by Lisa Jackson
“And a beautiful one,” Kimberly said, laughing as she twirled her daughter off her feet. One of the high heels dropped with a clank to the floor. “So, who’s the lucky guy?”
“Guy?”
Kimberly couldn’t help grinning. “You know—the man you’re going to marry.”
“No one!” Lindsay said emphatically. “Like you.”
“Like me,” Kimberly said as she held Lindsay close. “Well, pumpkin, it’s hard to have a wedding without a groom—but if that’s the way you want it, it’s okay by me.”
“Good.” Lindsay smiled slyly and eyed the ceramic teddy bear jar on the counter just out of her reach. “Now can I have a cookie?”
“Later. First, we’ll have some soup.”
Lindsay made a face, crinkling up her nose. “I like macaroons better.”
“Most of us do,” Kimberly admitted as she placed her daughter on the floor. Lindsay concentrated on balancing in the high heels again.
Kimberly padded Lindsay’s pale curls. “I’ve got to get changed, and then we’ll have dinner.”
She hurried down the short hall to her bedroom, and Lindsay followed, the shoes clumping noisily.
“Who was the bride today?” Lindsay asked.
“Diane—remember?”
“Oh.”
Lindsay turned and marched out of the bedroom and down the hall, singing loudly, “Here comes the bride.”
Kimberly tugged the dress over her head and stared at her reflection in the oval mirror above her bureau. Small creases lined her brow, but her blue-green eyes sparkled. Thoughts of Jake skittered through her mind.
She felt an annoying flush climb slowly from the swell of her breasts to her throat. Smiling to herself, she brushed the tangles from her wet, bedraggled hair. Her feelings concerning Jake McGowan were in a jumble. Professionalism had to overcome this ludicrous joy she felt at the mere thought of him. Suddenly annoyed, she flung her brush onto the bureau and kicked off her shoes.
She should never have followed him to the cemetery, she never should have allowed herself to be charmed by Jake McGowan. Glancing at the mirror again, she frowned. “You’ve made a mess of things this time,” she chided her reflection. Wearing only her satin slip, her hair shining from the recent brushing, she sank onto the mattress of her double bed.
No matter what happened she still had to approach Jake as a professional. Damn it, she needed him. “You’ve got no choice,” she whispered into the empty room. With that, she leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes, only to see the mocking image of Jake’s face.
* * *
His thoughts all tangled in Kimberly, Jake drove home from the wedding reception. His senses still reeled, and he wondered what kind of fool he’d been, kissing Kimberly impulsively, then dancing so close to her. Caught in the fragrant cloud of her perfume and the yielding warmth of her body pressed tantalizingly to his, he hadn’t been able to think clearly.
Even now his palms began to sweat around the steering wheel as he remembered looking down at her when they’d danced. She’d tossed her head back, her hair brushing his arm, her gaze touching a forbidden part of his soul.
She hadn’t seemed to mind that her dress was stained by the rain, nor that her hair had been tossed in the wind. He’d wanted to bury himself in those long, rain-darkened strands, and he’d had trouble dragging his gaze away from the pink pout of her lips.
Overwhelmed, Jake had felt a crazy desire to sweep her off her feet and steal her away so that he could get lost in her body and soul. But he hadn’t. Common sense had prevailed.
Staring at the dark streets. He realized he hadn’t been so fascinated with a woman in years. Though his mind screamed that he was making an irrevocable mistake, he couldn’t fight the jolt of possession that ripped through him.
That she had been Robert Fisher’s wife was unthinkable. She was warm and soft, and erotic thoughts still fired his blood, pounding with the same driving beat of his heart.
Tail lights glowed in front of him, and he stomped on the brakes. The Bronco fishtailed. “Forget her,” he growled at himself. But as the words passed his lips, he knew he never would.
* * *
Three days later Jake winced against the morning sunlight. His eyes burned from too little sleep and too many hours poring over every scrap of information in the Robert Fisher file. He hoped to come up with something he could pin on Fisher, something concrete he could use as a bargaining tool to get him to drop the custody case.
Of course, he’d hoped for even more than that. Some shred of overlooked evidence that would put Fisher away for good. No such luck.
But early this morning, when he’d finally given up and closed the Fisher file, he’d dropped onto the bed, only to stare at the clock and listen to the sounds of the night while his mind wandered back to Kimberly—over and over again. No matter how many times he forced his thoughts away from her, they always crept back to her soft smile and dark-fringed eyes.
Muttering an oath to himself, he shoved open the office door and was greeted by the sound of classical music and the smell of warm coffee.
Sarah, the plump secretary he’d inherited from Diane, was at her desk, diligently working on her computer, her fingers moving skillfully.
She glanced up at him and smiled. “Good morning, Mr. McGowan.”
“It’s Jake. Remember? Unless we’re dealing with stuffy clients, let’s keep things informal.”
“You got it. Coffee’s on. You want a cup?”
He forced a smile. “I can get it myself.”
“I’d be glad to—”
He held up a palm. “Relax, Sarah. This isn’t the Dark Ages. You’re liberated now, remember?”
She snorted, but smiled and went back to her work.
Jake headed down the hall. In the kitchen he poured a mug of dark coffee and warmed his hands on the side of the cup. He had several client appointments this morning, but his concentration wasn’t on property line disputes, patent infringement or tax loopholes—or anything other than Robert Fisher.
And Kimberly Bennett.
“You’re obsessed,” he muttered, crossing through the reception area and picking up the stack of phone messages from the corner of Sarah’s desk. He flipped through them quickly, hoping to spot Kimberly’s name, but stopped at the final note. Ben Kesler had finally returned his call.
Jake McGowan’s mood improved. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said as he kicked his office door closed and plopped down in his chair.
He hadn’t noticed that Sarah had rearranged his desk, not until he picked up the receiver and saw the picture. His hand paused in midair as he stared onto the face of a small, two-year-old boy. A boy with dark hair and blue eyes. A boy holding a stuffed yellow duck and wearing a wide smile. A boy he loved with all his heart. A boy he’d called his son.
Jake let the telephone receiver drop. His throat nodded, and he picked up the picture, staring at the lifeless photograph. Steeling himself as he always did, he took the framed photo and placed it behind him on the credenza.
His forehead creased, and he waited until he was composed again. Then he reached for the phone and punched Kesler’s number.
Kesler was in a meeting and would call back. Without really thinking, Jake dialed Ron Koski’s number and left a message. Ron called back half an hour later.
“How’re you doing?” he asked, his gravelly voice needing no introduction.
Jake got right to the point. “I didn’t find much in the Fisher file,” he said, “in fact, just about nothing I didn’t know already. So I want you to get back to Brecken. See if you can find out anything.”
“What’s up?”
“Nothing, probably,” Jake thought aloud, leaning back in his chair. “But if the police are getting close to Fisher, he’ll know it. Someone will leak the information to him for the right price. If that’s the case, maybe he’s getting ready for a long vacation.”
Koski let out a low whistle. “You think that’s
why he’s interested in his kid all of a sudden.”
“I don’t know,” Jake admitted, hating to think what would happen to Kimberly if she lost her child. “I just want to cover all the bases. See what you can dig up.”
“Will do. But Brecken’s become pretty tight-lipped.”
“I know,” Jake said, rubbing his jaw. “That’s what worries me.”
* * *
At five o’clock Bill Zealander stormed into Kimberly’s office. His ruddy face was set in a scowl, and his eyes, behind wire-rimmed glasses, were nearly black. “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded, slapping down a file folder with a memo clipped to it.
“Of what?”
His eyes narrowed as he read the memo. “Eric’s reassigned the Juniper trust to you. Why?”
“Because the heirs requested me.”
His nostrils flared. “Which heirs?”
“Henry and Carole—the children.”
“That’s preposterous! You know them?” he challenged.
“Not personally, no,” she said calmly. “But I helped Henry secure a building loan when I worked in mortgage trust, and I helped Carole set up a custodial account.”
“And that’s all?” he asked, concealing his disbelief.
“Other than the couple of weeks I’ve worked with them on the estate. Why?”
“You know why.” He leaned over her desk. “The Juniper trust is well over five million dollars—one of the largest in the department.” His mouth set in a tight grimace. “Don’t think I won’t talk to Eric about this!”
Kimberly smiled, but her eyes met his levelly. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Bill. Go right ahead. Talk all you want.”
“I will.” Snapping the folder up, he strode out the door as quickly as he’d marched in. Kimberly dropped her forehead into her hands. “Men,” she muttered under her breath.
“Ms. Bennett?” Marcie’s voice buzzed over the intercom. “Call for you on line two. Mr. McGowan.”
Kimberly’s heart jumped. “Thanks,” she said into the intercom, she picked up the phone. “Kimberly Bennett.”
Jake got right to the point. “I’d like to meet with you. As soon as possible. I just got off the phone with Kesler.”
Kimberly’s breath stilled. “And?”
“And it looks like you were right. Robert is hell-bent to gain full custody.”
She closed her eyes, and her fingers tightened around the receiver, holding it in a death grip. “I knew it,” she said, seriously. “I just knew it!”
“I think we’d better get together.”
“Absolutely.”
“I’ll pick you up at the bank right after closing. We’ll go to dinner, then get down to brass tacks.”
She didn’t even think about arguing. She was too shaken. So, Robert was going through with it. Just as he’d threatened. “Can he take her away from me?” she asked, bracing herself.
“Not if I can help it.”
Still numb, she hung up the phone. At least she had Jake on her side. That was good. Jake McGowan, she decided, thinking back to the jut of his chin and the anger that would spark in his flinty eyes, would be a dangerous enemy.
True to his word, Jake arrived less than forty-five minutes later. Marcy, who showed the man to Kimberly’s office, winked at Kimberly from behind his back, then made a quick escape.
Kimberly glanced up from her desk, saw the concern in his eyes and felt her heart flutter uncontrollably.
“What did Kesler say?” she demanded, shutting the door behind him.
“You want to talk here?” he asked.
She glanced around the cherry-paneled walls and bit her lip. “Probably not. This might sound paranoid, but there’s too much of Robert here. He’s a major client with the bank.”
“And the walls have ears?” One side of his mouth tilted upward.
“I just don’t like to take any chances.” Kimberly licked her lips. “I’m scared, Jake,” she admitted. “Really scared.”
“Don’t be. Nothing’s happened yet.”
“I can’t lose her. I can’t.” He wrapped his arms around her, and she leaned against him. The strength of his body felt so right—so natural. She didn’t even consider pulling out of his embrace, but clung to him. The soft texture of his jacket rubbed against her cheek, and the smell of leather and aftershave filled her nostrils. “Lindsay—”
“Shh. Didn’t I tell you I wouldn’t let that happen?”
She nodded, her crown brushing his chin. “But you don’t know Robert.”
His muscles tensed. “I know him.”
“He can be so . . .”
“Ruthless?”
“Yes,” she admitted, shivering. “Ruthless.”
He tilted her chin up with one finger and forced her frightened gaze to meet the calm depth of his. “Then I guess I’ll just have to be more ruthless, won’t I?”
“You’d stoop to his level?”
His mouth twisted sardonically. “Let’s just say I’ll do whatever’s necessary. Now, come on, let’s go.”
She didn’t argue. Slipping reluctantly from the security of his embrace, she stuffed some files in her briefcase, snapped the leather case closed and grabbed her cape. “Where to?”
“Some place close?”
“No.” The after-work crowd hung out during happy hour in some of the local bars and restaurants nearby, and Kimberly didn’t want to risk being overheard by anyone at the bank.
“Bollinger’s, then?” he suggested.
Bollinger’s was a restaurant perched high on the hills in Northwest Portland. She couldn’t have suggested anywhere that was more out of the way. And, as far as she knew, Bollinger’s wasn’t one of Robert’s regular haunts. “I’ll meet you there.”
“I could drive you.”
She felt suddenly silly for the way she’d nearly fallen apart. Tossing her hair from her face, she said, “I can drive myself. Really. It’s just easier that way.”
“If that’s the way you want it.”
She walked with him to the elevators. In the parking garage she watched as he unlocked his Bronco, then she slid into her Mercedes and headed west.
Within twenty minutes she was seated across a small table from him. The restaurant was housed in an old Victorian structure, complete with turrets and gables. It clung to a forested hill in Northwest Portland and had been remodeled several times since the turn of the twentieth century. Filled with paraphernalia of bygone years, Bollinger’s was an eclectic blend of antiques—Army recruiting posters from the World Wars, artifacts from the forties and fifties, record jackets from the sixties and Tiffany lamps with hanging prisms and classic movie posters.
Kimberly barely noticed. “Tell me everything Ben Kesler said.”
Jake sat on the other side of the small table. His knees nearly brushed hers, and candlelight flickered over the stern set of his features. “It’s pretty simple, really. They’re planning on trying to wrest custody from you because Robert’s convinced you’re unfit.”
“Oh, God.”
“Saying it and proving it are two different matters,” Jake pointed out.
A waiter dropped by the table, and Jake ordered them a bottle of wine. When she started to protest, he wouldn’t hear of it, and without consulting her, ordered for them both.
Kimberly didn’t care. She wasn’t interested in food. She was only concerned about Lindsay.
The waiter returned with the wine, and Jake poured them each a glass. “Now, tell me about your life,” he suggested.
“What about it?”
“What do you do all day?”
“You mean in my free time—between being a mother and a full-time bank officer.”
His eyes twinkled in the reflection of the candles. “Right.”
“I sleep—exercise a little. Watch some TV and read. Pretty interesting stuff, eh?” she asked, sipping from her glass.
The waiter deposited crisp salads and a crusty loaf of Viennese bread on their table.
&nb
sp; “What about the men in your life?”
“Men? Plural?” she responded, feeling a little defensive.
“Okay, tell me about the man in your life.”
She dropped her eyes and tried to stem the rage that boiled up by pounding a tomato slice on her salad plate. “I hate this, y’know.”
“What?”
“This—accountability. My life dissected under a microscope.”
“I know.” He reached across the table, and his hand covered hers. “But I have to ask.”
The tender gesture tore at her heart. She withdrew her hand and lifted her eyes to his. “There is no man.” Except maybe you.
Jake stared at her for a second, then blinked and turned his attention to cutting the loaf of bread on the board between them. “Surely you’ve dated since the divorce.”
He placed a thick slice onto her plate.
“Not much.”
“So, tell me about the dates.”
She wasn’t used to sharing her personal life with a man—any man. And Jake was different. Baring her soul to him took courage. She had to remind herself that she hired him to probe into her personal life. “There’s nothing much to tell,” she said as the waiter removed the salad plates and placed steaming platters of pasta and vegetables on the table. “The first man was an old family friend—nothing romantic. And the second—well, it was a mistake.”
“Why?”
“The man was Eric Compton. My boss at First Cascade. He’s the vice president in charge of the trust department, only one step down from Aaron Thornburn, the president. It was only one date, but it caused all kinds of problems.”
“Such as?”
“Other employees, one in particular, thought I was trying to sleep my way to the top.”
He stared at her for a second. “Were you?”
Her mouth nearly dropped open, but she clamped it firmly shut. Did he think so little of her? “What do you think?”
His mouth curved into a lazy smile. “It doesn’t seem your style.”
“It isn’t. I wish I’d never gone out with Eric. Things would’ve been much simpler.” She frowned at the memory. Eric had hoped to start something that night, had expected her to fall at his feet. He’d even gone so far as to suggest she spend the night at his place, and she’d nearly choked on her drink. In many ways the evening had been a disaster.