by MJ Rodgers
But there was such satisfaction in the quest and already a feeling of a small measure of success to note this difference in the chimp and the children’s learning curve when they learned together.
The kitchen clock chimed twelve times. Tomorrow might be Saturday, but it was still a workday. If she was going to be at her mental best, she knew she must get to bed now.
Remy gathered up her notes and shoved them into the old backpack she had bought in college and which still served her well. Then she got up, stretched, yawned and moved to the sink to rinse out her coffee cup. After she set it to drain, she crossed the room and reached up to flip off the light.
But in that split second that darkness claimed the kitchen, Remy saw something outside the window. She froze, stone still, as she stared at that window, her heart beating against the wall of her chest like the wings of a terrified, trapped bird.
Nothing was there now. But she knew it had been there. She knew it.
Because the shadowy image of the head and huge shoulders still flashed all too clear in her mind’s eye.
Chapter Five
Marc sat back and enjoyed watching Remy enter the courtroom Monday morning for the summary judgment hearing. He was disappointed in the pantsuit she wore, but even when she was all covered up, the languorous, sensual sway of those long legs in rhythm with those shoulders still sent the slow, sultry jazz beat drumming through his head.
He’d been thinking about what Gavin had said the other night. His friend was right. Marc hadn’t ever really pursued a woman before. Until he met this one, he hadn’t really wanted to.
As she approached, he stood and held out a chair for her at the defendant’s table.
She glanced around the deserted courtroom and checked her watch. “It’s exactly nine o’clock. Where is everyone?”
“They’ll be here shortly. I asked you to come thirty minutes early so we could talk about a few important things.”
“You deliberately told me to be here thirty minutes too early?”
“I didn’t think you wanted me bothering you back at the lab or at your home,” he said smoothly. “Have a seat. We have very little time to talk privately before the others arrive.”
He sent her his most sincere smile. She took the offered chair, but the look in her eyes told him that she was not pleased.
“Judge Swellen is sitting. I’ve been up before him many times. He’s a little more conservative than I’d prefer, but he’s fair. Now, if worse comes to worst and he rules we go to trial, I’ll be doing my best to delay the trial date so—”
“Delay? No. This must be over. Just as soon as humanly possible.”
Marc heard the panic scraping at her normally mellow tone. Then he saw the smudges beneath her cinnamon eyes that he hadn’t noticed at first.
“Remy? Is something wrong?”
“Is something right?” she asked, her eyes slipping away, not meeting his.
“What is it?”
“Just don’t delay this trial, Truesdale.”
“It would be foolish of me not to try. If I delay long enough and make them pile up enough legal costs, they may not last to go to trial.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. Her voice was not mellow at all now but scratchy and sarcastic. “Great. Just great.”
“Remy, you seem edgy. And you look tired.”
She laughed with absolutely no mirth. “Not surprising, since I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep this weekend.”
“Is it Nicholas? Is he ill?”
She shook her head, her eyes glancing to his as she noted the rise of concern in his voice. “No, he’s fine.”
“But not you? What’s happened? Tell me.”
She uncrossed her arms and let those beautiful erect shoulders sag as she leaned back in the chair. Marc felt a growing discomfort at these uncharacteristic signs.
“I saw a prowler at my window Friday night.”
Marc’s discomfort escalated immediately to alarm. He leaned closer, touched her arm.
“You called the police?”
“Yes. But by the time they got there, whoever it was had gone.”
“Did you tell the police about the prowler at the lab?”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
“They didn’t seem concerned. Other than urging me to keep my windows and doors locked, they didn’t have much else to offer.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense! Learning that you saw a prowler at both your lab and your home should have rung all sorts of warning bells in their brains. These incidents could very well be related. Haven’t they been reading the newspapers, watching their TVs? Didn’t they know who you were?”
“Oh, they knew, all right. They made a point of telling me that they had read all about me and my son. They treated me as though they thought I might have made up the prowler in order to get publicity or something.”
Marc felt the anger rising in his throat. “Fools. You didn’t stay in the house, did you?”
She shook her head. “I bundled Nicholas up and took him to my sister’s apartment for the night. When I drove back to the house on Saturday, I found the yard swarming with newspeople. They must have read the police report about the prowler at my home and gotten my address that way. I had no choice but to turn the car around and go back to my sister’s.”
Marc drew his hand away from her arm and cursed silently to himself. “I’m sorry about this,” he said after a moment.
She looked at him with tired eyes. “If you’re really sorry, then drop this insistence that Nicholas is David Demerchant’s child. Let my son and me get back to peacefully living our lives.”
“Remy, even if I wanted to, I can’t. I gave my word.”
She looked away from him, saying nothing, her face shuttered as she refolded her arms across her chest.
“If the press have your home address, they must have your telephone number, too. You’ll have to have it changed.”
Her eyes swung back to his. “What does it matter to you, Truesdale? The only thing you give a damn about is some stupid wrist-slashing, male-bonding symbolism you went through with a dead man.”
Marc heard the tiredness and strain underlying the anger in her tone. He leaned forward and rested his hand on her arm.
“You’re wrong, Remy. Yes, I made a promise to a friend. And yes, he’s dead. But the promise has nothing to do with the dead. On the contrary. It has everything to do with the living. I am bound by my word of honor to care for David’s son. I cannot go against my word.”
She said nothing. He didn’t think he’d convinced her. He thought she was probably just too tired to argue anymore.
“Do you have a security system?” he asked.
“No, I live in a rented house. My landlord is willing to put in a security system if I share the cost. He said he’d investigate what was available and let me know in a week or so.”
“Which means you can’t go back to your house.”
“My sister’s apartment has been modified into one big room so she can move easily around it in her wheelchair. She would never say anything, but having Nicholas and me stay over this last weekend was more than an imposition. I have to go back to the house. I don’t really have a choice.”
“Of course you do. Justice Inc. has a condo just up the street from Pike’s Public Market here in Seattle. It’s small, but it should be comfortable enough for you and Nicholas. And its best feature is that no one will know you’re there, so you’ll have complete privacy. I’ll call the office right after court and make the arrangements.”
“No, I can’t let you—”
“...Interfere in your life,” Marc finished for her. “But I already have, and these problems plaguing you are the result. So, it’s my responsibility to deal with them.”
“How much will staying in the condo cost?”
“That’s my concern, not yours.”
“No, I won’t—”
“Remy, I told you the firm owns the condo. If there are
any administrative costs, the money will come out of David’s trust.”
“Then I definitely don’t want—”
“Listen to me,” Marc interrupted yet again. “One of the things I wanted to tell you this morning is that as Nicholas’s legal guardian, you are entitled to a substantial yearly allotment to provide for his care.”
“I don’t want—”
“Sorry. I’m overruling you on this.”
“You can’t force me to—”
“Remy, don’t be a fool. You want Nicholas to be safe, don’t you?”
Her eyes widened as she turned to look Marc in the eye. “You can’t think someone could be after my son?”
“The TV and newspapers have been running stories for two weeks now, speculating about his being worth a billion dollars. You know the kind of kooks we have running around out there. You want to take the chance this prowler wasn’t after Nicholas?”
Fear filled her eyes before she looked away. She took a deep, shaky breath. “No.”
“Then write down your address on this card and a list of the things you need from the house. As soon as our court business is over this morning, I’ll call and arrange for them to be picked up and brought over to the condo.”
He dug into his pocket and pulled out a key with Do Not Duplicate imprinted on it. He wrote the address of the condo on the back of one of his cards and placed both on the table before her.
“This is my only key to the condo. The other keys are in the possession of Justice Inc.’s partners and A.J. Once I call the office and let them know you’ve taken occupancy, none of them will disturb you.”
Marc felt genuine relief as she gave up arguing and started writing.
As she wrote, he took the opportunity to move his chair a little closer. That distinctive perfume of her skin and hair was that sweet spice with a kiss of pepper, as he remembered. It danced into his senses, only to retreat into a lovely, elusive memory. He wanted very much to move in closer for more, but forced himself to remain where he was—for the moment.
She handed him directions to her house and the list he’d requested along with the keys from her shoulder bag.
Her head inclined questioningly. “Who is this A.J. you mentioned?”
He picked up the key to the condo and placed it in her hand. “The private-investigation firm we use at Justice Inc. is run by a very efficient and thorough lady by the name of Ariana Justice. She’s the sister of our senior partner. She goes by A.J. You should meet her sometime. I believe you two have some things in common.”
“Oh? And what would they be?”
He let his eyes roam over her smooth, creamy cheek down to her set mouth and determined chin. “For starters, dedication to your work and a hands-off sign you both seem to don whenever men are around.”
“A hands-off sign? What’s wrong, did this A.J. turn you down?”
“A.J.’s a colleague, Remy. I would never initiate an intimate relationship with a colleague. But you initiate nothing intimate with any man.”
“I date.”
“Still, you haven’t been out on even one date in six months.”
She moved slightly back, clearly uncomfortable with his close scrutiny and the accuracy of his words. Her long chocolate hair rustled over the back of her chair.
“How could you possibly know that?”
Marc wondered what it would be like to touch that rich-looking hair. Would it feel light or heavy in his hands? “I told you. A.J. is an efficient, thorough investigator.”
“You had me investigated? How dare you poke your nose into my private life!”
The court clerk emerged just then from the judge’s chambers, carrying papers in his hands. His eyes shot over to the defendant’s table, obviously overhearing Remy’s raised voice.
Marc lowered his voice and moved a smidgen closer. “You’re the mother of a billion-dollar baby, Remy, a baby I represent. Naturally, I had to assure myself of the quality of care he’s getting. But you’ve nothing to worry about. I approve of everything you’re doing with Nicholas. I won’t interfere.”
“Oh, how wonderful to know that you approve,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “And you can bet you’re not going to interfere!”
Marc smiled at the golden flames lighting her eyes.
“Here I give you a compliment and you spit in my eye. You’re not the easiest woman to approach, are you?”
“The men I want to approach me have no difficulty.”
Marc could no longer resist the temptation. He slipped his hand surreptitiously through her long hair. It crackled through his fingers like electrified raw silk, its current carrying a very potent charge along the rapidly heating surface of his skin.
“That’s because those men are safe. They ask nothing of you, and you ask nothing of them. You didn’t even want one of them involved in the conception of your child.”
“What is this? What is it you want from me?”
Marc smiled as he looked deeply into those lovely, angry eyes.
“I want you, Remy. But I warn you, you’re not going to get away with dismissing me like you have those other men. I’m not safe like them. I’m dangerous as hell.”
* * *
REMY LOOKED AWAY from Marc’s intense cobalt eyes and told herself to ignore the promise in that damn sexy voice of his. She tried to concentrate on something else, but the thrill of his words jumped through her. She could feel her body responding to them, the pumping of her blood, the perspiration rising to her skin, the flush forming in her cheeks.
What was going on here? A cool research scientist with a head full of gray matter should not be getting all hot and bothered over some brash, brazen attorney. So why in the hell was she?
The back door to the courtroom opened behind them. Remy twisted in her chair, eager to welcome any interruption.
Two men and a woman entered the courtroom. Remy heard Marc exhaling a heavy breath beside her. “Damn, they would get him,” he said in a vehement whisper.
Remy’s eyes immediately riveted on the shorter man in the center of the trio. It was primitive reflex. She was certain that this was the man that Marc had not been happy to see. She didn’t wonder why. He had cunning and ruthless written all over him.
He was slender and looked to be somewhere in his forties, though his hair was already totally white. He was average height but had an above-average toughness about his lined eyes and mouth. He didn’t look like he ever smiled. His dark eyes flashed in her direction, touching her with a brief, cold, calculated scrutiny that left her skin feeling abraded and chilled.
Next, Remy’s eyes went to the taller, heavier man beside him. This man was thirtyish, had thinning, light brown hair and a pumpkin shape. His round face was unlined and uncomplicated and wore a rather pleasant expression.
Lastly, Remy noticed the woman. She realized that under normal conditions, she probably wouldn’t have noticed her at all. She was medium height, stout, gray, middle-aged, with an expressionless face and baggy, forgettable clothes. Despite her hefty size, she lagged a step behind the white-haired man as though for protection.
As the threesome approached the defense table, Marc and Remy rose. Marc gestured toward the formidable, white-haired man first.
“Remy, this is Steve Lyton, the attorney representing the two local nonprofit societies mentioned in David Demerchant’s trust. Mr. Lyton, Dr. Westbrook.”
Remy took the offered hand of the cold-looking man and was surprised to find it moist and hot. It was not a pleasant discovery. She withdrew her hand as quickly as she could and resisted the impulse to wipe her palm on her pants. She turned to the second man.
“This is Brian Pechman, the president of Boys’ Ranch of Washington,” Marc said.
Brian smiled as his huge paw grabbed hers for a quick and far-too-exuberant shake.
“And this is Norma Voyce,” Marc concluded, turning to the woman, “the president of the Seattle Greenleaf Society.”
For a moment, it didn’t loo
k like Norma would take Remy’s outstretched hand. Then her arm suddenly shot forward and cold, strong fingers clutched Remy’s waiting palm. Norma snatched back her hand just as fast.
“I’m glad we’re having this chance to see one another beforehand,” Lyton said.
“Are you?” Marc asked in a tone of torpid indifference.
“We don’t need to take this to the expense and exposure of a trial, Truesdale,” Lyton said as he rested the bottom half of his briefcase on the top of the defense table.
“Don’t we?” Marc responded, again sounding thoroughly bored.
“It’s a simple matter, really. Just reinstate the monthly allotments to my clients and they’ll withdraw the suit.”
“You mean just give you everything you want.”
Lyton almost smiled. “Why not? Even with the kid coming into the picture, there’s plenty in the coffers for all.”
“But that was not David Demerchant’s intent for his coffers, and I have a fiduciary duty to perform. I’m certain your clients have shown you their copies of David’s living trust, so you know he fully expected to leave all his worldly goods to his children. Only his untimely death occasioned the trust’s nonoffspring clause to be invoked, which resulted in the funds being remitted to your clients’ organizations. Now that his child has been found—”
“His child? What proof do you have that Dr. Westbrook’s child is David Demerchant’s?”
“All the proof I need,” Marc said evenly.
“But what you need doesn’t matter, Truesdale. The burden will be on you to satisfy Judge Swellen, and we both know how conservative he is in these matters. We’re going to trial on this.”
“I certainly hope so,” Marc said, sounding as though he meant it.
“Don’t be a fool. Your own cross-examinations in the Bio-Sperm trial will discredit the child.”
Marc’s smile was confident and secure. “Don’t count on getting those examinations admitted as evidence, Lyton.”
“Even if you are able to block them, there’ll be nothing stopping me from bringing those Bio-Sperm people back into court as witnesses and conducting my own examinations.”
“You won’t have to bring them in as witnesses. I fully intend to,” Marc said, taking the wind out of his adversary’s sails.
