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Authors: Francis Ray

BOOK: I Know Who Holds Tomorrow
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The idea gaining momentum, Helen leaned back in her seat. She knew just how she'd get back at Madison once and for all. Make damn sure she lost that brat. And when she did, Helen would be there, mike in hand.
 
 
“I want you to have a bodyguard.”
Madison looked up from straightening the lightweight blanket inside Manda's carriage and into Zachary's very determined eyes, then to the protective way he held Manda, and knew she had to talk fast. “A bodyguard would only give reporters and the paparazzi more reason to hound us.”
His lips thinned into a hard line. “But a bodyguard would also keep them from getting too close.”
You mean, pound them into the dirt
, Madison thought—if the fierce expression on his face was any indication. Without thought she lifted her hand and placed it on his arm. The muscles beneath his denim shirt were taut. “But they'd still take pictures. I'd have a dozen bodyguards if I thought it would keep unscrupulous people away. It won't. What it will do is call more attention to us.”
The lines furrowing his forehead deepened. “I'd feel better knowing you have some protection when I'm not with you.”
To Zachary, protecting those he cared about was paramount. That was as much a part of him as his gentleness. She couldn't fault him for his desire to keep her and Manda safe. Fact was, it felt nice, but she knew it would cause more problems than it solved.
Feeling she needed help, she glanced over her shoulder to Gordon who had followed them into her office. “Please tell him we're not in any danger.”
Gordon slipped his hands into the pockets of his tailored slacks. “She's right. Getting a bodyguard will only make Madison and Manda more noticeable. It will also be seen as a challenge.”
“Exactly,” Madison agreed. “If I get a bodyguard after the photo shoot, it's going to send a message that regardless of what I said, I'm afraid. And despite what I told the reporters and photographers, I have no intention of subjecting Manda to a photo shoot every other day.” She smiled into Manda's happy face. “But you sat through this one like a pro.”
“That's because she knew she was safe with you,” Zachary said.
“Manda is more resilient than I gave her credit for,” she said smoothing a hand over the infant's thick black curly hair. To Madison's delight, Manda hadn't stuck her finger in her mouth or tried to burrow into Madison. She'd looked at the approaching men and women with more curiosity than fear. “Maybe I should return to work soon.”
“Anytime you're ready.” Gordon said quickly.
“You plan on bringing her with you?” Zachary asked.
Her certainty growing that she was making the right decision, Madison lifted her gaze. “Yes. I think it would be good for both of us. Besides, the more we're seen together, the quicker it will satisfy everyone's curiosity.”
“You'll have to use the car service,” Zachary reminded her.
“For the time being,” she agreed, taking Manda into her arms. “We'll be chauffeured to and from the house, so there will be no need for you to worry about us.”
Zachary's dark eyes softened. Reaching out, he brushed a lock of Madison's hair behind her ear. “That might be, but I'll still worry.”
Madison's heart gave a hard thump. She glanced away quickly. “Don't.” She busied herself putting Manda in the carriage. “Ready to go for a ride?”
The bright smile on Manda's face faded. She lifted both arms. “Ma-da.”
Shaking her head, Madison picked her back up. “Guess we'll have to work on separation.”
Gordon peered at the baby in surprise. “Did she just try to say your name?”
“She sure did.” Madison acknowledged with a grin.
“I'll walk you to the car, Madison.” Zachary slung Madison's bag over his shoulder and gripped the handle of the carriage. “Good-bye, Gordon.”
“That won't be necessary. I've kept you long enough.” She held out her hand patiently for her bag. “Your crew is probably frantic by now.”
They probably were, but Zachary wasn't about to admit it. In all the eight years of being his own boss, he'd never missed this much work combined. But he didn't regret it for a second and would gladly do it again. “A few more minutes won't hurt.”
“Zachary, I can do this.” Her hands closed around the straps of the bag. “Go to work.”
He let her have the bag, but one hand remained on the handle of the carriage. “I don't like leaving you.”
“We'll be fine.”
“All right, but ca—”
“—Call if we need you.” She smiled up into his chagrined face. “We'll see you tonight if you can make it.”
“I'll do my best.” With a final wave he was out the door.
For a long moment Madison stared after him, then at Manda who was also peering at the door Zachary had just gone through. “We'll see him tonight if he can possibly make it. In the meantime, we have to stop at a bookstore.”
“I'll get these,” Gordon said, taking the bag and the carriage. “Glad to hear you're coming back.”
“I think it's time.” Madison opened the office door, then followed Gordon into the hallway. “I just hope that social worker understands about the photo session.”
“Camille is out of town until this afternoon,” Gordon said, his tone filled with an odd mixture of regret and impatience.
Madison came to a dead stop. She lifted a naturally arched brow. “Since when did it become ‘Camille' and how do you know she's out of town?”
Gordon didn't even think of evading the answer. “Since I decided she interests me on a personal level.”
Madison closely studied his intense expression before replying, “There's going to be a lot of disappointed women when this gets out.”
He let out a breath. “Thanks.”
Absentmindedly she stroked Manda's back. “You can't tell your heart who to love,” she said, her face thoughtful.
Gordon jerked his head around to stare at her. “Who said anything about love? I just plan to see where this leads.”
Madison laughed softly at the panic in his voice. “‘There are none as blind,' et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.”
“Strange. I was thinking the same thing about you.”
She spun around to face him. “What are you talking about?”
“Zachary Holman,” he answered.
Madison swallowed, trying to relieve the sudden dryness in her throat. “You were there at the hospital when we met again. He was a friend of Wes's,” she said, trying to forget how Zachary's presence had calmed and centered her during the interview.
“Seems like more to me.”
She sputtered. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“He certainly seems to care for you and Manda,” Gordon explained, watching her closely. “I'd say he was your friend as well and that you're lucky to have him.”
Knowing she'd overreacted, Madison continued through the front lobby. “I couldn't have gotten through this without him.”
“I'm glad he was there for you.” Gordon pushed open the front glass door. Her driver immediately started toward them.
“I'll take those, sir,” the uniformed man said politely. “I'll put your bag in the backseat, Ms. Reed.”
“Thanks, Stanley.” Crossing to the limo, she slipped into the backseat
with Manda, then put her in her car seat. “I'll be in Monday around ten, if that's all right.”
One arm propped on the top of the door, Gordon leaned down into the car. “Whatever works for you.”
“I appreciate that,” she said, fastening her seat belt. “Good-bye.”
“One more thing.” He leaned closer, his eyes piercing. “You and I both know that life isn't promised. Don't waste time denying what is right in front of you or wondering about what other people think. If love comes along, snatch it with both hands. You deserve happiness without conditions.”
Before she could respond, he stepped back and closed the door. Through the tinted window Madison saw him walking back to the station. She knew he had been talking about her and Zachary.
That's ridiculous
, she thought as the driver pulled away from the curve smoothly. They were just friends.
M
ADISON HAD EXPECTED TO receive a lot of calls in response to the live interview, but she had underestimated the sheer number. Although her number wasn't listed, the media, she knew, had a way of finding things out.
After listening to the messages on the answering machine, she had some calls of her own to make. The first one was to her parents. Seconds into the conversation, they wanted to know when they were going to get a picture and see Manda for themselves. Madison promised to scan one into the computer and send it that afternoon. Her father wouldn't touch a computer with a ten-foot pole, but her mother loved her “little toy,” as she called it.
Dianne was next. Madison wasn't aware she was bragging about how smart Manda was until her sister called her on it. “I think I heard you mention a few times already that she said your name,” Dianne said with a laugh. “I can't wait to see her.”
“She's going to charm all of you.”
Not the least bit ashamed, Madison hung up a little while later. “You are my smart girl,” she said to Manda who was lying on the bed surrounded by her teddy bears, the teething ring in her mouth, drooling. Madison took a soft washcloth and gently wiped her mouth, then phoned Manda's great-aunt.
The elderly woman's voice brightened considerably when Madison identified herself. She'd received the pictures. One of the eleven-by-fourteens of Manda was hanging on the wall her bed faced so she could see it every time she looked up.
Glad she had arranged to have several of the pictures of Manda enlarged
and shipped directly to Velma, Madison explained about the reason for the photo session and the possibility that the media might try to contact her for an interview. Velma said a couple of people had already called, but as soon as she understood what they wanted she had hung up the phone.
“I wouldn't have talked to them even if that lawyer you sent to have me sign those paper hadn't warned me that it might happen. Said it might be best if I didn't talk with them.”
“I hate that they bothered you.”
“Ain't your fault some people got nothin' better to do than harass other people,” she said. “This ain't none of their business. Probably twist everythin' I said around anyway.”
Unfortunately, Madison knew she was right. After talking a few more minutes, Madison hung up. There was one last call she had to make. It wasn't lost on her that she had put it off to last because it had always been a strain to talk with Wes's parents and it had gotten worse since his death.
Madison glanced down just as Manda crawled into her lap. Madison wasn't sure how to tell them about Manda, but she definitely didn't agree with Zachary that they should not be told. They deserved to know they had a grandchild. She just wasn't sure if the knowledge would comfort them or cause more pain.
Gathering the infant to her, she dialed her in-laws' home phone number. As expected, the maid answered. Vanessa once bragged that she had never answered her own phone and wouldn't know how to make her bed or do her hair if her life depended on it. “May I please speak with Vanessa?”
“I'm sorry, but Mrs. Reed isn't feeling up to talking to anyone now,” Betty said.
“Is A.J. there?”
“No, ma'am. He's playing golf at the country club. Is there a message, Mrs. Reed?”
Like father, like son
. While Vanessa was prostrate with grief, A.J. was playing golf with his buddies. He had a cell phone, but he would have turned it off before they teed off. Again like father, like son. “Please ask A.J. to call me when he comes in. It's very important.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Thank you, Betty. Good-bye.” As soon as she put the phone down it rang again. A reporter, she was sure of it. Standing, Madison picked up Manda and the storybook on the bedside table and continued out of the room.
 
 
Madison was going to be worth a mint.
His teeth clamped around his Havana cigar, Louis Forbes watched the short film clip of Madison and Manda on CNN. Madison had acted like a mother bear with the kid. She'd looked unflinchingly at the camera when she said she'd do whatever it took to keep Manda safe and happy. Even as cynical as he was, he didn't doubt she meant every word.
He could have kissed her. Her worth had just climbed higher.
Bursting with pleasure over the way things were unfolding, Louis rocked back on his handmade Italian loafers. The president of KGHA in Chicago had called personally to commend Louis for setting up the interview and on the way Madison had handled herself. Louis had seen no reason to correct him.
Louis had received other calls. The magazines were expected, but the book publisher had his mouth salivating. He bet he could get them to seven figures easy. MADD's call didn't count … unless they wanted pay Madison to act as a spokesperson.
Everyone wanted Madison and when he finished collecting his file on Wes and the kid's mother, she'd do exactly what Louis told her to do.
 
 
“These pictures are worthless,” snarled Edward Mayes, slinging the five-by-seven color glossies of Madison and Manda across the already cluttered living room of Helen's apartment. “At least those two inept jerks I hired had the sense to switch license plates on their car.”
“Take it easy, baby,” Helen soothed, running her French-manicured nails up the hard, muscled chest Edward worked an hour each day to maintain. “We can still work this to our advantage.”
Sharp black eyes fastened on the lush mauve-painted lips inches from his. Roughly grabbing her hips, he ground his arousal against the junction of her thighs, and had the satisfaction of seeing her wince. Women didn't appreciate it if it wasn't a little rough. “Keep talking.”
“I think there's something going on between Madison and the man who was with her today at the station. If we can get compromising pictures of them, they'd be worth even more than those of her and that brat she seems so fond of.”
His hands inched up her shirt. “And you'd be one step closer to getting her job.”
“And you'd be there with me.” Helen's practiced fingers began unfastening his shirt.
“I'd better be,” he warned just before his finger speared deep inside her. He found her wet and hot. Moments later he took her on the floor, thinking about how well he controlled her with sex.
With her legs wrapped around him, her eyes closed, Helen thought of Zachary.
 
 
Gordon saw Camille the moment she entered the Grand Ballroom at the Anatole Hotel Friday night. His first thought was relief that she was alone, the second was pure lust. She wore a floor-length strapless white gown that hugged her lush breasts then flowed seductively over the enticing curves of her body. He had waited six long days to see her again. He saw no reason to wait another minute. He moved through the jovial crowd with practiced ease.
He knew the instant she saw him. Her big, chocolate-brown eyes went wide. Her breathing accelerated, causing the creamy swell of her breasts to rise and fall with beckoning madness. He actually felt his tongue tingle in anticipation.
“Welcome home, Camille.”
“Mr. Armstrong,” she greeted coolly.
He grinned. “Back to that, are we?”
Her mouth tightened. “If you'll excuse me, people are waiting for me.”
“Of course.” He took her arm and ignored her hard glare. “I told your mother I'd bring you to our table as soon as you arrived.”
Her head whipped around. “You're sitting with us?”
“I'm always willing to give any help I can to worthwhile causes,” he answered, steering her around a group of people.
“I don't remember you being on the list,” she said, glancing up at him.
“All that matters is that I'm here now,” he said. His tone carried a wealth of meaning.
Camille felt her entire body quiver at the softly spoken words. She quickly glanced away. She thought she had gotten over whatever it was that sent her mind and body into a spin when she was near Gordon. She'd been wrong. Worse, he realized it and wasn't going to let her ignore him or the humming sensuality between them.
“There you are, Camille. I'm glad you made it,” her mother said from her place at a round, white linen—draped table. A beautiful fresh-cut flower arrangement was centered on top. Two seats where empty.
“Hello, Mother.” Camille took her mother's offered hands, kissed her cheek. Both were soft and often caused a person to think Julia Davis was as soft on the inside as she was on the outside. A fatal mistake. She was tenacious when it came to those she loved or one of her causes.
Straightening, Camille was afraid she had just become both. Then she greeted the other people at the table. All were her mother's contemporaries. Camille hadn't had time to sell the tickets to the charity affair and had asked her mother to do it for her. She had given her a list of names. Gordon Armstrong wasn't one of them.
“Who's missing?” she asked pointedly. Her mother didn't even blink.
“No one now that you are here,” she said, gesturing to the seat beside her. “Now, tell us all about your conference,”
Camille took the chair Gordon pulled out for her, determined to ignore him, until his hand brushed against her bare arm, accidentally or on purpose. The results were the same. Once again she was aware of him, of how close their bodies were.
She launched into an explanation of the conference she had attended. As expected, the eyes of a few of the people at the table glazed over. Gordon wasn't one of them. He had asked intelligent, thought-provoking questions over their dinner.
“How do you answer to the critics that say you act too slow in some cases or too harshly in others?”
Because he seemed sincere, she answered honestly. “There might be similarities in cases, but each case is different, with its own unique set of circumstances, and each caseworker brings to it his or her background and knowledge. There is uniformity in some decisions, but not all. We're not perfect, but we're all we have.”
“There's a high burnout rate and turnover.” He sipped his wine. “How long have you been a caseworker?”
Her fork poised over the grilled chicken which had stayed under the heat-light hours too long. “Five years.”
His eyes narrowed. “Ever think of taking a job that wasn't as emotionally draining or dangerous?”
Camille didn't have to look at her mother to know who he had gotten the last part of the question from. “How much more emotionally draining or dangerous is it for a child to live with fear of emotional, physical, or sexual abuse on a daily basis? Do you have children?”
“Yes,” he answered, his wine forgotten.
“You ever physically discipline them?” she asked.
“Camille, please pass the rolls,” her mother asked, nudging her daughter in the side.
Camille passed the rolls and ignored the elbow. Her entire attention was on Gordon.
“If they needed it, yes.” He wasn't backing down, if that was what she expected. He was aware some books said don't physically discipline a child, but it hadn't hurt him when he was growing up.
“Until they bled or left marks or needed major medical care?”
“Camille!” her mother admonished.
Anger flared in Gordon's eyes. “What kind of man do you think I am?”
“I'll take that as a no,” she said calmly. “Your children are the fortunate ones. You discipline, but you do it with love, not with a need to inflict pain or out of misplaced anger or because of your own insecurities.” She touched his arm as if to apologize. “I've seen children who aren't so blessed.”
She placed her napkin beside her plate and glanced around the table. Eyes that were friendly when she sat down were now cautious or antagonistic. “If you'll excuse me. After being away from home for five days I need to go unpack and get ready to hit the road again on Sunday.”

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