For Richer or Poorer

by JoAnn Ross

  “L.A. just had an earthquake.”

  “That’s not so unusual.” Having grown up in San Francisco, he’d come to view tremblers as a fact of life.

  “The early pictures they’re showing sure don’t look good,” the bartender muttered. “Ted Koppel just said this might be the Big One.”

  * * *

  Beverly Hills

  * * *

  MERCIFULLY, the trembling, rocking earth was still. The deafening crescendo of rock being broken had been replaced by a cacophony of thousands of car and home alarms going off all over the city.

  Disoriented, her blood pounding in her ears, Lily lay in the middle of a huge puddle of water, staring in disbelief at the destruction around her. Every window in Blythe’s magnificent home had burst out of its frame.

  Two of the chimneys were rubble and the third looked decidedly iffy. There were cracks in the walls of the house the width of breadsticks. The pool house had been knocked off its foundation.

  Concerned for her friends, Lily was relieved when she saw that Sloan had managed to get the French doors off Cait, who was conscious enough to fling her arms around his neck and kiss him. Not far from the embracing couple, Gage was helping Blythe to her feet.

  When Lily struggled to stand up, black spots swam in front of her eyes. A sharp pain attacked her lower back like an arrow hitting a bull’s-eye. Her knees, already shaking from adrenaline, gave way, causing her legs to fold beneath her.

  As she sank back into the pool of water, Lily surrendered to the darkness.

  When she felt herself beginning to float toward consciousness again, she was being lifted into a pair of strong arms and carried across the rubble that had only minutes earlier been an exquisite garden in full bloom.

  “The phone lines are out from the quake,” Blythe, who was hurrying along beside her explained. “And we can’t get through on anyone’s cellular to call an ambulance. Gage came up with the idea of using the Rolls to take you and Cait to the hospital.”

  As Lily looked into the calm silvery blue eyes of the man deftly weaving his way toward the teeming throng of wedding guests, she suddenly recalled the way Blythe and Gage had been staring at one another just before the quake had hit.

  “Thank you.”

  He smiled and through the fog clouding her mind, Lily noticed that it held considerable charm. “Just part of the job.”

  “Gage used to be a policeman,” Blythe explained as the driver rushed to open the door to the Rolls-Royce limousine hired for the wedding party. Cait and Sloan had followed behind them; Cait was holding Sloan’s handkerchief to a cut on her temple.

  After they all were inside, with Lily lying on one of the glove soft, white leather seats, Blythe remembered her manners. “Lily Van Cortlandt, Gage Remington.”

  Another fact registered in Lily’s mind. “You’re a detective.”

  “Private, these days.”

  Lily nodded, her earlier fear being replaced by resolve. Her in-laws had hired a detective to dig into her past. What if she was able to unearth a few family skeletons in the illustrious Van Cortlandts’ closet?

  “How are you feeling?” Blythe asked, her concern obvious.

  “I had a pain in my lower back. But it’s gone now.”

  “No cramps?”

  “No.”

  “Or bleeding?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I’m sure you and the baby will both be all right.”

  “Of course you will,” Cait said firmly. The once snowy handkerchief was turning pink; her face was unnaturally pale.

  “I know we will,” Lily said. She’d already lost too much. The man she’d thought she loved, her marriage, her home and most of her money. Lily was not about to lose her child.

  Which brought her back to the Van Cortlandts’ lawsuit. Ignoring Blythe’s murmured protest, she sat up and gave Gage a direct look.

  “I’d like to hire you. If you’re not too expensive.”

  He did not appear at all surprised by her request. “I’m sure we could work something out.” When he gave her another smile, even warmer than the first, Lily realized exactly how this man might prove a devastating temptation to a less than enthusiastic bride.

  “What on earth do you need a private detective for?” Cait asked, her interest piqued.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “You need your rest,” Blythe insisted. “Why don’t you and Gage talk after we have the emergency room doctor check you and the baby out?”

  Surprise at Lily’s statement, along with a glimmer of curiosity, flickered across Blythe’s face. Lily knew she was dying to ask. She also knew that unlike Cait, who never hesitated speaking her mind, Blythe wouldn’t press for details.

  Although she was worried that she’d already waited too long to begin her defense, Lily also realized that this was neither the time nor the place to discuss her upcoming custody battle.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Gage offered gently. “Besides, we’re almost there and I don’t think a hospital emergency room is exactly conducive to constructive conversation.”

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, Lily managed a smile. “You must be a mind reader.”

  “Only sometimes.” His easygoing smile faded as he looked over at Blythe. Once again, their gazes locked. The air surrounding them grew electric.

  They’d reached the hospital, but neither Gage nor Blythe appeared to notice. Just when Lily was certain the limo was going to burst into flames, the driver stopped in front of the doors to the emergency room.

  “I can walk,” Lily protested as Gage scooped her up again, as easily as if she were a feather.

  “Of course you can,” he said agreeably. “But there’s no point in taking chances, is there?”

  Having no answer to that, Lily didn’t argue.

  The emergency room was chaotic, but the staff, trained in disaster response, kept things moving amazingly smoothly, despite the aftershocks that were keeping everyone’s nerves on edge.

  “Your friend appears to have suffered nothing more than a bit of a shock,” the doctor, whose musical accent suggested Indian roots, assured Blythe after Lily had been examined. “But it appears you’ve hurt yourself.”

  Blythe followed the physician’s gaze to her sleeve. Noticing the dark stain for the first time, she was belatedly aware of a burning in her left arm. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” she said.

  “I believe that’s for the doctor to decide,” Gage, who was standing beside Blythe, said. His voice, while low, sounded too much like an order for Blythe’s liking.

  “I’m fine,” she insisted.

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” The doctor took a pair of surgical scissors from the pocket of her white lab coat and slit the seam of the wedding dress’s sleeve. “You have a sliver of glass imbedded in your arm,” she announced. “We’ll have to remove it. And clean the wound.”

  “Can’t we do it later?” Still worried about Lily, Blythe wanted to get her settled into a bed. She glanced around at the bedlam spilling out onto the parking lot. “Surely you have more serious cases to examine.”

  The doctor pursed her lips and made a decision. “Promise you won’t let her leave without having this cared for,” she said to Gage.

  As he felt Blythe seething beside him, Gage grinned. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Doc.”

  Within minutes, Lily was admitted for observation and hooked up to a fetal monitor. Gage and Blythe were with her when a very frustrated Cait came storming into the double room.

  “Dammit, Gage,” she complained, “would you please explain to Sloan about a cop’s duty!”

  “The idiot’s insisting on going to work,” Sloan, who was on Cait’s heels, ground out.

  Cait turned on him, her hands on her hips. There was a huge tear in her short skirt, revealing a ruffled lace slip. “You’d think a man who earned his living writing screenplays would chose his words more carefully. Is that any way to talk to the woman you
profess to love? If you dare call me an idiot after we’re married—”

  “Married?” Blythe interrupted, her pleased gaze going back and forth between the arguing couple. “Really?”

  “If I can keep her alive long enough to get her to the altar.” Sloan’s irritation was not visibly eased by Blythe’s obvious pleasure at the news. “It was bad enough having her nearly killed when she went undercover to capture that surfer rapist. This latest stunt proves she’s crazy.”

  It was his turn to seek support from Gage. “You used to be her partner. Tell her that going out on the street in the middle of a disaster zone, when she’s suffered a head injury, is not only stupid, it’s dangerous.”

  Gage’s silver-blue eyes moved judiciously over Cait’s face, taking in her uncharacteristically pale complexion and the row of black thread at her temple. “You’ve had stitches.”

  She folded her arms over the bodice of her bridesmaid’s dress. “Not that many.”

  “Nine,” Sloan abruptly corrected. “And why don’t you tell him about the doctor’s warning about a possible concussion?”

  “He’s just being overly cautious because he’s worried about a malpractice suit. I’m not going to hang around here, lying in bed, when the city needs every cop it can get out on the street.”

  “Not cops in danger of passing out and driving their black-and-white into a crowd of civilians,” Gage corrected in the same calm, reasonable tone Cait had watched him use to defuse a dangerous situation back in the days when they’d been working the mean streets of South Central L.A. together.

  “There’s not a commander on the force who’d let you out on the street ten minutes after getting stitched up for a head injury, Carrigan. And you know it.”

  Her frustrated breath ruffled her bangs. “So I’ll work dispatch.”

  “The hell you will,” Sloan corrected with a flare of his own temper. “You’re going home. To bed.”

  “That’s what all this is about, of course,” Cait said, addressing Lily for the first time since bursting into the room. “The man can’t keep his hands off me.”

  Cait’s fiery temper had defused as quickly as it had flared. Lily had seen it happen countless times during their college years together. “Lucky you.”

  She smiled up at Sloan. “Looks as if Cait’s finally met her match. Don’t let her run over you.”

  Ignoring Cait’s muttered curse, Sloan put aside his own irritation and grinned. “I’m going to give it my best shot.” His smile moved to his eyes, which were laced with concern for Cait. And also, Lily noticed, for her. “How are you feeling?”

  “The doctor assured us you were going to be fine,” Cait said quickly, as if embarrassed not to have inquired earlier.

  “I am. I just want to get out of here.”

  “Tomorrow,” Blythe promised. “The doctor wants to keep you overnight. Just in case.”

  Although Lily definitely wasn’t looking forward to the prospect of spending the night in the hospital, surrounded by strangers, neither did she want to do anything to jeopardize her baby.

  “I suppose that makes sense,” she agreed reluctantly.

  “Now there’s an intelligent woman,” Sloan said to Cait. “Why can’t you be more like your friend?”

  “Now we’re back to calling me an idiot?”

  “Never an idiot.” He slipped his arm around her waist, drew her to his side, and pressed his lips tenderly against the row of dark stitches. “Just overly dedicated at times.”

  “It’s my job.”

  “Exactly,” Gage pointed out what it had taken him so long to learn himself. “Police work is only your job, Carrigan. Not your life.”

  “Putting things into neat little compartments may work for you, Gage Remington,” Cait repeated what she’d said so many times during the four years they’d been partners. “But I’m not like you. I could never walk away from The Job.

  “I’m a cop all the way to the bone. It’s what I do. And who I am. I couldn’t separate the two if I wanted to, which I don’t. And right now, I’m going back to work.”

  Breaking away from Sloan, she turned and started marching on her long-legged, determined stride toward the door. She was nearly there when she stopped, put her hand to her head, then slowly folded to the floor.

  While Sloan cursed and rushed to her side, Gage nodded, appearing satisfied and not the slightest bit concerned.

  “Well,” he drawled, “I guess that settles that argument.”

  Within minutes, a protesting Cait had been admitted into the empty bed beside Lily.

  The nurse returned, informing Blythe that the emergency room staff was now ready to treat her wound. Muttering about the entire event being a monumental waste of time, not to mention valuable personnel, Blythe reluctantly obliged. Not because she necessarily wanted to, but because she had the suspicion that if she refused again, Gage would literally scoop her up and carry her into the emergency room for treatment, just as he had Lily.

  “You’re not coming with me,” she said, correctly perceiving his intentions. “I’m more than capable of having a little cut cleaned without you hovering over me like some overprotective German shepherd police dog.”

  Once a cop, always a cop, she figured. It was obvious that Gage Remington could not resist bossing people around. Once this adventure was over, Blythe was going to remind him that she was the one who’d hired him. She should be the one giving the orders.

  Gage shrugged. “Whatever you want.” His casual tone belied the frustration in his gaze.

  Lily watched Gage watch Blythe leave. Although he was doing his best to hide it, she could see the unwilling desire in his intriguing eyes.

  “So, where’s the bridegroom?” she asked.

  Gage shrugged again. He’d dispensed with his suit jacket and tie. His white shirt was open at the collar, the sleeves rolled up, revealing strong, darkly tanned forearms.

  “He said something about having to get to a hospital across town where he’s on staff.”

  “Makes sense to me.” Lily knew that plastic surgeons did far more than face lifts and tummy tucks. If the quake was as bad as it had seemed in Blythe’s garden, there would undoubtedly be a great many people needing Alan Sturgess’s services.

  Having noticed Gage’s protective attitude toward Blythe, Lily was tempted to probe into their relationship, when another aftershock, which had the lights flickering overhead, precluded any questions.

  4

  ALTHOUGH HE WAS no stranger to earthquakes, Connor could hardly believe the destruction that greeted him after arriving in Los Angeles.

  From the air, the scene had resembled a huge, albeit flimsy, monopoly board that some giant had carelessly toppled, strewing houses and hotels everywhere. But as bad as the City of Angels had appeared from the executive jet, down on the ground, things were even worse.

  As he inched along in the rental car, contributing to the massive traffic jam that threatened to paralyze the city into one enormous grid-locked parking lot, Con felt as if he’d landed in the middle of a scene from The Road Warrior.

  The flooded streets were filled with rubble, gas leaks were burning, and everywhere you looked people were milling around, shaken and disoriented.

  He drove to Blythe Fielding’s home immediately after landing at Orange County’s John Wayne Airport. If he’d been worried about Lily before arriving at the house, one look at the destruction, along with the news that Lily and a cop named Cait Carrigan had been taken to the hospital, made Connor’s blood run cold.

  When the phone lines to local hospitals proved jammed, he tried calling police stations in search of news concerning officer Carrigan. Unsurprisingly, those lines rang busy as well.

  Finally, just when he thought he was going to go stark raving mad with worry, he lucked out. He got through to the Hollywood division, where an obviously harried press officer revealed that officer Carrigan had been taken to the University of California Medical Center.

  When he finally got th
rough to the hospital, Connor had absolutely no qualms about telling the operator he was calling on official police business. After a few clicks and a horrible moment when he thought he’d been disconnected, the call was transferred to officer Carrigan’s room.

  “Hello?” an unfamiliar feminine voice answered.

  “I’m looking for Caitlin Carrigan,” Connor said.

  “Who’s this?” the voice inquired with a suddenly sharp edge that confirmed he was talking to a cop. Connor opened his mouth to answer when he remembered his real name would mean nothing to Lily Van Cortlandt. Realizing he was going to have to explain eventually, he chose the easy route.

  “Mac Sullivan.”

  “The white knight?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re the guy who pulled Lily out of the drink yesterday, right?”

  “That’s me.” He wasn’t surprised Lily had mentioned him. After all, she would have had to have offered some reason for returning to Blythe Fielding’s home with wet clothes and kelp hanging from her hair.

  “Are you calling from San Francisco?” Cait asked.

  “No. I’m here in L.A.”

  There was a moment’s pause. “I thought Lily said you were on your way home.”

  “I was. Now I’m back.”

  Another pregnant pause. “Would Lily have anything to do with your rapid turnaround?”

  “She’s part of the reason,” Connor admitted. “May I speak with her?”

  “Just a minute.” Connor heard her talking with someone, presumably, Lily. Seconds later, Cait was back on the phone. “I’m sorry, but Lily’s not here right now. She was taken down to—uh—X ray.”

  He didn’t know what kind of cop Caitlin Carrigan was, but she was a lousy liar. Realizing that Lily had put her up to the blatant falsehood, he tamped down his frustration and concentrated on his concern.

  “How is she?”

  “The doctor says she’s fine.”

  “And the baby?”

  “Is also fine.”

  “Then why the X rays?”

  “It’s only a precaution.” There was another pause, a heartbeat longer than the others. “You’re not married or anything are you, Mac Sullivan?”