“Never took a look at the schematics.”
“But you could?”
“Edison would have them for me in about five minutes.”
She unlocked the apartment door, swinging it open on a living room, open kitchen and a door that led to the bedroom and bathroom.
“It’s small,” she warned, flicking the light switch.
He gazed around at the dove-gray sofa, the coral throw pillows, the white accent tables and the watercolor portraits. “Wow.”
“Wow good or wow bad?”
“Wow, prettier than I expected.”
“So, you’re back to thinking I’m a girl.”
“I always knew you were a girl.” He stepped toward the longest row of paintings. “Who are these people?”
“I have no idea.”
He turned. “You hung strangers on your wall?”
“Is that weird?”
“A little. I’d think you’d go with people you knew, or maybe celebrities or public figures.”
She moved up beside him. “I like the artists. And the subjects...” She tried to put it into words. “They’re people I’d like to know. Each of them strikes me as mysterious, enigmatic, someone who has a secret.”
“You like secrets?”
“I like complexity. Are you hungry?” She realized she was starving. “Cookies?”
He smiled. “You have cookies?”
“Homemade, chocolate chip.”
“You baked cookies?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” She unzipped his jacket, draping it over a kitchen chair as she made her way to the cupboard.
“You definitely don’t strike me as the homemaker type.”
“Then aren’t you learning a whole lot of new things?”
“I am.”
She took the container from the bottom shelf. “I like cookies. I like them fresh. So I learned how to make them.”
“Cookies sound terrific,” he said.
She returned the few steps to the living room, taking a seat on the sofa and setting the cookie container on the glass-topped coffee table, removing the lid.
Troy perched beside her, peering in. “Those look great. And they smell delicious.”
“Help yourself.”
He did.
She took two, kicked off her shoes and curled her feet beneath her on the sofa. As she did, she remembered her underwear. It was still stuffed under the seat of his SUV.
“What?” he asked, studying her expression.
“Nothing.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I left some of my clothes in your car.”
He did a slow blink, his expression going slightly intense.
She bit down on a cookie.
“I’ll get them later,” he said.
She nodded.
His gaze held hers as he took a first bite.
Then his eyes lit up in surprise. “Delicious.”
The reaction warmed her. “I have many talents.”
“I’ll say.” He took another bite.
He picked out a second cookie, then he leaned back, his shoulder brushing hers. “Tell me more about your overly accomplished bombshell sister.”
Mila faked an offended tone. “Hoping to do a little comparison shopping?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m doing.”
“Sorry, bud. Zoey has a secret boyfriend.”
“A secret boyfriend?” The interest level in his voice rose.
“A judge who’s at odds with my mother.”
“Is it serious?”
“It might be. And when the secret comes out, it’s all going to hit the fan.”
“It’s her life,” he said reasonably.
“Maybe so, but we’re a close family. And they have expectations.”
“That your parents get to approve your boyfriend?”
“Not exactly.” She paused to think. “Well, kind of. It’s important to them that we still work as a team.”
“Team Stern?”
“Yes.”
Troy took her hand. “You’re twenty-four years old.”
“You got that from my employment form.”
“I did. But it’s true.”
She watched his thumb stroke a circular pattern on the back of her hand. She felt his light touch delve to the center of her chest, tightening her heart, making her body feel heavy and wanting.
“What’s your point?” she asked.
He was silent for so long that she didn’t think he was going to answer.
“No point.” He cradled her head, drawing it down to rest on his shoulder. “We’re going to figure this out.”
“Figure what out?” From what she could tell, there was a list.
“Your life. And how it relates to mine.”
Her heart stuttered then thudded. He couldn’t have meant that romantically. And if he had, she should be scared. But she wasn’t scared. She felt safe with Troy. The only scary part was that she wanted to keep feeling this way.
Eleven
Mila had fallen asleep in Troy’s arms. And he’d held her as long as he dared before carrying her to her bed and covering her with a quilt then letting himself out of her apartment. He’d stolen a couple of extra cookies, which he now savored with a cup of coffee at the island in his kitchen.
Drake had heard Troy arrive and cried out from his crib, so he was now settled in his high chair pretending to eat cereal rounds.
“Sorry about this, bud,” Troy said conversationally as he booted up his laptop to check a video he’d taken from backstage. “But you’re too young for cookies.”
“Bah,” said Drake.
“I can’t disagree with that.” Troy clicked the play icon, watching closely as the man who called himself Jack made his way toward the stage at last night’s performance.
“Bah, bah,” said Drake, slapping his hand on the plastic tray hard enough to rattle the brackets.
“Maybe when you’re older,” said Troy, popping the final bite of cookie into his mouth. “If Auntie Mila is still around, she might bake you cookies.”
As he said the words, Troy realized that Mila wouldn’t be around to bake cookies for Drake or anyone else. Before long, she’d realize Troy was never going to give in and hire her, and she’d walk out the door.
He swallowed. The thought that she’d never forgive him left a hollow spot in his chest.
Drake let out a squeal.
“Shh.” Troy put his finger to his lips. “You’ll wake your mommy.”
Then he paused, searching his memory, realizing he couldn’t recall Kassidy ever referring to herself as “Mommy.” She called Mila “Auntie Mila.” But she used her own first name with Drake.
Was she struggling with the title? Was she planning to change it later? Drake deserved to have a mommy. He also deserved to have a daddy. But there wasn’t anything Troy could do about that. Kassidy’s career was all encompassing, and there was no sign of a boyfriend on the horizon.
He was forced to wonder all over again about Kassidy’s decision. Was it too late to back out of the adoption? Might she reconsider? Of all people, Kassidy should have an appreciation for a stable family life. Theirs had been anything but.
He remembered their little house on Appleberry Street, the attic that had been converted into two bedrooms. At seven years old, Kassidy had been short enough to stand up in hers, but Troy had gotten dressed every day for high school slouched over.
Their father was always away. Kassidy’s mother was off in her own world, making amateurish clay pots or writing rambling letters to the government about some perceived injustice or the other. Troy had bolted from that dysfunctional home before his graduation cap hit the
ground.
Drake squealed again. He didn’t seem upset or angry, more jubilant than anything else.
Troy poured another handful of cereal onto the tray in front of Drake. The majority of the rounds would end up on the floor, but they kept the little guy entertained, and usually they kept him quiet.
The video had continued playing, so Troy pulled it back to the beginning, settling in with his coffee to watch. Jack ignored the waitresses. He ignored the crowd. His attention was completely focused on Kassidy.
He could see where Mila was coming from, but he also knew he recognized the guy. And that was both significant and worrisome. The mathematical odds of a fan posing a danger to Kassidy were slim. The mathematical odds of someone from Troy’s past posing a danger to his family were a whole lot higher than slim.
He took in the man’s expressions, his walk, his stance. He’d heard a little bit of the guy’s voice over Mila’s microphone last night, but it wasn’t clear enough to gauge.
Who on earth was this guy?
“There you are, pumpkin,” said Kassidy, wandering into the kitchen in a printed satin robe.
“You’re up early,” said Troy.
Drake squealed.
Troy smiled. “He’s happy to see you.”
“Of course he’s happy to see me. Does he need a bottle?” Her voice changed to high-pitched baby talk. “You want Kassidy to bring you a bottle?”
“Bah,” said Drake, slapping with his hand.
Troy’s curiosity got the best of him. “You don’t want him to call you Mommy?”
Kassidy stubbed her toe on the counter. “Ouch!”
“You okay?”
“No. Ow. Darn, that hurts.” She hobbled to the table, cringing as she lowered herself into a chair.
“Are you really hurt?”
“Just give me a minute.” She scrunched her eyes shut and breathed deeply.
Drake kicked his feet, squealing in a tone that sounded annoyed.
“Kassidy?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t you want Drake to call you Mommy?”
“Sure. Yes. Eventually.”
“Are you having second thoughts about the adoption?”
Her eyes popped open. “No! No, Troy. I’m not having second thoughts. Drake is part of this family. Get used to it.”
Troy held his palms up in surrender.
“Can you get him?” she asked.
“Sure.” Troy stopped the video and rose.
Kassidy might be frustrating, but none of this was Drake’s fault. Troy unfastened the safety belt, and the baby was immediately climbing to his feet. Troy couldn’t help but smile at the antics. The kid definitely knew his own mind.
Troy brushed off the stray cereal and lifted Drake into his arms.
“You’re getting stronger,” he told the kid.
“Bah.”
“Soon I’ll have to take you to the gym.” Troy did a mock exercise with Drake’s chubby arm. “I’m a pretty good drill sergeant. You’ll be buff enough to get any girl you want.”
Troy’s thoughts turned to Mila, her struggles on the obstacle course. Her killer naked body wrapped around his.
“Then again,” he said quietly, “sometimes the girl’s buff enough to get you.”
Drake tugged at Troy’s lower lip.
“Can you picture it?” asked Kassidy.
Troy stared at his sister. Did she know what he was talking about? Had she guessed that he was powerless to resist Mila?
“What?” he asked cautiously, hoping he could come up with an explanation on the fly.
“The gym, with Drake, when he’s older. Do you see yourself in his life?”
Troy felt a rush of relief. “Sure. Why not? If he doesn’t have a daddy around, he’s going to need me.”
Kassidy blinked rapidly, her eyes shimmering with tears.
“Hey,” Troy cooed. “What’s this?” He moved to her.
“My toe,” she answered, her voice thick. “No, it’s not my toe. It’s you, Troy. You’re stepping up.”
Troy hoisted the wiggly Drake. “You mean with this little guy?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll admit, I don’t know what you’re doing. I’m not sure it’s the right thing. But I’ll be here for you, Kassidy.” He thought back again to the house on Appleberry. She’d been so incredibly young back then. “I probably should have been here for you a long time ago.”
She shook her head, coming to her feet, unexpectedly wrapping her arms around him. “You’re here for us now, big brother. That’s all that counts.”
“I’m here for you now,” he said, wrapping his free arm around her.
* * *
Mila woke up alone on top of her bed, still dressed in Kassidy’s clothes, a comforter keeping her warm. It was nearly ten o’clock in the morning, and she had no idea how late Troy had stayed. He’d obviously carried her to the bed. The realization was both heartwarming and unnerving.
She wondered if he’d slept at all. She was guessing not. He was probably chasing down leads for his own pet theory, which meant she was already running behind on her work. Would he hold it against her? Would he see her falling asleep as a sign of female weakness?
She swung her legs off the bed and headed for the shower. She needed to redeem herself, to demonstrate her analytical abilities, to remind him she was more than just a good-time girl.
She twisted the shower taps to full and stepped into the spray. Last night had been a mistake. And she knew she should regret it more.
Okay, she should find a way to regret it at all. Because she didn’t. Right now, making love with Troy was a warm, exotic memory. Forget regret—she wanted to do it all over again.
This was bad. It was terrible. She might have undone every bit of her hard work. Nobody was going to take her seriously now, least of all Troy. And if he told anyone else—
She felt suddenly cold. Would he tell anyone? Would he tell Vegas?
Vegas was her best ally at Pinion, and she’d promised him she wouldn’t sleep with Troy. If Vegas lost faith in her, if he thought she was fickle, if he thought she was weak—
She groaned under the hot spray. She’d worked hard for this chance. She wanted to be strong and in control, to take on both physical and mental challenges. She wanted to work with a top team and keep others safe. But the chance was rapidly slipping from her grasp. She had to stop the slide.
She squirted some shampoo into her palm, pushing her brain back to Kassidy and Drake, and back to Jack.
Troy would be looking at the man’s connection to himself. It followed that his staff would be looking there, too. Mila needed to come at it from Kassidy, or even from Drake.
Suds running down her neck, her earlier theory came to mind again. It was outlandish, but it wasn’t impossible. Jack could be Drake’s father. Kassidy might not even know.
She hadn’t reacted to the picture of Jack. But she’d sure reacted to the question of Drake’s father. Maybe she knew Drake’s father was dangerous, but maybe she didn’t know who he was.
A chill came over her. If that was true, she needed concrete evidence to take to Troy. Because if she was right, they needed to protect Drake as much as they needed to protect Kassidy.
She threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Her car was still at Pinion, but she didn’t have any time to waste. She hailed a cab and went directly to the airport. She didn’t have much to go on, only the name of the hospital and Drake’s date of birth.
She’d try the hospital first. If that didn’t work, she’d go to public records. She might be able to talk her way into getting at least partial details.
It took her two hours to get to New Jersey, and less than ten minutes to get shut down by the hospital staff. By midafter
noon, she was fighting a losing battle with the department of vital statistics. Without parental permission, she was not getting her hands on Drake’s birth certificate.
She tried to explain that his mother was dead, and his father was unknown. She even pretended the query was related to Kassidy’s adoption, hoping they’d have Kassidy’s name on file. She was told to get a lawyer and a court order.
Defeated, she left the building, pausing on the stone steps, traffic whizzing through the intersection in front of her.
“Problem?” asked a well-dressed man in his late thirties.
He moved up the steps toward her, flashing a friendly smile.
“No problem.” She looked away.
“Get what you were looking for?”
“I did,” she answered, starting to walk.
He fell into step beside her. “It doesn’t look like you did.”
“And what exactly would that look like?” As soon as the question was out, she wanted to kick herself. She’d just played into his hand.
“You wouldn’t look so defeated. You’d have kept walking.”
“I am walking.”
“And you’d be carrying a manila envelope.” He nodded to a couple who were also exiting the building. “Like that one.”
“It’s in my purse.”
“Your purse isn’t big enough. My name’s Hank Meyer. I might be able to help you out. For a small fee, of course.”
“I’m not interested, Mr. Meyer.”
“Call me Hank.”
“I don’t believe I will.” She picked up her pace.
“There are other ways of getting records.”
Mila held up her hand to hail a cab. “Illegal ways?”
The guy was either fleecing her or asking her to participate in the crime.
“Quasi-legal.”
“There’s no such thing as quasi-legal.”
He pointed across the street. “There’s an internet café right there on the corner. They take cash. You’re in, you’re out, there’s not a single footprint.”
“It’s still illegal.”
“They’re called opaque records. You can see them. You can’t download them. You can’t use them for any business or personal purpose. But you can snap a screenshot with your cell phone.”
The Baby Contract Page 16