by MJ Rodgers
“Yes, Adam, I know you have. I appreciate it.”
“Who wants her dead, Marc?”
“I’ve been thinking about very little else all day. She has a college fund started for Nicholas, about seven thousand in savings and no life insurance, so she has nothing really to leave anyone. When A.J. looked into her past, she didn’t find anyone who might be harboring any grudges.”
“Then this must relate to the boy and his inheritance. Not surprising. A billion dollars is a hefty prize. What would happen to the boy if Dr. Westbrook died?”
“Whoever got custody of Nicholas would receive the generous custody allowance each year. Right now, that would be Phillida Moore, her stepsister.”
“How do you read the sister?”
“She’s eight years older. They’ve been each other’s support ever since their mother died when Remy was seventeen. Their relationship seems genuinely caring. Plus which, Phil Moore has been confined to a wheelchair ever since her legs were severed just above the knees at the age of five in an automobile accident that crippled her and took her father’s life. I don’t see how she could have attacked Remy.”
“Any other family who could go for custody?”
“No. Remy’s father deserted the family when Remy was ten. He hasn’t been heard from since.”
“What about the Demerchants? How would their chances of gaining custody of the child be affected by Dr. Westbrook’s death?”
“I’m drawing up a living trust for Remy that makes it clear she wants her sister to get custody of her son. Even with Remy gone, they’d still have a fight on their hands.”
“Would the nonprofit societies gain anything by Remy’s death?”
“I don’t see how.”
“What if the child died soon afterward?”
“That would put a different slant on things. Convincing a jury to award a billion-dollar estate to surviving relatives of a deceased baby would be nigh impossible. But, you forget, the person who attacked Remy in the condo did not harm the child.”
“Maybe only because the attacker had been seen and was then more concerned with getting away.”
“You’re right, Adam. This may be a great deal more complicated than it appears at first glance. There could be a lot of other people out there with agendas and motives we know nothing about.”
Adam nodded as he walked with Marc out of the kitchen toward the living room.
“Have you told Dr. Westbrook’s sister that she is here?”
“No, only that Remy and the boy are not in the hospital and that they are safe. Phil Moore wasn’t happy about not knowing everything, but I didn’t want her charging up here and giving away Remy’s location, and that’s what she sounded like she was ready to do.”
“Is Dr. Westbrook well enough to take care of her child?”
“She insists she is, but Kay is staying overnight to help out just in case. Fortunately, the two of them seemed to hit it off right away.”
As Adam and Marc entered the large living room, their attention swung toward the lower deck. Kay Kellogg sat in a lounge chair, holding Nicholas on her lap. The little boy was pointing and jabbering happily and, to Marc’s untrained ear, incomprehensibly about boats drifting by in the fading light over Wolf Bay. Remy lay in the adjoining lounge chair, looking tired but wearing a smile as she watched and listened to her son.
Marc’s eyes traveled from the soft light on her cheek to her thick hair being rustled by a gentle breeze beneath the twilight.
He knew how angry she was at him, clearly blaming him for bringing this terrible danger into her life. If only he knew how to explain to her in words she would understand that he had no choice. A man’s word was who he was, and he could be no less.
He had given her what he could—his pledge that he would keep her safe.
She hadn’t believed him. That—more than all her blame—had gotten to him. To dismiss his word was to dismiss everything he was.
“You should never have let Kay Kellogg near that baby.”
Adam’s words cut into Marc’s thoughts. He turned perplexed eyes to his senior partner. “What are you talking about? Kay seems to really be enjoying Nicholas.”
“That’s what I mean. Babies are as catchy as colds, Marc. Put a woman around one and, the next thing you know, she’s pregnant.”
Marc smiled as he finally understood what Marc meant. “When are Kay and Damian Steele getting married?”
“I don’t think they’ve set a date. If they tie the knot and she ends up going on maternity leave anytime soon, however, I’m charging you with the lost billables.”
Marc chuckled as he took another swig of orange juice.
Adam’s tone turned serious once again. “Why don’t you let A.J. find a safe house for Dr. Westbrook and the boy?”
“Where? We thought the condo was safe, remember? No one was supposed to know she was there. No, Adam. I know she’ll be safe here. The place is fully wired, and A.J. has two of her people patrolling the outside grounds with dogs, just in case. I’m not moving her.”
“Who will be staying with Dr. Westbrook and the boy while you’re at the office the next two weeks, preparing for your first case?”
“I’m not going into the office. I’m working right here with phone and fax. I’ve instructed my secretary to tell anyone who calls that I’m in an undisclosed downtown hotel near the hospital.”
“Marc, the smartest thing you could do right now is to go to that hotel.”
“Absolutely not. Last time I trusted her out of my sight, she was almost killed. This time I’m going to make sure she’s safe. If anyone else comes after her, they’re going to have to go through me first.”
Adam shook his head. “Getting personally involved with the cases we represent is one thing, getting personally involved with the people is quite another matter.”
“Her son is my real client.”
“You’re kidding yourself. Marc, I’ve always had complete confidence in you because of your ability to keep women separate from your work. But I have to tell you, I’m becoming concerned that you’re blurring the boundaries here.”
“She didn’t ask for any of this, Adam. It’s my duty to protect her since I’ve dragged her into it.”
“Protecting her doesn’t mean taking her into your home and playing personal bodyguard.”
“Sorry, Adam. But in this case I happen to think it does.”
“She’s a very beautiful woman in a very vulnerable position. And your reputation—”
“Adam, I know what you’re saying. I can handle it. I wouldn’t take advantage of her like that. You have my word that the lady will be safe in all respects.”
Adam shook his head. “And you? How safe will you be?”
The question surprised Marc. “What do you mean?”
“Do you understand the kind of legal action you’re leaving yourself wide open for? All it would take is one complaint from Dr. Westbrook of impropriety on your part, and there’s not a judge or jury out there who would be on your side.”
“It won’t happen.”
Adam shook his head. “Famous last words of many a fool.”
Marc took another swig of his orange juice, wishing he had put a few shots of vodka in it, after all.
“Oh, what the hell, Adam. When it comes to the law and women, we both know I’ve always been the kind to rush in where all those wise men feared to tread.”
* * *
“I‘M GLAD YOU FINALLY called,” Phil said in Remy’s ear. “I’ve been worried sick ever since that woman P.I. came banging on my door yesterday morning and woke me up with the news. Are you really all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Nicholas?”
Remy snatched a beautiful wooden replica of a seaplane out of her son’s hands. She simply had to find a minute to childproof this lovely bedroom they had been given. She would hate to see all its beautifully carved wooden knickknacks reduced to rubble.
“Nicholas is great,
Phil.”
“Where in the hell are you?”
“At Marc Truesdale’s home.”
“You don’t mean that attorney’s place?”
“Yes.” She paused to look out the second-story bedroom window. “It’s quite beautiful, a spacious, custom-built cedar contemporary facing east with a view of the Cascades. An electrified fence hidden inside a thick, fifteen-foot-high perimeter hedge hides the neighbors. It has a huge lap pool in the backyard. The property snuggles right up to a two-thousand-foot shoreline that leads to a two-hundred-foot dock on Lake Washington.”
“Remy—”
“A seaplane is moored at the dock. I’m watching it right now, bobbing up and down in the pewter water. Did I mention he flew me in by his seaplane?”
“Remy, what are you doing there?”
Remy deliberately misinterpreted the question, not ready to deal with the demand in her sister’s tone. “Well, I’m about to get ready for dinner. You wouldn’t believe the enormous gym he has in the basement. Every kind of treadmill and weight machine you can imagine. You’d go nuts, Phil. I wish—”
“Remy, what are you doing there?” Phil repeated in her least patient tone.
It was no use. Phil wanted real answers and Remy knew she would keep after her until she got them. “I’m here because Marc Truesdale says it’s the safest place for Nicholas and me, and I think he might just be right. It’s wired with the latest in security systems, and armed guards with dogs are patrolling the grounds.”
“I don’t care if they have Rin Tin Tin and all his relatives on leashes. Since when do you believe what a man says—particularly that man? You know the only place you and Nicholas can really be safe is with me. I’m coming to get you.”
“No, Phil. The press are watching you. If you come here, they’ll follow and learn where I am. And so, too, will whoever attacked me.”
“Remy—”
“Phil, please. I know what I’m doing.”
“Yeah. Just like you knew what you were doing when you believed Kevin’s promises of undying love.”
It was a low blow that brought no support to Phil’s argument and a lot of irritation to Remy’s tone.
“Kevin was dealing with an eighteen-year-old. I’m now thirty-one. Besides which, Marc Truesdale isn’t interested in dishing out undying love pledges. He’s interested in winning a case.”
Her sister exhaled heavily and unhappily into her ear. “Remy, he has you in his house. You think he isn’t going to take advantage?”
“Phil, please. This is my decision and I’ve made it. Now, you have the telephone number. Call anytime. Maybe I can even talk Marc into sneaking you aboard the seaplane and flying you over in the next week or so.”
Phil’s tone turned cool. “In the next week or so, I’m going to be quite busy looking for a job.”
Remy bit her lip as a hard lump of guilt that accompanied that reminder lodged itself in her throat. “I’ve really messed things up for you, Phil, losing the grant and all. I’m sorry.”
Her sister was very quiet for a moment. “No, you did what you had to do to keep Nicholas safe.”
Remy exhaled in grateful relief. “Thanks for understanding, Phil.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“How’s Thumper?”
“She misses you and the boys. She waits by the door, signing all your names. She doesn’t understand, of course.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m arranging for her to be adopted, hopefully by the primate language group in eastern Washington, who are working with the other sign-language chimps. Until then, while I’m out job hunting, Braden has agreed to look in on her throughout the day.”
“Maybe when all of this is over—”
“Yes, I know. Maybe we can get her back. Maybe we can get another grant. Maybe we can start over. See? I have all the maybes covered.”
Remy sighed. “Will you be all right?”
“You know me. I’ll do just fine. Now, I gotta go, so give my nephew a big hug and kiss from me and save one for yourself. Bye.”
Remy held on to the phone’s receiver for a long time before replacing it on the cradle.
She felt uneasy about the conversation she’d just had with her sister. She could tell from Phil’s tone that she was upset. Remy understood why. It had been the first time she had gone against Phil’s advice.
Was her sister right? Was staying in Marc Truesdale’s home a big mistake?
Chapter Nine
Remy sat at the beautifully appointed dining room table next to Nicholas’s high chair. The room, like the rest of the house, was all done in fair, natural woods. An elegantly simple, single globe of diffused light dropped from the ceiling to cast its soft glow.
“What’s this?” she asked as Marc unexpectedly placed a multiple-page document in front of her.
“The living trust I promised to prepare for you. Read it. If it accurately states your wishes, I’ll arrange for some witnesses and a notary from the office to come by to validate your signature. The moment that’s done, it will be in effect.”
His voice was ultracool. Even the intense heat that once had lit his eyes every time he looked at her had turned to ice. Remy gathered the document into her hands and put it aside. “Thank you.”
Marc nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. He emerged a moment later carrying a plastic cup of milk that he set in front of Nicholas and a bottle of chilled Pinot chardonnay that he set in the middle of the table.
The next trip he came back with an assortment of Gerber’s Graduates for the high chair’s serving tray. Remy raised an eyebrow in some surprise.
“I asked Kay to give me a few pointers on kid cuisine before she left this afternoon,” he explained in that cool tone before once again disappearing into the kitchen.
He reemerged shortly with a basket of steamy onion rolls and an assortment of fresh fruit and cheeses.
Ever since he had brought her to his home, he had treated her with this polite, distant deference. It was as though he had simply flipped a switch and placed their relationship on a purely business basis.
Would that she had such a switch.
She watched her son dig his spoon into his dinner and load it to overflowing. He shoved it into his mouth, his little legs gyrating happily. She smiled. No matter what troubles plagued her life, watching Nicholas could always bring the joy back to her heart. As long as she had her son, what did she need that stubborn, distant hunk of an attorney for, anyway?
When Marc appeared again, he was carefully carrying an enormous bowl of hot, fragrant bouillabaisse that set Remy’s mouth to watering.
“Everything looks and smells wonderful. I don’t believe you made this dinner.”
“I didn’t. My sojourn into the culinary arts goes as far as popping a TV dinner into the microwave. Tonight’s menu is provided by a visiting chef who is... Ah, speak of the devil and he appears. Remy, I’d like you to meet Gavin Yeagher.”
Having heard of the man’s financial genius, and having become used to Marc looking like he’d just stepped off the cover of GQ, Gavin’s appearance rather surprised Remy. He resembled a husky, unkempt lumberjack in old blue jeans, a faded plaid shirt, scruffy boots, and with unruly, wavy brown hair—at least a month overdue for a haircut. His thick, bristly mustache curled over his upper lip.
Gavin took Remy’s offered hand within his two huge ones and held on as he smiled with light brown eyes and the deepest set of dimples Remy had ever seen. For all the casualness of his appearance, the way he held on to her hand, that lopsided grin and the deep set to those dimples told Remy that Gavin Yeagher had probably yelled timber more than once over a female heart.
“If Marc had told me how beautiful you were, I would have insisted on our meeting a lot sooner.”
“Sorry, Gavin, charm doesn’t work on me,” Remy replied easily. “Having a billion-dollar baby makes a mom very popular. Over the last few weeks I have had countless marriage proposals—delivered face-t
o-face, by phone, by mail and even over my office fax. I’ve been pursued by baritones singing my praises, by basses spouting Robert Browning poetry, and even by a tenor knight in shining armor. I am thoroughly jaded.”
Gavin laughed easily. “And thoroughly delightful,” he said. Then he added with a wicked smile, “You should know I love jaded women.”
“Can it, Gavin,” Marc said with a sharp, uncharacteristic irritation in his voice that surprised Remy.
Gavin leaned closer to Remy and whispered in her ear. “He must like you a lot. I rarely get this much hostility from a little flirting.”
Marc glared at Gavin as he straightened up from whispering in Remy’s ear. His tone was ice. “Something you want to share?”
“No,” Gavin said, refusing to be intimidated as he winked at Remy. She felt a curious fluttering in the vicinity of her stomach that had nothing at all to do with Gavin’s wink, and everything to do with Marc’s glare. Maybe that switch of his didn’t work so well, after all. The thought was enough to put the first smile on her face all evening.
“And this is Nicholas,” Gavin said as he finally released her hand and looked at her son. Nicholas had discarded his spoon and had begun scooping his food out with his fingers. He was too busy gobbling to pay any attention to the scrutiny.
Gavin shook his head. “Well, well. No doubt about it. You, little fella, are the spitting image of your daddy.”
Gavin looked back at Remy’s face and seemed to read her expression. “But you’re still not convinced, I see. Marc hasn’t shown it to you yet?”
“What?”
“Stop trying to ruin the surprise,” Marc said. “Sit down and let’s eat.”
Remy gave none of her dinner companions another thought as she dived into her food. The flaky onion rolls melted in her mouth on contact, and the rich, fragrant bouillabaisse tasted even better than it smelled.
When she had finished a dessert of fresh strawberries and thinly sliced sharp cheddar, she sat back, sipped her wine and smiled at Gavin. “That was really great.”
He leaned in her direction and grinned, deep dimples clearly in evidence. “Making money and making dinner are two of my three specialties. As for the third—”
