t keep her mind from going back to one thing. Chelsey Ray had agreed to give up her child for adoption, but had changed her mind.
A chill crawled up Macy’s spine.
No matter how many times Macy’s parents had impressed upon her that she was unable to care for a child, she’d finally realized she couldn’t do what they’d wanted her to do. Her baby was a part of her — and a part of Jesse. She couldn’t just give their child away like an old pair of shoes. At the last minute she’d changed her mind about the adoption — just as Chelsey had.
But young girls changed their minds all the time, some even after taking their babies home. Because that’s when reality set in.
It also bothered her that the same physician that delivered her baby delivered Chelsey’s child. She’d had no idea Dr. Dixon worked at the shelter. Her father had told Macy the physician was a personal friend and that he would come to the shelter, deliver Macy’s baby and keep everything confidential.
Back then, naive and barely seventeen, she hadn’t known medical records were always confidential — that any physician who delivered the baby would have to abide by the laws of confidentiality.
So what was the big deal? Twelve years had passed. What difference did it make whether Dr. Dixon was on staff at Haven’s Gate or not? Still, the question niggled at her. Why would her father lead her to believe Dr. Dixon wasn’t on staff? Or had she just assumed it?
The easiest thing would be to talk with her father and see if what she remembered was correct. If her father would even talk to her.
They’d had little communication since Macy left his firm. But her mother kept calling Macy, urging her to come for dinner and make up with her father. She hadn’t taken her mother up on the invitations, but maybe it was time she did.
She picked up the phone and punched in the number, hoping her mother wouldn’t be engaged in her usual activity — shopping.
“Hello,” a woman’s voice trilled.
“Mother. How are you?”
“Macy? Is that you?”
“Ye-e-es,” Macy drew out the word. “Who else would call you mother?” Granted she hadn’t called the house much since the fallout with her father, but her voice hadn’t changed in that brief time.
“I’m surprised to hear you call that’s all. Is something wrong?”
“No, of course not. I called to…to find out how you are.”
Macy heard a sigh of relief on the other end of the phone. “Oh, sweetheart, I can’t tell you how good that makes me feel. Let me get your father so you can talk to him.”
“No, don’t do that. I want to talk with you, Mom.”
“Sure, sweetheart.” Ever the peacemaker, Sarah Delacourt Capshaw wanted everything to be fine with everyone, no matter that she was married to a tyrant who directed all aspects of her socialite life. Okay, that wasn’t fair. Her mother’s life was just different. It wasn’t how Macy wanted to live hers, but so what. Passing judgment was exactly what her father did.
If her mother found her importance in life through keeping ahead of the pack in just about everything, then who was Macy to say it wasn’t right for her.
“What do you want to talk about, dear?”
“I…uh…was wondering when I might come for dinner?”
Her mother’s excited squeal nearly perforated Macy’s eardrum.
“Tonight? I’m having your grandparents for dinner and they’d be so happy to see you.”
“Okay. What time?”
“Is seven all right? I can change it if it’s not convenient for you.”
“No, Mom. Seven is perfect.”
When she hung up, Macy felt warmed by her mother’s reaction. She’d made her mom happy. Such a little thing, and the woman was ecstatic. Knowing her grandparents would be there had made the idea of dinner with her father a whole lot less stressful for Macy, too.
Wesley Capshaw wasn’t going to steamroll anyone with Ira Delacourt in company. It was her grandfather’s name and money that put her father where he was, and Ira Delacourt doted on his only grandchild. Her father wouldn’t win any points being rude to her in front of Ira.
Comfortable with her decision, Macy spent the rest of the afternoon on other cases, four of which involved women who’d fled from abusive husbands. She could never understand how one person could physically hurt another, but it happened all the time.
Even as she worked the other cases, her mind drifted to Santini’s cold case — and to Detective Santini himself. How warm his hand had felt when he’d placed it on her shoulder. How gentle, yet firm. Strong. She liked strong men, both physically and mentally.
A muscle cinched low in her belly. Damn. You’d think she was a teenager with a crush on the captain of the football team. Okay. She had to admit Rico Santini was a mighty appealing man—even if he was a cop. Cops and attorneys were always on opposite sides in the courtroom, and like fire and dry tinder, they were a combustible combination that rarely worked.
Looking for something to take her mind off the sexy detective who was only being nice because he wanted something from her, she began to write down things she remembered from when she’d stayed at Haven’s Gate.
She remembered Ca
rla…what was her last name? Carla was one of the girls Macy had made friends with while they were at the shelter…and Macy had promised to keep in touch. Somehow that promise had been lost along the way, what with college, law school, a trip to Europe and then starting work at her father’s firm.
Carla…Carla Monroe, that was her name. She and Carla had commiserated over what they were about to do, wondering if there was any other way. But there wasn’t. The father of Macy’s baby was dead, and Carla was only fifteen, living with her single mother and seven siblings on welfare.
Acting the big sister, Macy had impressed on Carla the importance of finishing school, and she wondered now if Carla had taken it to heart. She noted the girl’s last name.
Macy also wrote out tidbits she remembered from Rico’s case file. Before she knew it, she had a pad full of notes and it was time to go home and change for dinner. Her mother and grandmother might go into cardiac arrest if she came in her sweats.
On the drive home, Macy decided on a pair of black dress pants and a lightweight black cowl-neck sweater. Perfect for the crisp spring evening. And to top it off, her best Manolos. Her one guilty pleasure. No matter what she wore, she always felt more confident in great shoes.
At her condo, Macy heard the phone as she was pulling the key from the door, but by the time she reached it, the message had clicked off. She glanced around for Hercules, forgetting he was at the vets overnight. It was the first time they’d been apart overnight since she’d brought him home three years ago, and she hadn’t realized how much she’d miss the little guy.
She set her briefcase on the couch, kicked off her shoes, and then retrieved a soft drink from the fridge. After a quick swig, she went back to the phone, punched the message button and dropped onto the couch to listen.
“Hi, Macy. It’s Rico. Detective Santini. When you get a minute, please give me a call. He rattled off the number, then said, “I’m going out for a while and it’ll be late when I return. So call tomorrow if you can. Thanks.”
She played the message again, enjoying the sensual quality of his voice. Call me, he’d said. But not tonight.
Of course not. What guy who looked like Rico would be sitting home on a Saturday night?
A tiny pinprick of envy needled her as she wondered what kind of women he dated. Then she wondered why she was even thinking of him…and more to the point, why she couldn’t stop.
When she thought about it, she knew why. In a way, Rico Santini reminded her a little of her first love. They even looked a little alike with dark hair, soft brown eyes and long, black eyelashes that most women would kill for. Both men owned any room they entered. Jesse because he looked very much the rebel, and even though it was far from the truth, the detective had that rebel look about him, too. But the one thing Rico possessed that Jesse never did was a true sense of self…the type of self-confidence that made heads turn.
And thinking about either man was an exercise in futility. Jesse was gone and the detective was off limits in every possible way. On the other hand, the thoughts of either man was more pleasant than thinking about the so-called family dinner that night.
An hour later, she was knocking at the front door of her parents’ home in Bel Air, her palms sweaty and her nerves tingling on the surface of her skin. She knocked one more time and then opened the oversize carved wood door, as was her custom. Never barge in, she’d been taught. Not even in the home where she’d grown up. Manners, manners, manners. Her mother ran a close race with Emily Post in all things etiquette.
“Swe-e-etheart,” her mother sang out as she floated toward Macy.
They hugged. Sarah gave Macy an air kiss on each cheek, then smoothed the front of her lavender silk shirt, which perfectly matched lavender silk pants. Svelte at sixty-two, with golden hair, perfectly coiffed, her mother wore little jewelry. Just the three-carat rock she wore on her left hand and matching stud earrings. Sarah had a natural beauty and didn’t need to wear much makeup, but Macy couldn’t recall every seeing her mother without it.
“Come in, dear. Your grandparents are in the library with your father.”
“Am I late?”
“Just a little. But don’t worry about it. We’re simply happy you’re here.”
They entered the library together and immediately, her grandmother was at her side. Her father and grandfather stood near the window talking. When they saw her, her grandfather started toward her. Her father didn’t budge.
She gave the older man a loving hug, then crossed the room to her father and hugged him, too, a perfunctory gesture.
“You look beautiful, young lady,” her grandfather said.
“Thanks, Gramps. You look pretty spiffy yourself.”
Her father looked good, too. He always did. At sixty-one, he was still a handsome man with silver hair and a golden tan that said he had time to spare for many vacations in the tropics. Tall and elegant, Wesley Capshaw was a Renaissance man…and when he entered a courtroom, he put everyone on notice.
Before Macy knew it, dinner was over and they were having coffee and dessert and she hadn’t had a single opportunity to talk with her father.
“Dad, do you remember Doctor Dixon?” she asked around a mouthful of tiramisu.
Her father’s head snapped up, his lips thin, and it took a second for him to respond. “Yes, of course.” He looked to Sarah and then Macy’s grandparents, and without further acknowledgment of her question, he said, “I think you should all know that Sarah and I plan to fly to Paris for our wedding anniversary next week.” He smiled with satisfaction and patted her mother’s hand.
“How wonderful,” Macy’s grandmother sang out. “And how romantic.” Marion Delacourt played the addled old lady far too often, but Macy knew her gran was as sharp as a fillet knife. “How many years is that, dear?” Marion asked her daughter.
“Thirty—” Sarah hesitated “—thirty-one.”
“That’s good since I’m already thirty,” Macy joked.
“Mind your manners, young lady,” Sarah reprimanded with a tight smile, as if nobody at the table knew that Macy’s parents had married because Sarah was pregnant. Which, she guessed, was part of the reason they hadn’t wanted Macy to keep her baby. They’d regretted their mistake and didn’t want their daughter to do the same. To make sure, they’d refused to help her if she kept the child.
At the reminder, Macy pushed to her feet. “Dad, can I talk to you in private for a minute?”
Wesley looked surprised, but he wasn’t going to refuse her request in front of guests. What’s in the family, stays in the family. The immediate family. If she’d heard it once, she’d heard it a thousand times.
Macy followed her father into the library and closed the door behind her, dreading any discussion with her father because the outcome was always the same. Bad. But this was something she needed to do — for her own peace of mind. “Do you remember telling me that Dr. Dixon delivered my baby as a favor to you?”
Wesley shrugged. “That was a long time ago. I’ve put it out of my mind.”
Sure. So had she until something came up to remind her, and it seemed something always came up. “I had no idea he delivered more babies at Haven’s Gate. I thought he was there just that once.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed and a frown creased his tanned forehead. “I really don’t want to discuss any of this. For God’s sake, Macy, that’s all in the past.”
He was shutting her down. It was what he did when he didn’t think a subject worthy of discussion. “Well, maybe for you, but it isn’t for me.” As the words came out, her hands began to shake. “There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think of the child I lost.”
Wesley let out a sharp breath. “Keep it down or your grandparents will hear you.”
“Well, you know what? I don’t give a damn if they know. I never did. In fact it might be better for all of us to acknowledge my so-called indiscretion than to pretend it never happened. I kept the secret for you, not for me, and now I want you to
listen,” she said, talking fast so he couldn’t shut her down again. “I was working with a detective today on a case in which an infant was abducted five years ago — from Haven’s Gate.” She stopped, caught a quick breath, then went on. “Dr. Dixon delivered that baby, too.”
He gave her a blank stare. “So what?”
“I thought it a little strange since you told me he was delivering my baby as a favor to you. A one-time thing. That way we could be assured it would be kept confidential.”
He shrugged. “I don’t see the point. Apparently Dixon decided to continue working at the shelter after that. What does that have to do with anything?”
Before she had a chance to respond, he yanked open the door. “I don’t want to hear anything more about this. I’m not going to let you spoil your mother’s happiness tonight.”
Guilt. He was good at that, too. “You’re still ashamed of … of me. Aren’t you?”
“And you’re not?” He turned on his heel to leave, but on the way out he reiterated, “Leave well enough alone, Macy. Don’t bring this up again.”
Macy’s stomach sank. The walls seemed to close in on her. She tried to draw a full breath but felt as if her lungs had collapsed. She held on to the door and waited until she could breathe again. When she managed to regain her composure, she forced herself to put one foot in front of the other and, head high, walk back into the dining room.
She should have known nothing would come of talking to her father. Which made her all the more determined to get some answers.
He’d lied to her twelve years ago, and she was going to find out why.
CHAPTER FOUR
CARLA MONROE. CARLA MONROE. Macy thumbed through the phone book, scanning for her former roommate’s name. If she talked with Carla or even one of the other girls who’d stayed at Haven’s Gate back then, she might learn something.
Her friend would probably be married and the chances of finding her in the white pages weren’t good. Finished with the phone book, she turned to the computer in her home office and did an Internet search. Nothing there, either.
She could call Hank. Hank Bendetti, an old-time private investigator, was the person she hired when she needed someone to do background on a case and she couldn’t get information through normal channels. She was about to punch in his number when she remembered Carla’s mother’s name and went back to the phone book. Mary Monroe… There it was — along with four others of the same name and a dozen more with the initial M. She started at the top.
