An Unexpected Christmas Baby

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  First was finding out the facts. All of them.

  “And you’ve known this how long?”

  “It’s why I was working at Owens,” she said, exposing more and more of a nightmare he’d thought he’d already seen in its entirety. “As an efficiency expert, I’d have access to everyone and everything in the company. He wanted me to see what I could find out.”

  “You were his spy.” His mind was working. The rest of him was dead to the world. Shock, maybe.

  Survival, certainly.

  “Yes.” He respected the fact that she didn’t spare herself. Didn’t lie to him.

  Ha! Irony to the hilt. She’d been lying to him since the moment they’d met.

  A flash of that day in Bill’s office came to him, along with a stab hard enough to stop his airflow. “Bill knew.”

  She shook her head. “Well, he knew who I was, but he doesn’t know why I was really there. No one does, except my mom and dad and me.”

  She hadn’t been sent to him by Alana Gold. Or for any good reason. Her presence hadn’t been a coincidence; he’d been right about that. But her purpose...

  “He wanted you to look into me in particular,” he said aloud. “Your interest in me—it wasn’t real...”

  Thinking of her there, in his home, with Diamond Rose, he wanted to puke up the sushi he’d just consumed.

  He wanted her gone.

  “I wish that was true!” Her words came out on a wail. “I wish to God my interest was nothing more than a way to ease my father’s worry. Instead, I fell in love with you. When he told me he wasn’t going to press charges, it was as though this huge flood of relief opened up inside me and I’ve been a mess ever since.”

  She fell in love with him.

  Right. She expected him to believe that?

  “I’m guessing you didn’t find anything to convict me?” he asked almost dryly, although he was starting to sweat in earnest.

  If he’d made a mistake along the way, and they were going to make it look like he’d purposely cheated the firm...

  Who’d believe him?

  “Obviously, I’m not a criminal investigator, but I couldn’t find anything on anyone,” she said. “But circumstantially, you’re the most suspect.”

  Criminal investigator.

  Sweat turned to steel. No way was he going to jail!

  He would not lose Diamond.

  His mind took over. “Circumstances meaning my past? My background?”

  “Your offshore accounts.”

  The night he’d been talking to her about the Wall Street movie. He’d been falling in love. She’d been taking notes to betray him.

  He’d think about that another time. If an occasion arose that required it.

  “I know of four other brokers in the firm who have them. What else?”

  “Your spending habits changed.”

  “I had a rich girlfriend I was trying to impress, and money I’d saved for a day when I had someone to spend it on.”

  She didn’t deserve any explanations, but he was not going to jail.

  “You were opening your own firm behind my father’s back.”

  “I intended to do just as he’d done when he opened his firm. Once I knew the legalities were in place and it was actually going to happen, I intended to go to him with my plan. I was about a week away from that when I got word that my mother was dead. I’d planned to give Howard the opportunity to send a letter to all my clients, naming a broker in my stead, and move on. If any of them found me elsewhere and chose to follow me of their own accord, then I’d continue to service them. Instead, I heard from Jane in Accounting, that someone found out—I don’t know who or how—and I heard that Bill went to your father with a version of the truth that made me out to be unethical.”

  And clearly Howard had believed that version.

  She hadn’t stepped back any farther. He was ready for her to do so. To keep stepping back until she was gone from his home. From his life.

  He wanted to forget ever knowing her.

  Forget that he’d ever thought her beautiful...

  Her eyes flooded again. Like a sucker, he’d fallen for that compassionate look in her eye. And the fear she’d exposed to him.

  But no more.

  “Jane is the one who started the rumor. She found out what you were doing from a friend of hers who works at the office of the Commissioner of Business Oversight. She knew you worked at Owens, where Jane works. Jane’s the one who told Bill. Why Bill spun the news when he told my father, I have no idea. A charity account was used to run the money through.” She spoke as though she was giving testimony.

  Jane had betrayed him! He’d thought the grandmother of four liked him.

  “You were the only broker who knew the account number because, for a time, you donated your expense checks to it as a tax write-off.”

  “All three of the company directors, and your father, as well as at least one person in Accounting, not Jane, has access to that account.”

  She could keep throwing things at him. He’d done nothing wrong. Knowingly, at least. But it was clear to him that she was prepared to keep talking. He had to know whatever she knew, to find out what he was defending himself against. He was careful to keep his tone as level as hers. To converse. Not to shut her down.

  “The broker who took the money used various office computers at all different hours of the day—always computers that aren’t within view of security cameras.”

  A flash of memory from the past week visited him. The quip he’d made about knowing corners that were out of view of security cameras when he’d kissed her.

  “You were spying all along?”

  She neither confirmed nor denied that one.

  Her list—and her father’s—could be convincing. He was seeing the picture she was building.

  And yet...

  He was not going to jail. He would not abandon Diamond Rose as he’d been abandoned. He’d give her up first.

  The baby, not three feet from him, slept obliviously. He was thankful for that. She didn’t know. And if he had his way, she’d never know.

  “Whoever it was signed in under my father’s account.”

  “Then why don’t you look at someone who knows his password?”

  “He thinks you do.”

  “I don’t. Go talk to Bill Coniff, since you’re so fond of him. He has the password. Maybe he gave it to someone.”

  “How do you know Bill has it?”

  “I’ve seen him use it,” he told her. “A couple of times when we needed something critical and your father was out. I’m assuming the other two directors have it, as well.”

  “You’ve actually seen Bill sign in to my father’s account?”

  He saw where this was going. If he’d seen Bill type the password, then it would stand to reason he could retype it himself.

  “I was on the other side of the desk. I didn’t see him type. I just know he accessed the information we needed.”

  Tamara stared at him. They were done.

  “Look, Bill’s the one who told your father that I was starting my own business, spinning it to look like I was planning to contact my clients and steal my book of business. When, instead, upon hearing the rumor from Jane, he could have just come to me. Given me the chance to go to your father. And Howard believed Bill’s take on what I was doing, without discussing it with me. And he apparently still believes I’m guilty of stealing from the company. Just as he’s going to believe whatever else Bill tells him. Including that he gave me your father’s password. Or that I was on his side of the desk and saw him type it.”

  He could see the evidence piling up. Bill would testify that he’d seen Flint use the password. It would be Bill’s word against his, and even a kid could figure out who a judge would believe on that one.

  Ta
mara wiped her eyes. Picked up her purse. “I’m sorry, Flint. I—”

  “Just go.”

  “I’m going to do everything in my power to clear your name,” she said. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do—”

  “You could’ve just asked me if I’d stolen money from your father’s company.”

  She nodded. “If you ever need anything...”

  He’d know who not to call.

  Flint watched her walk out of his life and then calmly locked the door behind her.

  Merry Christmas.

  He allowed that one bitter thought and then got busy.

  He’d do what it took. Just as he always had. He was going to be someone.

  Not for Alana Gold. Not even for himself.

  For Diamond Rose.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Four days later

  Bill Coniff, who, it turned out, had a gambling problem, resigned from Owens Investments and quietly disappeared. After signing a full confession, as well as other documents at the behest of Howard’s team of lawyers, making sure he couldn’t malign Owens Investments, the Owens family, or ever again work as a trader in the State of California. In exchange Howard didn’t press charges because it was best for the company not to have it out there that they’d had a traitor in their midst.

  Tamara discovered that Bill hadn’t originally planned to frame Flint; at first he’d truly been pissed that the guy was leaving. But not because of Howard. Because of himself.

  As Flint’s boss, he got a percentage of the money Flint made for the company. But then he’d figured out that Howard knew about the siphoning of money thanks to an extra-long meeting Howard had with his accountant after the company taxes had been done. A meeting that Howard hadn’t shared with his top three people, as he usually did. And, after which, Howard had asked the three of them about their use of the charity account.

  Bill had known by then that Flint was leaving. He’d known, too, that with Flint’s expertise, plus his background, he could easily frame him for his own wrongdoing. He’d seen a way out. And had been desperate enough to take it. And then Flint had changed his mind about leaving. He’d needed Flint gone. His chances of getting Howard to believe him would not only be much stronger that way, but he’d been afraid that, once accused, Flint would figure out for himself who was guilty. Bill had gambled on the fact that Howard would believe him over Flint if it ever came to a “his word against Flint’s” situation.

  As much as Tamara wished differently, Flint wasn’t around to know about any of it, including Bill’s leaving, or the agreement between him and Owens Investments.

  Sometime after she’d left him that Sunday night, he’d packed up Diamond Rose and gone to Owens Investments, clearing out his office and leaving his key in an envelope under Bill Coniff’s door. Howard had told her it had looked almost as though he’d purposely left behind a trail of his actions by staying within security-camera range anytime he could. He’d packed his office in the hallway, carrying things out and loading them into bags he’d brought with him, one by one. Showing the camera everything he was taking.

  In tears, Tamara had asked for a copy of the tape. She watched it several times in the days that followed, sometimes staring only at Flint. And at others, finding herself looking at the precious baby she’d once held.

  Once.

  She started the job she’d accepted early and worked long hours so she’d be finished by Christmas. Focusing on the task and not on herself. She knew how to cope with grief.

  And when the nightmares woke her, she lay in bed and replayed her time with Flint over and over—starting with the first meeting between her and her father in Howard’s office, to that last horrendous half hour at Flint’s house.

  Working for her father, virtually undercover, to preserve the integrity of his business had not been wrong. Hanging out with Flint...that didn’t feel wrong.

  Falling in love, though? Completely inappropriate. And yet if Mallory was right, she didn’t get to choose love, love chose her.

  So what the hell? She’d been chosen to have a life of misery? Of unrequited love? First for the four children she’d lost? And now for Flint?

  And little Diamond.

  Even from a distance, that little girl had found her way through Tamara’s defenses.

  Tamara was crying too much again.

  She spent a lot of time with her parents. Going over lawyers’ paperwork with them as they moved immediately on getting Bill Coniff out of their lives. From start to finish had taken four days.

  And now, here she was, on Saturday, two weeks and two days before Christmas—almost done with the current job and another beginning in the new year, with holiday functions to attend with her parents and shopping to do—walking up to Flint’s front door like an idiot.

  She knocked, having no idea what she’d say to him. She’d already said it all. She’d explained. She’d taken full responsibility. She’d also told him she didn’t give a damn whether or not he was guilty. That she’d known her father wouldn’t press charges. That he’d be okay. She’d told him she’d fallen in love with him.

  Nothing she’d said had mattered. She understood that, too.

  Knocking a second time, she told herself that her behavior was bordering on asinine. But she had to see him. To let him know he was off the hook—they’d found their thief. Just so he didn’t worry that, on top of Stella’s order, he had another possible court situation to face.

  And she needed to know he was okay.

  Maybe find out where he was working, so she’d know that he and Diamond were secure.

  She’d already called Mallory, knew that Diamond Rose was still coming to day care on her regular schedule. Had been there the day before.

  She knocked again.

  Flint didn’t answer any of her knocks.

  With the garage door closed, she couldn’t tell if he was home or not.

  One thing was clear, though. If he was inside, he’d seen who was on his porch and definitely didn’t want anything to do with her.

  She had to honor that choice.

  She just hadn’t expected it to hurt so much and couldn’t contain the sobs that broke out as she turned and walked away.

  * * *

  Flint heard from Howard Owens every day that first week after his last meeting with Tamara. He didn’t pick up, leaving them with one-way conversations via voice mail. One way—from Howard to him. He didn’t return any of the calls. Howard was requesting an in-person sit-down. He wanted Flint to stay on at Owens Investments. He never mentioned the theft, or his suspicions, not even on the first call Monday morning, when it had become known that Flint had cleared out. By midweek, his messages changed only to add that he’d put out the word to Flint’s clients that, due to having just become a father, he was taking a week or two off. Howard was personally handling Flint’s entire book of business.

  Flint might have called him back to tell him to go to hell. If he’d been a bitter man.

  Even when Owens implored him, he ignored the summons.

  And when he sent his spy daughter to Flint’s home to plead his case? Especially then. He was fighting for his very life. Something neither of them would know anything about.

  It was possible he would’ve capitulated after a full week’s worth of calls, but on the Tuesday after the truth about Tamara had come out, while Flint was home alone researching his next career path, he’d received another court notice.

  Not from Stella this time.

  Much worse than Stella.

  Lucille Redding, Diamond’s paternal grandmother, a woman no older than Diamond’s mother, was petitioning for custody of his little girl. No one had told him Diamond’s paternity had been discovered, let alone that there was a paternal family.

  He’d called Michael Armstrong, his attorney, immediately. Faxed the petition over to h
im. Asked about the repercussions of taking his baby sister and disappearing from the country. Hadn’t liked that answer at all.

  Michael had told him to sit tight and let him do some investigating.

  Flint had cashed in some of his more lucrative personal investments, moving the money to his offshore account.

  He called his attorney again, filling him in on the news Tamara had given him on Sunday, assuring him that he absolutely had not taken any money from anyone in any kind of illegal capacity. Michael told Flint he believed him.

  He wouldn’t blame the guy for having doubts. But he was paying him to keep them to himself.

  Instructed once again to sit tight, Flint packed a couple of emergency suitcases, one for him, one for Diamond Rose, just in case, storing them in the trunk compartment in the back of his Lincoln.

  For the rest of that day he’d researched career options and tried not to hear Tamara’s voice in the back of his mind. He played music. Turned it up louder. Left the news on in the background, watching the stock channel on cable.

  She didn’t love him. Truth was, she’d been so hurt, she was probably incapable of truly loving anyone, other than maybe her parents.

  He’d put Diamond to bed in her carrier that night, keeping it on the bed with him, a hand on her, on it, at all times. If he hadn’t read that it was unsafe to have the baby sleeping right beside him—read about the danger of rolling over in his sleep and suffocating her—he’d have snuggled her little self right up against his heart, where he intended to keep her forever. Safe from a world that would judge her just because of who she’d been born to. And where she’d been born.

  As if she’d had a choice about any of that!

  Michael called Wednesday morning just as Flint was pulling out of the Bouncing Ball Daycare.

  Turned out that Alana Gold had had an affair with a twenty-eight-year-old male nurse, Simon Redding, an army reservist working in the prison infirmary. Simon had fallen in love with her and, according to what he’d told his mother, Alana had loved him, too.