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He shook his head. “No, Mommy, no.”
“Yes, Jonah, yes.” She grinned. “How about I hold you and read you a story?” This was a tried and proven trick to get him to sleep.
His grin widened and his bouncing increased.
“Whoa, there, tiger. Mommy can’t lift you unless you settle down.”
“I’ll eat my lunch while you’re with him,” Liz said, blowing the child a kiss before closing the door behind her.
Maci lifted Jonah out of his bed, nuzzling him on the neck. He smelled so good, felt so good, she wanted to squeeze him into her. And she did for a second. Then he started squirming.
“Book.”
“That’s right,” she said, sitting in the rocker and grabbing his favorite nursery rhymes. “We’ll read this together, squirt.”
Five minutes later, Jonah was sound asleep, but Maci continued to rock him, loving the feel of him in her arms.
Her gaze rested on his perfect little features and tears misted her eyes. He looked so much like her it was uncanny. Yet he had the Ramsey build. When he grew up—she smiled inwardly at that coined phrase—Jonah would be tall and thin.
In her mind her son would make a statement in this world. She would see to that. He was the love of her life. And the purpose for her life.
She was blessed that Seymour felt the same way. He, too, doted on Jonah. Thinking of her husband removed the smile and tossed her thoughts back into chaos. How could she reach him? Holding her eyes steady on this precious child for whom they were both responsible made her grief and fear more potent.
Seymour had to get help. He had to beat his problem. It was imperative that he set an example for his son who would soon look to him for guidance and trust. A chill darted through Maci and she shivered. As though Jonah sensed her unrest, he jerked.
“Shh,” she said in a soothing tone, pushing a soft strand of wispy hair off his forehead. “It’s okay.”
Once he was sleeping soundly again, Maci wondered how she could have been so stupid or so incredibly naive. Both apparently applied.
Could his downfall partially be her fault? She admitted she hadn’t been Seymour’s mate in the true sense of the word.
She didn’t believe in trust, especially when it came to trusting men. Despite her warm, sunny personality and her love for people, Maci harbored a bitterness for the opposite sex fostered by her father and her ex-fiancé.
When Will Grayson had learned literally hours before their wedding that Maci’s father had lost his millions on bad investments, liquor and women, he walked out on her without a backward glance.
To this day, she saw no reason to forgive the man who had left her at the altar. Her father, however, was a different matter. She had tried to forgive him for his betrayal, especially now that he was dead. But she’d never been able to totally put that pain aside. Some days the hurt was as strong as the day it had happened during the summer of her sophomore year in college.
At the time, however, she had patched her broken heart as best she could and gone on with her life. She’d worked her way through school as an interior designer while taking care of her mother who had been stricken with Alzheimer’s.
During those years of hardship, her social life had been nonexistent. Only once had she agreed to attend a charity ball given by a client. There she had met Dr. Seymour Ramsey, a man twenty years her senior. He had been instantly smitten with her and wouldn’t leave her alone. Finally, he had worn her down after promising to love, honor and cherish her while at the same time resurrecting her previous life of wealth and luxury.
That had been a deal she couldn’t pass up. While she hadn’t loved him with passion, she had loved him.
She’d certainly been bowled over by his attention. Seymour had turned on the same charm that had helped catapult him, a young man from the wrong side of the tracks, to the top of his profession. Maci had sensed he was a decent man who wanted to make a home with her.
Being “in love” was no longer high on Maci’s priority list. Seymour understood, having told her he’d take her any way he could get her.
Two weeks after taking a Jamaican holiday, Maci had married Seymour despite the teasing from her friends that she would be joining the “trophy wife’s club.” Maci had known better. In their own way, she and Seymour had formed a bond based on mutual respect and admiration.
She had signed a contract that entitled her to a certain amount of money for every year she remained married to him. Once that fact hit the gossip mill, her friends had upped the ante on their teasing.
She had taken it all in stride since that contract had been so important to Seymour, which she understood. She’d had no quarrel with him wanting to protect his investment and his pride. What no one knew was that she’d had no intention of touching the money for her own use. Instead, she’d put it in trust to care for her Alzheimer-stricken mother as long as she lived.
The fact that shortly after they had exchanged vows Maci had found out she was pregnant had served to strengthen her and Seymour’s marriage. They had both been delighted. Her life then settled into a normal routine. She had thrived on her role as expectant mother and wife of Doctor Seymour Ramsey, convinced she had everything she’d always wanted.
And while she’d concede their marriage was far from perfect and probably unconventional by most standards, it had worked for them.
Until now. Until his abhorrent habit had come to light.
Maci’s heart faltered as she leaned down and kissed her baby on the forehead, holding him a bit tighter, careful not to disturb his sleep.
The consequences of what Seymour had done could be forever life-changing. They had already been life-altering.
If her husband failed to get control of his problem, then she… Maci refused to think about that. Seymour would mend his broken life and emerge a stronger, healthier individual. She had to hold on to that thought. Anything else was too painful to pursue.
Jonah stirred again prompting her to place him in his crib. That done, Maci glanced at the Waterford clock on the table and realized that Seymour should have already been home. She knew Annie, the housekeeper, had their brunch ready. And so did Seymour. Maci frowned, trying not to panic. Most of the time her mind was her own worst enemy.
Still, she couldn’t settle the disquiet that accompanied her downstairs. After passing Liz who was on her way back to Jonah, Maci made her way into the breakfast room. She was startled to find her husband.
No one would ever guess Seymour’s secret by looking at him.
His charming demeanor and handsome features persuaded many to believe in him.
He was tall and lean with silver hair that showed no signs of thinning. His deep-set green eyes seemed to smile when he did. But his pride and joy was his body. He kept it in tip-top condition by working in their gym at home as well as one at an exclusive country club.
“You’re just in time, my dear.” Seymour smiled and pulled out her chair. “Annie’s just about to serve us.”
“I didn’t know you were home,” Maci said inanely, feeling herself staring at him, looking for signs that he was using again. She couldn’t believe such horrible terminology popped into her mind much less applied to any part of her life. The idea seemed to sully everything around her.
If Seymour noticed her reaction, he didn’t let on. Instead, he smiled and asked, “How’s my son?”
Clearly he wanted to pretend nothing out of the ordinary had happened, even though they had had the sharpest disagreement of their marriage. Momentarily her temper flared, but she held it under wraps. Maybe his way was the best way. Holding a grudge definitely wasn’t the answer.
Maci released a sigh. “He’s great, as always.”
“I started to come up, but Liz told me you were rocking him.” Seymour shrugged. “I figured he’d be asleep.”
Maci sat down and the buxom housekeeper served their food. After taking a sip of almond-flavored tea, she glanced at Seymour. “How was your morning?” she forced herself to ask, still having difficulty pretending everything was normal.
Seymour touched his mouth with the white linen napkin, then smiled. “Fine. Another normal surgery day. One stacked on top of the other. How ’bout you?”
“Same here. I called on a new client who I think will turn into a gold mine. Shortly, I’m headed to Bobbi’s.”
“How’s that project coming?”
Maci played with her chicken salad. “Down to the wire, actually.”
Bobbi Trent was her best friend turned client. As a divorcée, she was trying to adopt a baby. Maci felt driven to get Bobbi’s house refurbished before the agency called her to say that they had located a child for her.
“I just wish you wouldn’t work so hard.”
“I know,” she said softly but with determination. “You also know how important it is for me to keep my independence.” Especially now, in light of the circumstances, she was tempted to add, but didn’t. There was no point in fueling an already simmering fire.
“You’re right, and I’m sorry, my dear. There’s no point in my belaboring the point. Besides, I just want you to be happy.”
“I am, Seymour. Or at least I—”
The chiming of the doorbell aborted her sentence.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Seymour asked.
“No. Are you?”
He shook his head just as Annie appeared in the doorway, a perplexed frown on her face. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” her eyes turned to Seymour, “but there are two gentlemen here who insist on speaking to you.”
Putting down his napkin, Seymour stood. “Tell them I’ll be right there.”
“Don’t bother, Doctor, we decided to come to you.”
The taller of the two men had made that declaration and now strode over to Seymour. He had a stern look on his face.
“And who are you?” Maci demanded, furious with their blatant intrusion and total lack of manners.
“I’m Detective Greg Johnson,” the short, stout one said. “And this is my partner, Detective Oscar Ford.” They both flipped open their badges.
Maci was glad she was seated as every muscle in her body weakened.
Johnson’s gaze whipped to Ramsey. “Doctor, we have a warrant for your arrest. The charge is criminally negligent homicide in the death of your patient, Grant Dodson. Cuff him, Ford.”
Maci gasped in shocked horror at the same time Seymour’s tanned skin turned deathly white.
Three
Keefe Ryan looked like what he was—a socially inept attorney. He was short, bald, wore black-rimmed glasses and there was nothing attractive about him or his personality. Maci had always considered him to be the most boring man she’d ever met.
Yet when he walked into the police station, she had never been so glad to see anyone. She would never think ill of Keefe again.
In the process of being led out of the house by the two officers, Seymour had barked an order for her to call his attorney. She had waited until she was on her way to the station to do so. By then her mind had cleared somewhat, and she could punch in Keefe’s number on her cell phone.
He appeared now as composed as ever, dressed as impeccably as ever, though she knew he wasn’t. Maci had observed a little tick in Keefe’s right cheek when he was under stress and that tick was present as he made his way toward her.
Maci had been told to take a seat in the outer lobby and that the chief would be with her shortly. So far, shortly had not come, giving her plenty of time to observe the police station. This afternoon there was a lot of activity. Phones rang while officers and other personnel scurried about. Although she had received several curious glances, no one had bothered to speak to her or ask if she wanted or needed anything.
She couldn’t believe she was here. The horrendous circumstances made the situation even more demoralizing.
When the press learned of this…
“Maci, what the hell is going on?”
She turned her attention back to Keefe. She had never heard him say anything that resembled a curse word. But then she’d never seen him this flustered. His features were pinched and he was out of breath.
Despite the fact that Seymour could be overbearing at times, he and Keefe seemed to have a genuine friendship. While Keefe handled mostly taxes, he had at one time practiced some family and criminal law. So he wasn’t completely out of the loop when it came to helping Seymour. Maci never doubted Keefe had Seymour’s best interest at heart. If he wasn’t the one for the job, he would find someone who was.
“Seymour’s been arrested,” Maci said, hearing the tremor in her voice. She hadn’t bothered to tell Keefe what was going on beforehand. She had simply told him that Seymour needed him and to meet them at the police station. She’d hung up with Keefe still asking questions.
Keefe’s face now drained of its remaining color. “That’s preposterous.”
“It’s a fact,” she countered flatly.
“Are you all right, my dear?” Keefe cleared his throat, then peered down at her, concern mirrored in his eyes. “Of course, you’re not. Forget I asked that.”
“I’m fine,” she said, which was a lie. She was anything but fine. She was sick all over. She clutched at her stomach.
Homicide?
Her wealthy, charismatic husband accused of such an abominable deed was not possible. Only it was possible, or she wouldn’t be sitting in an obscure corner of this godforsaken place.
“You just stay put while I get this mattered straightened out,” Keefe said without further ado. “Then we’ll all be on our way home.”
“Thanks, Keefe,” Maci said, fighting back tears. How could this be happening to her well-ordered world?
Hopefully Keefe could indeed make this nightmare go away.
Moments later Keefe returned, his face as grim as hers. Her heart faltered. Perhaps gaining her husband’s immediate release wasn’t going to be as easy as Keefe had thought.
“The chief wants to see us both.”
Maci stood on unsteady legs, yet when she walked into the rather austere room, she held her head high and her shoulders back. She intended to conduct herself with dignity, and she expected the same from the tall, thin-faced man who was looking at her through narrowed eyes.
Chief Ted Satterwhite introduced himself, then beckoned for both of them to sit in the leather chairs in front of his desk. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked in a deep, hoarse voice indicative of bad sinus drainage.
Both Maci and Keefe politely declined, then Maci asked, “Where is my husband?”
Satterwhite pulled out a big handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped it across his nose before answering, “Waiting to be questioned by the detectives. He’s been read his rights, and has requested that his lawyer be present.”
“Is that necessary?” Maci asked, thankful he didn’t outright blow his nose. She tried to keep her disgust from showing.
“That’s procedure, ma’am.” He pushed back from his desk and crossed a leg over his knee. “That’s how we do things in this department. By the book.”
“I’d like him to go before the judge this afternoon,” Keefe said in a huffy tone as though he resented being talked down to.
“All in good time, Mr. Ryan.”
“Chief—”
“The judge will hear the doctor’s case in the morning.”
“That’s unacceptable,” Keefe declared with a flare of his hand.
