“So, what are you saying? I should go on about my life as if I’d never learned my daughter existed?”
“In offering her a kidney, Connor, you’re giving her the ultimate gift—a second chance at life. For that reason, you’ll always be her savior. Is it imperative she know who you are? Wouldn’t that only confuse her? Do Liddy Bea a favor, son. Ask yourself if popping in and out of her life as a part-time dad, simply because you have a guilty conscience over getting her mother pregnant, isn’t as selfish as the act committed by my wife?” He paused significantly. “You need time to think about what I’ve said, Connor. We’ll talk again soon.”
Had the waitress not come by to warm his cooling coffee, Connor didn’t know how long he’d have sat there listening to a buzzing line. With the matter-of-fact way Bradford explained things, he’d be damned if on some level it didn’t make sense.
Or it might have, if he were a saint. On every other level, Connor wanted to shout and punch things. He wanted to kick a brick wall until his toes hurt more than the ache he felt deep in his heart.
Some thread of sanity refused to believe his stepping down, out of the picture, was the best thing for his daughter. His and Mallory’s child. A child they’d discussed long ago, in vague “someday” terms—often in the aftermath of loving. There’d always been the assumption that someday they’d marry and have kids. Promises made when Mallory’s heart beat hard and fast against his. He’d almost forgotten those old hopes and dreams.
Dammit, he didn’t want to believe that all Mallory wanted was the cold detachment from him the senator had outlined. But maybe Brad was speaking for her. Theirs had been the hopes, dreams and promises of youth. They’d both changed. During Mallory’s brief visit to inform him of Liddy Bea’s existence, hadn’t she made it plain that the only thing she wanted from him was a kidney? She wouldn’t have even offered to let him visit Liddy Bea if he hadn’t pressed the issue.
“Son of a bitch!” Connor’s reverie was interrupted by a slap on the shoulder. He glanced up, into the faces of Greg Dugan and Paul Caldwell, colleagues and his two best friends since he’d moved to Miami.
“You look like hell, buddy,” Greg announced, shoving Connor over in the booth so he could sit beside him. Paul folded Connor’s paper and took the opposite seat.
“Doesn’t surprise me.” Paul motioned to the waitress, who carried a coffeepot. He didn’t elaborate until he and Greg both had mugs filled with thick chicory brew. “Lauren and the other bridesmaids spent yesterday consoling Claire. What the hell went on in Tallahassee?”
“I told you I was taking a few days to consult the doctor in charge of my daughter’s case. I figured Lauren would let you know Claire decided to go along.”
“Yeah? So, have you and Claire called off the wedding for good? Is that why she came home early?”
“What did Claire say?” Connor hated to reveal more than Claire might want spread around. That was the least he owed her until they talked again.
Paul shrugged. “I only ever listen to Lauren with half an ear.” He grinned. “Stimulating conversation isn’t the reason I date her, you know.”
“Knowing you’ll blab to anyone about your sex life doesn’t make me anxious to tell you what’s going on between me and Claire.” Connor eyed his associate over the rim of his mug.
Paul snickered. “Glad you didn’t try to insinuate that you and Claire had a sex life. Since you postponed the wedding, she’s complained about that to anyone who’ll listen.”
“She has?” That bit of information didn’t sit well with Connor.
Greg lowered his mug. “Janine’s the blabbermouth. She’s slept her way through most of the men who work at the South Atlantic hurricane center. Even though she claims to be Claire’s friend, it galls her that you’re one of the few who didn’t end up in her bed, Connor. Now she’s trying to convince Claire there’s something…uh…wrong with you.”
“Is there?” Paul asked point-blank. “At your age it’s practically unheard of not to sample the wares.” Paul eventually flushed under Connor’s flinty gaze.
Greg kicked Paul’s shin. “Connor has a kid, dumb-ass,” he informed Paul. “So his johnson obviously works. Anyway, we didn’t come here to talk about women. Last night, I was at a barbecue at Jay Durham’s beach house. He said he got an odd call from the head honcho at Florida State University’s Meteorology and Oceanography program. The dean of science asked Jay to fax him a copy of your doctoral certificate and an overview of your current project. Jay thinks you lied to him about why you went to Tallahassee. He’s sure you had a job interview. What went on over there, man?”
“Come on. Quit pulling my leg. Like I’m gonna believe our deputy director invited plebeians like you to his beach barbecue. A guy who hobnobs with naval commanders—because he believes they’ll recommend him to the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration for the European post he wants so bad he can taste it.”
“It was a last-minute invite. Looking back, I told Paul I think Jay just wanted to pump somebody who knew you.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I didn’t tell him you found out you had a kid. Although bigmouthed Janine probably already did. I stuck to the story you wanted them to have at work. I said you lived in Tallahassee before you went to the Pacific to do research, and some family business surfaced that you needed to handle.”
“That’s no lie,” Connor said in his own defense. “Besides, technically I’d have been gone this week, anyway—on my honeymoon. I wanted you to give him that story partly because I know Jay would learn the wedding had been postponed.”
“Are you avoiding the question? Why FSU is interested in you?”
“I’m not avoiding it. I’m not sure. My daughter’s grandfather is a state senator. We discussed my research. Senator Forrest promised to find the funds to transfer me from Miami, but I didn’t think he was serious. Or even if he was, that he wielded the kind of power to make that happen overnight.”
“Senator Bradford Forrest? Good Lord, Connor, you messed around with that guy’s daughter? I’ve heard him talk on TV about different of environmental issues. He strikes me as one tough nut. I’d say he wields a whole lot of power.”
Connor nodded. He wasn’t thinking about the possibility of moving his research program, though. He was thinking about his latest conversation with Mallory’s dad. Clearly he shouldn’t underestimate the senator. Connor always had his nose stuck in his graphs and weather charts—what did he really know about the power of politicians?
“We’d better head for the center, guys. If all three of us waltz in late, heads will roll.”
“Greg.” Connor pulled him aside after they’d paid their bills and were walking toward their cars. “Thanks for warning me. But at this point I’m gonna play dumb. Frankly, I’m not sure that Senator Forrest is behind the inquiry from FSU. They have a fairly advanced research setup. Unless it’s improved in seven years, though, they’re not equipped to provide everything I need to round out my research.”
“That’s probably true,” Paul readily agreed. “Speaking of which, you need to drop by my office as soon as we all get to the center. One of the seismic units you have me monitoring showed some interesting activity while you were gone. If your control data is accurate, we may be looking at early hurricane activity this year.”
“No kidding? Is something building in the West Indies?”
“Nope, these reports are coming in from your monitors out in the straits between Cuba and Cozumel.”
“Hmm. I’ll go straight to your office and check the patterns myself. If need be, are you available to fly out there with me today to pull up the monitor so we can see if it’s malfunctioned?”
“Sure, but don’t you trust your own engineering?”
“The control tests I did last year in the Pacific all came in accurately with early warnings on stage-three and four hurricanes. If the reports are equally accurate this year in the Gulf and the Atlantic, by next year I�
��ll be ready to discuss using the technique universally. Until then, I’m not crying wolf. Understood?”
“Yes, boss,” Paul drawled, bowing and scraping as he backed toward his SUV.
“Beat it, clown. Get outta here.” He scowled. “I guess I’d better stop and talk to Jay before I swing by your office. It doesn’t pay to let the man holding the reins on your project stew too long.”
Connor was correct in that assumption. Jay Durham lay in wait, ready to grab him the minute he walked into the building. “O’Rourke, step into my office, please.”
Connor walked off from Paul and Greg, who’d arrived right on his heels, but he didn’t miss the histrionics of his friends rolling their eyes. “I intended to come by and see you, Jay. Paul reported some suspicious deep-water activity on an electronic monitor I planted off Cozumel. I’ll need a floatplane so we can run out there today to check on things. It’s a beautiful day for flying. Can I interest you in tagging along?”
Durham cocked his head to one side. Whatever he’d been prepared to berate Connor for now hung at bay, forgotten for the moment. “Suspicious deep-water activity? Nothing’s come in from our satellites.” He shook his head. “It’s far too early for hurricanes. I told you either the sharks would eat your damned monitors or the salt water would corrode them. No, I won’t waste a workday. What I will do if those idiots from FSU phone back and want you is transfer your ass to them so fast your head will swim. Let them look like fools when they rely on your false data.”
“Well, Jay, why don’t you tell me what you really think about my research?” Connor said mildly as he started to duck back out the door.
“Wait! I hear you knocked up some woman in Tallahassee. Keep a lock on your zipper while you’re still in my fleet, O’Rourke. Maybe the crew you worked for in the Pacific tolerated that nonsense. I run a tight ship.”
Connor clenched his hands at his sides, but leaned closer to Jay. “I’d advise you to watch what you say when you talk about my daughter and her mother. Her dad’s the ranking state senator.” Fuming silently, Connor stormed from Durham’s office.
His temper had cooled a bit by the time he reached Paul Caldwell’s cubbyhole office. Once he went inside and began reading over the printouts Paul had mentioned, he forgot totally about Jay’s outburst.
Only hours later, as he flew high over a glass-smooth ocean, did Jay’s diatribe surface again. And that was because Paul brought it up.
“One of the part-time clerks told my secretary she heard you raise your voice to Jay this morning. What happened? Granted he’s a jerk, but he’s jerk, sir, to us. He’s in charge of this data facility, Connor.”
“Yeah? Well, he pissed me off.”
“Must have. Did he say any more about FSU?”
Connor circled, then began his descent. “He bad-mouthed Mallory, and he has no idea what he’s talking about. He doesn’t even know her.”
“Mallory?” Paul’s eyebrows puckered.
“The woman who showed up at my bachelor party. God, that seems so long ago.”
“Hey, I thought you acted plenty steamed at her, too. Shouldn’t you still be? If you ask me, she pretty much screwed up your life, springing a kid on you like that.”
Connor’s features softened. “Mallory’s mother sabotaged us both, it turns out. It’s a long story, Paul. I’m glad I was wrong, though. She’s doing a great job of raising our daughter. Now, there’s a cutie pie,” he said, sounding like a proud father, as he set the floatplane down neatly on the ocean surface.
Paul nudged Connor out of his momentary reverie, indicating they should tie up to a naval buoy. “Listen to you. I understand now why Claire’s all shook up. You’ve still got the hots for your old lover.”
Connor sucked in a huge mouthful of salt air as he climbed out on the pontoon, prepared to deny Paul’s statement. Then, his denial slowly fading away, Connor privately admitted there was a hint of truth to Paul’s observation.
“Man, oh, man!” Paul reached out and grasped the float frame. “Know what I think? You’re in trouble, pal.”
Connor lashed the plane tight. He thought he probably looked a little green around the gills. And not from choppy seas. The water barely rippled.
Paul, taking no notice of Connor’s torment, continued blithely giving advice. “If we were talking about me or Greg, I’d say juggle both women for a while. Hell, for quite a while. Me, I’m not one to commit, even though Lauren’s badgering me for a ring. But you don’t strike me as a good juggler, Connor. And Claire, she doesn’t strike me as the type to share her man. Not even with a kid.”
Connor stiffened. “I don’t have even partial custody of my daughter, Paul. But if I did, I’m sure Claire would welcome her in our home. That’s assuming she and I go ahead and get married.”
“I’ve known Claire longer than you have. Read my lips, old son. Claire is not the nanny type.”
“She wouldn’t be a nanny. She’d be Lydia’s stepmother.”
“Same difference. You’re engaged to the woman, for God’s sake. Haven’t you noticed she’s—what’s the word—narcissistic. Yeah, I think that’s what Lauren calls her. It means self-centered,” he added, staring into Connor’s blank gray eyes.
“I know what it means. I can’t believe Lauren would say such a thing. I thought she and Claire were friends.”
“They are. Lauren sees these traits in Claire because they’re a lot alike. Which is why I haven’t jumped right out to buy the rock Lauren’s picked out.”
“If that’s how you feel, why don’t you find someone else?”
Paul grinned wickedly. “Together, we set fire to the sack, if you get my drift.”
“Don’t you ever feel like settling down with one woman? You know, come home to the same person every night?”
“Nope. My brother says it’ll happen. The marriage bug bit him at twenty-eight. Me, I’m thirty-four and I still want more women. A lot more.”
“Paul, you’re hopeless. Hey, there’s my marker. The orange bob with the green markings. Shift your pontoon so I can reel in the tracking unit.”
It took another hour to complete the task. They’d landed in the shallowest point in the channel, but the water was still plenty deep. Once he’d dredged up the waterproof case that housed his intricate electronic system, Connor connected his test gear and began checking computer chips. Personal concerns were shoved aside.
“So, how’s it look?” Paul lit a cigarette and blew smoke into the wind.
“I’m not detecting any malfunction. Maybe it was a rare tornadic pulse offshore near Venezuela. I saw satellite reports on that before I left Tallahassee. Curaçao’s remote reported really choppy seas last week. They have no explanation. The activity apparently didn’t result in a storm.”
“You think it’s a freak incident?”
“At this point, that’s all I can think. Let’s increase our readings of all my Caribbean monitors for the next two weeks. Instead of once a day, we’ll set up a new schedule and check them twice. We’ll split up the readings.” Connor dumped the housing overboard and watched it settle out of sight in the depths of the murky green water.
“Okay,” Paul grumbled, “but it’s a waste of time. It’s not even officially summer.”
Connor glanced up and blinked. “It will be next week.” He sighed. “Claire had her heart set on a spring wedding.”
Paul clapped him on the back and climbed back into the plane. “Time flies when you’re having fun. Why not wait till next year to tie the knot?”
Connor grimaced, donned his earphones and reported their takeoff to the nearest tower. Considering how confused his personal life was, he’d hardly call what he was going through fun. Especially since he had to face the fact that when he got home from Tallahassee, he hadn’t been in any rush to phone the woman who wore his engagement ring. He should put Mallory out of his mind. But she continued to invade his dreams. As if that wasn’t trouble enough, he had a daughter to think about now. One question in particular w
as plaguing him: Would she, as her grandfather suggested, be better off if Connor just donated a kidney and dropped out of her life?
That question weighed heavily on him. So much so, the flight over Gulf waters under a midday sun, which should have been relaxing, sent him back to the office twice as tense as when he’d left it.
Paul noticed and obviously couldn’t resist poking at him. “Your conscience won’t let you sleep with both women, Connor. Florida law sure doesn’t allow you to marry two. You might want to consider that old black magic. I know a guy who consults some voodoo woman down in the swamps before he goes to the racetrack. What?” Paul said as Connor spun on him, a scowl darkening his face.
“Caldwell, honest to God—butt out of my life, okay?”
“Sure, sure.” Paul spread his palms and backed away. “But if ever I saw a guy who’d benefit from a little love potion, you’re it.”
Connor watched Paul saunter off. “Love potion,” Connor snorted. “Yeah, right,” he grumbled at his reflection in the window. “All I need is a dozen more women stomping on my heart.”
Work, that was the key. He’d lose himself in his work. It was the one thing that had gotten him through past losses.
CHAPTER NINE
LIDDY BEA accepted her due as the center of attention at the dinner table the evening she came home from the hospital. Her mother, grandfather, Uncle Mark and Dr. Dahl were there. Also Alec. To Mallory’s dismay, Fredric Dahl had showed up with Dr. Robinson in tow. Alec was never at ease around her daughter, and tonight was no exception.
“Mallory, you’re letting the child get overstimulated.” Alec pulled back a snowy-white shirt cuff and glanced at the flat gold watch strapped to his wrist. “Shouldn’t she be heading off to bed?”
Bradford frowned at the speaker. “Marta hasn’t even served dessert yet, Alec. She fixed—what, Lydia Beatrice? It’s your favorite,” he said in a singsong voice, tapping Liddy’s button nose.
“Strawberry shortcake?” Her gray eyes lit up. “I’m full, though, Grandpapa. ’Cept I don’t wanna go to sleep yet,” she inserted quickly, sending a disgruntled look at the man who’d dared say she should be in bed.
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