The Baby Track (12 page)

Connor heaved an impatient groan. “Can you do it yourself?”

“No, I don’t know how to. I normally don’t lead the kind of life that requires secret wires and taping,” she added defensively.

Connor said nothing at all as he attached the clip to her brassiere, and he moved away from her with precision speed to set up the recording equipment. Both were very careful to avoid each other’s eyes. “I’ll wait for you on the stairs,” he said brusquely. He had to get away from her or he would pull her back into his arms!

Courtney finished buttoning her blouse, then quickly glanced in the mirror as she ran a brush through her hair. Her cheeks were the same rosy color as her blouse, her lips were sensitive and slightly swollen, the lipstick completely gone. Reflexively she touched her fingertips to her mouth, remembering the feel of Connor’s lips, of his tongue— She bolted from the room, determined to put the memory away as abruptly and thoroughly as Connor had.

They entered Mrs. Mason’s sunny living room, where she stood cooing over the pink-and-white bundle that Wilson Nollier held in the crook of his arm.

“Ah, Connor, Courtney,” the attorney greeted them with his usual unctuous friendliness. “Here she is. Your daughter.” Beaming, he placed the sleeping infant in Courtney’s arms.

Courtney stared down at the tiny infant, who had a shock of straight, silky, coal-black hair. One small hand was curved over the edge of the blanket, the incredibly delicate little fingers balled into a fist. “She’s the prettiest baby I’ve ever seen,” she whispered.

Courtney gazed raptly at the baby in her arms, her eyes drinking in each and every infant feature—the rosebud mouth, the amazingly small but perfectly arched eyebrows, the dainty shell of an ear. “Oh, she’s precious!”

“And she’s your little girl,” Wilson Nollier said smoothly. He draped his arm around Mrs. Mason’s plump shoulders. “Seeing a mother meet her child for the first time is one of the most beautiful sights in the world, isn’t it, June?”

The older woman dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “One I’ll never tire of seeing, Mr. Nollier.”

Connor wanted to gag. The hypocrisy of those two pirates nauseated him. He knew damn well that the sizable check the baby brought in was the most beautiful sight in the world to Nollier, and Mrs. Mason undoubtedly never tired of receiving her payoff for whatever part she played in this racket. What if he and Courtney really were the baby-hungry couple that they’d presented themselves to be? Having handed the child to the hopeful adoptive mother, Nollier would not hesitate to rip it from her arms if the cash payment wasn’t large enough. What smarmy comments did he have in stock for that heartbreaking moment? Connor wondered cynically.

“Oh, Connor, look! She’s opened her eyes!” Courtney cried excitedly. “They’re blue!” She stared in fascination as the baby looked up at her with big, wide-set blue eyes. Courtney felt an instant shock of recognition. “Sarah!” she said softly.

A rush of sweet memories rolled through her mind as she remembered that Christmas morning when she’d found Sarah, a life-sized vinyl baby doll with blue eyes and black rooted hair under the tree. It had been the first Christmas after their mother had married John Carey, and even now, Courtney could recall the warmth and security and happiness of that day. She was four years old and all her wishes had come true—she had a daddy and the baby doll she wanted. Sarah promptly became her most prized possession and went everywhere with her. The dofl had been all over the world with her and now resided comfortably, wrapped in a cotton pillowcase, on the top shelf of her bedroom closet.

Smiling, Courtney gazed down into the alert blue eyes of this new little Sarah. She felt the same kind of instant bond, of shared destiny she’d felt that magical Christmas morning. The baby was staring up at her with innocence and trust, and a sudden fierceness, staggering in its intensity, left Courtney nearly breathless. She knew in that moment that she was never going to give this child back to Wilson Nollier.

Connor’s eyes were drawn again and again to Courtney and the baby. The two of them looked so natural together, so right. Even their hair color matched! Courtney had

mentioned that she had nieces and nephews, and it was obvious she knew a thing or two about babies. She certainly looked at ease holding the infant in her arms.

At ease?
taunted a voice in his head. There was so much more to the image than that. She looked beautiful, her eyes ; tender, her smile loving and warm as the baby’s gaze connected with hers. Connor stared at the pair, transfixed.

“Mrs. Mason tells me you’ve settled in, Connor,” Wilson Nollier’s voice broke the silence that had fallen over the room. “Do you have everything you need?”

The bastard actually sounded solicitous, Connor thought, and a sudden wave of fury coursed through him. He decided he couldn’t endure any more of Nollier’s slick smoothness. It was time to put an end to this little drama, to nail Nollier once and for all.

“You didn’t name a price in the office this afternoon,” Connor said, moving to stand closer to Courtney, hoping to lure Nollier closer as well. They needed him within audio range to get his voice clearly on tape. “Of course, we never expected to—uh—get a baby so soon and—”

“Connor, please, let’s not talk about it right now,” Courtney interrupted, looking up at him with pleading dark eyes. She was filled with dread as she clutched the baby closer.

Nollier smiled. “I agree with your wife, Connor. This is no time to talk about money. Hold your daughter. Get to know her!”

Sink the hook in deeper, Connor translated bitterly. Get to know the child so that money would be no object when it came to keeping her. So that was the subtle way this baby-broker manipulated the hearts, minds—and cash resources—of his defenseless clients? He mentally called Nollier every obscene name he’d ever heard.

“I’m a man who insists on paying my bills promptly,” Connor said, hoping that he’d managed to keep the disgust he felt for the attorney from his tone, from his eyes. “What do we owe you, Mr. Nollier?”

“I’ll just go into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee,” Mrs. Mason said quickly. “I have homemade coconut cake, too, my own dear grandmother’s recipe.” The woman bustled from the room.

Connor watched her absent herself from the proceedings with a sardonic eye. Coffee and cake added such a nice homey touch to the impersonal business of child-selling.

“I have the mother’s hospital bill right here.” Nollier reached inside the pocket of his suitcase and pulled out a form. “The receipt, that is. The bill has already been paid in full by my firm.” He handed the paper to Connor. “The client reimburses us.”

Connor stared at it. The top of the bill read Shadyside Falls Hospital, and it looked legitimate, an itemized account of a three-day hospital stay, including delivery room suite fee, doctor’s expenses, meals and pain relievers. The price was high, but not out of line; in fact, he knew for a fact that costs in the Washington area hospitals were substantially higher.

“Can you afford to pay it, Connor?” Nollier asked. The concern in his voice sounded astonishingly authentic. “You don’t have to pay it all at once, you know, I can arrange for a monthly installment plan. And if you can’t swing that, well then, just pay me whatever you feel you can afford without jeopardizing your financial status.”

Connor was certain he hadn’t heard right. He couldn’t have. Paying a mother’s hospital bill was perfectly legal in private adoption, and this bill had not been padded in any way.

He looked at Courtney, who was staring at Nollier, her face mirroring her owii confusion.

“What about your fee and the—uh—legal expenses?” she asked reluctantly. Here it comes, she thought anxiously. An astronomical fee that Connor will have to decline to pay. And then Nollier will demand Sarah back and—and he couldn’t have her!

Wilson Nollier smiled, showing his even white teeth. “I’m waiving my fee, Courtney, and that includes all legal costs. My firm can absorb them.”

She was flu
mm
oxed. “But—but why?”

Nollier’s smile widened. “You and Connor are a fine, generous young couple who want to share your life with a child. This little girl needs a home. The woman who gave birth to her is a college student, just twenty-one years old and unmarried. Unfortunately the baby’s father, a professor at the same college, is already married and ended the affair as soon as he learned there was to be a child. The mother is a bright, concerned young woman who wants the best for her baby. I think you and Connor are that, Courtney—the best. It’s my pleasure to bring the three of you together. Money is irrelevant.”

He sounded so sincere. And what he’d said was beautiful. Courtney felt emotional tears fill her eyes. Could she and Connor somehow have been terribly wrong about Wilson Nollier?

I hope we got that heartwarming speech on tape, Connor thought irritably, as a cynical smile curved his Ups. It was obvious that somehow, someway, Wilson NoUier had gotten word of who they were and their plans to set him up. Instead, he had set
them
up, spouting a completely unincriminating—even inspirational!—message for their tape. What a cool, smooth operator the man was! If he didn’t despise him so much, Connor decided that he would have to admire the attorney’s aplomb.

Well, he had nothing to lose, so he may as well go for broke. Perhaps he could anger Nollier into giving something away. “You’re not known for your generosity in this business, Mr. Nollier. Tell me the real reason why you’re suddenly so altruistic?”

Courtney stood up, cradling the baby against her. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said anxiously, wanting to get away from the confrontation she knew was coming. “I’d like to take the baby upstairs.”

She waited expectantly for Nollier to order her to stop, to demand that the baby be kept in his sight. But it was Connor who held out a restraining hand. “Stay here, Courtney,” he commanded.

“Let her go,” Wilson Nollier interjected. “You don’t trust me, do you, Connor? Astute of you. I’d be skeptical in these circumstances myself.”

Connor scowled. “What kind of game are you playing, Nollier?”

“Courtney, my dear, run along. Take the baby up to your room, if you wish,” Nollier said, dismissing her as if she were a child being sent off to play.

Courtney was too grateful to escape with Sarah to object. She hurried from the room, the small pink bundle tucked safely in her arms. She was on the first step when she changed her mind and crept back to stand in the shadows of the hall, directly outside the living room. She owed it to Connor—and to baby Sarah—to stay. Having two witnesses to whatever Nollier was about to say would double their credibility.

Alone in the living room, Connor turned cold green eyes on the attorney. He suspected that Nollier had guessed Courtney was wearing a wire, thus his eagerness to dispatch her out of range. But why had Courtney gone? His Ups tightened. Whose side was she on, anyway?

“Okay, Nollier. Courtney’s not here. Are you going to level with me?” More than likely, the weasel would laugh at him and their overconfident, amateur plan.

But Wilson Nollier wasn’t laughing; his expression was one of approval. “You’re neither stupid nor naive, Connor,” he said, and his tone was approving, too. “But then, I wouldn’t expect a son of Richard Tremaine’s to be. You’re sharp, just like the rest of the Tremaines.”

Seven

Outside in the hall, Courtney stood rigid and stunned.
Richard Tremaine was Connor’s father?
She inched closer to the threshold, wishing she could see Connor’s face. Was it true? Did he know?

“Your real father is Richard Tremaine, Connor,” Wilson Nollier said quietly. “I think you should have been told the truth years ago, but since you weren’t, I feel that I owe it to you to tell you now.”

Courtney remembered the tension that had gripped Connor when he’d pointed out Richard Tremaine to her at the club. Suddenly she was certain that Connor was already aware of his true parentage.

Connor verified it. “I’ve known Richard Tremaine was my father since my thirteenth birthday. My—foster father told me the whole story of my origins.”

“He did?” Nollier frowned. “You mean you’ve known all these years?”

Connor shrugged. “Sure.”

“Exactly what did McKay tell you?” Nollier pressed. “I never did trust that man. Dennis McKay was too ingratiating, too eager to please. My own gut feeling was that McKay harbored a lot of hostility that could end up hurting you and your mother. I tried at the time to tell Richard—”

“Oh, give me a break, Nollier!” Connor actually laughed. The thought of Wilson Nollier earnestly advising Richard Tremaine not to pay the McKays to take his unwanted son struck him as patently absurd. Nollier undoubtedly had handled the deal, with generous compensation for his work. But who would’ve expected the attorney to co
nn
ect his name to that long-ago deal? Connor thought ruefully. After all, thirty-four years had passed, along with countless other cases. Nollier’s memory was superb!

“Connor, you’re the son of one of my oldest friends. I’ve known about your existence since the day you were born— and even before that! I’ll never forget the night Richard came to tell me that your mother was pregnant.” Nollier removed a handkerchief from his suit coat and swiped it over his brow.

“That must’ve been quite a night,” Connor said sarcastically.

“Oh, it was.” Nollier took a deep breath. “But I lost track of you over the years. I wasn’t even aware that you’d married. When my secretary gave me your name to set up an appointment, I recognized it instantly. Why do you think I agreed to see you immediately? And when you walked into my office this afternoon with your wife, I was shaken to the core! You look so much like your father did at your age. And your resemblance to young Tyler, your half-brother, is unmistakable. Different coloring, but the features are the same.”

Courtney angled her position to enable her to look inside the living room. She watched Connor drop onto the overstuffed sofa, his green eyes haunted. The baby made a tiny mewing sound, and she gazed down to see the infant studying her intently, as if trying to divine exactly what was going on.