Who's Been Sleeping In My Bed?

by Jule McBride

  “Dropped by? I said I flew down—”

  “You’re down with the flu? Why, that can be just terrible in summer!”

  Max sighed. “Look, Mrs. Lam—”

  “Gran,” she corrected.

  “Look, Gran, I didn’t come to see baby pic—”

  “Well, not to worry. We’ll start with grade school.” Gran pointed at a silver-framed photograph next to the TV remote. “This is your future wife on her very first day of school. And here she is in drama club and pep club and…”

  Every possible club known to man, Max thought. Suddenly, he leaned forward. “And she was a majorette?”

  “Well, she would have been homecoming queen, too, but during games she had to twirl.” Gran sighed as she crossed the room again, this time dropping a heavy photo album in Max’s lap. “I always said that was the real pity about her otherwise pristine educational career.”

  Max opened the photo album. “What was?”

  Gran shook her head sadly. “That my poor Lo just couldn’t clone herself.”

  Somehow, Max refrained from saying that if Lo Lambert had cloned herself, she would have wreaked twice as much havoc at Meredith and Gersham. As he turned the pages of the album, he began to frown. Lo had been such a smiling baby. An adorable toddler.

  Gran pointed down, her voice softening. “And that was my son.”

  In the picture, Lo’s father was young and strong and handsome. The pretty woman beside him possessed Lo’s lush curves and smile. A baby that must have been Lo was in her arms. They all looked so happy. Max turned page after page, not sure what he was looking for. He’d booked the flight here just hoping to find.something.

  Now, Max wasn’t sure which he found more disconcerting—that he was so attracted to such a seeming Goody Two-shoes, or that he couldn’t reconcile Lo the majorette with Lo the criminal mastermind. Thinking of Sheldon Ferris’s heartbroken expression, Max wondered if Zach was right. Did Lo really chew men up and spit them out?

  Max had become so engrossed in the album that when he finally raised his gaze to a wall clock, he started. If he didn’t hurry, he’d miss his return plane. Glancing in Gran’s general direction, he found himself staring inside an emptied closet. Coat hangers still swung on the bar. Even worse, a huge suitcase was on the floor into which Gran was quickly stuffing all her clothes.

  Max stared at her warily. “What are you doing?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Packing?” Max ventured.

  “Obviously. And if you keep making moronic observations like that, young man, I might decide you’re nowhere near smart enough for my granddaughter. She’s brilliant, you know.” Gran whirled toward him. “You did say you’d come to take me to Connecticut, didn’t you?”

  “I said no such thing.” If Lo had robbed Meredith and Gersham clients—something Max was starting desperately to hope wasn’t true—he at least now knew where she’d gotten the genes for devious behavior. But it is true, Max. Zach’s given you ample evidence. He realized Gran was glaring at him.

  “If you really intend to leave me in this horrible dungeon for the aged,” Gran burst out, “then you might as well just go ahead and call in Dr. Kevorkian!.”

  Max groaned. “Please, you have to understand.”

  “My granddaughter is in Connecticut, isn’t she?” Terror crossed Gran’s features. “Or have you done something with her?”

  Now she was trying to make Max sound like an ax murderer. “Hardly,” he said.

  “Then there should be no problem with taking me to her!”

  Max merely sighed and watched for long, stunned moments as Gran continued packing. Her back was ramrod straight, her chin defiant. The lady was going to Connecticut, come hell or high water. He cringed when she smoothed her little blue running suit, jumped agilely onto her suitcase and zipped it.

  Then she stood. “Now, I’ll just get my pocketbook.”

  “I’m not leaving you in a dungeon,” Max said flatly. “I’m leaving you here, in this tastefully decorated apartment.”

  “You’re not leaving me anywhere,” Gran corrected. “And you’d better prepare to carry my suitcase, young man. Because I’m old and it’s heavy.”

  Clutching her purse, Gran stopped right in front of him. Maybe she’d always been short. Or else she’d shrunk with age. Either way, she had to crane her neck at an impossible angle to glare at him. She looked feisty and yet fragile. Brittle as a cracker, but sharp as a tack.

  “I can’t,” Max said. Then he tried his best to ignore her trembling lower lip and the two fat tears that welled in her green, Lo-like eyes. Damn. She was supposed to be a fighter, not a crier.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  How could this little old lady be getting the best of him? “I said no,” Max whispered back.

  “But I hate minivan rides,” she grumbled miserably. “And shopping malls and manicures and bowling.”

  Max shrugged helplessly. “What would make you happy?”

  Gran sniffled. “If you would let me see my Lo.”

  “Aw, hell,” Max muttered. And then he said, “Please, Mrs. Lam—er, Gran. Don’t worry. I can’t take you today, but I swear I’ll be back.”

  “OH, NO…” LO MURMURED. As she wedged the phone receiver beneath her chin, one of the straps of her delicate, mint green sundress fell off a sun pink shoulder.

  “Is it him?” Max mouthed.

  Lo hooked a thumb under the recalcitrant shoulder strap and slid it back into place. “No,” she mouthed back.

  The possessive way she was clutching the phone made Max feel downright righteous, as if he really were her bodyguard and had every right to monitor her private conversations.

  Well, as long as the caller wasn’t threatening her, Max didn’t care who it was. At least that’s what he told himself. Feigning indifference, he fanned himself against the heat in the kitchen, then ran a flattened palm over his head, slicking back his hair. A second later, he untucked his denim shirt from his threadbare jeans and tugged on a shirttail, undoing all the snaps.

  There. He was cooler. And Lo had noticed his bare chest. Okay, so maybe I’m posing for her, he thought. Leaning back to get a better look at her, he looped a thumb through his front belt loop so his fingers grazed the oval silver buckle on his hand-tooled leather belt. Then he flashed Lo a quick smile.

  She smiled back, tucking her red hair behind a delicate ear in an inviting way that made Max want to kiss the lobe. Suddenly, her face fell. “You mean they just let him in?”

  Him who?

  Max sat up straighter, wishing he didn’t feel so bushed from the flight back to Kennedy. Of course, over dinner he’d told Lo he’d spent his day off at Jones Beach in Jersey. Not that she’d believed him. Hell, maybe she was right not to. He was every bit as much of a liar as she was. By pretending to be her bodyguard, he was probably endangering her. And he hadn’t been anywhere near Jones Beach. He’d been with Zach, Sheldon Ferris and her grandmother.

  Max just wished he knew who was on the phone. Absently rubbing the light stubble on his chin, he listened to Lo say, “The man? Uh…you’re sure about that? And then what? Not really!”

  Suddenly, Lo stared at Max. Covering the mouthpiece, she whispered, “Please. Privacy.”

  Instead of leaving, Max rose and sidled next to her. He leaned against the counter—so close that he could smell how the scent of her floral perfume mingled with salon shampoo and wood smoke from the steaks they’d just cooked on the grill.

  Lo gaped at him.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. She wanted him to leave the kitchen and he knew it. But that meant the conversation was probably important. Maybe it was a banker calling about her overseas accounts. Or her accomplice.

  Or her grandmother.

  Max winced as Gran’s voice boomed through the receiver. It was so loud, he was surprised he hadn’t heard it from his seat. Had he really sworn he’d return to the Fountain of Youth nursing home to help Josephine Lambert make her g
reat escape? Some days Max really hated himself.

  Apparently, Lo had given up on trying to keep her call private. “Can you describe him?”

  During the long pause that followed, Max held his breath. What if Gran’s description identified him as her visitor? He glanced down. Shoot. He was wearing the same clothes he’d worn to the nursing home. Gran knew he’d come from Connecticut, too, even if he hadn’t introduced himself by name.

  “Gran?” Lo prompted.

  “All I know,” Gran shouted, “was that he said he was going to marry you.”

  Lo clutched the phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Please. Don’t you remember what he looked like?”

  “How would I know?”

  Lo glanced nervously at Max and twined the phone cord around her fingers. Maybe she thought the visitor had been a lawman from the FBI or SEC. When her strap slipped from her shoulder again, Max leaned and slid it into place. Loving the way her silky skin and hair brushed his hand, he let the touch linger, delivering a gentle, squeezing caress. Not that Lo seemed to notice.

  “Gran?” she prompted. “Did he have dark hair?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Blue eyes?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Lo probably suspected Sheldon Ferris had shown up at the nursing home, Max realized, straining to hear Gran’s voice, which had dropped.

  “I took off my glasses,” Gran suddenly shouted. “I didn’t want your fiancé to think I was both blind and deaf. But I do remember…yes, I think he was handsome. And he didn’t have gray hair. I remember that because.” Now Gran’s voice rose to a wail. “Because around here, in this awful nursing home, everybody—and I do mean everybody—has gray hair.”

  At that, Lo fell apart. “Oh, Gran,” she moaned, “I knew I shouldn’t have left you there.”

  “You certainly should not have!” Gran agreed.

  Lo flung out her hand, clutching the edge of the countertop for support. “Is it really so bad?”

  Realizing his lips were parted in barely contained protest, Max clamped them shut. Gran was probably getting a pedicure while she talked to Lo. Or soaking in a hot bubble bath.

  Pathetic little sniffles came over the wire. Then Gran crooned, “Oh, please. Don’t give me one single thought. It’s really not so bad. It’s just that the food portions are so small that.that I may be losing a little weight. Wasting away, really, if you must know. And that Cassie person, my nurse, is—”

  “Is what?” Lo demanded sharply.

  “Well, she brought that strange man to my room.”

  Lo’s eyes narrowed. “The man who said he was my fiancé?”

  “Yes. And just think, Lo. That man could have been anyone.”

  But he wasn’t. He was Max. And just looking at Lo’s distressed expression was making Max feel guiltier than ever. Surely Lo thought Sheldon had been interrogating her grandmother. Of course, that meant Lo had really never contacted Sheldon. Which probably meant she no longer cared for him.

  “You’re right,” Lo murmured softly. “It could have been anyone.”

  “Anyone!” Gran repeated. “Why, that man searched through everything—my pictures, for instance. And now all my clothes are a mess!”

  Lo gasped. “Your clothes?”

  “Well, he said you were getting married, so I thought he’d come to take me to your wedding.”

  Lo’s voice turned angry. “I promise I’ll get you out of that awful place if it’s the last thing I do. Gran, you’ve got to hang in there. I know it’s hard, but I love you. And I will be there, I promise. Are you okay? Really?”

  There was a long pause. Then a disappointed, if more honest-sounding, Gran said, “I guess. Agnes from down the hall is coming over to watch a rerun of ‘The Golden Girls’ on my TV tonight. And tomorrow we signed up for a minivan ride.”

  “Love you,” Lo said.

  “Love you the most,” Gran said.

  Within seconds, Lo had redialed the Fountain of Youth to lodge a complaint against Cassie. Fortunately, Cassie was so upset, her description of Max was no better than Gran’s.

  Lo slammed down the phone. “Some man was there. And that awful Cassie woman left my poor grandmother alone with him!”

  Max stared at Lo, desperately wanting to defend himself and Cassie. But no, Max was going to get his story. He always did. Even if the angry tears in Lo’s green eyes were making him feel lousy about it. Doing the only thing he could think of, Max whispered, “C’mere, honey,” and drew Lo against his chest.

  A second later, she was sobbing on his shoulder, talking incoherently, letting it all out. No doubt the jag had as much to do with hormones as the conversation with her grandmother, but that didn’t stop Max’s heart from wrenching.

  And maybe his own hormones were doing a little talking. Because as he held her—bending his knees, leaning into her, wrapping his strong forearms tightly around her back—he was sure a woman like her couldn’t commit a serious crime. And yet he knew he was reacting to her proximity, to the way her silk sundress teased his bare chest and her tears tickled his skin. The heat of her warmed the already warm length of him.

  Yeah, Max thought. This is physical, not logical. And if you’ve got any more doubts, just talk to Zach again.

  Nevertheless, as he swayed against the kitchen counter, rocking her, he fought the insistent urge to tell her that Gran was fine and that he really wasn’t a bodyguard. He wanted to say he was Max Tremaine—and he was crazy about her. But then Zach was a force to be reckoned with. And if the P.I. said Lo was guilty, she probably was. Sheldon Ferris had been pretty convincing, too.

  As Lo’s sobs subsided, her words became coherent. “Gran has spun some kind of rosy fantasy.” Lo gazed up, her wet green eyes glittering like jewels, a stray tear rolling down her cheek. “I don’t know who visited her, but Gran must have gotten confused. Since she—” Lo broke off and sniffled. “Since she wants me to get married, she’s invented a fiancé. Oh, I—I’m never going to get married.”

  Max nuzzled her cheek. “Sure you will.”

  “No…I don’t even want to. I’ve had it with men. They’re all liars and cheats.”

  Including me. “No, all men aren’t like that,” Max said soothingly. He hugged her tight, then rubbed circles on her back until his palms came to rest at the small of her spine. Suddenly, the baby kicked. Lo’s eyes shot to Max’s.

  He winked. “This time, I was expecting it.”

  That got a smile out of her. “No, I’m expecting it.”

  Max’s mouth quirked at the bad wordplay. And yet, as he’d felt that soft kick against his belly, Max’s heart had wrenched again. Just this morning, beside Lo’s bedroom door, he’d noticed a small green suitcase she kept packed for the hospital. More and more, he’d been wondering about the baby—whether it was a boy or girl, when exactly it would be born.

  Not that the questions would be answered. Because—just like whoever had hurt Lo in the past-Max was lying. And Lo was bound to find out eventually that he’d used her for a story. Max lifted one of his shirttails and dabbed at her eyes, wishing they didn’t hold so much trust. “There you go, honey,” he said.

  “I had every reason to believe I was putting my grandmother in a really nice place,” Lo murmured. “I saw a brochure and talked with them on the phone. And it’s so expensive.”

  Lo was right about that much. Max winced, thinking of the bills. “Maybe the conditions aren’t quite as bad as your grandmother makes them sound.”

  “Gran wouldn’t lie,” Lo said defensively.

  How could a criminal be so gullible? Josephine had Lo utterly snowed. Max said, “Well, maybe she just stretches the truth.”

  Lo raised her eyebrows. “You think so?”

  I know so. Max nodded. “Yeah.”

  Lo looked relieved. Not that Max was. Why in thunder had he sworn he’d go back and rescue Josephine? He had a sneaking suspicion there weren’t many worse places to be than on Gran’s bad side.

&n
bsp; A nearby crash startled him.

  Jarred from his thoughts, Max whirled toward the sound. Just as glass shattered, he grabbed Lo and hit the floor, covering her body with his own. From under the table, he watched glass raining down on the linoleum.

  Lo looked terrified. “What’s…”

  “I think it was a gunshot. I’ve been in enough war zones that I’ve heard a few.” Apparently, he was wrong about the person threatening Lo. Whoever it. was meant business. Max strained to hear a sound in the silence—until something started rolling toward them across the floor. “A bomb,” Max murmured. Had one been tossed through the window?

  Suddenly, Lo stretched her arm above her head and grabbed the object. “Hate to say it, Boots,” she said throatily. “But this looks more like one of Timmy Rhys’s baseballs than a Molotov cocktail.”

  Max groaned. “And I thought I was saving your life.”

  “Well, look at the bright side.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You could still kiss me.”

  Max straddled her. “Kiss you, huh?” he said. And then he did. Hotly. Wetly. Deeply. Until she squirmed beneath him and said, “We’d really better stop now.”

  “Because?”

  “Because it’s now or never.”

  Max chuckled. “I vote for never.”

  “If it’s ever time for never,” Lo murmured, “you’ll be the first to know.”

  “I’d better be.”

  But it wasn’t now. Because outside, the pounding of sneaker-clad feet sounded, and Timmy Rhys screamed, “I swear, Mrs. Tremaine, I’ll pay for your window.”

  8

  When Fantasy and Reality Collide…

  MAX OPENED ONE EYE. T-shirt stared back—eye to eye, nose to nose. When Max tried to remove him, the kitten merely curled his claws into Max’s bare chest. Max grumbled, “Why don’t you sleep with Lo?

  “No,” he amended with a sleepy chuckle, “why don’t I sleep with Lo?”

  Max shut his eyes against the morning light, imagining running the flat of his palm over the taut, butter-smooth skin of Lo’s belly. Lord knew, Max had done a lot of things in his life, but he’d never once seen a nude pregnant woman, much less made love to one. And Max loved a novel experience.