Bad Boy Hero: A Romantic Suspense

by Adair Rymer

  I will not let her go through this alone, I decided.

  “Three million dollars—” I lowered my voice even further and cut right to it. “In your bank account tonight. Make sure she goes to the pregnancy unit in the woman's building, then get me in there for the night.”

  There was a long pause as he considered my offer. Nelson could get in serious trouble if I were caught. However if I didn't get caught... “Four.”

  “Five.” I upped the offer, then made my demand. “Make it happen. Right now.”

  “Visitation is extended for an extra half hour,” the senior officer announced loudly, which drew cheers from most of the inmates and their significant others. He issued a series of orders to the other correction officers, then took me into the guard's office.

  He handed me a confiscated cell phone and had me transfer the first million into his account before anything else happened. I told my assistant to retroactively set up a giveaway contest so the government could legally tax the senior officer's “winnings.” That would also make any other bribes easier to explain as well.

  Nelson made a few calls, then had a spare guard's uniform brought in from somewhere. I quickly got changed, pulled my hat low as low as possible, then followed Nelson to catch Claire before she made it to processing.

  Getting Claire out of the area wasn't an immediate thing, and that was by design. Rikers was an island prison on the East river with only one road that led to the mainland. Getting an ambulance here would take some time.

  Nelson gave me an unnecessary warning about not trying anything then led me out of the gymnasium. It would have been easy to get rattled by every camera-monitored doorway we went through, but as long as everything went smoothly no one would ever have any reason to go back and study the footage.

  We caught up to Claire in the parking lot near the building's main doors. Six months in a box made the outside so much more vivid. I wanted to just fall to my knees and soak it all in, but that would scream 'suspicious'. I forced myself to refrain from enjoying the artificial moment of freedom.

  Claire was being propped up by one of the two corrections officers. Tears streamed down her face. They told her to focus on her breathing and reassured her that she'd be getting medical help soon. Claire rocked back and forth, clutching her stomach. My heart sank to see her in so much pain.

  “We'll take her from here,” Nelson grumbled, dismissing the men.

  “You sure, Boss? I—” One of them looked at me curiously, trying to place my face. I'd be able to pass easier in the other buildings, but here, most of the guards worked together day-in and day-out. They all knew each other and, even worse, they all knew the billionaire in cell block C.

  I didn't mind paying people off, but the more people that got involved, the more likely someone would either get scared, or want to brag about their windfall. The muscles in my arms began to flex, my fight: or flight adrenaline rush was coming on. This situation would have to be resolved immediately or I was fucked.

  “I didn't ask for your fucking opinion.” The senior officer growled, getting in the face of the man who was about to recognize me. “Now get the fuck back inside, Mendez.”

  Both men straightened, then shuffled off, muttering under their breath at what a prick Nelson was. Right then I knew that I had made the right call throwing in with this man. We might actually pull this off.

  I glanced around to make sure no one else was in earshot. “Claire, it's me.”

  “What?!” She whispered loudly in disbelief. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  “Probably.” I smiled. “But I made you a promise. I love you, Claire.”

  “Oh my God,” Claire mouthed the words silently.

  Claire was stunned; so was I, really. I didn't plan on saying it, it just came out.

  The last person I told that to was my mother when I asked her and my father to come pick me up the night they died. Mom had always ended her calls with me by telling me she loved me and I responded with the same. She was the only person I ever did that with.

  I thought it was silly and it diluted the term for me a little when I was young, but knowing that that was the last thing we said to each other made it special to me. So special, in fact, that I refused to say it to anyone since.

  Telling Claire I loved her was a huge deal to me and one I didn't take lightly. If I had a fourth rule in my life it would've been to never say those three words to anyone ever again.

  “Yeah, yeah. I'm sure the feeling's mutual,” the gruff senior officer interrupted. “Let's get this shit over with.”

  Nelson led us into a small empty van that had just pulled up. He told the driver where to take us and we started making our way to the women's building. Nelson made small talk with the driver to keep the man's attention focused on him and not us.

  Claire wasn't an inmate so I could sit next to her and not raise any suspicions. Labor cramps came and went, nearly doubling Claire over in the process. In the lull between contractions she took my hand and wrote out “I heart-symbol U” up my forearm.

  I tugged at my hat and did my best to stifle a huge, warm smile.

  Getting through the checkpoints of the women's prison and into the pregnancy ward with Claire was surprisingly easy. I helped Claire into a wheelchair and Nelson found a doctor to lead the way. Every time things even hinted at slowing down, Claire would scream in pain and everyone else would just move out of the way.

  The nurses had Claire's bed prepped when we arrived. I was worried that the pregnancy unit would be as filthy and run down as the rest of the prison but to the NYC Department of Corrections credit, this unit was as clean and modern as a regular hospital. Once we got Claire onto the bed the doctor asked to have a word with Officer Nelson in private.

  “Ugh, wait!” Claire protested loudly when we stepped out into the hall. It came out as the second half of a protracted labor scream. “Please. I don't want to be alone.”

  “She's not an inmate,” Nelson told the doctor, then he cocked his head toward me. “The girl's scared, let the kid stay if it'll make her feel better.”

  The doctor grimaced at the whole situation. “Fine,” She reluctantly agreed, waving me back into the room. “But you're going to tell me why the hell she's even here and not at St. Jude's in Queens.”

  Nelson shot me a look that told me not to go anywhere, then disappeared with the doctor down the hall. I had no idea how he was going to explain the breach of protocol to the lady, but he had five-million reasons to make sure that she believed him.

  There was nothing I could do about that now. I just had to trust that I made the right decision by enlisting his help. I took Claire's hand and told her that everything was going to be alright.

  I stayed by Claire's side for fifteen long hours until our baby boy was born. He was a filthy, screaming, beautifully healthy mess of a child. I held him when the nurses weren't around.

  Our son was eight pounds, five ounces. He had black hair and his mother's eyes. Occasionally his mouth twisted into a shit-eating grin that I instantly knew he'd gotten from me.

  “Marcus Edward Tremont,” I frowned, cradling the boy in my arms.

  “Whats wrong?” Claire asked, waking up from a fitfully short nap. “You don't like the name Mark?”

  The name was her grandfather's. He was an auto mechanic and a big part of Claire's life growing up. From everything she told me about him, Mark sounded like an honest, salt-of-the-earth kind-of guy. Unfortunately he died a few years ago, which was a real shame because I would've loved to have met him.

  “His first and middle name are fine.” My voice caused the baby to stir but I gently rocked him back to sleep. “It's the last name that needs to change.”

  Claire was exhausted mentally and physically, confusion marred her features. Then, like a rusted gear that finally clicked in to place and started to spin, her face lit up. “Are you—”

  I looked at her lying in bed, covered in an ugly hospital gown. Her blond hair was a matted, dishev
eled nest and the lines in her face showed her lack of sleep. I was wrong earlier in the gym when I said that she never looked better.

  “Asking you to marry me? Yes I am.” I smiled. “Well?”

  “Yes.” Claire whispered, starting to cry again. She wore the biggest smile I'd ever seen. “You're getting so much better at this.”

  “Yeah, imagine what kind of fiance I'll be once I actually get out of prison.” I sat on her bed. Claire laughed as I kissed her. She wrapped her arms around me and all three of us embraced as a family for the first time.

  God, I could get used to this.

  Chapter 19

  Claire

  Maynard, Bianca and I walked into the Milspoor International corporate headquarters in downtown Chicago. It was exactly two months to the day since I gave birth to my son and just over a month since Maynard got out of prison.

  I had no idea how he pulled off staying with me while I gave birth to our son, but I will forever be grateful. A million things could've gone wrong but he did it anyway. There really wasn't anything he wasn't willing to do for me. I couldn't even describe how good it felt knowing that.

  There was no hope for me, I was his completely and forever.

  “You're sure you're feeling up for this, Claire?” Bianca asked, pressing the elevator door 'hold' button for us to step in. She and I worked closely together these last few weeks, and I was surprised to say that it was a great experience. In our time together I've come to understand her a little better. When Bianca is immersed in work, everything makes sense to her and she's able to relax. Despite being rough around the social edges, in a work setting Bianca is receptive, helpful, open, and—gasp—borderline pleasant.

  Crazy, I know!

  The three of us had spent most of the last month finishing our preparations for today's board meeting. Bianca meticulously combed through both Illinois and New York Law, while secretly consulting with shareholders and Board Members. Maynard had been relentlessly chasing leads from his prison contact, and I gathered and compiled all the evidence we found. I was laid off at the end of the school year, so it felt good to do something important again.

  “There is nowhere in the world I'd rather be right now.” I pressed the button for the executive floor. My part in this was done. I wasn't required to be here but I really, really wanted to be. After everything Anthony had done to all of us, I needed to see what happened first hand.

  The home front had gotten much better as well. Mom was able to go back to the house. She was feeling much better, but it would take her a long time to heal from all the smoke inhalation, and the severe burns on her legs and back. She was already able to walk around and do very light housework, and of course, terrorize my father.

  She was watching Mark for us today while we paid Anthony a surprise visit.

  “That's my girl. We couldn't deprive her of the look on that smug motherfucker's face when it all falls apart.” Maynard's smile beamed in the reflection of the closing doors. He slipped a hand around my waist and pulled me close.

  Being apart for so long made me relish every second of the pressure against him. It was so good to see him in a suit again. Maynard looked amazing and was in great spirits. It wasn't just the crisp, gray Armani he was wearing it was his whole outlook.

  He was such a changed man.

  The one-night-stand Maynard of almost a year ago never would've helped with two a.m. feedings or changed a diaper. That charming mischievousness I had fallen for had evolved into something just as playfully devious, but far more nurturing. I could barely believe how good he was with our son; it actually made me a little envious at times.

  Our son. I loved, loved, loved that!

  I was so worried that neither of us would be ready for something as huge as a baby, but here we were. We weren't superheroes at parenting, but we hadn't imploded either. In fact, I think we've been doing a pretty damn good job!

  “Very well,” Bianca said, with customary detachment as she stepped through the opening elevator doors. The main meeting room was one floor beneath Anthony's office.

  “One for good luck,” Maynard jammed a hand against the door gap to keep them from closing then pressed his lips against mine. The kiss threatened to knock me off my feet. He smelled like light cologne and tasted like toasted coconut and heaven. “Three more,” he said between kisses, “also for good luck.”

  “Mmm,” I moaned, sliding a hand across his ribs and back. We couldn't have sex when he was released from prison because I was still recovering from giving birth. I had been exercising like a mad woman to burn off the extra sexual energy. It helped, but it wasn't nearly enough. I had walked in on him once when he just stepped out of the shower, he was all wet and naked and shredded... I lost my damn mind and had to go for a jog.

  Bianca cleared her throat loudly. “We have someone's day to ruin and it would be impolite to keep him waiting.”

  Maynard bit my lip, then pulled away, smiling. I nearly swooned at the pressure and at the look he gave me, as heat flooded down my body and threatened to catch my panties on fire. I fanned myself, then left the elevator exhaling.

  “Yes!” I shook off my mounting excitement. Damn you, Maynard! I shifted the briefcase I was carrying to my other hand and forced myself to focus on the task before us. “Let's do that. Whatever it was that you just said.”

  It was a short walk to the main meeting room. The whole floor was awash with activity. Milspoor employees bustled about, ignorantly unaware of the massive changes that were about to take place.

  “Uh, hi, Ma'am. Excuse me?” The receptionist, another high school cheerleader type, this time of the brunette variety, tried to stop us from walking into the glass-walled meeting room. Marcy, the bleached-blond toddler from last time we were here was nowhere to be found. It disgusted me at how frequently Anthony must go through interns. “I'm sorry, you can't go in there. It's for shareholders only.”

  The receptionist worriedly riffled through her email traffic; she was probably told that all the shareholders had arrived either in person or by proxy.

  “Look under 'Cooper', you should find three names,” Bianca remarked, dismissively, as she opened the opaque glass doors.

  Three names?

  Maynard saw the look of confusion on my face and only offered a sly wink in response. I felt a renewed heat take hold of me but this time it stayed up near my heart. Claire Cooper, I really liked the sound of that.

  Their conference room layout was much different than that of Cooper Corp. Instead of having a giant U-shaped table with a screen for presentations at the opening, theirs was a long dark wood rectangle with two rows of tables and chairs to either side. The room was easily twice as big as the one Bianca and Maynard had back in their old building, and every seat was full.

  The woman speaking on the far side of the room by their own bay-window-sized screen stopped her presentation at our abrupt disturbance.

  “What's all this?” A thin, old man stood up and looked down his thick-rimmed glasses at us. Adam Boniello. Bianca told me about him. She said that he was a duplicitous thorn in her side for years now. It made perfect sense that he would have jumped ship and switched sides toward the end.

  “Greetings, everyone,” Bianca didn't bother to hide her disdain toward Adam by ignoring him, instead she addressed the group as a whole. The hushed whispering of dozens of conversations erupted all around us. Bianca had already talked with most of the people in the room, so they had some idea as to what was about to happen.

  Bianca nodded for me to begin. I placed the briefcase on the nearest table, opened it, and then began handing out the stack of manila folders to everyone in attendance.

  Anthony was reclined in his chair at the head of the long table. He straightened with confusion and regarded us with a deadly curiosity. His eyes landed heavily on each of us as he tried to discern what our play was. We were shareholders in Milspoor in the same way that he had been in Maynard's company, so we had every right to be here.

  Th
e question was why would we even bother showing up?

  “What brings you here?” Anthony's curiosity had finally gotten the better of him. “The paperwork was signed and finalized, Cooper Corp is in the final death throes of a hostile takeover. There was no way for you to stop your family's company from being absorbed.”

  “We're not here to stop anything,” Bianca announced, then addressed the shareholders, “as most of you know already.”

  “Ah, so you want to see how a real company is run, Bianca?” Anthony finally rose from his chair. “Oh! And before I forget. Maynard, I had to cancel that charity foundation you were working on. It doesn't fit with the new direction I want to take your company in. No hard feelings?”

  Anthony met Maynard's hard stare and grinned sharply, much to the unease of every other person there. It was a silent sparring match between two ex-best friends turned bitter enemies. It was Anthony that broke the silence first.

  “Samantha, have maintenance bring up a few plastic folding chairs.” Anthony called his receptionist through the intercom near his seat, then swept a patronizing hand toward the three of us that were standing. “In the interim, please help yourself to a snack.”

  “Don't bother with the chair.” Maynard plucked a scone from one of the table's several pastry trays and took a bite. He made everyone wait until he chewed and swallowed before pointing at the head of the table and continuing, “We'll just take that one. It'll be vacant soon anyway.”

  Anthony's eyes narrowed at the thinly-veiled threat. The battle between two titans like Maynard and Anthony wouldn't be fought physically. They were generals in opposing armies. Anthony's weapons were legacy and the pensions and security of thousands of his employees, whereas Maynard fought with dangerous connections and the threat of unraveling hidden, bloody truths.