Confidential: Expecting! (12 page)

“Or any kitchen.”

“No.”

“Neither have I.” Her blouse joined the apron on the floor. Her bra was new, a sleek and sexy number that created cleavage with the aid of an underwire. Her stomach was still flat, but her breasts were a little fuller, so she looked good wearing it as well as the matching pair of panties that were under her skirt. She unhooked her cotton skirt and let it slide down her legs. If she’d had doubts about her appearance, one look at Logan’s expression would have dispelled them.

“Ask me again in an hour.” He tugged the tails of his shirt free from his blue jeans and began to unfasten the
buttons. She caught a glimpse of his muscular chest and the hair that covered it.

“An hour, huh? That’s a long time. You must be feeling pretty confident.”

Logan moaned. “I’m feeling a lot of things.”

While she was nearly naked, he was mostly clothed.

Mallory appreciated the fact that Logan liked to take his time when it came to intimacy, but his progress with his shirt was much too slow for liking. She nudged his hands aside and made fast work of the remaining buttons.

Need was building, arcing dangerously between them like the current from an exposed wire.

“A lot can happen in an hour,” he said as she pushed the shirt off his broad shoulders.

“That’s what I’m counting on.”

“A reporter from the
Herald
is on the telephone. She insists on speaking to you,” Logan’s secretary informed him just after he wrapped up his morning show. “Should I take a message?”

“No.” He smiled, recalling the scene in his kitchen a couple evenings earlier. And the scene in his bedroom later that same night. And the scene in the shower the following morning. If they kept this up they were liable to kill each other. But what a way to go. “Put her through.”

“I was just thinking of you,” he said in lieu of a greeting.

“Really? That’s a surprise.”

And so was the voice on the other end of the line. It didn’t belong to Mallory.

Logan straightened in his seat. “My apologies. I thought you were someone else,” he replied stiffly.

“Obviously. I think I know exactly who you mean. I’m Sandra Hutchins. We met briefly at a charity dinner a couple months back.”

“I remember. Why are you calling?”

“I’d like you to confirm some information for me,” she began. “I recently learned that you were engaged to a Felicia Grant ten years ago.”

Logan had a sick feeling, but he managed to keep wariness from his tone when he said, “Yes. So?”

“You didn’t marry.”

“No, we didn’t.”

“Why?” the woman had the audacity to ask.

“You know, I don’t really see how that’s your business, Miss Hutchins.”

“Infidelity, I believe, was the culprit,” she went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Miss Grant married another man mere months after your wedding was called off.”

“Old news,” he said nonchalantly.

“Perhaps.” The gleeful note in her tone worried him. “I assume you understand perfectly the reason Miss Grant divorced her husband less than a year after their marriage?”

“I wasn’t aware she’d divorced. She left town almost immediately after they got married, and I saw no reason to keep in touch with her family.”

“Really?
No
reason?”

Something was off here. Way off. Mallory had dug up this very same information, but Sandra was acting as if she had a huge bombshell to drop. Logan couldn’t imagine what it might be.

“I’m sorry to hear Felicia’s marriage fell apart. Contrary to what you apparently think, I harbor no ill feelings for her, especially after all this time.”

And especially now that he’d fallen in love with Mallory. The past was the past. It was the present and the future he wanted to concentrate on now.

“What about your son? What feelings, if any, do you harbor for him?”

L
OGAN
couldn’t breathe. He sucked air in through his mouth, but it didn’t seem to make it all the way to his lungs.

“What are you talking about?” he managed after a lengthy pause during which he pictured Sandra smiling gleefully on the other end of the line.

“Little Devon Michael Getty. Well, he’s not so little now. While Felicia’s ex was kind enough to provide the boy with his surname, it’s obvious you provided the DNA. He bears a striking resemblance to you, Dr. Bartholomew.”

A child? A son? No. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. Could it?

While nothing made sense at the moment, one thing was clear: Logan was not going to continue talking to a reporter on the record, especially when he didn’t know what he was talking about.

He gathered his scattered wits and managed to sound authoritative when he snapped, “This conversation is over.”

Even before he cleared the radio station’s lobby, he was on his cell phone with his agent. Briefly, he explained the situation, hoping Nina would offer some words of wisdom. Her response was anything but reassuring.

“I knew your getting mixed up with Mallory Stevens was a bad idea.”

“This has nothing to do with Mallory.”

“It’s a different reporter who called you today, but from the same paper. Don’t be naive, Logan. Mark my word, she had a hand in this. What have you said to her regarding your former fiancée?”

“Nothing. Well, very little. She admitted a while ago that she knew about Felicia and was aware of our breakup. She never explored it further. That was the end of it.”

“She
didn’t,” his agent stressed. “She handed it over to someone else.”

Logan swore. No. He wouldn’t believe that. “This isn’t about Mallory. For that matter, it’s not even about a damned news story.”

“The one in question could very well cripple your career, not to mention cost you the nationally syndicated television show,” Nina reminded him. “The contract has been signed, but the fine print clearly allows them to yank the plug under certain circumstances. I think this would qualify.”

His agent was paid to think about business and his image, which is why he’d called her. Let her perform damage control. Logan had bigger issues to worry
about. My God, what was Mallory going to think when she heard this news? Another thought struck like a blow. Had she already?

“Do whatever you think needs to be done, Nina. I’ll be in touch later. I’ve got to get to the bottom of this,” he said, hanging up even as his agent was still sputtering in outrage.

Did he have a son, a boy old enough to be just as confused and hurt by his defection as Mallory had been by her father’s? He needed to find the truth. For that he had to talk to Felicia. Unfortunately, Logan didn’t know where to find her.

But Mallory did.

Despite the rain, Logan stood on the deck of his sailboat, waiting for Mallory to arrive. After the cryptic phone call he’d left on her office voice mail, he would have understood if Mallory hadn’t come. He must have sounded unbalanced, asking her to meet him, to bring her notes on Felicia, and not to tell anyone at her office where she was heading. He spied her jogging along the dock under the protection of a polka-dotted umbrella and sighed in relief.

Mallory didn’t know what to make of Logan’s desperate-sounding message or their clandestine meeting. But she never questioned going. They had tickets for a Sox game that evening, but he wouldn’t have asked her to break away from work in the middle
of the day to meet him on his sailboat without a good reason.

When she reached him, she noted that his hair was wet, his oxford shirt soaked through. Something was troubling him, though his manners were unaffected. He helped her aboard the
Tangled Sheets
and ushered her below deck.

“My God. You’re drenched.” Even so, she didn’t protest when he pulled her against him. He needed her. That much was clear.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he pulled away. “Now you’re drenched, too.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Don’t worry about you?” He cocked his head to one side. “I can’t help worrying about you. It comes with the territory, you know.” His expression was fierce when he said, “I love you, Mallory.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

“Remember you said that.”

She frowned at the odd request. Some of the old doubts whispered in her head. The voice sounded suspiciously like that of her mother. Though the voice wouldn’t be silenced, she refused to listen to it. “Logan, you’re scaring me. Please, tell me why you asked me to meet you here.”

“You haven’t spoken to Sandra, then.”

Her stomach heaved. It had been doing that ever since she’d retrieved his phone message. She wasn’t sure if stress or pregnancy was the culprit.

“Sandra Hutchens? I go out of my way to avoid her. What does Sandra have to do with this?”

“There’s something we need to discuss.”

Mallory couldn’t agree more. She’d already decided she wanted to confide in him about her pregnancy. She’d planned to do it tonight, after the ball game. It was time he knew. She was growing more excited by the day. She wanted him to share in it. Besides, he was an astute man, a doctor by training. He’d figure it out soon enough if she continued to avoid alcohol and munch on saltine crackers to calm her nausea. He’d have every right to be angry with her then.

“You brought your notes, right?”

“Yes.” She reached into her satchel and pulled them out. Other than her editor, no one was privy to what was inside the small spiral notebook. She didn’t hesitate, though, before asking Logan what he needed.

“Felicia’s contact information.”

Mallory must have stumbled back a step. The next thing she knew he was holding her by the arms. “You want Felicia’s number?”

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Something’s come up.” He laughed harshly. “Actually, Sandra has brought something up. I need to find out if it’s true.”

“What…?” She let the words trail off and fought the urge to pepper him with questions. Now was not the time to turn on her reporter mode. Instead she ripped a piece of paper from her notebook and handed it to him. “Here.”

“Just like that?”

She swallowed, nodded. “No questions asked.”

He kissed her hard and quick. “I’ll let you ask all of the questions you want…later. Right now I have to get to the bottom of some things. It might take a while.”

She nodded, determined to stay strong. “That’s all right. I’ve got to get back to the office, anyway. Can you meet me at my apartment this evening?”

“I’ll come by right after I finish with my lawyer.”

“Lawyer! Are you in some kind of trouble, Logan?” Without waiting for him to reply, she offered, “What can I do? What do you need?”

“I need you,” he said quietly. “See you later?”

“I’ll be waiting.” We’ll both be waiting, she added silently.

Mallory didn’t get much work done after returning to the office. How could she? Briefly she’d considered contacting Logan’s family. As close-knit as the Bartholomew clan was, surely his parents or one of his siblings would know what was going on. But she refrained. She could wait till this evening. Logan would explain the situation, and together they would figure out how to deal with whatever it was that was causing him so much distress.

She was staring at her blank computer screen when her phone rang. It was the editor.

“I need to see you in my office.”

In the past being summoned to Barry’s office hadn’t filled Mallory with trepidation. Heck, she’d barged in without an invitation often enough when she was
working on a good story. Today, between nerves and the baby, she felt downright nauseated, and her queasiness intensified when she spied Sandra sitting to one side of his desk.

“Shut the door,” Barry told her.

Mallory had the odd feeling that her fate was being sealed as it closed.

“What’s up?” she asked, striving for casual.

“Sandra is working on a story, one that will be an exclusive if we can wrap it up quickly.”

“How very enterprising of you,” Mallory remarked. “What does it have to do with me?”

“She’s dug up some rather damning information on a local celebrity. The facts are pretty solid, but our lawyers are demanding we ensure every
i
is dotted and every
t
crossed. They’ve become a little gun-shy these days.”

Mallory’s heart had begun to pound so loudly that she had to strain her ears to hear what Sandra was saying. “Let’s just cut to the chase, shall we? I need an interview with Logan Bartholomew and, given how chummy the two of you have become lately, I figure you can help me get it.”

“Why do you need an interview with Logan?” But she knew. Felicia. It was all starting to make sense.

“You can read the answer to that in the paper when the story breaks.”

Mallory stiffened her spine. “You think I’ll help you?”

“We’re all on the same team,” the editor inserted.
“Sandra has offered to give you credit for contributing to her report in a tagline at the end the story.”

Did they really think Mallory was holding out for credit? Perhaps the old Mallory would have. The one who put work above everything, including personal relationships.

“Sorry. I can’t help you.”

The response had Sandra cursing and the editor blowing out a breath. “Fine,” Barry said after a moment. “I’ll spring you from features.”

It was what she’d wanted when she’d pursued Logan in the beginning. She couldn’t help but think she was partly to blame for his current mess. Whatever juicy tidbit Sandra had managed to unearth, Mallory was the one who had started the digging.

Ignoring the editor’s offer, she turned to her rival. “I have to hand it to you, Hutchens. You’re brighter than you look. You saw me riffling through the files that night in the morgue and actually put two and two together.”

“I hope you’re not going to accuse me of poaching your story.” Glancing at the editor, Sandra said, “I merely picked up where she left off, since it didn’t appear she was going to do anything with the information.”

“I made it pretty easy, even for someone with your poor instincts,” Mallory snapped.

Sandra ignored the insult. “You signed out all those clip files in my name and then took your sweet time turning them in.” Her smile was both malicious and tri
umphant. “It made me wonder just what you were up to. Then I saw you with Logan and remembered seeing you reading his engagement announcement.”

Mallory was the one who swore this time. “Well, I can’t help you out any further.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Sandra asked. “I need to speak to him.”

“Sorry.” She lifted her shoulders.

Sandra turned to the editor. “I want an exclusive! For the paper, of course.”

“Of course,” Mallory muttered. Had she really been as driven as Sandra? As blind to everything and everyone around her?

“The lawyers want us to include a response from either Bartholomew or someone authorized to speak on his behalf,” the editor said. “Sorry, Sandra. I’m not willing to stick my neck out again.” His gaze slid to Mallory before he added, “It still has ax marks on it from the last time.”

A moment ago Mallory had been offered a way out of the doghouse, but Barry was letting her know that unless she helped them, she would remain in it.

Sandra stood, braced her hands on his desk and leaned forward. The pose was menacing, but her voice verged on whining when she said, “But, Barry, we can’t wait much longer. If we do, one of the other news outlets is bound to scoop us. It’s just a matter of time as it is till the news breaks, especially since Venture Media has offered Bartholomew a syndicated television show.”

So, they knew about that, too. Mallory tried to
downplay the situation. “What’s the big deal? So the guy was dumped by his ex and then had a hard time trusting women. He may be a psychiatrist, but he’s also human.”

Sandra turned, her eyes lighting up with almost maniacal delight. “He hasn’t told you. My God, you, journalist extraordinaire Mallory Stevens, are in the dark.” She clapped her hands together. “I love it! I absolutely love it!”

“Sandra,” Barry began, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable as he divided a look between the two women.

Sandra ignored him. “Please, Barry. At least let me break
this
story.”

“What are you talking about?” Mallory demanded through clenched teeth.

“Your darling doctor is a daddy. The deadbeat variety.”

If she hadn’t been sitting, Mallory’s legs would have buckled. “What?”

“You heard me. Logan has a son. A nine-year-old boy he fathered with Felicia, and I have it on good authority that he’s never seen or so much as tried to contact the kid, much less paid any child support.”

Mallory shook her head, unconsciously covering her abdomen with one shaking hand. “You’re wrong. Logan doesn’t…and even if he did he wouldn’t…You’re mistaken.”

“No. I’m not. Unless the birth certificate is wrong.
You’re not only a sloppy reporter, Mallory, you’re a damned fool.”

Sandra sailed out of Barry’s office then, leaving Mallory shell-shocked and reeling. Her humiliation was complete when her stomach heaved and she was forced to wretch in the editor’s wastepaper basket.

Barry offered the box of tissue rather than any sympathy.

“I won’t even ask about half the stuff Sandra just said, all I want to know is if you’re going to help.”

She wiped her lips, would have killed for a breath mint. She settled for a stiff spine. “No. I thought I’d already made that clear.”

“Come on,” he cajoled. “We both know you did half the legwork on this story. Help Sandra finish it and you can get back to doing what you do best.”

Hard news. Real stories. Meaty pieces about scandals, lawbreaking and deceit. She was a journalist. She would always enjoy breaking news. But she wouldn’t exploit her relationship with Logan to do it, especially since she didn’t consider this to be on par with government bribes, police cover-ups or accounting irregularities at city hall. If what Sandra claimed was true, it was Logan’s private hell, and she had to believe he had an explanation. He wasn’t a deadbeat. He wasn’t anything like her father. He’d given her nothing but reasons to trust him. She wouldn’t start doubting him now when he needed her most.