Cole Cameron's Revenge

by Sandra Marton

  "Peter!" She spoke more sharply than she'd intended. Both of them looked at her and she knew she had to be careful. She was dancing on the edge of sanity. If she wasn't vigilant, she'd give the whole thing away. "Peter, sweetheart, I want you to go back to bed now."

  "Aw, Mom-­

  "It's okay." Cole touched the tip of his finger to Peter's nose. "Besides, we're going to be seeing a lot of each other from now on."

  "No," Faith said quickly.

  "Yes." Cole didn't bother looking at her this time. "How does that sound?" He hoisted Peter into his arms. "Would you like us to spend more time together?"

  "Oh, yeah. How about tomorrow?"

  "Sorry, Pete. I'll be busy-though I will see your mom tomorrow night. I'm taking her out for the evening."

  "No," Faith said again, with an edge of hysteria in her voice. Neither the man nor the boy looked at her. "Just you an' her?" Peter said.

  "Just the two of us, yeah. Grown-up stuff, champ." Cole put the boy back down on the stool. "Nothing you'd enjoy but I promise, you and I-­

  "Don't do that," Faith snapped. "Don't lead him on when you know none of this is..." She caught her breath. Her son was staring at her and she forced herself to calm down, to smile and speak gently. "Peter, darling, go upstairs now. I'll come tuck you in in a few minutes."

  "But I want to stay here with Cole."

  "Hey, champ. Do as your mother says, okay?"

  "I don't need you to intercede on my behalf," Faith said stiffly.

  "Go on," Cole said, as if she hadn't spoken. "It's late." Peter sighed. "Okay."

  Cole plucked the boy from the stool and swung him in an arc before putting him on his feet. "Good night, Petey."

  "Cole?" Peter smiled shyly. "You can give me a hug, if you want."

  "Peter," Faith said, but it was too late. Cole bent down and caught the boy in his arms. His eyes met hers over the top of the child's head. "You don't want to be shut out of this," he said softly. "Do you?"

  "Shut out of what, Mom?"

  "Hush." Her voice trembled but there was nothing she could do to stop it. She reached out, caught Peter as he started past her and hugged him hard. Too hard, probably, but she couldn't help it. He gave her a questioning look and she flashed a quick smile. "Go on," she said. "Back to bed."

  Her son trudged up the stairs. She waited until he disap­peared down the hall and she heard the faint sound of his bedroom door closing. Then she looked at Cole, knowing she mustn't beg, knowing she could do nothing less.

  "Please," she said. "Don't do this. You can't do this."

  "Of course I can." He walked slowly towards her, put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up. "I can do anything I want. You'd better accept that." He bent his head, brushed his mouth over hers. "I'll see you tomorrow night. Eight o'clock, at the inn by the lake."

  "If you think I'm going to be there tomorrow or any other time.

  Your choice, baby. If you'd rather discuss our wedding plans here, that's fine with me."

  Faith clamped her hands into fists. "I hate you. I just hope you-"

  Cole kissed her again. When he finally lifted his head, his eyes glittered. "Eight o'clock, at the lake. You do remember the lake, don't you, Faith?"

  Before she could think of an answer, he was gone.

  At ten minutes before noon the next day, Faith drove into a parking lot just off a busy Atlanta thoroughfare. She pulled into an empty space, shut off the engine, flipped down the sun visor and looked at herself in the mirror.

  It wasn't a reassuring sight.

  She rarely wore makeup, nothing but a little mascara and lip gloss, but today she'd done her best to live up to the head­lines that trumpeted Make Yourself Into A New You in the slick women's magazines. After a sleepless night, "a new you" sounded like a pretty good idea. She'd applied founda­tion, blusher and lipstick...

  So much for the wonders of makeup.

  The blusher and lipstick only made her pallor more pro­nounced, the violet smudges of exhaustion under her eyes more visible. It was a look that might have gone over well on a high-fashion model but it only made her look sick.

  She grimaced, plucked a tissue from the center console and wiped off as much of the stuff as she could. That was better. Now she just looked like something the cat had dragged in. With a sigh, she opened the door and stepped from the car.

  What did it matter, how she looked? What she said, how she said it, would be what counted.

  She had an appointment with one of Georgia's best-known family law attorneys. Her job would be to convince Elmore Bookman to represent her. He had the expertise and he wouldn't be intimidated by the kind of legal talent she sus­pected was at Cole's fingertips.

  Bookman's name had popped into her head in the middle of the night. He'd been all over the papers a couple of years back when he'd won a seemingly impossible custody battle between a wealthy grandfather and the child's far-from-perfect mother. The mother's saving grace had been her love for the child but the evidence of her promiscuity had been over­whelming. The pundits had been sure the girl would lose the case. Bookman had laughed at the skeptics. The mother would win, he'd said, and she had-thanks to her attorney.

  If anyone could see to it that she kept Peter, Elmore Bookman could.

  Faith located Bookman in the Atlanta telephone directory at 4:00 a.m., fell into exhausted sleep at five and awakened at seven. She phoned the lawyer's office, hung up on a machine that told her that Bookman, Rigby and Goldman began their day at nine and placed the call again, at nine-oh-one. After talking her way past a receptionist, a legal associate and Bookman's secretary, she'd finally heard the attorney's boom­ing voice on the line. He'd listened, interrupted her after a couple of sentences and said he had fifteen minutes free at noon. Could she make it?

  Faith glanced at her watch as she stepped from the elevator that had whisked her to the twelfth floor in the glass-and-steel high-rise. It was three minutes of twelve. Ahead, double doors bore the name Bookman, Rigby and Goldman in raised black script. She took a deep breath, opened the doors and walked into a small, elegant reception room.

  "Mrs. Cameron to see Mr. Bookman," she said, when the receptionist looked up.

  "Of course, Mrs. Cameron. Won't you be seated?"

  She was too nervous to sit very long but she didn't have to. A silver-haired woman appeared, smiled and held out her hand.

  "I'm Leona. Mr. Bookman's secretary." She led Faith down the hall to a large corner office. "Mr. Bookman will be with you in a moment. May I get you something while you wait?"

  Courage, Faith thought. "No, thank you," she said. Care­fully, she crossed her legs at the ankles, lay her purse in her lap and folded her hands on top of it. "I'm fine."

  She wasn't. By the time the door opened again, her stomach was on a roller-coaster ride. Suppose Bookman laughed at her story? Suppose he told her she was wasting his time?

  The attorney did neither. He was a pleasant, distinguished­ looking man who took notes as Faith told him about her brother-in-law appearing after an absence of almost a decade

  and threatening to take her son away. When she'd finished, Bookman raised steel-gray brows.

  "Because?"

  "Because he thinks I'm I'm unfit to raise my child." "And are you? Unfit to raise your child, Mrs. Cameron?" Faith colored. "I most certainly am not."

  "I see. In other words, the gentleman wants to take your son for no reason you're aware of?"

  She hesitated. "I'm aware of the reasons," she said softly "but they're untrue."

  Bookman nodded. "And those reasons are?"

  "He-he believes I won't set a good example for my child."

  "Because?"

  "Because-look, this is very complicated."

  The attorney smiled politely. "Uncomplicate it then, Mrs. Cameron."

  Faith moistened her lips. "This goes back a long way. The,uh, the problems between..." Cole was her brother-in-law.

  Why was it so difficult to call him that? "For one thing
," she said, after a moment, "he believes I coerced his brother into-" ,

  "Your deceased husband?"

  "Yes. He believes I coerced him into marriage." "And did you?"

  She shook her head. "No. No, I did not."

  "And that's your brother-in-law's reason for thinking you're not fit to raise his nephew?"

  His nephew. His nephew...

  "Mrs. Cameron? Is that why he thinks you're not a fit mother?"

  Faith got to her feet. It was hard, saying these things under a stranger's penetrating stare. She walked slowly to the win­dow.

  "There's more to it, Mr. Bookman. As I said-"

  "It's complicated. But if you want me to help you, you'll have to tell me more. So far, I can't imagine why this man would even think he could get custody." The attorney scrawled a note, then looked up. "Could he bring witnesses to testify that you're an unfit mother?"

  Faith thought about her housekeeper. The townsfolk of Liberty. The rumors and the gossip. She cleared her throat.

  "I suppose it's possible he could get people to say things... But they wouldn't be true!"

  "Would you have witnesses to refute that testimony?" She walked to a chair, sat and looked down into her lap, at her folded hands. "No."

  "I see."

  "No," she said again, and looked up at the attorney, "you don't see! He's wrong about me. The people in town are wrong. Look, I know how this sounds but: but that's why I've come to you, Mr. Bookman. I need a lawyer who can take a difficult case and win it."

  Bookman pushed aside his notebook, capped his pen and tented his hands on the burled-walnut desk.

  "Mrs. Cameron, so far as I can tell, there is no case. Your brother-in-law has threatened to fight you for custody of his nephew. I'll be happy to send him a letter, explaining that his chances of winning such a fight are virtually nil." He smiled.

  'That is, if you can assure me your brother-in-law can't prove you're either a child molester or a serial killer."

  Faith tried to smile in return. "I promise you, I'm not. But you don't understand. He'll pursue the case no matter what you tell him. He'd do anything to hurt me."

  "Because?"

  "Because ... because he thinks I denied my husband..." She colored. "That I denied him intimacy. And and-­

  "And?" Bookman prompted.

  "And we were-we were lovers, years ago." "You and your brother-in-law?"

  "Cole and I. Yes. But we were very young, and-" "Cole?" Bookman sat up straight in his chair. "Surely you don't mean Cole Cameron? The Cole Cameron, of Cameron

  Oil?"

  Faith nodded. The attorney had gone from looking polite to amazed. Her heart sank. That couldn't be a good sign.

  "Well! That does put a twist on things."

  "Does that mean you won't represent me?"

  Elmore Bookman chuckled. "I'd be delighted to represent you, my dear. There's nothing I like better than doing legal battle with the best hired guns around." His smile faded and became a thoughtful frown. "As your counselor, however, I'm obligated to point out several things."

  "Such as?"

  "Cost, for one. If Mr. Cameron is committed to fight you to the bitter end, the costs would be high."

  "How high?"

  Bookman shrugged. "Six figures."

  "Six...?" She put her hand to her throat. "Are you seri­ous?"

  "I'm afraid I am."

  "Don't you do pro bono work, Mr. Bookman? You said yourself, you'd love to take on the best-"

  "Our firm sets priorities." He spoke gently but firmly. "I'm afraid the senior partners have agreed on the cases we'll try, free of charge, for the next several months."

  "Then I'll pay you. Not all at once but so much per month."

  "Mrs. Cameron, there's another factor involved you need to be aware of." The lawyer pursed his lips. "I get the feeling there are things you haven't told me about this situation. No." He held up his hand. "No, don't divulge anything more. It's true, whatever you'd say would be covered by attorney-client privilege but if you're not going to go ahead with this case..."

  "I haven't said that."

  "You were uncomfortable telling me about your prior re­lationship with Mr. Cameron, and about his charges concern­ing your intimate relations with your husband."

  Faith blushed. "Yes but surely you can understand-"

  "Indeed I can, but it's only fair to warn you that such things would come under close scrutiny. Mr. Cameron's attorneys would delve deep into your life. It's the way this kind of action develops. The other side learns all your secrets." Bookman's voice gentled. "All of them, my dear, I can promise you that. A man like Cole Cameron has the resources to do it."

  All her secrets. Faith began to tremble. The truth about Ted, which she had sworn never to reveal. The truth about Peter, which she didn't dare reveal because then she would lose her son...

  She rose swiftly to her feet and held out her hand. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Bookman. I'm sorry if I've wasted it." "You're not going to go ahead with this, then?" "I-I can't."

  "If you wish, I'll be happy to write that letter for you, free of charge. I doubt it will change Mr. Cameron's mind, but-"

  Faith shook her head. "It won't. And-and I have another option."

  "What?

  She hesitated, knowing how it might sound. "Mr. Cameron has-he's asked me to marry him."

  Elmore Bookman started, then began to laugh. "Well, that's the most unusual quid pro quo I've ever heard of. Legal lingo that means `this for that,' Mrs. Cameron. A trade-off, if you will. So, if you marry the gentleman he won't sue for cus­tody?,

  "Exactly."

  "In that case, what you really need is a prenuptial agree­ment. You know, a document that will guarantee you certain things if the marriage should fail."

  If it should fail, Faith thought, and almost laughed. It was doomed to fail but then, it wouldn't really be a marriage.

  "I suspect Mr. Cameron will want you to sign one, also. Men of his wealth generally do and in a case such as this..."

  Bookman's words trailed away but Faith knew what he meant. Cole didn't love her, didn't trust her, didn't like her. He'd surely want her to sign a document that would keep her from getting her hands on anything that was his.

  "Still," the lawyer continued, "you're entitled to safeguard yourself."

  "Ask for money, you mean?" Faith shook her head. "I don't want anything of Cole's. Not one penny."

  "Well, then, consider the matter in reverse. Is there any­thing of yours you'd want to keep from Mr. Cameron? We could draw up a prenup that would protect you."

  "The only thing I have that he wants is my son." She held out her hand. "Thank you anyway."

  Bookman rose and shook her hand. "Goodbye, Mrs. Cameron. If you should change your mind about that protec­tive prenup-"

  "I'll call. Thank you again. Goodbye."

  The elevator was waiting. Faith stepped inside and pressed the button for the lobby floor. Her hand shook as she did it. Cole had won. She'd known he would, she just hadn't wanted to admit it.

  The lobby was cool. She could see waves of heat rising through the huge glass windows. She paused, unwillingly to face either the heat or the reality of what awaited her, Cole and dinner and the acquiescence he'd expected all along.

  There was a coffee bar on the opposite side of the lobby and she headed for it instead of the door. Her head was pounding. She'd skipped lunch. Breakfast, too, now that she thought about it. A couple of aspirin, a large cup of black coffee. maybe even something sugary and caloric might make her feel up to the drive home.

  She ordered a doughnut and coffee. Paper plate in one hand, paper cup in the other, she sank into a chair at a corner table. She took a sip of coffee, looked at the doughnut...

  Bile rose in her throat. She shoved the doughnut away, drank some more coffee and then pushed it away, too. She propped her elbows on the little table and rubbed her hands over her eyes.

  What now?

  Now, Cole got what he wanted, tha
t was what. Her child, who already acted as if she were an afterthought in his affec­tions. And he got her. Not that he wanted her as a man should want a wife. He'd made that clear. He wanted her in other ways.

  Her pulse began to race.

  No matter what he believed about her, he wanted her in his bed. He'd said it, admitted it in the way he'd touched her, kissed her.

  Is there anything of yours you'd want to keep from Mr. Cameron?

  "The only thing I have that he wants is my son," she'd said, but it wasn't true. Cole wanted her sexually. Not to make love to. To humiliate. To subjugate. To use.

  We could draw up a prenup that would protect you.

  Faith sat very still. After a long moment, she blotted her lips with a napkin. She got to her feet, collected her trash, carried it to the receptacle and dumped it in.

  The elevator ride up to the floor that housed Bookman, Rigby and Goldman seemed interminable but, eventually, the doors slid open. She stepped from the car and went through the double doors to the reception desk. The woman behind it looked up, raised her eyebrows and smiled.

  "Did you forget something, Mrs. Cameron?"

  "No. It's just-I'd like to see Mr. Bookman again."

  The receptionist looked doubtful. "Well, I'll ring his sec­retary, but I don't know..."

  "He said to call if I wanted to reconsider a suggestion he made. If I could just see him for a minute or two..."

  Moments later, Faith stood in the attorney's office. "I've reconsidered," she said. "I'd like you to draw up a prenuptial agreement for me."

  Elmore Bookman sat down at his desk. "That's an excellent plan, my dear. If you'll give me the name and address of Mr. Cameron's attorneys..."

  "What for?"

  "So I can arrange to meet with them. We'll need to get some idea of his total worth... Why are you shaking your head, Mrs. Cameron?"

  Faith knotted her hands together in her lap. "I don't want that kind of agreement. I want the other one you mentioned, the one designed to protect me from-from having Mr. Cameron gain access to-to my personal property."