Defender

by Diana Palmer

  “I’m twenty-five years old!”

  His mouth covered hers hungrily for a few seconds. He lifted his head. “I don’t carry anything in my wallet anymore,” he ground out. “Do you understand?”

  She just stared at him until she finally understood what he was saying. “Wallet?” She drew in a long breath. “Oh. Oh!”

  “And I’d bet my government pension that you don’t take anything to prevent pregnancy,” he added with pursed lips.

  She flushed and hoped it didn’t show. She drew a soft little hand along his hard cheek. “I’d be too embarrassed to ask Dr. Coltrain for something like that,” she confessed sheepishly. “Even if I wasn’t, there’s only one pharmacy in Jacobsville, and everybody would know.”

  He laughed softly. “Miss Purity,” he chided. But it was tender teasing, and he loved that about her. He loved her innocence.

  Suddenly there were noises coming from the general direction of the kitchen.

  “They’re discreetly letting us know that we’ll have company soon,” he whispered.

  She linked her arms around his neck with a long, lazy sigh. “Then you’d better put my clothes back on, hadn’t you?”

  “Spoilsport.” He bent and drew his lips lovingly over her breasts once more before he put her bra and blouse back in place. “What a place to have freckles,” he whispered wickedly.

  She hit him and flushed. “Stop!”

  He chuckled. “I’ll bet they go all the way down, too.”

  “I’m not saying.”

  He traced her swollen lips with a long forefinger. “Very soon, I’m going to find out for myself. So, fair warning.”

  “Paul, I don’t know,” she began.

  “I know you’re still living next door to Queen Victoria, metaphorically speaking.” He chuckled. “We’ll take it slow and easy. Okay?”

  She wanted to ask questions, to know what he expected of her. Surely he knew that she couldn’t settle for just an affair. But it was too early in their renewed relationship to start setting limits and making demands. So she just said, “Okay,” and smiled.

  He drew her face into his throat and rocked her against him tenderly. “It’s been a long three years, Isabel,” he whispered into her ear.

  She nuzzled closer. “Yes.”

  His arms contracted. “I’m not leaving you ever again.”

  Her heart jumped. She smiled against the warmth of his throat, smelling the aftershave she’d always loved because it was the only kind he ever wore. “If you leave, I’ll go with you,” she whispered.

  His arms tightened and he groaned again.

  A door opened. “Ice cream and vanilla cake with buttercream frosting!” Merrie yelled across two rooms.

  “The ice cream is now melting!” Mandy added.

  Paul and Sari burst out laughing. He let her up and got up himself. He leaned down. “Well, well, we get dessert twice,” he whispered into her ear.

  She blushed even more. Mandy and Merrie were kind enough to pretend they didn’t notice.

  * * *

  The next morning at work, Cash Grier and his wife, Tippy, came by the office to show off their new son in his carrier.

  “We thought you might like to meet our new houseguest,” Cash said amusedly, glancing around the office.

  “He looks like both of you.” Blake Kemp chuckled as he looked down at the little boy.

  “Yours is growing like wildfire,” Tippy commented. “We saw him this morning when we dropped Tris off at pre-K. Violet was there with him.”

  “I like the teachers,” Blake commented.

  “So do we,” Cash agreed.

  “He’s such a little doll,” Sari said. She moved closer. “Could I hold him?” she added.

  “Of course,” Tippy said with a smile. She extricated her son from the portable car seat and handed him to Sari, who was sitting in a chair beside the boss’s desk.

  Paul, who’d been in a conference with Kemp, was also in the office, watching. He smiled wistfully at the way Sari looked with a child in her arms.

  “Careful,” Cash cautioned. “He spits up a lot. Your suit will never be the same.”

  Sari made a face and didn’t even look up from the little boy. “It’s a thirty-dollar suit.” She chuckled. “Like it would matter.”

  There was a sudden silence all around her. She looked up, puzzled.

  “You ride around in a stretch limo,” Paul commented quizzically. “What the hell are you doing in a thirty-dollar suit?”

  FIFTEEN

  Sari glanced at Paul with wide eyes. “I get a salary, and it’s a good one, but I can’t really afford designer clothes on my paycheck,” she laughed.

  Paul scowled. “Your father was filthy rich,” he began.

  “Well, yes, but Merrie and I never had much to wear. He took us shopping in stores where he had credit, and he told us exactly what to buy. We had a very limited number of things we were allowed for school.” She bit her lower lip. “When I was invited to join the chorus, I had to refuse, because Daddy wouldn’t buy me a blazer. It was part of the uniform we were required to wear for performances. Merrie couldn’t do theater, and she really wanted to. Because Daddy wouldn’t let her have costumes. He also said he didn’t want her exposed to people who cursed and had loose morals. But I think that was just an excuse not to have the expense.”

  Paul was lost for words. Now that he thought about it, when Isabel came and jumped on his bed at night to chat, she was always wearing one of two types of pajamas. He’d never connected the dots before. Her high school and college clothes were also mostly the same style and color. It had never dawned on him that she didn’t wear designer clothes.

  “It didn’t matter,” Sari said softly, when she realized how unsettled he was. “We never noticed. In fact, it helped, because we didn’t stand out from the other kids. The girls knew about fashion, you see.” She grimaced. “We got teased a lot because we were rich but we looked like we were dressed from yard sales.”

  “What a piece of work your father was,” Paul gritted out. “You didn’t have cars, either. He wouldn’t even let you learn to drive. I thought he was just being overprotective.” He shook his head. “I looked but I didn’t see.”

  Sari’s attention went back to the baby in her arms. She smiled down at him, playing with his tiny hands. “You lucky people. You actually have two of these. A matched set!”

  “Pretty much,” Cash agreed. He shook his head. “And I thought I had a bad childhood.”

  “Plenty of people have it way worse,” Sari replied. She lifted the little boy in her arms and made faces at him. “Life has a way of evening things out, though. We have sad times. Then we have happy ones,” she added, her heart in her eyes as she looked at Paul. He looked back, his eyes dropping to the child and back up to her radiant face.

  “We do, indeed,” he said huskily.

  Cash took the child from her with a grin. “We’re going to eat ice cream,” he said. “None for you, yet,” he added to the baby, and wrinkled his nose at the little boy.

  “He’s going to have dark eyes, I think,” Sari said, watching him. “But I don’t know about his hair. It has red highlights, and your daughter has hair like yours,” she added to Tippy. “It’s so beautiful.”

  “So is yours,” Tippy said with a smile. “Red hair is the rarest color. Someone in your family must have had the recessive gene for red hair,” she added to her husband.

  “There are no recessive Genes in my family,” Cash said haughtily. “We had a recessive Charles, though. And I think one of my uncles was a recessive Harry. Quit that, you’ll give our son ideas!” he added haughtily when Tippy punched him in the arm.

  “You and your recessives,” Tippy teased, her eyes brimming with love when she looked at him.

&nb
sp; He bent and brushed a kiss on her forehead. “Let’s go. They have work to do.”

  “He’s free today,” Tippy explained.

  “I am not!” Cash said emphatically. Then his dark eyes twinkled. “But I’m reasonable,” he added.

  Tippy laughed as they said their goodbyes and went out the door.

  “Back to work, everybody,” Blake mused. “You, too,” he told Paul. “San Antonio is that way!” He pointed north. “You can malinger with my ADA when your boss gives you a day off.”

  “Malinger? I never malinger. That’s something criminals do in dark corners,” he added haughtily. Then he grinned at Sari. “I might vegetate in her direction, though. I do a great imitation of a potted plant. I could hold leaves and stand by her desk.”

  She laughed uproariously. “I’d really love to see that, but I have cases to write notes on,” she told him.

  “And I have crooks to catch. See you Friday night. Dinner and whatever’s playing at the movies.”

  “I think it’s a love story,” Glory teased.

  “It’s a murder mystery,” Sari corrected. “But it’s a funny one, so it’s okay. See you later, Special Agent Fiore,” she added with a pert smile.

  He winked at her and left.

  * * *

  The next day, it all went to pot. The family attorney in San Antonio called and asked Sari and Merrie to drive up to see him about the will.

  Puzzled, Sari asked for time off from work, and had the driver—a new but trustworthy man—take them up to San Antonio.

  The attorney, a droll, quiet man named Jack Daniels, ushered them into his expensive office and pulled up chairs for them. Then he sat down behind the desk, with a computer and a stack of files.

  “Your father’s estate—well, his liquefiable assets, at least—have been frozen by the federal government, as you know,” he told them, looking over his glasses at both girls. “However, he had documents in his possession that pertained to monies your late mother had accrued in two Swiss bank accounts, which he was not permitted to touch due to a clause in her will. She left the savings accounts to her daughters, one account each, of the same amount of money.”

  “Savings accounts?” Sari said, reeling.

  “Yes.” He presented the records of the savings accounts to the girls.

  Sari looked at hers and almost passed out.

  Merrie had an equal reaction.

  “Daddy never told us about these,” Sari exclaimed, going pale. “I was with Mama when she died, and she said that Merrie and I would be taken care of. I thought she meant Daddy would take care of us.”

  “She knew your father quite well, which is why she left the money in such a way that it was impossible for him to touch it.”

  “And he never told us.” Merrie sighed.

  “He didn’t want us to have money, because we could have gotten away from him,” Sari added in a low, sad tone. She smiled at the attorney. “We never had many clothes, or any freedom at all. He had men watching us night and day. We can’t drive, we don’t own cars, we couldn’t even buy clothes. All Merrie and I have…had…is my salary as an assistant district attorney. I gave our housekeeper some of that, too, for groceries.” She sighed. “Our father was using drugs and dealing them, and we didn’t even know.” She drew in a breath. “I suppose we’re pretty naive for women in our twenties.”

  “You’ll catch up,” the attorney assured them. “Now, let’s go through some of the details. I’ll need your signature on some documents, Miss Grayling,” he added, speaking to Sari. “You realize, I’m sure, that probate in an estate this size could take from several months to a year, especially since the federal government must decide which percentage of your inheritance was garnered in illegal activities. In the meantime, I’m appointing you executrix and I’m readying papers to be filed in court which will notify the public of impending probate and solicit any unpaid or due bills.” He smiled gently. “Your career in law will have already covered these subjects, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  * * *

  They were in the car, riding back home. Sari was silent. Her dreams of the future were going to go up in flames the minute Paul knew how much money was in those savings accounts.

  “Maybe we could keep it a secret,” Merrie said worriedly.

  “And maybe whales will fly,” Sari said philosophically.

  “It was just a thought.”

  Sari looked out the window and tried not to think about what was ahead. Paul cared for her, she knew he did. But it would be the same old story. He wouldn’t want a future with her because she was rich again. It would be too much of a blow to his pride.

  She stared at her hands and wondered why she didn’t just chuck it all and go to Australia, or New Guinea, or Africa or…

  “It’s Paul, isn’t it?” Merrie asked softly. “You’re worried about what he’ll do.”

  “I know what he’ll do,” Sari returned. “He’ll do exactly what he did before.” She looked out the window again. “He’ll leave, because I’m rich and he works for a living.” A stray tear rolled down one pale cheek. She swiped at it angrily.

  “Give him a chance,” Merrie suggested softly. “He’s a proud man, Sari, and he’s had a hard life just being honest in a family of criminals. Remember his cousin Mikey?”

  Sari had to swallow twice before she could answer without crying. “Yes. Mikey is more than just a small-time crook, you know. He was actually arrested in connection with a mob hit in Trenton, New Jersey. They couldn’t prove he did it, but the witnesses swore it was him they saw with the deceased.”

  “Oh, my gosh!”

  “Imagine having a hit man in your family and trying to work as an honest lawman,” she added. “Surely there were times when they looked at Paul suspiciously just because of who he was related to. His father was one of the biggest mob bosses in town before he died violently.”

  Merrie’s intake of breath was audible. “How do you know all this?”

  Sari glanced at her. “You can’t say.”

  “I won’t. Who?”

  “One of our bodyguards. The tall one, Rogers. He’s related to somebody in the US Marshal’s office in Trenton.”

  “Poor Paul,” Merrie replied quietly. She looked at Sari worriedly. She didn’t want to put into words what she was thinking.

  Sari did it for her, wiping away a tear. “He’s had to prove himself over and over again. He wouldn’t want to be accused of marrying a woman for her fortune, but that’s what it would look like to outsiders.” She turned and saw the truth of the statement reflected in her sister’s sympathetic face. “It would look like he was taking the easy way to big money, just like most of the members of his family have.”

  Merrie nodded. “I’m so sorry.”

  Sari drew in a long breath. “Well, I’ll tell him and let him decide.” She laughed. It had a hollow ring. “As if there’s going to be any mystery about his choice.”

  “You never know. He might surprise you,” Merrie said hopefully.

  Sari raised both eyebrows over red, swollen eyelids. “And whales might fly,” she repeated.

  * * *

  Sari was waiting at the front door when Paul called for her that night, but she wasn’t dressed for dinner and a movie.

  “What’s up?” he asked, because he could read the turmoil in her pretty face.

  She took him by the hand and led him out to the glass room, with its easy chair and love seat. But this time she didn’t sit in his lap. She sat on the edge of the love seat with her hands tightly clasped in her lap.

  “Our family attorney had Merrie and me drive up to San Antonio to talk to him today.”

  “And?” His face was grim.

  “And our mother left us money in two savings accounts in Switzerland. This is
in addition to the house and furniture and a small trust that we get when we turn thirty,” she began. “And pending any money that we inherit from our father after the government settles on what he got illegally. That will take months. But we get the savings accounts right now, because they were covered in our mother’s will and already allocated at the time of her death.”

  “What sort of savings account?” he wanted to know.

  She drew in a long breath. “Two hundred million. Each.” She actually winced with each word.

  Paul didn’t say anything. He sat like a statue with his olive tan suddenly paler than it had ever been. His big hands were clasped together between his spread knees. He looked down and felt the agony all the way to his toes. It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. It was far worse. Two hundred million. And he worked for a living.

  Sari didn’t have to ask what he felt, or what he was going to do. His body language was very explicit.

  “I could give it all to charity.” She laughed bitterly.

  He looked up. His face was resigned, his eyes dead in a drawn, taut face. “Honey, every member of my entire family took the easy way to wealth. They robbed, they intimidated, they broke the law coming and going to get big money. I’m the only one who went the honest route. Now you tell me what people are going to think if I…”

  She stood up. Tears were threatening. Her heart was breaking. “I know what they’d think, Paul,” she said in a husky, defeated tone. “I knew what you’d say before we got home this afternoon. You don’t even need to put it into words.”

  He bit down hard on what he wanted to say. If she’d been poor, if he’d been rich, if, if, if…

  She was weighing his reaction. It didn’t take a mind reader to know that he wasn’t that upset by the revelation. He seemed as calm as he did at her office when he came to talk to her boss. She couldn’t know that it was training, half a lifetime in training in law enforcement, that produced that cool demeanor he showed when he was upset. Suck it up, in other words.