by Style, Linda
After six futile calls, she was ready to give up and call Hank when, after Macy explained who she was and who she was trying to find, the woman who’d answered said, “Yes, I have a daughter named Carla.”
“Oh, thank heaven,” Macy said and explained she and Carla were friends several years ago and she wanted to get in touch, but had lost Carla’s phone number. It was true. She’d had Carla’s number before, but didn’t know what she’d done with it.
“Oh, I remember you, Miss Capshaw. Carla talked about you all the time. Said you helped her a lot.”
Macy felt even worse for letting time and circumstance keep her from maintaining the friendship, but she couldn’t change that now. “I’d like to get in touch with her. Could you please have her call me … or give me her number?”
“Yes, of course.” Mrs. Monroe rattled on about how Carla was married now and had three children and couldn’t be happier. Then she gave Macy Carla’s number and said goodbye.
Though glad to hear her friend was doing well, Macy felt a twinge of envy. There was a time when she wanted more than anything to have a family of her own, but four years ago, that door had been closed forever.
After talking to Mrs. Monroe, Macy called Carla. No answer, so she left a brief message and her number. She hoped Carla would call, but couldn’t blame her if she didn’t.
Macy went into the kitchen, prepared some tea and went back to her office. Work would take her mind off what was quickly becoming an obsession. She pulled up her e-mail and found several messages from her admin assistant and plowed through them, making notes in her DayTimer of court dates, due dates for briefs, and then she read some case law that she’d asked Cheryl to find. A half hour later, the phone rang. Macy snatched it up. “Hello.”
A woman’s small voice said, “Hi, Macy. This is Carla.”
As reluctant as Macy had been to call Carla, she was more than happy that she had. In seconds, the years slipped away and they were as comfortable with each other as if they’d never been apart. “Your mom says you’re doing fantastic,” Macy said. “Instead of talking on the phone, why don’t we get together? It would be so much fun and a lot easier to catch up on each other’s lives.
There was hesitation on Carla’s end, but Macy persisted. “Any time you want. Anywhere you want. I can pick you up, take you to lunch or—”
“It’s…it’s hard for me to get a sitter,” Carla said. “But I take the kids to the park sometimes in the morning and maybe you could meet us there one day. We can talk while the rug rats play.”
“Sure. I’d like that. Whenever you want.”
Carla suggested the next week, but Macy didn’t want to wait that long. “I’d love for it to be sooner if we could.”
Again, Carla hesitated, then said, “I have some time this afternoon when the kids are napping. Could you come here?”
“Of course I will. I can’t wait to see you.”
“Me, too,” Carla said, but Macy didn’t hear conviction in her voice. And after giving Macy her address, Carla added, “It’s not the best neighborhood, but we’re planning to move soon.”
“I’m coming to see you, Carla. Not your house.”
“Okay,” Carla’s voice rose as if pleased at the response.
Macy asked for the address and they agreed on a time. Now all she had to do was decide what she was going to ask Carla and yet not bring up unhappy memories. Her friend had wanted desperately to keep her child. They’d both wanted that.
Two hours later, Macy was cruising the streets in one of the older L.A. neighborhoods. While some older parts of the city had been designated historic, the area she was looking for hadn’t made the grade.
She located the address, an apartment, and then parked in the back as Carla suggested. A group of teens were hanging out around a tricked out car in the parking lot of the building, which reminded Macy of the projects where she had visited one of her pro bono clients. One guy said, “Nice ride,” when she got out of her car. Her stomach skittered. Unsure what the appropriate response should be, she simply smiled, said “Thanks,” and went inside, sure she’d have no tires or radio when she came out.
Inside, she was greeted by dingy walls and the sweet, telltale odor of marijuana filling the hallways. No elevator, either. She could see why Carla was reluctant to have visitors over.
She walked up the two flights, found apartment 234 and knocked softly so she didn’t wake her friend’s children.
The door parted a crack and a pair of brown eyes peered out. The door shut again. She heard a chain slide, a click, and then Carla—as pretty as ever—was standing there and Macy felt as if she’d been flung back in time.
Both she and Carla reached out at the same time to hug each other.
“It’s so good to see you,” Carla said, her dimples making dents in cheeks that were still girlishly plump.
“You, too,” Macy said.
Carla motioned for Macy to come in and then locked and bolted the door. “Can’t be too careful around here.”
After a few awkward moments, they launched into conversation, their rapport as easy as if the years hadn’t come between them. They looked at several photo books of Carla’s family, laughed at some of the silly things children do, and then caught up on where they were in their personal lives.
“My mom told me you’re a lawyer now, and I know your life must be really busy,” Carla said, looking lovingly at the photographs of her children. “But having children is one of God’s greatest gifts. I hope you’re blessed with that happiness someday.”
Macy swallowed. She’d hoped for that, too. Once. But her fate was sealed when her gynecologist confirmed that it would be impossible to conceive again. The disappointment had cut deep. But like other things she couldn’t change, she’d grieved and then made a personal decision to devote her life to helping children however she could.
“I have a…female problems. So, it looks like I’ll just have to enjoy other people’s children,” she said, trying to make light of it.
But she couldn’t forget the loss. The disappointment.
Carla glanced away, obviously embarrassed. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed—”
“It’s okay. I’ve adjusted.”
A long pause ensued and then Carla asked, “Do you ever think about your baby? Where he is and what he’s doing? If he’s happy?”
The question surprised Macy, but then it shouldn’t have. Carla had left the day before Macy had delivered, so she couldn’t have known Macy’s child had been stillborn. But Macy didn’t want to get into all that. What she really wanted to know was if Dr. Dixon delivered Carla’s baby, as well. She nodded. “Of course. All the time. Do you?”
Carla hesitated. “I think about it sometimes, but then I think what happened might have been for the best.”
Macy nodded her understanding. “Giving up a child for adoption is one of the biggest sacrifices a mother can make. But when it’s what’s best for the baby…”
Carla’s eyes went wide. “Oh, I didn’t give him up.”
Macy stared at Carla. “I…I don’t understand. Do you mean you changed your mind and took your baby home?” Her gaze darted around the room searching for photos of an older child. She hadn’t seen any in the photo albums.
Furrows formed on Carla’s brow. “You didn’t hear?”
“Hear what?”
“My baby was dead. He was stillborn. When that happened, everything changed.”
But…Macy had been told that everything had gone fine for Carla…that the adoption had been completed and Carla was happy her child would have a good home.
When Macy finally found her voice, it was only a whisper. “No, I didn’t know.”
“They said it was for the best. He wouldn’t have been normal and would have had severe medical problems all his life. Something about the heart. And I know now, I was way too young to take care of him properly. I blame myself sometimes.”
“But it wasn’t your fault.”
&nb
sp; “I know. That’s what the doctor said.”
“Do you remember the doctor’s name?”
Carla shook her head. “Why?”
“No reason,” Macy said absently.
An hour later, and after a lot of chatting about Carla’s plans to make something of her life eventually, Macy left Carla’s and drove back to her office, her mind reeling as she tried to make some sense of what she’d just learned. Why would anyone lie to her about Carla’s baby? And it wasn’t just one person who’d lied, it was the doctor and the rest of the staff. Her father. Did they think she couldn’t handle the news after hearing her own baby had been stillborn?
Two stillborn babies within hours of each other? What were the odds? Immediately the lawyer in her rose to the fore. Had the doctor or the staff been negligent? Had they botched something in one of the births—or both?
She parked and went inside the tall, contemporary Citicorp building, rode the elevator up to her office on the seventh floor. The only conclusion Macy could draw was that there was culpability on the part of either the physician or the staff when her child died, and they didn’t want the facility to get slapped with a lawsuit. If they lied to Macy about Carla’s baby, there’d be no reason for Macy and her family to think there was any problem with the standard of care when her child was stillborn. If her family knew about two dead infants within twenty-four hours of each other, someone might have had a few questions.
Preoccupied, she crossed the reception area, barely acknowledging Cheryl, went into her office and sat at her desk. Even if she’d heard about Carla’s baby back then, she’d been so naive, she might not have thought anything of it. But her father would have. Then again, since he wanted the whole thing to disappear, and Dr. Dixon was his friend, he might not have done anything. Wesley Capshaw looked out for himself.
Her head hurt. She didn’t work well on possibilities or assumptions. She had to find out exactly what had happened that night. But how? She couldn’t waltz into the shelter and start poring over confidential records. Requesting her own records would take time and wouldn’t necessarily show anything. She needed Carla’s records, too, and she had no way to get them. No reason either unless she told Carla everything. Even then there was no guarantee Carla would want to do anything. Like Macy, no one knew about her past, and especially not Carla’s husband. She’d said he had a temper and she wasn’t sure how he’d react, so she’d never told him.
But Detective Santini could get access to the records. His case…the Ray case…was connected to Haven’s Gate. He could easily get a search warrant to look at the records. And he could take her with him.
Anyone who knew the circumstance would think it suspicious. All she had to do was tell him why he needed to check the records.
She would have to tell him about her past.
***
BERNIE’S SPORTS BAR AND GRILL was the nearest watering hole to the House, aka the station, and while Rico didn’t frequent the place as often as the rest of his unit, he managed to make every Yankees game he could. As a kid, Rico, his dad and his brothers watched them all. His dad worked hard at his small restaurant in Hoboken and the family had barely scraped by, but attending ball games was part of Mario Santini’s life.
Initially, his dad had to force Rico to go along, because Rico was more interested in his computer than baseball. But the sport got under his skin, and now, even though he was three thousand miles away, he was still a fan and watched every game he could.
Three televisions blared with the most important game of the season. Yankees versus their archrivals, the Boston Red Sox, and Rico had convinced his buddies that they better root for his team.
“My round.” Luke slid first one pitcher of beer across the table and then another.
Deep voices reverberated throughout the bar with each hit, run or out. Jordan, Luke and Rico hooted along with everyone else and slapped high fives or gave fist-bumps when their team came home. Their table was directly in front of the big screen and they were on their fourth round of beer, the Yankees were down by two runs and the bases were loaded when the room came to a sudden hush.
Rico did a 180. A blond woman stood just inside the doorway, looking to the left. When she turned his way his mouth fell open. Macy Capshaw.
What the…
“Come to Papa,” one of the guys at the next table said and whistled loudly. A few other drunks joined in.
Rico’s launched forward, ready to get up and punch the guy with the biggest mouth, but quickly restrained himself. The last thing he needed to do in front of the attorney was start a brawl. He didn’t have a clue what she was doing there. And the fact that she was there at all suddenly annoyed the hell out of him.
Tilting back on two legs of his chair, Jordan clapped Rico on the shoulder. “I think she’s here for you, Romeo.”
“You want us to leave?” Luke asked.
“No. Stay here. I need protection,” Rico joked.
“Yeah? If you want protection from that woman, you’ve got a major problem.”
“I’m not into high maintenance.”
“Not a problem for me,” Jordan injected.
“Yeah, I know.” Because Jordan’s family had more money than Bill Gates and Jordan was used to dating women like the good attorney.
Apparently seeing them, she moved slowly forward in their direction, and as she did, all eyes were upon her. His, too. He couldn’t take his eyes off her creamy smooth skin exposed by the open collar of her shirt. Her suede pants looked as if they were hand tailored for every curve. She was fine, all right. Too fine for the likes of him.
And she knew it better than anyone. But then it wasn’t likely she was there to seduce him. So why was she there? Had she reconsidered letting him talk to her client? Did she have new information on the boy’s identity? Even if she did, why seek him out?
Luke placed a hand over his chest and thumped it a couple of times. “Be still my heart.”
As she reached their table, Rico, Luke and Jordan clanked chairs in an effort to stand, but she gestured for them to stay seated.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.” She looked at Rico. “Can I talk with you for a minute?”
Could she talk with him? Hell, his body was saying she could do a hell of a lot more than that. “Now?”
Just then she looked away, her eyes lighting up. “Jordan? Jordan St. James?”
Jordan stood and held out a hand. “How are you, Macy?”
“I’m fine, thank you. You guys work together?”
Jordan nodded. “Yep. We’re partners. I was promoted right after the trial.”
“The trial. Oh, yes. Don’t remind me.”
“Why? You won the case.”
“But it wasn’t a good win.”
Rico had enough experience with attorneys to know what that meant. She’d won the case, but she didn’t like how she did it. It was either that or she knew her client was guilty.
“Well, it’s nice seeing you again, Jordan.”
“Thanks. I’m hoping you can help out my partner so he won’t be so cranky.”
Macy glanced at Rico, her expression somber.
He forced a smile through a sudden irritation. Why he was irritated, he had no clue. She obviously had something to tell him or she wouldn’t be there. But from her serious manner, he doubted whatever she wanted to see him about would be good.
“Do you have a minute?” she repeated.
“If you want to tell me you’re going to let me see the kid, sure, I’ve got a minute. If not, I’m busy.” He’d said it jokingly, but he was sure the message was clear. He didn’t play games with rich girls.
Her gaze flashed to Luke, then to Jordan and back to Rico again. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“Okay… So, why are you here?”
A loud roar went up from the guys at the bar, and because she was blocking his view, Rico missed the play. “Dammit.” He launched to his feet, and his chair scraped backward, falling over with a crash.
Macy’s blue eyes rounded like a little kid who’d done something bad. Seeing her expression, Rico bit back his next comment, took a breath and picked up his chair. He said, very quietly, very gently, “This is my day off, Macy, and I’m trying to watch a game. In fact, we’re at a critical point for my team. So, if you’re not here about Cody, can it please wait until this is over?”
Her eyes narrowed. She pulled out a chair and said, “Okay. I’ll wait.”
Rico ran a hand through his hair. How the hell could he focus on the game with her at the same table? Her scent alone was enough to jack his testosterone level up a couple notches. His body obviously didn’t recognize high maintenance as a flaw.
“Have it your way,” he said, then moved to face the TV.
And dammit if she didn’t pull her chair right up beside his. He inched his a little to the side, though out of the corner of his eye, he could still see her. As irritated as he was, he had to give her credit for having a little chutzpah. She wasn’t a quitter.
“Thank you,” he heard her say to someone behind him. And a few seconds later, she raised a glass of beer his way and said, “Cheers.”
Somehow he managed to watch the rest of the game, but it wasn’t easy listening to her laugh and joke with the other guys. Apparently a sexy woman with a great smile was all it took to capture their interest. Hell, who was he kidding? That was usually the case with him, too.
When the game was over, and his team had lost, he was fucking pissed…and with her sitting there, he’d had to bite his tongue over a dozen times.
“Sorry your team lost,” she said.
“No big deal. They’ve lost before and they always come back.”
“Sounds like you’re one of those diehard fans.”
He snatched the pitcher and poured himself another beer, then he filled her nearly empty glass. “Depends on who you talk to.”
