But if Wanda got so much as a hint of this, SeLi would be instantly whisked away. To keep that from happening, Starr would face ten Clay McLeods if she had to.
CHAPTER FOUR
STARR RAN UPSTAIRS, went inside and straight to SeLi’s room. She found the wallet tucked beneath the mattress, as SeLi had said. She handled it gingerly, like a hot potato, even though the smooth black leather was cool. She placed it on the kitchen counter while she cleaned up the breakfast dishes. But the wallet bothered her; it seemed to mock her efforts as a parent. So Starr took it to her bedroom and stuffed it in her purse until she could decide what to do.
The simplest and most expedient approach, she decided as she showered and dressed for work, would be to march upstairs and hand it to its owner. And tell him what? That was the tricky part.
She straightened the collar of the navy blue, no-nonsense suit she’d selected with an eye to visiting Wanda Manning. It made her look less youthful, more conventional. So did the gray eye shadow.
In the midst of this brief self-assessment, Starr made up her mind—she would simply return the wallet, saying SeLi had found it. And once he had his wallet back with its contents intact, why should he doubt her story?
The closer she got to the penthouse, the more her resolve, and her knees, seemed to waver. Twice she reached for the doorbell before finally pressing it. And what would she would say if Vanessa answered? As it turned out, she needn’t have worried. Clay himself appeared at the first ring.
He’d removed his suit jacket. His shirtsleeves were rolled to the elbows of muscular, suntanned forearms; he clutched a hammer.
Starr winced. She’d just as soon not face him when he held a blunt object. But what choice did she have?
“Mr. McLeod.” She spoke first, hoping for some softening in the hawkish features. There was none, unless one considered the curl of dark hair that drooped appealingly over his left eyebrow.
Bravely she cleared her throat and plunged ahead, “I, ah... It seems SeLi found your wallet. The kids were in such a hurry to catch the van this morning it completely slipped her mind until I ran down to ask if she had lunch money.” Not used to lying, Starr felt her palms grow damp. To hide her discomfort she dug in her purse for the offending item. Finding it at last, she held it out, suspended lightly between her thumb and forefinger.
His steely-eyed inspection began at the top of her carefully contained curls and roamed downward to the tips of her low-heeled pumps.
“I’ve gotta hand it to you,” he said grudgingly. “I’m not easily duped. How many men are tempted by your delectable wares—only to be parted from their money without a sample?” He took the wallet from her hand, opened it and fanned through a sheaf of bills. “You’re good,” he grunted, “Very good. So why blame the kid?”
Starr’s temper flared. “I didn’t blame anyone. Nor did I come here to be insulted. You’ll find every last cent there. I trust this will be the last we need see of each other.” Heat stung her cheeks and she shifted her raincoat to the other arm.
Clay McLeod laughed as he slid the wallet into his back pocket and buttoned it in place. “Come now. This is a small intimate complex. There’s no doubt we’ll meet again.” He paused. “Unless you’re not neighborly. Is that it, hmm? Afraid people might find out what you really do?”
Starr’s steps faltered. She went on the defensive. “I’m a biochemist, Mr. McLeod. For the state of California. And a darn good one.”
“Is that where you’re going dressed like a corporate VP? I thought chemists wore long white coats. Or is that only on TV?”
“We do wear lab coats at work,” she informed him. “Not that it’s your business, but I have an appointment downtown.”
He stiffened. “I’m making everything you do my business. I’ve moved here for the express purpose of becoming your shadow.”
Starr’s jaw went slack. “You moved...here? I thought you said Vanessa and Morgan did.”
Clay shrugged. “It’s a big suite. Two complete wings. No reason to rent downtown when I have a great view of the condo entrance from my bedroom here. I can see everyone who comes and goes. Mention that to my brother, will you?”
Her fingers curled around her purse strap until she realized she was playing into his hands and relaxed her grip. “You’ve got it wrong. If the senator visits, it won’t be to see me. After all, his wife lives here. And he owns the building.”
“Technically not. When he chose politics our joint holdings became mine, at least on paper. Did he mention all leases are up January first?”
So that was it. Harrison had agreed to let her catch up on the rent when the trust was turned over to her. Both she and Mrs. Blevins kept a running account of how much Starr actually owed. Now it sounded as if the senator’s brother wasn’t aware of that—and intended to change things. Well, Starr would be darned if she’d beg.
“Go to hell, Mr. McLeod.” Whirling, she walked away.
Clay dropped his hammer in the hall, closed the door and followed her to the elevator where she was angrily punching the button. He leaned against the wall and slowly rolled down his shirtsleeves. “Does that mean you won’t reconsider San Diego?”
“Look, enough already. Take this up with your brother. He agreed in SeLi’s court hearing that we’d have this place until the adoption’s final. That’s six lousy months.” Seeing his frown, she threw up her hands and headed for the stairs. “Oh, what’s the use?”
Clay mulled over the curve she’d just thrown him. What did Harrison have to do with her adopting an Asian child? Amerasian, he corrected thoughtfully. And the judge in their case was a longtime friend of the McLeods. “Uh, how are you getting to work?” he called. “Blevins said your car is in the shop. Is my big brother providing a limo? If so, you won’t be hard to follow.”
Starr’s steps slowed—although if she kept going and slammed the heavy fire door, she wouldn’t have to listen to him. “I use public transportation, Mr. McLeod,” she said in a tone so sweet it dripped honey. “Bus number 1203. We make twenty-two stops between here and my office. Feel free to count them. I hope you choke on the diesel fumes.”
“Hey,” he yelled seconds before the fire door slammed. “You want a lift? May as well, since I’m going your way.”
Starr almost never swore, but she did so now, succinctly. She’d been wrong about the door; it didn’t block sound as well as she’d thought, judging by the thoroughly masculine laughter that chased her down the stairwell.
Ordinarily she hated waiting for a bus in the rain. Today she welcomed the cooling drizzle. Except that while she stood in the doorway struggling to open her stubborn umbrella, bus number 1203 zipped past without stopping. Blast and damn! It only ran every fifteen minutes. In addition to having a perfectly wretched morning, now it appeared she’d be late to work, as well. Fantastic.
Without warning, the stupid umbrella opened with an unexpected whish. Starr stomped out into the downpour but had barely reached the bus stop when someone honked. Glancing up, she saw Clay McLeod parked at the curb in a big dark Blazer. It figured he’d drive a tank. Starr ground her teeth and ignored him.
He rolled down his window and leaned out, seemingly undisturbed by the slanting rain pummeling his Stetson. “No need to get wet while you sulk. The mature thing to do would be to let me drive you to work.”
Her back teeth all but cracked. Didn’t he just love seeing her shoes getting soaked! Not in a million years would such a jerk expect her to take his offer. Which was exactly why Starr decided to accept.
“You’re absolutely right,” she said amiably. “Never let it be said that a Lederman doesn’t know when to come in out of the rain.” Jumping over a large puddle, she marched toward him. “San Francisco traffic is dreadful when it rains. I trust you’re a good driver, Mr. McLeod.”
Clay made a quick recovery from his surprise. At least enough of one to jump down, slog around the vehicle and gallantly open her door.
By then, though, Starr was thinkin
g maybe she hadn’t been so smart—she’d seen the height of the step and compared it to her slim skirt. Ready to reverse her decision, she turned and met his knowing smirk.
“Problems?” he murmured seductively.
Starr squared her shoulders and shook her head. She laughed, deciding to be honest. “You know I do, darn it. By any chance, does this contraption have a portable step?”
“Afraid not.”
His little half grin irked her. “A gentleman would lace his hands together and make a lady’s first step easier,” she said.
“Now, you know. I’m no gentleman.” A wicked laugh lurked just below the surface of his words. Then without warning, Clay slid his large hands beneath her coat and spanned her waist. Taking his own sweet time, he boosted her up and into the cab.
Starr felt her skirt slither to midthigh. Unfortunately she had her purse, her lunch and a half-open umbrella to dispense with before she had a hand free to yank it down. She could well imagine the back view she presented for Barclay McLeod’s pleasure.
“Mmm,” Clay murmured as he let go and thumbed his hat back on his head.
Dropping her things, Starr gave a sharp tug on the back of her coat. She treated him to her best glare and plopped down onto the seat. But she’d forgotten he was so tall. Sitting placed her nose at level with his very white, toothpaste-ad smile.
Without warning, Clay leaned forward and brushed a cool kiss over her lips. Then he stepped back and calmly shut her in.
Shock waves ricocheted clear to Starr’s toes. Her entire body bucked as the door’s latch engaged, cutting off any chance of escape. Dazed, she watched the outline of his broad shoulders through a window speckled by rain as he circled the hood and slid beneath the steering wheel.
“So,” he said without a hint of inflection, “which way? And don’t give me the bus route,” he said over the sound of the engine. “I’m not about to make twenty-two stops.” Casually he removed his damp hat and dropped it on the seat between them.
As if in slow motion, Starr faced front and broke the all-too-compelling connection with his gaze. Every nerve in her body was functioning on overdrive.
She desperately wanted to appear controlled. Better yet, bored. The very last thing she wanted was to blurt like some ninny, “Did you kiss me?” Yet that was exactly what came out of her mouth.
Clay’s dark brows arched to meet a dark curl that refused to be tamed. “Sugar, when I kiss a woman, she doesn’t normally ask if I did. Now, about that route? I hate to press, but we’re in a bus zone and one of those stretch models is stopped back there at the light.”
“I meant...you did kiss me. Why?”
With a steady hand, he injected a CD into a state-of-the-art system that promptly filled the cab with a bluesy country tune. “I couldn’t have you thinking my curb service is less...satisfactory than Harrison’s, could I?”
“You are the most desp—”
“Despicable man,” he finished. “I know, but it won’t matter in a minute ‘cause, honey, we’re gonna get creamed if you don’t give me some directions.”
Between the hiss of air brakes and furious blasts from the angry horn of the bus, Starr rattled off an entire set of directions without taking a breath. “Left lane for a block, left at the light, right at the corner. Go three miles on the freeway to the first exit, make a left, a right, then another left.”
Clay swore and bulldozed his way into a busy lane.
Starr smiled. “Oh, did I go too fast? Sorry.”
“Not to worry. I know the way to your office. I thought you were going to see a woman named Manning this morning. I assumed you meant before work. My mistake.”
Starr froze. Either he had an uncanny memory or he did indeed plan to follow her everywhere. “I’m going to work,” she said too fast. “I’m not sure Mrs. Manning will have time to see me today.” She took care to avoid his eyes. “What with all this rain, I may even skip going.”
“Really?”
“Yes. So if you persist in this silly little spy game, there’s no need to drive back into town until five.” She recalled the hammer he’d been holding when she’d gone to the door of the penthouse. “I’d hate for you not to finish Vanessa’s carpentry project.”
“Leave her out of this. I intend to check on you at lunch.”
Starr dangled a brown paper bag in front of his nose. “Corned beef on rye. Another boring lunch at my desk. But, gee, if I’d known you were coming, I’d have made you a sandwich—arsenic on whole wheat.”
Ignoring her sarcasm, Clay stayed on the freeway for several miles, then left it and drove two blocks, finally pulling into the parking lot across from the building where she worked. Letting the engine idle, he reached for his hat.
“No need for both of us to get wet,” she said quickly. “You wouldn’t want to spoil me, now would you?” Gathering her things, Starr hopped out. The long drop jarred her teeth.
Clay’s hand hovered over his hat for a moment. Leaving it, he shrugged expansively. “Suit yourself.”
“Ta-ta,” she murmured sweetly, shutting the door hard enough to rattle his windows. She seethed as she dashed through the rain, never giving a thought to using her umbrella.
Clay watched her join a group of women on the walkway. It surprised him to see that even at a distance she stood out. At first he dismissed it as merely her rich auburn hair, which made a dazzling crown of color among nondescript browns and blonds. But it was more than her appearance, he decided when she sailed blithely into the old brick building. Few women could have resisted taking a final peek to see if he’d gone or stayed. She didn’t.
Starr Lederman had class, he’d give her that. Either she didn’t care if he dogged her footsteps or she didn’t have anything to hide. Tapping his lips with his thumb, he wondered whether to revise his assessment. But maybe the lady just played one helluva game of poker. Clay’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel in time to the hammering of rain on the roof of the Blazer. She was up to something. He’d bet his last dime on it. Question was, what? Yesterday his brother had acted damned odd, too. Where most men would have denied an affair if confronted, Harrison seemed almost pleased. Was he covering some greater sin?
Maybe he should pay his own visit to that social worker, Clay thought. If Starr intended to call for an appointment, it might be smart for him to swing by social services now. Yes, he’d do that.
* * *
STARR STOOD at the window in her boss’s office on the fourth floor and observed Clay McLeod’s departure. Two fingers strayed to her lips, and as his vehicle disappeared, her stomach unknotted. Behind her, the steady rise and fall of her boss’s words started to make sense. “It will reflect well on the department that the university chose you for this special project.”
“Thank you, sir,” Starr said before Mr. Jensen launched into one of his long-winded speeches. “I really hate asking another favor today.” And she meant it, too. Yesterday when the school called, Starr had hated having to leave her desk piled high. And then her late lunch with Harrison... “I wouldn’t ask for time to visit Mrs. Manning if there was any other way,” she said after explaining her need to see the case worker.
The white-haired man nodded. “Go now. I’ll explain to Dr. Ellsworth.”
Starr thanked him again and used his phone to call a cab. The element of surprise might just work to her advantage with Wanda Manning.
Less than a half hour later Starr thought perhaps she’d been right. Wanda flew out of her private office the moment the receptionist announced Starr’s arrival. Wanda even sent the receptionist on a break and sat at the woman’s desk. Always before, Starr had been kept waiting for hours.
“To what do I owe this unscheduled intrusion?” Wanda asked.
Left to stand, Starr realized the speed with which she was being seen was all that had changed. “My job is taking me out of town over SeLi’s Christmas break. I’d like permission for her to go with me.”
“As if you hadn’t already had it appr
oved by Judge Forbes.”
Starr’s smile slipped. The senator must have called the judge, even though she’d asked him not to. If she’d only known, she could have saved herself a trip.
“Since you’re here,” Wanda said, “I want you to know that I’m opposed to everything about this idiotic scheme of yours. You think that just because you have clout with the judge, you can flit off at the last minute on a poorly thought-out vacation. To me it shows irresponsibility. I’ve said before and I’ll say again—that child needs a stable home in a two-parent family.”
Wanda’s thin lips barely moved as she continued, “Frankly I’m not sure why I was assigned to this case, the way you break rules.”
Starr stiffened her spine. “I’d hoped we could set our personal differences aside and agree this trip would be good for SeLi.”
“Hmph!” Mrs. Manning’s denigrating sniff accompanied a toss of her mousy curls. “I’m afraid you and I will never agree. Your kind thinks money talks. I am not impressed by your wealth or your association with political power. I’ve seen both come and go in my time. As far as I’m concerned, you are no more a fit parent for that child than her own streetwalking mother was. Which I intend to prove before this adoption is final.”
Starr was taken back by the vitriolic speech. “My father has money and power, Mrs. Manning, not me.”
“Oh, no? Am I mistaken about your trust fund?”
For a moment Starr didn’t know what to say. Then temper kicked in. “It’s true my grandfather left a modest sum that I’ll get when I turn thirty. Silly me, I imagined the money would be a bonus for SeLi. To pay for things like college. Surely you don’t have to like me to see the benefits!”
“Like you?” Wanda sniffed. “If you have nothing more to say, Miss Lederman, I have another, equally distasteful caller to see. It seems there’s no end to the line of rich and powerful people in our humble office today.” A dour look crossed her face as her gaze alighted on the door to her private office.
Starr glanced that way herself. For a moment she thought maybe Clay...but, no. She shook her head. He wouldn’t come here. Why would he?
Christmas Star (Contemporary, Romance) Page 6
