“One of my clients?”
At that moment, the front door opened. David and Luke came in. Alexandra met Luke’s gaze, then quickly looked away. During the explanations and introductions, she could almost feel the agent’s impatience.
“You were about to tell us about seeing a client of Mr. Chadwick’s,” he prompted.
David had disappeared toward his room and Luke sat in one of the chairs opposite Alexandra’s spot on the sofa. “One of the firm’s clients?” he asked.
She ignored him. “You introduced me to Paul Henderson, didn’t you, West?”
“That’s right. You went with me to the summer party the firm gives each year. Henderson was there.”
He was talking to her but his gaze was fixed on Luke, who had stiffened at the mention of the name. What was going on here? Had the burglars been looking for him or Chadwick? Had they broken into the wrong condo? He met West’s gaze, his eyebrow raised in inquiry.
“Later,” West mouthed.
Obviously whatever was relevant here had been said before he and David arrived. He settled back to listen.
Alexandra was grateful for the opportunity to clear up one misunderstanding right now. For some reason, she found it intolerable that Luke would think her a liar as well as a snob. “Your date for the summer party couldn’t make it and you asked me to fill in at the last minute,” she said to West while looking at Luke.
“First time I’ve ever been happy to be stood up,” West said cheerfully.
Luke’s expression remained skeptical. She wondered why she had bothered.
Zarcone shook his head. “I can’t see the connection, if there is one. Did you draw a picture of this man?”
“I’m almost positive I didn’t, but I can check.”
Again she had his full attention. “I thought all your sketchbooks were stolen,” the agent said.
“Not the latest one. I always carry it in my bag. I’ll get it.”
She was back in moments with the book. She leafed through it, folding back the ends to leave eight or ten pages free and handed the book to Zarcone. “These are the drawings I did that day.”
The agent riffled through them. The other two men moved to stand behind his chair. “Are they realistic?” Zarcone asked. “I mean, is this how the people look?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“Is what’s-his-name—Henderson—among these drawings?”
“No, I’m almost sure he isn’t.” She took the book for a minute and thumbed through it. Henderson wasn’t there. “No, I remember now, he didn’t come in until after I stopped drawing.” She handed the book to the agent.
Zarcone sighed. “There doesn’t seem to be anything helpful here.”
Luke froze. “Back up,” he said sharply. “Let me see that last picture.”
“This one? It’s a kid,” the agent said. “Do you know him?”
“No. My mistake.”
West had moved up to examine the sketch, close enough for Luke to grab his arm and squeeze a warning. They exchanged looks. Luke shook his head, a slight movement, not detectable by the others. West understood.
The sketch was of a child tugging at a uniform sleeve with four gold stripes. It wasn’t the child that interested either of them. It was the hand at the end of the sleeve—and the ring on the hand. The ring was very distinctive. And they both knew who it belonged to.
“May I take the book with me?” Zarcone asked Alexandra. “A drawing isn’t the documentation that a photograph would be, but the sketches might be useful.”
She hesitated. The sketches she’d made today at Road Atlanta were also in that book. She’d been toying with the idea of doing something with them for David’s room.
Bosh! Who was she trying to fool? Herself? The drawings she’d done of Luke were in there, too. And they were most revealing.
Zarcone must have misunderstood her hesitation. “I’ll make copies and return your book tomorrow.”
“That wasn’t— Of course, you may take the book.”
He reached inside his coat and came out with a card and a pen. “I’m putting a number on the back here. I can be reached at any time. Please call me if you think of anything else that happened that day, even if you don’t think it’s relevant. I’m not sure we know what is relevant about all this. But it seems your break-in might have been more than a robbery. I’m not trying to frighten you, but I want you to be aware of the situation.”
He scribbled as he spoke. She took the card. “Thank you, Mr. Zarcone.”
He retrieved his hat, she walked him to the door and said good-night. West and Luke were right behind her when she turned.
“I’ll be going,” said West. “See you later, Alexandra.”
“I’ll walk out with you,” said Luke.
Alexandra hid her surprise. The two men were actually being polite to each other. And before the police had come, West appeared to have settled in for the evening. What happened to ordering Chinese?
Luke must have misread the surprise on her face. He glanced at the door; West had disappeared. “Will you be all right?” he asked quietly.
If she wouldn’t be, she would never let him know it. “I’ll be fine.”
“I apologize for the things I said earlier. I was pretty rough on you.” He raked his fingers through his rumpled hair. A gesture of frustration? she wondered. “I hope it won’t cause you to decide to skip the race tomorrow.”
“Of course not.” She lifted her chin. He was still looking at her with those skeptical gray eyes. “Even if I wanted to, David wouldn’t hear of it,” she said truthfully. “You know that.”
“Yes, but you know that I’d make sure he got there and back.”
And I’d have to explain why. She remembered the happiness on the boy’s face as the silver car streaked across the finish line this morning. Anyone who could put that expression on David’s face deserved her admiration and appreciation, not her anger.
Yet, he’d insulted her and she just couldn’t let it slide by. “I’ll take him.”
“Okay. See you tomorrow.”
* * *
“What was said before I came in?” Luke asked. They were standing at the porch rail, and they both kept their voices low.
“The FBI thinks the pilot’s murder is related to a smuggling ring operating out of Atlanta. A print found in Alexandra’s condo has been identified as belonging to one Ned Austin, convicted of smuggling, now out on parole.”
“Drugs?”
“No. Computer technology. What do you think?” asked West.
“I think there are a hell of a lot of coincidences here. And I know we’ve both seen that ring before. The one on the pilot’s hand in the drawing of the child.” The ring was fashioned using a computer chip in a setting the way someone else would use a precious stone. Encircling the chip were a series of zeros and ones, computer language for the company of the wearer.
“And the man who designed the ring for himself and brags that he never takes it off was at the airport, but is no pilot,” Luke finished.
West sighed heavily and massaged the back of his neck. “Yeah. But what the hell was Henderson doing in a pilot’s uniform?”
Luke looked at West keenly. “Do you think she could have made a mistake?”
“No. I’ve seen a lot of her work. The characters are done with a minimum of fussiness but the details are perfect. She notices everything.”
Luke was inclined to agree. “But maybe she noticed the ring on Henderson’s hand and added it to the pilot’s.”
West shook his head. “She said Henderson didn’t come in while she was drawing.”
“And there’s the matter of the computer connection,” Luke added.
Henderson, the client who was driving them both crazy to get his operation moved offshore as quickly as possible, was the owner of a small but very successful computer business, which specialized in the latest advanced technology for the much-touted information highway of tomorrow.
“It’s
too much of a coincidence, isn’t it?” he said heavily.
“I’m afraid so,” West agreed.
Their gazes met and for once there was not a trace of hostility between them. Instead, there was complete understanding of the quandary they faced.
Lawyer-client confidentiality was inviolate. If they knew for a fact that Henderson had committed a crime, they could not turn him in.
If, however, they knew a crime was going to be committed in the future—a pending crime—they were morally obligated to report it.
“God, this is every lawyer’s nightmare. Do we really have information relating to a pending crime? Or are we just naturally suspicious?”
“Well, we can’t blow the whistle on Henderson for anything he’s done in the past.”
“No, but we sure as hell can ask him a few questions on our own.”
“We’ll have to tread very lightly. Make an appointment. Face him together.”
“Yeah. Come on. We’ll call him right now from my place.”
“Luke.” West grinned for the first time since they’d seen the drawing.
“What?” Luke snapped. He was already reaching for his keys.
“It’s eleven o’clock. It’s Labor Day weekend. Even if he’s home, this isn’t the way to begin.”
“Either now or at 7:00 a.m. tomorrow. I can’t hang around here any later. I have something to do.”
“You racing tomorrow?”
Luke rammed the key home, and the door swung inward. “Yeah. Did Alexandra tell you?”
“No, I asked the condo manager about the trailer that was parked in the lot. I looked under the tarp, too. Good-looking car.”
“Thanks.”
* * *
The following morning, Luke called the home number of the client. A man answered, introduced himself as the majordomo and informed Luke that Mr. and Mrs. Henderson were away for the weekend. They would return on Tuesday.
Luke cursed and punched in West’s number. “He’s out of town. He’ll be back Tuesday.”
“Figures,” West answered. “I’ll try his office voice mail later, on the off chance he keeps in touch even on holidays. But we’ll probably have to make an appointment on Tuesday morning. At least the man won’t try to avoid his lawyers.”
“Chadwick?”
“What?”
Luke took a deep breath. He hated like hell to ask this man for anything. “Shall we put our rivalry on the back burner until this is resolved?”
West hesitated for a minute. Then Luke could hear him chuckle. “Definitely,” he said at last.
Chapter 6
An air of expectancy stirred the noisy crowd, sharpening laughter, raising voices. This was the last race of the day, of the vintage racing event for this year.
The temperature was cooler than yesterday’s had been, but not much. Luke had to be sweltering under all those layers of clothing. But he didn’t look hot and uncomfortable. He looked composed and controlled.
And large, very large.
He wore an insulated burgundy jumpsuit with silver racing stripes. Before he pulled the zipper closed over his chest, Alexandra had gotten a glimpse of dark, curling hair beneath the fire-protective undersuit. He would also wear a hood, similar to a ski mask, of the same safety fabric. Earlier, he’d answered David’s questions, explaining that wearing the protective clothing was a rule of the racing federation.
Despite his repeated reassurances that vintage racers were primarily hobbyists, however, Alexandra understood that when men and machines were combined at high speeds there was always an element of danger. After watching the races today, she was certain of it. But she was also sure that this man knew what he was doing.
As she and David watched, Luke assembled and checked his equipment, inspected the car one last time, conferred with Maggie. Nothing was left to chance.
He took a long drink from a bottle of water, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “David, would you get my safety hood and helmet, please?”
“Sure, Luke.” Her son gave her a conspiratorial look and took off at a run.
“I’m...uh...going to verify the fuel mix,” said Maggie, moving off.
They were alone—or as alone as they could be among thousands of people—for the first time today. The side of a large tractor-trailer truck concealed them from the body of the crowd.
They had been painfully polite to each other all day. He hadn’t forgiven her for her remarks yesterday, but he was no longer angry. However, it had fallen to David, Maggie and Maggie’s husband, Morris, who had come along for the final races, to keep any conversation going.
Alexandra crossed her arms over her chest and watched, while she waited for him to make a point.
Luke glanced at her and away. He replaced the cap on the water bottle and stored it in one of the many pockets in his suit. “Was that maneuver too obvious?”
She dropped her eyes to her toes and smiled slightly. “I’d say so, yes.”
“How about a kiss for luck?” Luke asked casually as he reached in his back pocket for his insulated gauntlets.
Alexandra gaped at him, but she covered quickly. He seemed to be engrossed with the long gloves.
Had she been forgiven, after all, for yesterday’s awkward observations about his double life?
And had she forgiven him for thinking her a snob?
She took a breath, suddenly wary of the idea of his lips touching hers. “Do you think it will help you win the race?” she asked his unreadable profile.
He turned his head to look at her and grinned. “Couldn’t hurt.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” she murmured. The noise of the engines had drowned out the sound of her soft words, but it didn’t matter. He was focused on her lips and he understood.
For a moment, she was beguiled by the contrast between his strong white teeth and his tanned skin. His gray eyes, which could be as cold as steel, were warm and smoky. An answering smile spread across her face.
He made no sudden moves, but neither did he reduce the intensity of his gaze. When his hands settled on her shoulders, she didn’t protest.
One corner of his mouth lifted and his head blotted out the sun as he slowly brought her closer and bent to her. His mouth was gentle at first, but when she didn’t pull away, a spark from somewhere inside her caught fire and immediately became a conflagration.
Alexandra had not been kissed in four years.
She had not felt a man’s hard body next to her softer one, a man’s hands holding her. She’d forgotten how wonderful, how luxurious an amorous touch felt.
His lips were firm and hungry. His tongue traced her mouth, appealing for entry. With a soft moan, she wrapped her arms around Luke’s waist and parted her lips. His tongue delved inside, giving her an enticing, erotic taste of him.
The substance of his muscle and bone, of his rushing blood and beating heart, evoked a response on some deep emotional level that wiped out their surroundings completely. Now she knew why human beings withered and died when deprived of physical contact with another.
Perhaps she would have reacted this way with anyone, but she didn’t think so. This man, this day, this time—she had avoided him, yet on some subconscious level, she’d yearned for him, too. Like a thirst for water, a hunger for food, there was this urgency, which would not be denied any longer.
His suit was slick under her hands and she held on to him as though she would float away if not anchored.
Luke gathered Alexandra close. One hand slid to cup her head, adjusting the angle for his kiss. God, she felt so good against him. So curvy and feminine, and yet so strong. “Your mouth,” he murmured against her lips. “It’s so sweet...like your voice, like honey.” Her breath came out on a sigh that mingled with his.
He backed against the fender of his car and drew her into more intimate contact, bringing her curves into flawless alignment with his own angles. His sex measured the angle between her thighs and found a perfect fit. The pleasure of being there w
as overwhelming.
He withdrew from the kiss slowly, carefully, but he kept her in his arms against him. “Allie,” he breathed into her soft hair. “Alexandra, I want you,” he said huskily. “I’ve wanted you for a long, long time.”
“Yes, oh, yes,” she answered.
A bark of raucous laughter suddenly jolted him out of the haze of desire. Over her head, he squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to reestablish his equilibrium, fighting the haze that surrounded them.
She tilted her head back, and he was almost lost again. Her emerald eyes had the same dazed, unsteady look. “For so long, I haven’t even thought about...” She faltered, then went on. “About being touched and held for so long.” She shook her head as though to clear it.
He held her and watched. Slowly those beautiful eyes cleared; she rallied. Her enchanting expression of confusion turned to bewilderment, then to horror.
“Omigosh.” She would have jerked free of his arms if he had allowed it. She peered over her shoulder to see if anyone had come near.
He could have told her that they had indeed been seen, not only by Maggie, but also by David, who had come around the corner of the truck, then withdrawn. But he decided, with a wry twist of his mouth, that discretion was the better part of valor.
He reached out to brush a tangle of hair back from her face. “Lady, you do pack a powerful punch. And I meant it when I said I want you.”
Her eyes grew wide, so wide he felt he could drown in them. “I can’t,” she said. Her voice was husky, too, and he thought he heard a pang of regret there.
“Why not?” he asked tenderly. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel as stirred up as I do, because I won’t believe it.”
“No, I mean yes, I do.” She stepped out of his arms. Her heat-flushed face was damp. She breathed deeply, held the breath for a second, then let it out.
“Do I hear a ‘but’ in there somewhere?” Luke held himself motionless, waiting.
“Yes. But I have a teenage son, Luke. I know that wouldn’t stop a lot of people but it stops me.”
He gazed deep into her eyes, awed and amazed. A smile, not wholly humorous, twisted his mouth; he laughed under his breath. “I understand,” he said. Then, in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, he added, “I sure as hell don’t want to, but I do.”
Surrogate Dad Page 9