Baby vs. the Bar

by MJ Rodgers

  “What have you found out for me?” Marc interrupted, not even attempting to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

  Gavin seemed more amused than bothered by Marc’s tone. He took a leisurely sip of wine before answering. “Which one do you want to hear about first, Pechman or Voyce?”

  “Pechman,” Marc said.

  “Brian Pechman’s broker tells me that the guy has gambled and lost nearly a half-million dollars this year dabbling in foreign currencies.”

  “How could someone lose so much so quickly?” Remy asked.

  “The foreign currency market is open twenty-four hours a day,” Gavin replied. “If you’re lucky and guess right about which currency is going up in relation to the others, you can win a fortune. If you’re not so lucky, you can lose a fortune.”

  Marc sipped his wine. “A.J. tells me Pechman has been living pretty high during the last couple of years as president of the Boys’ Ranch of Washington. He’s not in debt to anyone, which means that despite what he’s lost on the foreign currency market, he still has enough left over to pay cash for his needs—including this year’s top-of-the-line Porsche he’s driving. Now we just have to figure out where Brian Pechman got his hands on the half-million dollars that he lost.”

  “That would be the half-million-dollar question,” Gavin agreed. “But as our boy Pechman is in charge of the society’s funds, one can assume...”

  “Yes, one can assume, but a lawyer needs proof,” Marc said. “I’ll have to get hold of the society’s books to see where the money is going.”

  “Can you?”

  “I’ll find a discovery loophole somewhere to slip a motion through. Anything else on Pechman?”

  “No, that’s all I have.”

  “What about Norma Voyce?”

  “I checked with every financial source I know. She’s not into stocks, bonds, metals, currency or anything of an investment nature.”

  “A.J. tells me Voyce has maybe five thousand in the bank, owns no real estate and rents only a modest apartment. She’s been in charge of ten million dollars over the last two years. Are you sure she’s not spending some questionable money somewhere?”

  “Marc, these guys in the financial circles have the biggest mouths around. If someone is trading in anything through one of the houses, they all know it. None of them have even heard of Norma Voyce.”

  “Then what is she doing with the money?”

  Gavin shrugged his lumberjack shoulders. “Maybe she’s using it to protect and preserve endangered plants, like she’s supposed to. Stranger things have happened.”

  Marc leaned forward, a move that was executed as smooth and straight as an arrow. “Well, if she isn’t, she’ll wish she was when I get finished with her. A.J. has her team all set up to go in and give both of those societies’ operations a thorough going-over. By the time they’re finished, I’ll know more about Pechman and Voyce than they know about themselves. And if either of them have even sneezed in the wrong direction, I’ll wipe up the courtroom with them.”

  Looking into those chilling, cobalt eyes, Remy didn’t doubt it for a second. She suddenly felt a little sorry for Pechman and Voyce. And more than a little sorry for herself.

  * * *

  A HALF HOUR LATER, the dishes had been dealt with and the four of them were sitting in the den before a giant-screen TV.

  Marc slipped the tape he had gotten from Louie Demerchant into the VCR. It had originally been recorded on 8 mm film. Having it transcribed to VHS format had dimmed the quality somewhat, but it was still fairly clear and the colors were true.

  He hit the Play button and ignored what came on the screen. Instead, he concentrated on Remy’s face. When she saw David as a two-year-old, slipping out of his tiger outfit as he yelled “Trick or treat,” he could see her eyes widen. She looked at her son briefly, who was cuddled up beside her. She looked back at the TV. The tape lasted a total of five minutes. Her eyes never strayed from it a second time.

  “So, Remy, what do you think now?” Gavin asked after the tape had stopped and the screen went blank.

  “The resemblance is...remarkable,” she admitted.

  “Even the fact that he’s a nudist at heart,” Marc said pointedly, watching her face every second.

  She was silent for a moment before she asked, “What was David Demerchant like?”

  “An inventive genius,” Marc answered quickly. “This VCR you were just watching was his first financial success. It’s equipped with remote-control magnetic markers that allow a viewer to identify when a movie starts or stops just by pressing a button. It doesn’t matter if a dozen other tapes have been used in the machine in the interim. Doesn’t even matter if the tape is rewound or not. The machine knows to advance or rewind as necessary because it can read the magnetic markers encoded on each tape.”

  “That’s much easier than trying to keep track of a bunch of numbers,” Remy agreed.

  “He was a great guy, too, Remy,” Gavin said. “David, Marc and I all roomed together in undergraduate school. We were like the Three Musketeers—all for one and one for all. Except David was the only one who talked about getting married and having kids with any enthusiasm.”

  “You and Marc don’t believe in marriage and family?”

  “No sense in rushing it,” Gavin said with a smile. “David’s genetic problem urged him toward an early interest in settling down. Of course, maybe the right set of cinnamon eyes could do the same for me.”

  Marc was getting very ticked off at Gavin’s pointed advances at Remy. He sent him a chilling warning glance. Gavin ignored it.

  Remy gave Gavin’s advance and Marc’s subsequent displeasure no apparent notice. She looked like she wanted to ask more, but was hesitating, as though learning about David might put her under some obligation to believe he was the father of her child.

  Nicholas fidgeted at her side and rubbed his eyes. She gathered him into her arms and rose to her feet. “He’s tired. We both are. It’s time I took him up. Good night.”

  Marc watched Remy walk upstairs to her bedroom, that sultry jazz beat, as always, throbbing through his temples. He was so engrossed in her that he didn’t realize Gavin had come up behind him until he heard his muted whistle.

  “Now that’s what I call a woman with a capital W.”

  Marc felt annoyed by Gavin’s remark, despite the fact—or maybe because of the fact—that he’d just been thinking the same thing himself.

  “I thought you were partial to blue-eyed blondes?” he challenged.

  “I’m partial to any color of eyes or hair if it goes with a face and body like that one.”

  Marc’s irritation grew as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks and turned back into the den. “She’s not just a face and body, Gavin.”

  “Of course not. She’s the mother of David’s kid. Do you think the tape finally convinced her?”

  Marc shrugged. “She’s not an easy lady to convince. But that’s the first time she’s shown any interest in who David was. I’d say it’s a start.”

  “How’s the seduction going?”

  Marc felt his annoyance resurfacing. “Someone tried to kill her and nearly succeeded. This is hardly the time—”

  “On the contrary,” Gavin interrupted. “This is precisely the time. She’s vulnerable. She’s in your care, which was a very smart move on your part. Hell, what could be easier? She’s even in the next bedroom.”

  “I can’t take advantage of her position.”

  “Marc, ole buddy, that’s what seduction is all about—getting a woman in a vulnerable situation and taking advantage. Damn, I knew you’d screw it up. Obviously, the second team here is going to have to come in and save your butt.”

  Marc’s anger raised his voice. “You will leave her alone.”

  Gavin flashed his palms in a gesture of surrender. “Okay. But you’d better rethink this Sir Galahad suit you’re trying to wear. For one, with your reputation, it hardly fits. And two, remember, if you can�
�t convince her of keeping you as trustee, the money could all be gone before David’s kid ever sees a penny of it. You want that to happen? Well, do you?”

  Marc thought a lot about Gavin’s questions later that night as he tossed and turned in his bed, wanting her in his arms.

  But he wouldn’t have her. He had given his word. And even if he hadn’t, it would be a very bad idea. Adam was right. His line between business and personal was thoroughly blurred when it came to Remy.

  She was no longer just the mother of his friend’s child—an obstacle trying to prevent Nicholas from his heritage. She was the fascinating, cool woman who had resisted him so effectively, and she was the beautiful, warm woman who had kissed him so passionately. She was the woman he wanted with every fiber of his being.

  And she was in the next bedroom. That—more than anything else—was guaranteed to make it a very long night followed by a very long next two weeks.

  * * *

  “OH, NICHOLAS, you didn’t!”

  Remy shook her head as she stood in the doorway of the downstairs study, watching her son, stark naked, laughingly pulling the last book off the shelf and whipping it to the floor.

  Relief at having finally found him warred with exasperation and worry over whether he might have damaged the thirty-some-odd volumes of beautifully bound law books now lying on their spines over the gleaming hardwood floor.

  Only moments before, she had lifted him carefully out of the enormous sunken tub after their shared bath. It hadn’t taken him a second to latch on to the bathroom doorknob, twist it open, flash her that I’m-outta-here look and streak out into the hall. She had jumped out of the tub after him, pausing only long enough to grab a towel to wrap around her.

  But even that pause had proved too long. Nicholas moved like lightning. Particularly when he was playing his favorite game of putting premature gray hairs on Mommy’s head. By the time she had run into the bedroom, he had disappeared completely from sight. That’s when she noticed the door out to the hallway was open. It had been a very panicky next five minutes as she searched the house.

  She should have known he’d find the room with books in it. She marched over to him, making sure she was ready to move fast in the event he tried to dodge her and make his escape.

  But when she reached him, he looked up at her with incredibly innocent blue eyes, held out his arms and flashed her an enchanting smile. “Mommy.”

  She sighed, her heart turning to putty in her chest. She bent down to gather him into her arms. He came willingly into her embrace, wrapping his little hands tightly around her neck. She held on to him as she began to stack the books in some order in preparation for returning them to the shelves.

  “Nicholas, there is no doubt in my mind that you will one day set a new world’s record for the sprint.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. Mom’s a whiz in walking shoes.”

  Remy shot to her feet and whirled around at the sound of Marc’s voice, totally surprised to find she and Nicholas were not alone in the room.

  Marc had risen from his chair behind his desk on the other side of the study and begun to walk toward them. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  The closer he came, the faster Remy’s heart seemed to beat. When he finally stopped next to them and she felt the full power of his physical warmth and scent, her heart was ricocheting wildly inside her chest.

  She had barely seen him the last couple of days. He hadn’t even taken meals with her and Nicholas, but rather left her to socialize with whatever guard was temporarily off duty and in the kitchen. She knew this had been planned on his part. He was deliberately avoiding her.

  Looked like that damn switch was working pretty well, after all.

  “You mean to tell me you just sat there and watched while Nicholas pulled every one of these beautifully bound books off of your bookshelf?”

  Marc’s lips circled into a small smile as his eyes strayed to her son. “He seemed to be having a good time. I didn’t want to spoil his fun. I can’t get over how much he looks like his daddy.”

  “Daddy,” Nicholas repeated, his little hand reaching for Marc.

  “No, no. Not Daddy,” Remy corrected him before she turned back to Marc. “He might have damaged your books.”

  Marc’s index finger gently tapped Nicholas’s nose. “He was just throwing them around. I’ve done that myself on occasion. No need to worry. They’re tough.”

  Nicholas’s little hand latched on to Marc’s finger and held it tightly. “Tuff,” he repeated, definite mischief in his bright blue eyes.

  “Does he understand what I’m saying?” Marc asked, reclaiming his finger with a little difficulty.

  Remy smiled. “Quite enough to make me careful about what I say. He’s fascinated with books. I read to him every night from his favorite ones. But I’m trying not to encourage this throwing tendency he’s begun to display.”

  “No, of course not. I’ll store these somewhere out of reach.”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets and stood before her as though, since their business had been finished, he expected her to just turn and leave.

  But Remy had no intention of just turning and leaving. She didn’t like being ignored. And she didn’t like being kept out of what was going on. And that was precisely what he’d been doing ever since she arrived. Here was her opportunity to get some things said, and she intended to say them.

  “I read the living trust. It’s what I want, thank you. I’m ready to sign.”

  “All right. I’ll arrange for the witnesses to be here this afternoon.”

  He began to turn away from her, once again signaling an end to their conversation.

  “Marc, I’d like to talk to you.”

  “About what?” he asked, barely condescending to turn to look at her.

  “I know you’re working on the upcoming case. I thought you could use some help.”

  His eyes filled with momentary confusion. “Help?”

  “My help.”

  Confusion changed to suspicion in the blink of an eye. “Why would you want to help when you’re so dead set against what I’m trying to do?”

  “I want to know what’s going on. This case is deciding some major things in my life, after all. I’m not conversant in legal terms, but as you know, I worked my way through college as a secretary, and I can handle any word-processing or spreadsheet software around. Surely that could be of some use?”

  “If you’re helping me, who will take care of Nicholas?”

  “I will, of course. I’m not volunteering for an eight-hour job. But I’m certain I could manage a few hours a day. Just give me a computer with a cordoned-off play area Nicholas can’t get out of nearby, and we’re in business.”

  He looked anything but convinced. “Can’t you just continue with your sign-language sessions with Nicholas?”

  “Not without the chimp and the controlled environment. Just teaching Nicholas sign language was not the study goal. Without the chimp in the same room, exposed to the same sign-language stimulus for the same periods, I cannot make any conclusions as to how their learning processes differ.”

  “You’ve been through a lot recently. I’m sure the rest—”

  “Marc, it’s been three days. I’m totally recovered. Working out in your gym every morning is great. But the truth is, if I don’t do something mentally stimulating soon, I’ll go crazy. Let me help.”

  He was quiet for a moment as he looked at her. Remy could almost see the pro-and-con arguments going on behind his cool cobalt stare. She would have given a lot to know what they were.

  “All right,” he said finally, looking slightly uncomfortable for having given in. “I’ll set up a place for you and Nicholas in the den.”

  Remy exhaled in relief. “Thanks, Marc.”

  He looked at her for a moment more before shrugging and turning aside. He leaned down and started to collect the stacked books to return them to the shelves.

  “I�
�ll help you,” she offered quickly.

  But as Remy began to bend down toward the books on the floor, Marc surprised her totally by suddenly straightening up and grabbing her shoulders. The heat of his hands on her bare shoulders didn’t begin to match the sudden heat in his eyes.

  “Remy, please. Just go and get dressed.”

  Remy blinked, surprised beyond words at the sudden, almost pleading, quality to his tone. Then she looked down at herself, conscious for the first time that she was clad only in a towel, a towel that barely covered her breasts and bottom—in an upright position. In a bent-over one, very little would be left to the imagination. And it had been in a bent-over position only moments before that she had picked up Nicholas and stacked those books while Marc sat and watched from the other side of the room.

  “Oh. Right,” she stammered in what she desperately tried to make sound breezily nonchalant. Then, before the warmth of embarrassment could flood her face, she turned and quickly fled the room.

  * * *

  “YES, A.J., I GOT THE FAX on Pechman,” Marc said into the speakerphone. “Your people, as always, have done wonders in less than a week. I look forward to whatever else they can find.”

  “Norma Voyce is still a void, but we expect to have it filled soon, too.”

  “How’s the police investigation going?”

  “They still don’t have a lead on the creep who grabbed Remy, Marc. The police think he descended from the top of the building’s roof to her balcony and jimmied the lock on the sliding glass door.”

  “Must have been someone pretty agile.”

  “Actually, it wouldn’t have taken any more strength and agility than the average person possesses, as long as they didn’t have a fear of heights.”

  “Nothing from forensics?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Damn.”

  “My feelings exactly. By the way, we ‘officially’ moved Dr. Westbrook’s stand-in out of the hospital late this afternoon.”

  “How did it go?”

  “As planned. The press followed closely behind the taxi that took her and the Nicholas doll to the rooms we secured at the downtown Hilton. You’ll probably see their filming of it on the news tonight, if you have time to watch. How are the genuine McCoys doing?”