SH Medical 08 - The Baby Dilemma

by Diamond, Jacqueline

  “How close?” the chief had demanded.

  “Closer than it should be. Beyond that, I’m bound by confidentiality to another client,” Mike had said, and noted a scowl darkening Reese’s face. They’d never discussed this particular matter before because it hadn’t come up.

  “We’re talking about a crime,” the chief had pointed out.

  “And I’ll testify if necessary. But the FBI can do a more thorough job of investigating than I can,” Mike had said. “Anything I know, they’ll find out for themselves.”

  “I hope they’ll keep in mind that my company is the injured party here,” Reese had added.

  His manner guarded, the chief had thanked them both and promised to call in the FBI. A few days later, both Jon and Reese had sat in as Mike presented his findings to a pair of stony-faced agents. If the FBI had talked to any of the parties since then, no one had notified Mike.

  Then today, Reese’s secretary had issued a summons to meet him at home. While Mike supposed he ought to be flattered at the invitation, his instincts warned that his boss might simply want to ream him up and down without risk of corporate eavesdropping.

  The scent of seaweed and the mewing of gulls accompanied Mike to the locked gate, where he pressed a button and announced his name. Through a pink tumble of bougainvillea, he made out the red-tile roof of the Mediterranean mansion Reese had purchased about a year ago for his bride.

  The gate buzzed open. Mike strode onto a swirling expanse of brickwork punctuated by beds of flowers. Beyond the two-story house, he glimpsed a few sails traversing the harbor in the fading light. With a private dock, this place must have cost millions.

  The maid who admitted him led the way through an arched doorway into an open area that was part entertainment center, part family room and part Middle Eastern bazaar stuffed with lamps and vases out of the Arabian Nights. Heavy brocade curtains obscured the glass doors overlooking the harbor, while velvet couches and clusters of small tables presented a maze en route to shaking hands with Reese and, unexpectedly, Jon Walters. Mike couldn’t read either man’s expression.

  “You’ve met my wife, Persia.” Reese presented the dark-eyed woman, clad in an embroidered silk top and flowing pants that failed to disguise her plumpness. In her early twenties, she hadn’t snapped back from her recent pregnancy, but then, Mike didn’t know much about new mothers. Come to think of it, Paige would look delicious with a few extra curves.

  Mrs. Kendall offered him a limp hand. After a polite greeting, she said, “I’ll go see how dinner is coming along.”

  The secretary hadn’t mentioned dinner. Mike wasn’t sure Reese expected him to stay, so, without comment, he gave her a faint smile and watched her go.

  How strange that Reese had dumped his beautiful, accomplished first wife, Nora—now happily remarried and close friends with Paige—for a younger model with questionable decorating taste and a wimpy handshake. If the man had regrets, though, they didn’t show.

  Reese checked his watch. Mike could have told him the hour, since he’d arrived promptly at a quarter to seven, as requested. It seemed an odd time, which contributed to his sense of unease. Mike only liked surprises when he was the one springing them.

  “I’ll let the chief update you,” the CEO said.

  Mike turned to his former boss. If the boom was about to drop, he’d like to get it over with.

  “The FBI’s been keeping a lid on things, as you might expect,” Jon told him with a hint of a twinkle in his pale eyes, or perhaps that was the effect of a garish ruby-tinted lamp dominating a nearby table. “However, I have my sources. I’ve learned that they’ve been investigating Yelena Yerchenko for quite awhile. Your tip gave them a break. It didn’t take much to persuade Roy Hightower to cooperate, considering the kind of charges he could be facing.”

  Reese took another look at the watch. “We thought you might enjoy seeing this with us.”

  Mike refrained from asking what “this” referred to. He’d find out soon enough.

  Reese fiddled with a remote, and a giant wall TV sprang to life. A few clicks connected them to the internet. On-screen, the name On the Prowl in OC yielded to a view of Ian Martin sitting across from Roy in the mayor’s cramped city hall office. His doughy face shining with perspiration, Hightower clutched the edge of his desk as if preparing to duck behind it.

  After introducing himself, the host said, “Safe Harbor Mayor Roy Hightower has an announcement to make. Your Honor, you have our full attention.”

  If Mike had ever seen a deer-in-the-headlights expression, this was it. “Well, Ian, I’m withdrawing from the assembly race. I realize it’s only been a few weeks since I announced my candidacy, but—” his Adam’s apple bobbed “—but there you have it.”

  “I’m sure our viewers would appreciate an explanation.”

  The mayor squirmed. “I’ve, uh, encountered some unforeseen financial problems. It will take all my attention to save my real-estate company and preserve the jobs of my employees. As you can see, I put loyalty to my workers ahead of my political plans.”

  “What a crock,” Mike said before recalling where he was.

  “I couldn’t put it better myself.” The chief leaned back on a couch, arms folded, watching the TV with dry amusement.

  “How could you have been unaware of these problems as recently as a few weeks ago?” Ian pressed.

  “I lost focus. Got caught up in my dedication to bettering the lives of my fellow citizens,” Hightower babbled. “Serving as mayor is a major time suck…I mean commitment. As you know, it’s a part-time position that only pays a modest sum. I took the job out of a dedication to public service.”

  “It comes with medical benefits, though. Aren’t they worth more than the salary?” The host had obviously done his homework.

  “Let’s not get distracted.” Beads of sweat stood out on the mayor’s forehead. “Running for the assembly is a full-time job. My first responsibility is to my wife, who’s always stood by me.”

  “I thought your first responsibility was to your employees,” Ian said.

  “Them, too.” Hightower peered at someone off-camera. Gemma? “Well, I just want to thank the people who’ve supported me, like Chief Jon Walters, and apologize for letting them down.”

  After he stopped speaking, Ian let the silence lengthen. That was usually a good tactic for drawing people out, but the mayor simply sat there perspiring. Finally, the host faced the camera. “This is Ian Martin. Thanks for watching On the Prowl in OC.”

  As the image faded, Jon clapped ironically. “Guess that lets me off the hook.”

  “Eventually the whole story’s bound to break,” Mike pointed out.

  Reese clicked off the screen. “I just hope the mayor doesn’t get off easy.” He didn’t seem nearly as satisfied with this turn of events as the chief. But then, no matter what punishment the mayor might undergo, he’d never be able to pay restitution for what he’d cost Kendall Technologies. “On the plus side, we’ve offered to provide the FBI with all relevant documents, and they haven’t asked for a general search.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Mike said.

  The maid reappeared. “Dinner is served in the dining room.”

  “Excellent. I hope everyone likes lamb. I left the menu up to my wife,” Reese said as they arose.

  Mike didn’t, particularly, but he’d eat live snails rather than risk offending his best client. “Sounds tasty.”

  Jon quirked an eyebrow at him. Not a fan of lamb, either, evidently. “In case I haven’t mentioned it, I appreciate your tactful hand in all this, Mike.”

  “Of course, my first responsibility is to preserve the jobs of my employees,” he deadpanned. For a minute, he feared his irony was too obscure, and then both men chuckled.

  He hadn’t been en
tirely kidding, though. Successfully navigating this minefield meant a lot to the future of Fact Hunter Investigations.

  Yet, as he took his place in the ornate dining room where the strains of Middle Eastern music played softly, Mike didn’t feel the burst of contentment he’d expected. He’d dodged one bullet, and hurray for that. But Paige’s decision about leaving had been looming over him all month, and the less she said about it, the more evident it became that she planned to go. He couldn’t shake the sense that she was punishing him for not wanting to be a father.

  Hell, he liked kids. These past weeks, he’d become more aware of them than ever—no surprise, considering he was practically surrounded.

  Patty had stopped by work with her cute six-year-old stepdaughter, who’d earnestly introduced Mike to a bandaged toy panda that he gathered had been the subject of the little girl’s medical experiments. Then Lourdes had brought her two tots to the beach again, using the cottage as a staging area. While she and her toddler son were in the bathroom, Mike had read a picture book to Graciela, who’d curled trustingly on his lap. What a doll.

  Yeah, kids were fine. No reason he couldn’t stay friends with Paige and give her a helping hand now and then. Fair enough, considering it was biologically his kid. All the more reason for the child to grow up nearby.

  Tonight, he’d thank her for the suggestion that had helped him keep both his client and an important business contact happy. Then he’d present his case in a logical, persuasive manner. Maybe she’d accept an offer for Mike to serve as, say, an honorary uncle.

  It sounded like a reasonable plan. He only hoped it was enough incentive to keep her in Safe Harbor, where she belonged.

  Chapter Seventeen

  By the time the leisurely meal finished and Mike made his departure, it was nearly ten o’clock. He’d never enjoyed socializing with business acquaintances, but he masked his impatience in view of how important he considered these two men. Also, when Chief Walters relaxed and told a few jokes, he wasn’t bad company. As for Reese, he proved jovial enough, but in Mike’s opinion the good fellowship didn’t run very deep.

  As he was driving home it registered that, since Yelena was already on the FBI’s radar, Mike would probably never have to disclose what he knew about her affair with Roy. No doubt their agents had pictures that put his snapshots to shame. He wouldn’t have to break his promise to Mrs. Hightower.

  The ring of his cell phone, wedged into its mount, yanked him out of his reflections. Pressing a key, he said into the headset he usually wore while driving, “Mike Aaron.”

  “Hi, there! It’s me.”

  He instantly placed the irritating voice from his past. “Sheila. You’re calling me why?” To hell with being polite. His ex-wife had crashed his family’s picnic and now she was bugging him when he had better things to occupy his mind.

  “Just wanted to share my wonderful news—I’m pregnant!”

  “Good for you.” Now go away, he thought as he turned onto Safe Harbor Boulevard.

  “I thought you’d be happy for me.” He heard a note of disappointment.

  For Pete’s sake, the woman had cheated on him. What did she expect? “It’s great that you got what you wanted. But I’m still wondering why you’re calling.”

  “Because I like Paige, and I thought I’d do you both a favor.”

  “A favor?” The only favor Mike wanted from his ex-wife was peace and quiet. Especially quiet.

  “I don’t want you to make the same mistake again,” she went on. “Paige is a terrific person. I’d hate to see you break up over the same issue.”

  He knew he’d regret giving her the satisfaction, but he had to ask: “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Something she said in her office today.” He could picture the little blonde fiddling with her hair, the way she used to whenever she was nervous. “She told me all about how she got pregnant from the sperm bank.”

  “She did?” He’d never expected Paige to be so indiscreet.

  “You ought to stick with her, Mike. She and I are both pregnant at the same time. That’s fate, sending you a message.”

  What had Paige been thinking to share their secrets with Sheila—or anyone? “I don’t believe in fate.”

  “Well you should.” Sheila gave a little squeak. “Oh, Gil’s back from the store. I gotta go.”

  “’Bye.” When the light turned green, he hit the gas so hard the car lurched. Damn. Mike knew better than to let emotions affect his driving.

  As he eased off on the gas, he remembered his plan to sweet-talk Paige. But how was he going to do that when she’d betrayed his trust?

  Like it or not, his ex-wife had just thrown a monkey wrench into his plans.

  * * *

  AFTER TOASTING HER PLANS with Nora, Paige had been keyed up to share her decision with Mike. At home, when he didn’t arrive by dinnertime, she’d considered calling, but that seemed too much like nagging.

  They weren’t married. While they were living together, that situation might be ending soon. In truth, she had no idea how to describe this relationship.

  If only he wanted more. Sitting on the patio after eating a light meal, Paige watched an older couple stroll arm in arm along the sidewalk. A man to share her life with, a man to grow old with. That’s what she longed for. With a pang, she recognized that she no longer wanted to meet Mr. Right, because she’d already found him. She’d never considered the possibility that when that happened, she might not be Ms. Right for him.

  Did you ever hurt like this for anyone, Aunt Bree? She wished she could ask her aunt. There’d been a boyfriend who’d died in the Korean War, Paige recalled, but Bree hadn’t said much about him.

  Yet a conversation came back from the months when her aunt was growing frail. They’d been out here on the patio, Bree lying wearily in the lounger, her pale skin stretched tight across her cheekbones. “You can’t always control the outcome of your choices.” Sadness had shadowed her aunt’s face. “You can only choose to the best of your ability. Then there’ll be nothing to regret.”

  “Do you have any regrets?” Paige had asked.

  She’d expected her aunt to say no. Instead, after a moment, Bree had responded, “I closed my heart once because I never wanted to feel such pain again. I didn’t mean that to be permanent, but I got used to keeping my feelings walled away. The years passed and now it’s too late to change.”

  Tears had glistened on her aunt’s cheek. Then a friend had stopped by for a visit, and they’d never returned to the subject. Paige wondered if Bree had been referring to her boyfriend’s death.

  I’m not like that. I won’t close myself off.

  If she had to go on without Mike, she’d pour her love into this baby. And hope that time healed hearts the way people claimed it did.

  But she doubted it.

  * * *

  ON THE PATIO, MIKE WAS surprised to see Paige resting in a lounge chair in the dark. Then he took a step closer and realized she’d dozed off.

  “Hey.” Although she needed her sleep, he couldn’t leave her out here. “You okay?”

  Eyes flickering open, she stretched languidly. If he hadn’t been so angry, he’d have drawn her into the house and the bedroom, caressing and kissing her until passion drove away her sleepiness.

  And risk having her describe the whole scene to Sheila in the morning? Immediately, he dismissed the thought as unworthy. Still, she’d seriously damaged his trust.

  “Where’ve you been?” Paige asked lazily.

  “Excuse me?” He didn’t like being called to account like a schoolboy.

  “I waited for you.” She swung her legs around and rose unsteadily.

  “I never promised to be home any particular time.” Spoiling for a fight, that’s how he felt. Hi
s better judgment warned him to rein that in, but what had she been thinking to tell Sheila their secrets?

  Paige wandered into the house. When she switched on a lamp, the light hurt his eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to sound bossy,” she said. “I just had something to tell you.”

  “Does it have anything to do with you shooting off your mouth to my ex-wife?” Mike set his laptop case on the floor.

  “What?” Brushing back a long strand of hair, she regarded him in confusion.

  “She called a few minutes ago to tell me about her pregnancy and give me advice, if you can believe that. She claims that you and me having a child must be fate.”

  “So this concerns Sheila.” Deep breath. “I need a cup of tea. How about you?”

  “That doesn’t even come close.”

  “Beer?” She ambled into the kitchen. Frustrated, he followed. Wasn’t she going to apologize?

  “I’m fine. Had a few drinks with friends.” He left it at that.

  Paige set about making tea. “Mike, I ask my patients a lot of personal questions, and it’s hard to know where to draw the line when they ask questions in return, especially since Sheila saw us together at the picnic. Besides, my pregnancy isn’t a secret.”

  “Is my paternity common gossip, as well?”

  Frown lines striped her forehead. “Did she say that?”

  “More or less.”

  “I told her I’d used donor sperm, but that’s all.”

  Even so, she’d come too damn close to exposing a fact so deep and personal it cut to the bone. Anger rattled around seeking a target. “Are you going to be treating her through her entire pregnancy? Can I look forward to more of my personal life being revealed to my cheating ex-wife in little dribs and drabs?”

  Paige poured the hot water over her teabag. “Sheila was Nora’s patient originally. I could transfer her.”