by Jule McBride
Instead, the fingers tightened.
She gasped. “Sh-Sh-Sheldon, you maniac, you’re cho—” She began coughing.
And then, out of the blue, another hand appeared. This one clamped down on Sheldon’s shoulder and sent him flying backward with such force that he almost toppled inside the convertible. As the metal taps on his fancy shoes clattered across the concrete, he started to fall. But then he caught himself in the nick of time and saved the knees of his expensive trousers.
“Get out of here,” Max said simply, “or I’ll kill you.”
“I’ll call the cops on her,” Sheldon warned as he started edging past Lo.
“Since you know where she is,” Max challenged, “why haven’t you called them?”
Sheldon’s guilty silence served as his confession. Trying to regain some semblance of dignity, he straightened his tie as he continued edging toward his car. Max followed him, staying just close enough that Sheldon wouldn’t think of going for Lo’s throat again. Then Max stood in the yard, hands on his hips, until Shel drove away.
Feeling righteous, Lo rubbed her bruised neck. Then she suddenly sighed in relief. Everything’s all right She couldn’t quite believe it.
Max knew who she was. Both he and a P.I. were onto Sheldon Ferris. A smile brightened her face. And then broadened—because she realized Max was clad only in red boxers printed with big white hearts. No doubt the shorts had arrived in the same Valentine package as his lip-printed ones.
“Everything’s really going to be okay,” Lo murmured aloud, feeling stunned. Max loved her. He was helping to clear her name. She and Gran would be reunited. The SEC would arrest Sheldon. And some entrepreneur would probably reopen the Dreamy Diapers plant.
Max turned and started toward her. “Oh, Max!” she exclaimed as her feet took flight. When she lunged into his arms, he caught her. Just as suddenly, he let her go.
“Max?” he echoed.
Staring into his furious eyes, Lo realized her mistake. He might have known she was Lo Lambert, but he hadn’t realized she knew he was Max Tremaine. She gaped at him as he roughly brushed past her. “Where are you going?”
He didn’t so much as glance at her. “To pack your bags.”
MAX COULD FEEL those green eyes on his back. Not that he’d turn around. Instead, he hauled a matching six-piece set of luggage from a hall closet into her bedroom. One by one, he opened the various cases-including an oversize steamer trunk—and tossed them onto her bed. Then he opened her closet door and started stripping the hangers.
Lo sounded as if she was about to snap. “Those are your best suitcases.”
“Oh, I’ve got plenty.” Max hauled a handful of dresses to the bed and shoved them into a carry-on. “If there’s one thing I’ve gathered in all my travels—” he headed back to the closet “—it’s excess baggage.”
“Are you saying I’m excess baggage?”
“Take it however you want”
As soon as he yanked open the top drawer to her chest, Max wished he hadn’t. His mouth went bonedry as his eyes trailed over a neat stack of white cotton maternity panties, then a racy little lacy garter number she’d probably bought to remind herself she’d be thin again someday.
Feeling furious, Max slammed the drawer shut. Not that the contents of the next one turned out to be any less disturbing. Max grabbed a handful of slinky nightgowns. Heading toward the bed, he could still feel Lo watching him. He knew which expression she was wearing, too—pleading and pitiful.
If he turned around and looked, he was doomed. Balling up her last nightgown, he threw it at the bed. It landed in the overnight case.
She sniffed loudly. “The way you’re treating my clothes, you might as well use garbage bags.”
“Since I probably bought your clothes,” Max shot back, “I figure I can pack them any way I see fit.”
“I’m going to pay you back.” When he didn’t respond, Lo added, “With interest.”
Lord, she was worse than his sister, Suzie. “Don’t talk to me in that whiny voice,” Max said. “I can’t stand it”
“I’m not whining.”
But she was. And her pleading tone was threatening his resolve. Bending over swiftly, he swept more clothes from the floor, only belatedly realizing he’d packed his own slacks, cutoffs and lip-print boxer shorts.
“Coming with me?” Lo ventured.
Max shot her one quick, sweet smile. “Think of them as souvenirs.” When he picked up the pretty yellow dress she’d worn yesterday, his chest squeezed tight. Somehow, he forced himself to drop it on top of his boxers.
Her voice rose. She was starting to sound panicked. “I said I’m going to pay you back.”
“Don’t bother.”
Lo groaned. “What are you so mad about?”
He slowly turned around. Then he strode toward her. “What am I mad about?”
As if only now realizing how angry he was, Lo quickly backed against the doorjamb—and Max almost had a change of heart. The silky sash of her long white robe had loosened and he could see the upper portion of her lacy white negligee. Not to mention her breasts. The bodice barely covered those luscious mounds, and Max wanted nothing more than to bury his face between them and nuzzle. But hell, the woman had been playing him like a finely tuned instrument.
He leaned closer, as if to prove he could withstand the proximity. He couldn’t. He found himself remembering how he’d loved her last night. And how she’d loved him back. He could feel the silk of her hair as he caught it in fistfuls, hear her needy whimpers and taste the salted honey of her most private crevices.
Her lower lip quivered.
His jaw set. “You didn’t even really hire a bodyguard to protect you from Sheldon, did you? Dammit, I really thought you were in danger.”
“I was!” Guilty color flooded her cheeks. “Oh, Max, if it wasn’t for you, Sheldon would have strangled me!”
Just hearing Lo call him Max made him livid all over again. “You know what I meant. I thought you were in danger long before this morning.” At least a hundred times he’d imagined someone trying to hurt her. He’d been terrified he wouldn’t be there to protect her.
“But if you knew who I was,” she said, “why didn’t you suspect I knew who you were?”
“Because that phone call you made.” To the agency. Max was so mortified, he couldn’t even say the word “agency” aloud. “That phone call was completely convincing.”
Before she could respond, Max swore under his breath and edged even closer, trapping her against the doorjamb. “God, you’re such a good liar. I can’t believe how you played me. How can I believe anything you say now? You walked right into my house, got to know my neighbors and started robbing me blind while you hid from the law and—”
Lo’s eyes turned flinty. “You believe I was engaged in price-fixing while I was at Meredith and Gersham?”
Max felt like a complete fool. “Lying does comes awfully easily to you.”
“I was set up! And I admit it, I was willing to do anything to stay out of jail.”
Max’s voice was murderous. “Even make love to me?”
Lo gaped at him. “Sheldon set me up,” she repeated. “It was his way of getting rid of me because I was pregnant with a child he didn’t want—and a way of keeping himself out of jail.”
Max’s eyes narrowed. Hell, maybe Lo was innocent. “So, you’re trying to tell me you weren’t his accomplice?”
“Of course not!”
For a long moment, they merely stared at each other.
Then Lo’s glittering eyes turned hard. “I can’t believe you think I’d do something like that. And as far as I know, Sheldon was working alone.” Her chin rose haughtily. “Don’t worry, Max. You’ll have your money as soon as I can get access to my bank accounts.”
Max watched the pulse furiously ticking in her throat. Did she really think he cared more about money than her? His voice became a drawl. “Were you going to pay me back before or after your jail ter
m?”
“Believe it or not, I didn’t think I would be going to jail. And, fool that I am, I actually thought for a moment there that you were helping me clear my name. What I don’t understand now is why you didn’t tell me you knew who I was.”
There was another long silence. The air seemed utterly still. A scant foot separated them, but emotionally they were miles apart.
“I get it,” Lo suddenly whispered in shock. She tried to back away, but there was nowhere for her to go. “You just wanted the story. You’re writing an article about me.”
Damn. Those green eyes now held so much hurt that Max almost crumbled. He would have—except she reached out and punched his shoulder.
“You knew who I was,” he found himself saying. “Maybe it was you who wanted me to write a story—one favorable to you.”
Lo stared at him as if he were a complete stranger. As if she’d just gotten a peek at the man behind the facade—and didn’t like what she saw.
Max leaned so close his breath whispered against her cheek. “Under the circumstances,” he couldn’t help but say, “you’ve got a lot of nerve to be so selfrighteous.”
“Just pack my bags,” she returned coolly.
“My pleasure.”
Max pivoted. Then he strode back to the closet and started tossing out the remainder of her clothes. Drawers banged, hangers rattled. And the more noise Max made, the better he felt.
Oh, maybe she wasn’t guilty. But if she wasn’t, there was no proof. And either way, no woman had ever taken him for such a ride. All along, she’d known just exactly who he was. Hell, she’d even guessed at his initial motives for keeping his mouth shut.
Initial. That was the key word, though. Because Max loved her now. But as the anger pumped through him, he assured himself he’d get her out of his system somehow.
Max slammed the packed steamer trunk shut, and his hands stilled on the lid. Tilting his head, he listened to the rattling coat hangers, and realized the room had turned awfully quiet. He glanced over his shoulder. And then he turned fully around.
Lo was gone.
She’d left, wearing only her robe. And she’d taken just one bag—the green suitcase she kept by the bedroom door for her trip to the hospital.
“JUST GO HOME, TIMMY!” Lo shouted.
Darn. She looked a sight. Like the neighborhood crazy lady. Blinking back tears and trying to ignore the hysteria bubbling in her throat, she set her little green suitcase on the pavement, firmly tucked her revealing negligee beneath her long, cumbersome white robe, then tightened the robe’s sash over her swollen belly. There. That was a bit more dignified. Bending, she gripped the suitcase handle in a perspiring palm again. And then, trying to block out Timmy Rhys, she headed on down the road. She just wished the sun wasn’t beating down on her head. And that she had her Ray-Bans.
After a long moment, she stopped, whirled around and stared over her shoulder. Timmy had pulled his bike onto the edge of Dotty Jansen’s lawn. Even from here, Lo could see he looked worried.
Not that she blamed him.
She was starting to feel a little worried herself. She felt all wrong inside. Crazy and heartbroken—as if she really might lose her mind.
The way you just lost Max.
With a sudden tearful yelp, Lo glanced down at her bizarre outfit, and her eyes blurred. Was it just paranoia or were all the neighbors really watching her? Lo could feel eyes peeking from behind every blind and curtain on the block. Phones were probably ringing off the hook, too.
Which was why she couldn’t cry.
And why she couldn’t change clothes in somebody’s bathroom. If she did, she might confess to being the notorious Lo Lambert. And then. Everybody will find me out! They’ll know who I really am. And they’ll all hate me! The way Max does!
Lo whirled around and started walking again, silent, convulsive sobs racking her shoulders. She concentrated all her energy on holding back the torrent, but her breath started coming in shuddering gasps and her head started pounding.
Suddenly, she choked—and the tears fell.
Oh, Lo, she thought. Get ahold of yourself.
But she couldn’t. Sob after sob escaped her, punctuated by harsh, raspy moans. Tears streamed down her face, even snaking inside her mouth, tasting salty. Somehow she kept walking. With one hand, she clutched her suitcase as if to save her life. With the other, she swiped at her tear-wet cheeks. After a while, she calmed enough to lift the sash of her robe with trembling fingers and daintily dab at the corners of her eyes.
I’ll just change at the very first gas station I come to, she assured herself. There are three nice new dresses in my suitcase. Unfortunately, two of them were hopeful size eights. At the thought of how big she’d become, fresh tears leaked from her eyes. Just keep walking. And don’t think about Max.
Timmy’s shout sounded from far behind her. “Hey, are you sure you’re okay, Mrs. Tremaine?”
That made her cry even harder. Not only was she not okay, she wasn’t a Mrs. anything. And she’d sure never be a Mrs. Tremaine.
Lo didn’t stop to turn around. She pulled in a deep, tremulous breath and then, exhaling, called, “I’m fine!”
“Well, okay,” Timmy shouted. “But maybe you’d better put on some clothes.”
I should have, Lo ruminated. I really should have. But she’d been so mad she’d just grabbed her suitcase and left. She never intended to see Max again, either. He was just like Sheldon, using her to get ahead. Using her for a story. She tried to tell herself she hated him.
But she didn’t.
She loved him.
Another sob was wrenched from her. “And it-it—it’s so hot,” she gasped aloud. They’d just entered the dog days of August, and she was sweltering in her robe. Even worse, it was too long and dragging the pavement like a wedding train. Lo placed a hand on her belly, hoping that might help calm her sobs, and suddenly wishing she had Gran’s shoulder to cry on.
And then she heard the siren. It whooped once behind her and fell silent. Turning around, she watched through stinging, scratchy eyes as a cop cruiser pulled to the side of the road. Sergeant Mack, the same officer who’d questioned her and Max, got out and slammed the door. Since she wasn’t wearing her floppy hat, Lo doubted he would recognize her from that night. Nevertheless, he was staring at her with the kind of serious expression that said she’d broken some laws. As he approached, his dark eyes drifted over her outfit, then narrowed with concern.
“Ma’am,” he said gently. “Now, don’t get upset…”
“You mean more upset?” A shaky gasp came from between Lo’s lips. She swiped at her cheeks again, thinking that if he was supposed to be a cop, shouldn’t he see a few clues that she was hysterical? “I—I—I—”
“Just stay calm.”
“C-calm?” she managed to say. “I—I am obviously w-weeping.”
He nodded carefully. “I did notice that, ma’am.”
Lo gulped down another sob, then shakily brushed enough tears from her eyes so she could doublecheck his name badge. “Don’t w-w-worry, SSergeant Mack.”
“I’m not going to run you in for indecent exposure or anything like that,” he assured soothingly, edging closer.
Indecent exposure? She was dressed from head to toe and about to die from the heat of it. “My gown is d-d-dragging on the p-pavement.”
“And you do look lovely, ma’am.”
She didn’t, but it was nice of him to say so. Even if he was only being nice because he thought she was insane. Lo clutched her suitcase handle tighter as her belly tensed and another heartbroken sob escaped her lips.
Sergeant Mack stared at her intently for a moment, then dipped his hand inside his shirt pocket. He withdrew a picture and stared at it, then Lo. He shoved the picture in his pocket again. His hand darted to his holster and hovered there. “My, oh, my,” he muttered. “You’re Loraine Lambert. We just had an anonymous tip you’d been sighted in the neighborhood, but I didn’t think you were really.”
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For a stunned moment, neither of them moved.
The thought flashed through Lo’s mind that Max had actually turned her in. No, it was probably Sheldon. Not that it really mattered now, Lo decided, dropping her suitcase with a thud. Maybe this was for the best. In fact, she felt relieved. Without Max, she didn’t care where she spent the next ten to fifteen years.
Or the rest of her life.
Until she thought of the baby. But by then it was too late. She’d already stuck out her wrists. “Just go—go—go—”
Sergeant Mack didn’t budge. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Go—go ahead and arrest me,” Lo finished.
Before she realized that it was actually happening, Sergeant Mack had clamped on the handcuffs. Seemingly concerned about her condition, he then gently urged her to the cruiser and all but lifted her inside. Slamming her door, he circled the car and got in the driver’s seat.
Readjusting his rearview mirror, he squinted at her and shook his head. “You sure don’t look like the type to commit a felony.”
Lo stared through the wire-mesh screen that separated the seats. Taking one deep, fortifying breath, she thought of Sheldon and Max and managed to say, “Looks can be deceiving.”
Sergeant Mack sighed. “Do I need to stop for Kleenex?”
Why did he have to say that? Such kindness from a stranger just made Lo cry all over again. She clamped her trembling lips together and crossed her arms and shut her eyes tight. But it was no use. Tears squeezed out from between her eyelids.
“I—I’m okay,” she croaked. And she almost was—until she turned around and looked at Max’s house. Across the street, Timmy Rhys was a tiny dot, pointing excitedly at the cruiser and dragging Dotty Jansen onto her porch. Unlike Timmy, Max probably hadn’t even noticed Lo was gone. Maybe he was still angrily packing all her clothes.
Max.
Lo suddenly felt so hysterical she couldn’t breathe. “J-just drive.”
Sergeant Mack squinted at her suspiciously. “Pardon my saying so, but you’ve eluded the law for months. What’s the rush now?”