To Have Vs. To Hold

by MJ Rodgers

  “I don’t participate in relationships that are only physical,” she said. “A woman and a man should be together because they deeply care for and respect each other. Without such a mutual sharing of feelings, such an affair lacks…heart.”

  Adam rose and went over to stand by the floor-to-ceiling window. She watched his polished profile as he slipped his hands into his pockets and calmly stared at the sunlit space needle jabbing the brilliant blue Seattle sky.

  A long moment passed in which the only sound she heard in the quiet conference room was the slow thudding of her heart. Then his deep, cool voice filled the still air.

  “Your choice is a wise one, Whitney. I commend you for it.”

  She knew he meant it, too. For some strange reason, that brought a sudden wave of sadness into her heart.

  A knock sounded on the conference-room door.

  Adam walked over to answer it. When he opened the door, Whitney got a glimpse of the face and form of an immaculately dressed, stocky, sixtyish man with a gray white crew cut.

  “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but A.J. left this message when you were in conference with Mr. Bister. I made the earliest arrangements, assuming that would be your preference.”

  Whitney watched Adam reading the information the man had handed him.

  “This will be fine, Smithy. Good work.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Adam closed the door on the man and returned to the table. When he looked at Whitney again, it was his cool, distant regard that told her he had returned to an all-business relationship. He’d said he could just turn it off. He was proving he could do just that.

  And that brought another wave of sadness to her heart.

  “Can your partner take care of the next group of claimants to Patrice’s estate that will no doubt show up tomorrow?” he asked as he retook his chair.

  “Why, what’s up?”

  “A.J. has gotten a strong lead on the Carmichaels.”

  “And you’re planning on our going to see them tomorrow?”

  “Our plane leaves tomorrow morning for Las Vegas. A car will be waiting for us at the airport. Overton is about sixty miles due east. We should make it there and be back on the late-afternoon plane.”

  “Who arranged for all that?”

  “My secretary, the man at the door just now.”

  “He’s your secretary? He looks and sounds like a drill sergeant in a civilian suit.”

  “You have a good eye. Smithy was a master sergeant in the army before he took his pension and I signed him up for service here at Justice Inc.”

  “An army master sergeant turned law secretary. What’s his story?”

  “Feel free to ask him.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “It wasn’t necessary to request that information. His skills and qualifications got him the position. Will tomorrow prove feasible for you?”

  “I’ll talk to Jack to see if I can get him to rearrange his schedule. How long has Smithy worked for you?”

  “Approximately five years.”

  “And you aren’t curious about why he chose to be a secretary at a law firm as his second career?”

  “You are an extremely persistent woman.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It was not a compliment.”

  “I know.”

  He didn’t smile this time. Whitney didn’t know she could miss a man’s smile so much, so fast. Or that she could feel so disappointed when she realized she might never see him smile again.

  It’s better this way, she told herself. He can’t offer you what you really want.

  “When will you know about tomorrow?” Adam asked.

  “As soon as I get back to the office and talk to Jack. I’m sure it will be all right. Jack is quite flexible about these things. Adam, did you ever suspect that Patrice was an abandoned or abused child?”

  “No. She told me her parents had died when she was five and she’d been brought up in loving foster homes. I suppose all of us who met her had trouble seeing beyond her beauty to the truth.”

  “Because her beauty was so overwhelming,” Whitney said musingly. “And so powerful. Maybe there wasn’t a male born who could resist her.”

  The thought crossed Whitney’s mind then that Adam would never have offered Patrice only a physical relationship. No, for Patrice they all offered whatever she wanted.

  She swallowed the bitter taste of that thought and refocused her mind. If she had understood who Patrice was, where she had come from, how she had been raised, maybe things could have been different. Maybe—

  ”You have a very unusual look on your face, Whitney,” Adam said, cutting into her thoughts. “Is something wrong?”

  “No…nothing,” she lied, wishing he didn’t sound so concerned. She suddenly felt close to tears.

  She told herself she needed time to think, to adjust to what she had learned, to absorb, to try to understand. She told herself it had nothing to do with her having to face the fact that she wanted this man in ways he didn’t want her.

  She rose to her feet. “I’d best take a taxi to my office so I can send that fax off to the press, letting them know I’m G.A.L. on the probate.”

  “I’ll drive you,” Adam said rising.

  Whitney turned toward the door. “No. I’d rather take a taxi, thanks,” she called over her shoulder. And with that she all but ran out of the conference room.

  “HAVE YOU LEARNED any more about Whitney West?” Adam asked A.J., the moment she answered her phone.

  “Nothing I haven’t already told you. Why? Something happen?”

  “I’m not sure,” Adam said, remembering the sudden odd sound in Whitney’s voice and the look in her eyes as she fled the conference room. “It might be nothing.”

  “I haven’t made her background check a priority. I can rectify that. Just say the word.”

  The more Adam thought about his suspicions, the more they seemed groundless. Whitney was a sympathetic person. She was probably just feeling bad about what Patrice had gone through. Or she might have been disappointed about his offering her only a physical relationship.

  That had been a mistake. He should have realized she wasn’t a woman of casual affairs. But he had wanted so much for her to respond to him, he hadn’t been thinking clearly. And now that she had responded to him, he wanted her even more.

  But he couldn’t have her. Not on his terms. Not on hers. You do something right, or you don’t do it at all.

  “Adam?” A.J.’s voice prodded. “Is knowing more about Whitney West a priority?”

  “No, let the in-depth background check stay on the back burner for now,” Adam said. “Finding out about Patrice should be your number-one priority. How is Piper doing on researching those stock certificates?”

  “She and Gavin are working on it. She’ll contact you directly when she has something to report. Frankly her assignment is easy compared to the one I have. Finding what unofficial foster family raised Patrice is proving to be a bear.”

  “You’ll do it.”

  “I wish I had your confidence on this one. The Rubins are very protective of their foster families, and everyone who knows what the Rubins are doing are very protective of them. I’m going to have to employ some pretty devious methods to get any answers on this. Is it really important to know who this family was?”

  “It’s important for me to know everything I can about Patrice, A.J.”

  “Only because you’re still trying to understand why she left you for Peter, right?”

  “A.J.—”

  “Adam, I’ve always known their decision to go away together puzzled you as well as hurt and angered you. I’ve been luckier. At least I knew that Peter left me for Patrice because he was as dazzled by her beauty, as was every other man who met her. Shall I tell you why I think Patrice left you for Peter?”

  “I don’t need to—”

  “Adam, I need to say it. Peter was never half the man you are. But take it from one who knows.
Sometimes women fall for that kind of heart-thudding surface charm that came so naturally to Peter, just as men fall for the kind of overwhelming physical beauty that Patrice possessed.”

  “I know, A.J. It’s not necessary to—”

  “Let me get it all out, Adam. Please. Bottom line here is that Patrice was the kind of woman a man could have, but never hold. She lacked that important ingredient known as staying power. Drop this, Adam.”

  “I can’t, A.J. If I’m to safeguard Patrice’s money against claimants such as Chad Bister, I’m going to need to know everything about her to make sure the rightful beneficiaries receive what she intended.”

  “Let someone else look after their interests. You don’t need to remain Patrice’s executor and safeguard anything for anyone. You owe her nothing! For heaven’s sake, even the new birth certificate she presented you with is a phony!”

  Adam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ve accepted the responsibility as executor of the estate.”

  “You can go to the court this afternoon and have yourself excused. And you should.” A.J. paused to sigh. “But you won’t. And I’m just wasting my breath trying to talk you out of it. And now that I’ve had my say, I’ll shut up and get to work investigating this damn woman who screwed up your life since the moment she entered it and is still screwing it up, even seven years after her death.”

  “COME IN, ADAM,” Whitney said early the next morning as she swung open her front door. “I’m not quite ready.”

  Adam looked at her robe and slippers and decided that Whitney was gifted with understatement.

  He stepped past her into the entry hall, and she closed the door behind him, yawning.

  “I’m sorry, but I just don’t operate at full throttle in the morning. Particularly when you’re thirty minutes early.”

  “We have a schedule change. I tried to reach you on the cell phone a few minutes ago, but I didn’t get an answer.”

  “I must have been in the shower. What’s up?”

  “We’re taking a later flight. Danny D’Amico called my answering service this morning and asked us to drop by his home to meet with him and his mother as soon as possible.”

  Whitney’s eyes seemed to open a bit at that news. “You think he’s figured out who Patrice was and why she left them that money?”

  “That could be the case.”

  “Go on into the living room and make yourself comfortable, Adam. I won’t be long.”

  She whirled around and moved down the hallway, leaving the tantalizing scent of sweet bath oil in her wake.

  One of the light oak floorboards squeaked beneath Adam’s shoes as he walked into the living room. It was an older house, newly redecorated, the walls a freshly painted peach, the gingerbread strips at the middle and baseboard a contrasting persimmon. The drapes were a knotty weave of peach and cream.

  The room displayed a warm, attractive openness, much like its owner.

  Adam’s eyes were drawn to the pictures adorning the mantel of the flagstone fireplace. He stepped up to them to get a closer look. The first two, faded from age, showed stiffly posed couples in old-fashioned clothes, obviously her grandparents.

  The next was a candid shot of Whitney. She couldn’t have been more than seven or eight. At first he saw only her, wearing a big, beautiful, open smile that seemed to draw the sun to her face, just as it did now. Then he looked to her two brothers, taller and older, on either side and her parents in the background.

  A wave of surprised recognition swept through Adam.

  “Some of these family photos are good enough to be mug shots,” she said suddenly.

  He turned to find her standing behind him. She was wearing a classic, tailored cream pantsuit with a light pink silk blouse. She looked crisp, cool, like a piece of peppermint candy.

  “You’re William T. West’s daughter,” he said, pointing to the family picture he had been studying. “Wild Bill West. The defender of the downtrodden. The legal Lancelot riding to the rescue of the poor and friendless.”

  A telltale gleam of pride entered her eyes as he repeated the media accolades that had been attributed to her celebritylawyer father over three decades.

  “Most people don’t recognize those earlier pictures of my father, before his hair turned white.”

  “His white hair is a distinctive trademark, yes, Whitney. But I first met your father when his hair still showed some of the color of yours—much as it is in this picture.”

  “You met my father?” she asked, clearly surprised at the news as she stepped closer to the mantel.

  “Your father and mine were opposing counsel on a case. I was just a youngster then, but I remember it well. A landlord was trying to evict a tenant for nonpayment of rent. The media had blown the case all out of proportion, because the tenant was a one-armed veteran.”

  “And your father was representing the landlord and my father the tenant.”

  “Do you remember the case?”

  “No, but I know my dad always represented the underdog. Go on.”

  “Your father found out that his client hadn’t lost his arm in the line of duty, but as a result of a barroom brawl he’d been involved in after he was discharged from the service. He had been passing himself off as a war hero for years. Even his kids thought the Purple Heart he had bought in a pawnshop was one he had earned. Your father came to see my father one night at our home in order to try to work out a settlement that would allow the real story to be squashed.”

  “My father wasn’t one to hide the truth.”

  “But in this case, he was right. When your father learned. how the man had really lost his arm, he told my father. He didn’t have to do that. My father probably never would have found out.”

  “But my father knew it was the right thing to do,” Whitney said very matter-of-factly. “What was the settlement?”

  “Your father paid for his client’s back rent and quietly moved him out of the apartment and into an alcohol-detox center. He also paid for his client’s treatment. My father agreed not to publicize the man’s lies in order to avoid his personal disgrace in front of his family and friends. I’ll never forget what my father said about yours that night as we watched him walk away.”

  “What?”

  “He said that Wild Bill West wasn’t just the best lawyer he’d gone up against, he was the best man. I’m sorry about his passing, Whitney. It was last year, wasn’t it?”

  Whitney nodded. “Yes. But your father was wrong, Adam. My dad may have been the best lawyer, but he wasn’t the best man.”

  The words struck a discordant note in Adam’s ears. “Excuse me, Whitney?”

  “The best man is the guy who stays true to his wife and family. My dad got caught up in all the notoriety. He ended up having an affair with a socialite who thought it might be fun to sleep with a headline.”

  “Your parents divorced?”

  “Yes. My mom told me that two people can hang together against anything as long as they have trust. But once trust goes, there’s nothing of value left.”

  “Was their breakup hard on you?”

  “Very. I loved both my parents. And I needed them both. After the divorce I hardly ever saw my dad.”

  “Still, a lot of him rubbed off on you. That has to be why your practice is geared toward representing those who don’t have a lot of money to pay a lawyer.”

  “Yes, but it was my mother who taught me the important lessons about love and putting family first. I was engaged to a guy named Skip a few years back. He’s a successful developer of computer software, a regular Bill Gates. Except his attitude toward the law was, ‘If it isn’t making you lots of money, babe, why are you doing it?’“

  Whitney had lowered her voice to a deep baritone when she mimicked Skip’s voice. It made Adam want to smile.

  “And Wild Bill West’s daughter didn’t approve,” Adam said.

  Whitney nodded. “Skip’s attitude toward children was, ‘Sure, babe, we’ll have some if they�
��ll make you happy.’ Not exactly a rousing commitment to fatherhood.”

  Once again her voice had deepened to a baritone when she mimicked Skip.

  “Still, if he hadn’t had the annoying habit of laughing at all those wonderful old movies, where people stayed together forever, we might have worked out the other stuff. So, are you ever going to get married and have some kids?”

  Adam’s eyes dropped to his watch. “No. We’d best go.”

  “But I just put the coffee on.”

  “We’ll get some later.”

  “You don’t understand, Adam. I positively growl without my coffee. It won’t take but a couple of minutes before it’s ready.”

  “A couple of minutes will make us late.”

  “And being late, I’m sure, would violate the Adam Justice code of ethics.”

  “It would be discourteous.”

  “Same thing,” Whitney said, but he noted she didn’t say it disapprovingly. “Okay, but you’ve been warned. A disgruntled postal worker with an Uzi is nothing compared to me without my caffeine.”

  ALL THE WAY to Danny D’Amico’s place, Whitney thought about Adam’s quick and emphatic denial when she’d asked him if he would marry and have children.

  She understood. All too well. The way Patrice had betrayed Adam had no doubt soured him on love and marriage for life.

  Still, it was a shame it had to happen to such a man as Adam Justice. A caring man. An honest man.

  As disappointed as she was that Adam had only offered her a physical relationship, she had to acknowledge that most men would have tried to get her into bed before admitting that they had no intentions other than the pursuit of physical pleasure.

  But as Whitney was coming to realize more and more, Adam was nothing like most men.

  Whitney hadn’t formed any conscious expectations about what Danny D’Amico’s house would look like, but when Adam turned into a long, circular driveway lined by imposing poplars and parked in front of a replica of a Greek temple, she definitely did a double take.

  She did a triple take when the enormous front doors were answered by a snotty-looking woman in full maid’s uniform.

  “We have an appointment with Mr. Danford D’Amico,” Adam said to the woman.