by Jule McBride
Timmy Rhys’s sudden scream broke into Max’s reverie. “Look out!”
Max’s head veered up. The next thing he knew he was on his feet—catching Timmy Rhys’s baseball barehanded. The tightly packed white leather ball stung every nerve in Max’s hand, even after he set it aside.
“No more baseball for you, tonight!” Melvin Rhys shouted. “You could have broken a window.”
“Or my hand,” Max muttered with mock grumpiness.
Lo chuckled and made a show of checking his palm for broken bones. “You’ll live.” She shot him a quick grin. “And it was a great catch.”
Helen was clapping her hands in delight. “Did you see that, Gladdy?”
Gladys nodded. “My, oh, my. He caught that ball barehanded.”
Helen pulled her shawl around her shoulders and nodded approvingly. “I told you he’d make a fine father.”
“He most certainly would,” replied Gladys.
Lo laughed nervously, her face turning crimson. She leaned forward, grabbing a blanket at her feet. “C’mon, Boots. Let’s get ready for the fireworks.”
Max caught her hand and stood. As he pulled her close, he chuckled. “Honey,” he teased, “you are the fireworks.”
“Leaving us?” Helen inquired.
Lo nodded. “We figured we’d find a spot on the grass.”
Gladys and Helen exchanged a pointed look, as if to say watching fireworks was the last thing Max and Lo would be doing. Against his will, Max felt a smile steal over his lips. “Is that all right with you two?”
Gladys and Helen giggled. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Helen tittered.
Within moments, Max had laid the blanket on the grass and sprawled next to Lo. “Perfect,” he said, sighing. It was completely dark, and all around them the kids were falling quiet, waiting for the fireworks. Max just wished the evening hadn’t been marred by the intrusion of Sergeant Mack. Realizing the police were canvassing the neighborhood for Lo was a definite reality check.
Max’s eyes drifted over her. She was lying on her back, her belly large, her face clear and beautiful. She clasped her hands beneath her breasts. Up on his elbow, Max gazed down. And suddenly frowned. Earlier in the week, he’d heard the phone ring, but later, Lo had sworn there had been no call.
“I heard the phone,” Max had said. “Was it him?”
Lo had flushed. “Who?”
“Him.” Max had wanted to say her ex-husband, but he knew she’d never really been married. “Whoever’s bothering you.”
Finally, pure worry crossed Lo’s features. She’d nodded and started wringing her hands. “It was him. Oh, I just know everything’s going to turn out badly.”
Unexpected protective feelings had welled within Max. Not that he could help her hide forever. Zach Forester had called that same day. The P.I. told Lo he was from the agency, as Max had instructed him, and so she’d cautiously handed over the phone. According to Zach, there were mountains of hard evidence against her—phone records and computer disks. Whenever she turned up, Zach said, Lo Lambert was going where the sun didn’t shine.
If whoever’s bothering her doesn’t harm her first, Max thought now.
“Look, er, Maxine,” Max suddenly said. “You left the house without me a couple times this week.” She’d sneaked out before he’d realized she was gone, and each time, he’d been convinced she was meeting her accomplice. But then she’d returned with a quart of milk or an ice-cream bar.
Lo raised her eyebrows. “So?”
“So, I’m your bodyguard.” It wasn’t exactly true, but then Max had just rescued her from the cops. “And I don’t want you leaving the house alone again.”
“I only went out to get milk this morning,” Lo scoffed. “The 7-Eleven’s right around the corner.”
“Promise,” Max said simply.
He felt her eyes drifting over him—from his finger-combed hair to his face, then down to the open neck of his tight, short-sleeved shirt. Her eyes followed the shirt’s pearl snaps, stopped at his belt buckle, then shot to his eyes again.
“Okay. You can come everywhere with me. I promise.” She flashed him a quick smile. “Satisfied?”
Max grinned. “Everywhere?”
She smirked, well aware he was thinking of her bed. “Almost everywhere.”
“Not entirely satisfying, but it’ll do.”
“It’ll have to.”
Max shot her a smile that said, “For now.” Then his eyes traveled back toward the central action of the block party. He’d seen Lo interact with so many people today—the Rhyses, Helen and Gladys and Colleen…Max’s chest constricted. No matter what happened, the truth was going to come to light. Lo would lose her hard-won status in the community, and there was no way he could protect her. His eyes swept the length of her—all the way down her long, luscious legs to her feet.
“I swear,” he murmured. “You’ve got the sexiest feet I’ve ever seen.”
She wiggled her toes.
Somehow, Max refrained from saying that her feet would be even sexier if they knew how to work his clutch. Fortunately, Lo’s gaze didn’t register the sudden heat that flushed his skin as he looked at her-or the sharp, undeniable tug of arousal that made him take a deep breath. Staring intensely into her eyes, he resolved to get to the bottom of whatever had happened. Tomorrow, he’d ask for the day off. Lo had plans to shop for baby clothes with Dotty, which meant she’d be safe. Meantime, Max would quit playing bodyguard and start playing detective.
As the first fireworks lit up the sky, Max tangled his fingers through Lo’s hair, catching the silken strands in fistfuls. When she didn’t protest, he kissed her gently.
“What did you do that for?” she murmured. He could think of a thousand reasons. Finally, he nodded up at the fireworks bursting in the sky. “Because that’s how you make me feel.”
“How’s that?”
Max’s chuckle was barely audible. “Like I’m about to explode.”
“I don’t intend to pursue this,” she warned.
“And,” he said before his lips found hers again, “I don’t intend to stop.”
ZACH FORESTER’S PLACE WAS in a Wall Street highrise and had more security than the White House-a curb man, a doorman, a deskman staring at a bank of monitors, cameras in the halls and elevators, an intercom outside the apartment door.
Max put his face right in front of Zach’s peephole. “I swear it’s really me, Zach.”
The intercom sounded. “Do you have your press credentials?”
Max sighed and picked up the phone next to the door. “Yes, but don’t you think you’re getting a little paranoid?”
“Years of doing surveillance work does this to a guy.”
Max sighed and dutifully held his New York Times card against the peephole.
One by one, locks began to turn over. They didn’t stop until Max counted seven. When the door swung open and Zach wasn’t in sight, Max was almost afraid to go inside.
Then Zach stepped from behind the door. The P.I., who was in his early thirties, had longish brown hair pulled into a tight queue and bright blue eyes that popped out of his gaunt, wizened face. He was wearing black Lycra cycling pants and a black T-shirt that said Who Needs Friends When You Have A Computer?
Max shook his head. “I think you’ve been on the Internet too long.”
Zach’s sudden, hearty laugh reverberated in the cavernous apartment. “Probably. C’mon in.”
The interior was relatively normal, although the high-ceilinged space was open and airy, presumably so Zach would quickly notice any intruders unfortunate enough to invade his home. In one corner, an island shaped the kitchen space. In another, steps led to an elevated hot tub and bath.
“Follow me,” Zach instructed. “And I’ll show you everything I’ve got on Lo Lambert.”
His tone didn’t sound promising. Max followed, seating himself in a director’s chair, then he glanced at Zach’s workstation—a simple polished oak desk, a high-end comp
uter system and file cabinets that had seen better days.
Zach handed him a file. “Everything’s there. I tapped into Meredith and Gersham’s files and downloaded some of the stuff.”
Max stared at Zach. “Legal?”
Zach smirked. “Do you want my methods or results?”
Max sighed. “Results.”
“Then don’t ask.”
Max stared down at the file again, then riffled through the papers. Most were rows of numerical figures. Legal briefs for deals that were suspect. Minutes from meetings.
“Basically,” Zach said, “the SEC is ready to arrest a number of executives, but they’re holding off until they find Lo Lambert. If they can’t break her down and make her confess, then they’ll cut deals with the other guys, who’ll probably turn her in.”
Max glanced over the papers dealing with the Dreamy Diapers packaging plant in his neighborhood. “They have hard evidence on the owner of the Dreamy plant?”
Zach nodded. “Sure. And on a guy who runs a pharmaceutical company, as well as others. But like I say, they won’t make arrests until they find Lo Lambert. She’s the link to all of the illegal deals.”
Max stared down. It was all here in black and white. One memo, signed by Lo, overtly set up a price-fixing deal between two other parties. He shoved the paper to the back of the file, thinking he’d read through the materials more carefully later. Then he realized Zach was staring at him. “What?”
“Just let me get this straight,” Zach said. “Lo Lambert is living in your house and using your name. And she thinks you’re a bodyguard she hired from some agency?”
Max nodded. “Yeah, this is supposed to be my day off. I’m catching a plane in a couple of hours. I’m going to see her grandmother. Did anybody question her?”
Zach shook his head. “No, she’s in a nursing home.”
“That doesn’t mean she can’t talk.”
Zach stared at him a long time, then groaned. “I knew it. You’re attracted to Lo Lambert, and now you’re starting to think she might be innocent.”
Max shrugged. “Maybe.” “Well—” Zach nodded at the file in Max’s hand
“—she’s not. And if you want to see what becomes of the men that woman chews up and spits out, I suggest you go see Sheldon Ferris.”
FERRIS’S OFFICE WAS impressive. His massive, blacklacquered desk was positioned on a raised platform, and behind it, floor-to-ceiling windows offered a stunning view of Manhattan’s skyline. The place looked more like a movie set than the kind of office a man worked in, so Max glanced around, expecting to find an office behind the office. Instead, he saw Sheldon Ferris breeze into the room.
“So sorry to keep you waiting!”
Max stood. Sheldon’s handshake was firm, his stride confident, and the man was impeccably groomed. His nails were as buffed as his shoes and his hair had probably been barbered that morning. While he seemed perfectly likable, Max bristled. All his journalistic feelers started to wiggle. Or was that just jealousy? Probably, he thought. After all, Max couldn’t bear to think of this man with Lo. Max’s eyes narrowed as Sheldon stepped onto the raised platform, circled his desk and took the seat behind it.
“Please, have a seat,” Sheldon said.
When Max sat, he realized he had no choice but to stare up at Sheldon. It’s like the guy thinks he’s a god, perched on a mighty tower, Max thought. Then he felt a rush of anger at himself. This interview was work, not personal. Don’t let your jealousy get in the way of your objectivity. “Mr. Ferris, thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”
“I’ve only got a second, but I’m glad to make time for a member of the press. Especially someone as important as yourself.” Sheldon flashed Max a smile. “I do read—and enjoy—your column.”
The man was definitely too ingratiating. But then; that could be Max’s jealousy talking again. “What can you tell me about your relationship with Lo Lambert?”
Sheldon leaned forward and stared into Max’s eyes, as if deciding whether or not to trust him. Then he gushed, “Oh, this whole ordeal has been awful.”
“Awful?”
“I still love her. I want her back. I want her found. I—” Sheldon’s voice broke. “I don’t know what to do anymore, where to turn…”
Max clenched his teeth. In a mental flash, he imagined Sheldon and Lo being reunited in a prison visiting area. They were sitting on opposite sides of a glass wall, gazing lovingly at each other and murmuring pillow talk into their individual phone receivers. Forcing his attention back to the matter at hand, Max said, “Mr. Ferris, did you have any inkling that Lo Lambert was fixing prices behind your back?”
Sheldon straightened his tie nervously. “No. Not at all.”
If he was lying, Max thought, he sure was good. “I got an anonymous tip…” Max let his voice trail off, wondering if Sheldon would get nervous.
He didn’t. He raised his eyebrows innocently. His voice was hopeful. “About Lo?”
Max nodded. “An anonymous tip that she was pregnant with your child when the scandal broke.”
’
Sheldon’s only reaction was to exhale a deep sigh. “It’s possible. But I don’t know.” Suddenly, he buried his face in his hands. “I can’t bear to think of my own child being cared for by a women who-who—” His voice cracked. “Broke so many laws. Who betrayed me like this.”
“I’m really very sorry,” Max intoned dutifully.
“No, I’m sorry.” Tears shimmered in Sheldon’s eyes. “I thought I could do this interview, but I can’t. I’ve already told everything to the police. I hope you’ll understand that talking about her upsets me.”
Max rose and slid his card across Sheldon’s desk. “That’s my number at the Times. Feel free to call me. Even if I’m not there, I regularly check my voice mail.”
As Max turned to go, he felt pure disappointment. Either Sheldon Ferris had really lost his heart to a criminal. Or he was the most practiced liar Max had ever met.
7
When Falling in Love, Expect the Unexpected
“YOU SAY YOU FLEW in from Connecticut to talk to me about marrying my granddaughter?”
Max hadn’t said that at all. “Uh, Mrs. Lambert, that’s not—”
“Just call me Gran—” Gran’s booming voice was at complete odds with her small body and wiry movements, “—seeing as we’re family now.”
“But, Mrs. Lam—er—Gran—” Max cut himself off, thinking that Josephine Lambert was the most impossible person he’d ever met.
She was propped up in an overstuffed armchair, her hands angelically folded in her lap and a crucifix mounted on the wall behind her. She had Lo’s lush mouth and green eyes, hair that was dyed more orange than auburn, and new white Reeboks that peeked from the longish velour pants of her bright blue running suit. Only her sun-browned skin, which was as wrinkled as a prune’s, served as a confession that she was closer to eighty than seventy.
“Well—” A smiling, thirtyish blonde whose name tag read Cassie lingered hesitantly by the door. “I guess I can just leave you two alone.”
At first, Max thought the attendant was worried about leaving Gran with a strange man. Then he realized Cassie was trying to protect him. He watched in amazement as Gran fixed the woman with the meanest, evilest stare he’d ever seen.
“Before you go,” Gran said, “could you do me just one measly favor?”
Cassie gulped. “What?”
“Promise me you’ll never come back!”
Cassie glanced helplessly at Max. “Please, Mrs. Lambert, we’re doing our very best to accommodate you here—”
Gran swiveled toward Max. “See how she treats me! Isn’t this place awful?” Her green eyes narrowed. “I’m sure they sent my poor, gullible granddaughter a fake brochure! The Fountain of Youth nursing home—ha! Why, if Lo had actually visited this place, she’d never have signed me on! And now that I told her how horrible it is, she’s going to move me to Connecticut as soon as possible!”
“Mother Teresa could not find happiness here!”
Max rolled his eyes. Right. Ivana Trump would have been ecstatic. The place was costing Max a fortune. Josephine occupied her own well-appointed apartment—although lately she’d become such a handful that the staff was threatening to move her to an assisted living area. On the hour, minivans were at her disposal—heading to town, a bowling alley and local movie theaters. Other amenities included an on-the-premises chapel that offered daily mass, a garden, swimming pool and hair salon. Regular manicures and pedicures were given door-to-door.
“This isn’t a nursing home,” Max muttered. “This is a resort.”
“I heard that, young man,” Gran said as Cassie left. “Just because I’m old, don’t you dare make the mistake of thinking I’m deaf.”
“You may not be deaf,” Max shot back, “but you sure have selective hearing.”
At that, respect actually shone in Gran’s eyes. Max was glad, too. He wasn’t about to let her railroad him the way she did the staff. He didn’t care how old she was.
“Well…I can see why you’d want to marry Lo,” she remarked.
So, it’s back to that theme again. Max coldly assessed her. He was sure she’d heard him right the first time, but he supposed there was a slight chance her hearing aids really weren’t working. “I said I came to talk about your granddaughter, not to talk about marrying her.”
“Marrying her?” Gran echoed innocently. “Why, pardon me for mentioning it, young man, but didn’t you already say you were marrying her?”
“No, I—”
Gran abruptly cut off Max by heading toward the Lo Lambert picture shrine on top of the TV. “Well,” she said, moving a Madonna figurine aside with real reverence, “I guess you must have dropped by to see all of Lo’s baby pictures.”
