“All right,” she said, exasperated with herself—and him. And with the intuitive voice in her brain that taunted her to venture out on this dangerous ledge with him. “Just once.”
She closed her eyes as Gil’s lips swept gently over hers—as though seeking permission a second time for the kiss. She granted it, opening her mouth to the seductive forays of his tongue. He tasted of beer and honeyed heat. The taste of him invaded her, claimed her in a way she’d never thought possible. She meant the kiss to last only a second, but in the first searing brush of tongues time slipped away as a flood of dizzying emotion slipped loose from her heart and spiraled downward to her toes like a euphoric drug.
Her fingers raised to touch his face as though seeking confirmation that he was the source of the craziness spilling through her veins. His mouth shifted on hers, the shadow of his beard rasping against her chin. As the kiss grew more demanding his thumbs pressed into the hollows above her collarbone, as if her collarbone represented a line he dared not cross. Instinctively she leaned into him, a heavy ache settling in her breasts as she absorbed the hard contours of his body into the softness of hers. Felt his arousal press against the curve of her belly—making his wants known.
Paulina heard a moan of surrender escape her lips as she responded to the need building in his kiss with a primitive need of her own. Suddenly, she was aware that Gil—with this big empty house of his—wanted more from her than she could ever give. She started to pull back, but Gil’s arms tightened around her. Heat shimmered between them like a wall of humidity on a blistering summer day. The inner voice Paulina had heard before dared her to tread farther out onto the ledge. Paulina melted into Gil, succumbing to the fluid golden euphoria for a few more blissful seconds. I can’t remember being kissed like this.
Exactly, the voice crowed with a superior ring of smugness. Paulina broke the kiss and stepped back, shaking.
THE PICTURE OF THE BABY flashed on the television screen. The woman froze, recognizing the infant who slept in the crib in the spare bedroom. “What are we going to do?” she asked the man stretched out on the shabby vinyl recliner across from her.
“The same as we’re doing now. Lay low. Trust me, the hoopla will blow over in a few days.”
“But what if—”
“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”
The cry of the baby pierced the evening air. The woman hurried down the hall to the spare room and scooped the infant into her arms. It was a warm evening—with the windows open someone might hear.
The baby quieted instantly, a smile breaking on his sweet, little face. She’d put him down for the night an hour ago and here he was wide-awake—and wet. She pressed a kiss on his dimpled cheek and laughed when his fingers tangled in her hair. This was a precious one, all right. Longing and impatience welled in her breast. Oh, how she wanted this one to be hers!
She heard footsteps in the hall. The man stood in the doorway and watched her with the baby. “You look happy with a baby in your arms,” he observed. “It won’t be long now. You’ll be holding your own baby soon.”
She smiled. He was right. She’d have to be patient a little longer. Soon, her own happy day would come.
Chapter Five
Paulina stared at the half-eaten meatball sandwich she’d bought for dinner on her way back to the office and tried to formulate her thoughts as she came to the tail end of the report she was writing to reflect her activities from three that afternoon, when Detectives Robbins and Zuker had walked into her office, to nine-fifteen when Gil had kissed her.
She never should have let him kiss her. Stray traces of elation lingered in her bloodstream like raindrops after a sudden storm.
She drew a cupid’s bow and arrow on a scratch pad that she kept for doodling when she was thinking. She shouldn’t be feeling this way. She was letting her purely feminine attraction to a handsome man get in the way of her good judgment. Turning back to the report, Paulina wrote the last few lines without mentioning the kiss. It was enough that she knew about it.
She put a question mark above the bow and arrow. Why had he kissed her? Simple attraction?
Or had her trusty inner voice been warning her of something else?
Gil’s footprint and the jimmied patio door in Cindy’s apartment irked her—not to mention his insistence that he shadow the investigation. She couldn’t shake the vague, niggling feeling she’d been set up. She was hearing two distinctly different stories. One from Gil. The other from Francine Loiselle and Edison Tweedie.
Was it possible Gil had been feeding her a line all this time and that kiss was a calculated ploy to make her his ally?
Maybe he’d dropped by to see Cindy on Wednesday and discovered she was packing to leave with Mikey. Could he have killed her and staged Mikey’s abduction? He had money aplenty to pay someone to care for Mikey. Would Mikey show up abandoned in a public place in a few days—or a few weeks?
Paulina groaned. The last drops of jubilant passion remaining in her system evaporated under a dry dose of disillusionment. And she’d gotten Gil inside Cindy’s apartment! She’d provided the perfectly logical reason why his fingerprints would be all over the place. But she wasn’t ready to convict Gil on the basis of an uneasy feeling and a four-alarm kiss. She sifted through her reports until she came up with the information provided by Edison Tweedie. He’d said Francine, the waitress at the diner, had referred Cindy to a lawyer. Maybe the lawyer could confirm that Gil threatened to sue for custody of Mikey? Paulina looked up Vern Newcombe’s number and address in the telephone book. His office was on Elgin Street across from the law courts. She’d pay him a visit first thing tomorrow.
She’d also ask if the lawyer could put a last name to “Elva,” the counselor Cindy had been seeing. Paulina opened the manila envelope that held the tidbits she’d fished from Cindy’s wastebasket and dumped the contents on her desk. Hadn’t there been a card for a pregnancy counseling clinic? Yes, she found it. Maybe Elva worked there.
Paulina tapped the pink business card on the desk, toying with an idea. Could Cindy have decided to leave town because she was pregnant? Possibly. Particularly if the baby wasn’t Ted’s. Gil’s offer to support her might have made Cindy uncomfortable, especially if she was involved with someone else.
Paulina made a note to ask Robbins if the autopsy report indicated Cindy was pregnant. It was worth asking, even though Robbins wasn’t exactly brimming with information.
She’d also conduct background checks on Gil and Edison Tweedie. Tweedie had been awfully helpful. Maybe too cooperative—remembering names. Paulina put two question marks beside his name on her to-do list for the next morning. How many people remember that much detail about conversations they have with strangers? Why had he sat down and talked to Cindy in the first place—unless he was a leech who preyed on lonely young women?
Was he some sort of wacko who followed Cindy out of the diner and killed her? Since Cindy hadn’t been sexually assaulted, Paulina could only come up with two reasons why Tweedie would do such a thing. Either he and his wife desperately wanted a baby or he was involved in baby selling. His job was the perfect cover. He traveled all over the country.
She picked up the phone and punched in her ex-husband’s phone number. It was after ten, Karl should be watching the news.
He answered on the second ring.
“Hey, what’s up, Paulie?” he said, his gravelly voice rumbling in her ear.
“I’m working on something I wanted to bounce off you. Can you talk?”
“If you’re asking if I’m alone, the answer is yes.”
“That wasn’t the question, Karl. We’re divorced. It’s none of my business whom you entertain or when.”
He cleared his throat. “And there I was hoping you were going to sweet-talk me back into your bed.”
“Right. I’m going to sweet-talk you all right, but it has nothing to do with sex.” Paulina laughed. At least they’d managed to remain friends after their divorce. “Did you see
the news report about the missing baby?”
“Yeah. The mother was found in a trash can.”
“Well, I’m doing a background check on a witness who spoke to the woman a couple of hours before she was killed. He just happened to sit down next to her in a restaurant because she looked like she needed a friend.”
“You don’t sound like you buy that explanation,” Karl observed dryly.
“That obvious, eh?”
“So, what are you driving at?”
“Well, I’ve done some checking. The witness works as a sales rep for a hardware supply company. He does a lot of traveling on a regular schedule from southern Ontario to Saskatchewan. I’m wondering how many stranger abductions of babies or young children have occurred in towns and cities along this guy’s route in the last five years. Do you think the RCMP Missing Children’s Center could check it out?”
Karl whistled. “Sounds like you’re on to something, Paulie. Give me everything you’ve got on this guy and the region he covers and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. It could be a few days.”
“That’s fine.” She gave him the info she’d amassed on Edison Tweedie. “Thanks, Karl. You have my undying gratitude.”
“It’s not your gratitude I want, Paulie.”
Paulina knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted her to give up who she was and be something she wasn’t—to make him happy. What was it about the male psyche that made men think they made the rules?
“Good night, Karl,” Paulina said firmly and hung up the phone. Karl was a good RCMP officer—one of the best—and he deserved everything he wanted out of life. But Paulina preferred that some other woman provide it.
With a small sigh, she gazed at the pile of papers in front of her. Maybe she’d read over everything one more time before she went to bed…just to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. She still wasn’t any closer to finding the man with long blond hair and the athlete’s physique.
Forty-five minutes later, her extra effort paid off. She found a lead worth following up while she examined the photocopies the police had made of Cindy’s calendar in exchange for her giving them the original. Cindy took Mikey to a drop-in program for parents and tots every Wednesday morning at the Sandy Hill Community Center. Had she attended the session the day she died? Paulina stood up and stretched the tired muscles in her back. Even if Cindy hadn’t attended, Paulina would bet a lot of talking went on in a place like that. Gil had even suggested Cindy had made friends with some of the other mothers.
Tomorrow was Wednesday. For the first time in her adult life Paulina wished she had a baby, so she could attend the session undercover. People tended to be more honest and outspoken among their peers. Bring a cop or a P.L into the room and no one wanted to get involved. Meanwhile, a killer and a child abductor was roaming the streets. Paulina smiled grimly. Somehow she’d get the information as Paulina Stewart, P.L
NEWCOMBE’S OFFICE WAS on the sixth floor of Barrister House, one of the most respected addresses of barristers and solicitors in the city. The massive plate-glass lobby doors were etched with the scales of justice. Elegant brown-and-white marble floors lent an air of quiet respectability and tradition to the lobby. At eight-thirty sharp, Paulina stood outside the cherry-stained French doors to Newcombe and Bullhauser and smothered a yawn. She’d jumped the gun. The law offices weren’t open for business yet.
Fifteen minutes later when she’d grown tired of looking at the polished brass nameplates and doorknobs of the other offices, the elevator doors slid open and a slender, efficient-looking woman wearing a black-and-white houndstooth check suit dashed down the hallway toward Paulina. The woman carried a large, heavy briefcase. Her long, silver-blond hair, which she’d pulled into an elegant ponytail, twitched from side to side with the energy of her momentum.
“Hi, sorry I’m late,” the woman said, fishing in the pocket of her suit for her keys. “Have you been waiting long? I’m Lydia Kosak, the firm’s paralegal. Our receptionist must be stuck in Queensway traffic again.”
Paulina assured her she’d just arrived.
Lydia opened the door and flipped on the lights. Then she hefted her briefcase onto the receptionist’s desk and scanned the appointment book. “Did you have an appointment, Ms—?” she asked.
Paulina shook her head and removed her ID from her purse. “No, I don’t. I’m Paulina Stewart. I’m a private investigator. I was hired by the family of Cindy D’Angelo to look into her murder.”
Lydia’s pale brows drew together. “Cindy D’Angelo. The name sounds vaguely familiar. Was she a client of the firm’s?”
“Yes. She was seeing Mr. Newcombe. She was a recently widowed young mother with a five-month-old baby. She had an appointment ten days ago—Monday, 11:00 a.m.”
The paralegal flipped back through the pages of the appointment book. Then her amber eyes widened with shock as she seemed to place Cindy’s name. “Oh, that Cindy. I remember now. I held her little boy for a few minutes while she conferred with Mr. Newcombe. Cute baby. But she was murdered, you say. How terrible!”
“I guess you didn’t watch the evening news last night.” Paulina sketched out the details.
“For heaven’s sake,” Lydia exclaimed, hugging herself. “That poor woman. And the baby’s missing. Is that why you’re here?”
“Yes, I’m hoping Mr. Newcombe can answer a few
questions about Cindy’s life—the people she knew.”
Lydia’s expression became guarded. “Ms. Stewart, as a private investigator, you are aware that the conversations between a counselor and a client are confidential?”
“I’m very much aware of that.” Paulina smiled and glanced pointedly at the appointment book. “When will Mr. Newcombe be in?”
Was it reluctance she saw in the paralegal’s eyes as she scanned the day’s appointment schedule?
“He should be in shortly. His first appointment is at nine-thirty. Given the circumstances, I’ll try to fit you in before that. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable? I’ll get the coffee perking.”
Paulina waited patiently as the paralegal bustled off with the coffee carafe in her hand. Lydia returned two minutes later with the carafe full of water and poured it into the coffee maker.
“I’ve worked with a number of law firms in the city,” Paulina began conversationally. “But I’m not familiar with Newcombe and Bullhauser. Has the firm been established long?”
“Seventeen years,” Lydia replied. “We specialize in family law. I’ve been working here for six years.” The smell of coffee percolating filled the air. She turned as the French doors to the office opened and a gangly gentleman in a black wool suit and striking red tie entered. Silver wire-nmmed glasses framed his steely gray eyes. “That’s Mr. Newcombe arriving now. Right on time.”
Newcombe’s gaze swept the reception area, then settled on Lydia. “Janine’s late again?”
Lydia made a face. “Afraid so.”
“Hmm, that’s three times in the last two weeks.”
“She’ll turn up.” Lydia gestured toward Paulina. “There’s someone here to see you—without an appointment. A private investigator inquiring about one of our clients.”
Newcombe glanced at his gold watch, then gave Paulina a curious glance. “Give me two minutes to get settled and I’ll have Lydia show you in. Lydia, a coffee, as soon as possible, please.”
Lydia sent Paulina a conspiratorial grimace as she poured a mug of coffee for her boss. “Whenever Janine’s late, I get demoted.”
Paulina followed Lydia down the hall to an office appointed with beautiful antiques.
Newcombe was ensconced behind a massive oak desk on which piles of files had been laid out with meticulous care. Paulina experienced the full impact of Newcombe’s assiduous gaze as she handed the lawyer her business card and stated the reason for her visit. Golden freckles dotted his pale skin. His red-gold hair had been parted and smoothed in place with hair gel. “Ms. D’Angelo had an appointment with you two days b
efore she died,” Paulina said matter-of-factly. “I’d like to know the nature of her consultation.”
Newcombe didn’t blink. He readjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “I’m afraid I can’t help you, Ms. Stewart. Client-lawyer privilege prevents me from disclosing any information Cindy D’Angelo may have shared with me—or from acknowledging that she was my client.”
Paulina folded her hands together in her lap. “Actually, Mr. Newcombe, that privilege died with Cindy. Now her killer is out there with her child. I find it difficult to believe Cindy would not want you to divulge whatever information might assist the police in arresting her killer and recovering her child.” She paused. “Of course, Counselor, anything you feel ethically bound to tell me, need not go further than this room. My interest is in finding the baby alive.”
“Hmm-mmm.”
“I would not be offended if you wished to contact Ken Mayheu, of Mayheu, O’Connor and Dingwald, or Sandra Radnoff, of Ferris and Radnoff, to inquire about my integrity.” A faint speculative gleam in his eyes suggested he recognized the names of senior partners at two of the most respected firms in the city.
“I went golfing with Ken Mayheu at the Hunt Club two weeks ago.”
Paulina felt as though they were playing tennis and he’d skillfully batted the ball back into her court.
“Well, if you’re on friendly terms with Ken,” she returned, crossing her legs and trying to look relaxed, “you know his granddaughter was abducted by his son-in-law three years ago. Ken hired me to find her, which I did, and his firm has kept me reasonably busy ever since.”
“Very impressive.” Newcombe cleared his throat and turned on his computer. “Let me have a look at my files and I can make a determination.”
Paulina breathed easier as the lawyer perused the computer screen. After a long moment, he said, “Hypothetically speaking, I think that if any young widowed mother came to see me, I’d advise her it’s highly unlikely a court would take a child away from its mother and grant custody to another relative—say an uncle, for example—even if the relative was considerably better off financially.”
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