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She probably saw it as a challenge. He supposed he could relate to that. Challenges were what he responded to himself. The harder something was to obtain, the more he wanted to secure possession.
Somewhere in the back of his mind a question crept forward. How difficult would it be to possess the woman crowding him in the elevator?
The next instant Sin-Jin blanketed the thought, smothering it. She was someone else’s wife or at the very least, someone’s significant other. And unlike his father who reveled in it, he didn’t poach on another man’s land or try to win another man’s woman if she captured his attention.
Satisfied that the verbal duel was over, Sin-Jin pressed the release button on the keypad only to have her reach for it again. The high school physics assurance that for every action there was a reaction teased his brain. Mr. Harris would have been happy that he’d come away with something from his class, he thought.
Rather than allow the annoying woman to bring the elevator to yet another teeth-jarring stop, Sin-Jin caught her by the wrist and held on tightly.
“The game is over.”
Sherry raised her chin. The look in her eyes told him that she wasn’t intimidated. He realized with a jolt that he found it arousing.
Man does not live by bread alone. Or, in his case, by corporate takeovers, he thought. Maybe it was time he got out a little instead of burning the midnight oil.
“What are you hiding, Mr. Adair?” Sherry wanted to know. Anyone so secretive had to have something he didn’t want revealed. She felt her curiosity climbing. “What are you afraid of?”
Sin-Jin realized that he was still holding her wrist. Tentatively he released it, ready to grab it again if she tried to stop the elevator’s descent. “Being on trial for justifiable homicide.”
Humor, she liked that. Even if it was a little dark. Sherry smiled in response, aware that it threw him off. She liked that, too.
“Then I’ll just have to make sure you don’t do away with me, at least not until I get my story.”
He edged closer to the doors, blocking any access she might have to the keypad in case she decided to make a lunge for it. “Tempting as the trade might be, I’m not prepared to give you a story in exchange for your fading out of my life.”
The elevator came to a stop. “When will you be prepared?”
The doors opened. He saw the security guard sitting at the desk in the lobby. If this hounding reporter gave him any more trouble, he could turn her over to the man. “There’s an old song, ‘The Twelfth of Never.’ I suggest you take your cue from the title.”
With that, Sin-Jin got off.
Just as she began to follow Adair, the baby kicked. Hard. It momentarily took her breath away. Long enough for Adair to get far enough ahead of her.
“You can run, Adair, but you can’t hide,” she called after him.
Sin-Jin never broke stride and didn’t bother looking over his shoulder. But his words hung in the air as he made his exit through the revolving doors.
“Watch me.”
The glove had clearly been thrown down. Owen had been right. This was a definite challenge. Exhilaration filled her.
“I intend to do more than that, Adair,” she murmured with a grin.
Two hours later, drained, Sherry flirted with the thought of just going home and crawling into her queen-size bed. By her count, she was down some ten hours of sleep in the past five days because her baby insisted on kickboxing for hours on end.
But tonight was her weekly Lamaze class and she hated to miss that. If nothing else, she could definitely use the camaraderie. Not to mention the fact that Rusty, her former cameraman and present coach, would be there. She could pick his brain about Adair. The man had a way of ferreting things out. If Rusty Thomas didn’t know about something, it didn’t bear knowing.
The practical side of attending her class was that she was a little more than a month away from her due date. A minor sense of panic was beginning to set in at the peripheral level. She needed all the preparation for the big event she could get.
Stopping home for a small dinner and a large pillow, Sherry changed her clothes to something even looser and more comfortable. Fifteen minutes later she was on the road again, driving to Blair Memorial where the classes were being held in one of the hospital’s outlying facilities.
The cheerfully painted room was built to accommodate a hundred. Twenty couples had signed up. They were down to thirteen after the instructor, Lori O’Neill, had shown the birthing movie. Apparently there were miracles that were a little too graphic for some people to bear. Sherry liked the extra space. It made the gathering seem more like a club than a class.
Entering the class, her pillow tucked under her arm, Sherry looked around the area. Almost everyone was here. She nodded at couples she recognized by sight, if not by name. They were a cross section of life, she thought, being brought together by their mutual condition. In the group there was an independent film producer, a lawyer, three teachers, a doctor and an FBI agent, not to mention an assortment of other people.
She looked around for her group, two women she’d gotten close to in the last few weeks. Spotting Chris Jones and Joanna Prescott, Sherry made her way over to them. They had all been introduced to one another by Lori. The incredibly perky instructor had felt that the three women would form a strong bond, given that they were all single moms for one reason or another. Lori referred to them as The Mom Squad. Sherry rather liked that label.
“So, how was your week?” Joanna asked the moment Sherry came within earshot. Of the two of them, it was Joanna who could relate more closely to the woman she recognized as the former anchorwoman of the nightly news. Joanna, a high school English teacher, had lost her job for the same reason that had seen Sherry out the door of her studio. An unmarried pregnant woman was the elephant in the living room as far as the board of education was concerned. Rather than cause problems and be in the middle of an ugly trial that might affect her students, all of whom had rallied around her, Joanna had agreed to leave.
She knew the frustration that Sherry had dealt with.
“Don’t ask.” Sherry sighed the answer as she did her best to sink down gracefully. It wasn’t an easy accomplishment. Of the three, Sherry was the furthest along.
And the largest, she thought ruefully. These days Sherry felt as if she was all stomach and very little else.
“The Mom Squad’s all here, I see.” Walking up to them, Lori placed an affectionate hand on Sherry’s shoulder. She nodded at the two coaches who accompanied the other two women. “Hi, Sherry, where’s your coach?”
Sherry glanced toward the doorway. Two couples came in, but no Rusty.
“He’ll be along,” she assured Lori. “Punctuality was never Rusty’s strong suit.”
“Well then, for your sake, I hope this baby turns out to be late,” Lori teased.
Lori shifted, trying not to look too obvious. Her back was aching. And with good reason. She hadn’t told the others yet but she’d found herself in the same delicate condition that they were in. Five months along, she wasn’t showing too much yet. With any luck, she’d be one of those rare women who could hide inside of moderately loose clothing and never show.
The noise at the door had her turning to look. “Oh, more arrivals.” About to go off and greet the newcomers, she paused for a final word with the trio. “We still on for ice cream after class, ladies?”
Chris and Sherry nodded. “Try and stop me,” Joanna laughed. “I’ve been fantasizing about a mound of mint-chip ice cream all day.”
“See you later,” Lori promised before she hurried away.
Sherry glanced at her watch, wondering what was keeping Rusty. Class was almost starting. Thinking about what she wanted to ask her former cameraman, she leaned over toward Chris. Blond and vibrant, Chris Jones was not the kind of woman who came to mind when someone said FBI agent, but that was exactly what she was, having been part of the Bureau for over six years now.
“Chris, what do you know about St. John Adair?”
“If you’re asking if the man has an FBI dossier, I wouldn’t be able to answer that—” And then Chris smiled. “If he did.”
Sherry made the natural assumption. “Which means he doesn’t.”
“Ruthless takeovers aren’t a crime in themselves, except perhaps to the people who lose their jobs because of them.” Chris cocked her head as if curious. One by one they’d each spilled their stories over various mounds of ice cream at Josie’s Old-Fashioned Ice Cream Parlor. “Why do you want to know?”
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Sherry pressed her hand to the small of her back, wondering if the perpetual ache she felt there was ever going to be a thing of the past. “My editor wants me to do an in-depth piece on him. I actually cornered the man in his elevator today.”
“And?” Joanna pressed.
Sherry frowned. “Mr. Adair wasn’t very cooperative. Didn’t even volunteer his name, rank and serial number. I think if he had his druthers, he would have had me up against and wall and shot.”
Joanna nodded at the information. “I’ve never seen anything written up about him. From what I’ve heard, he’s really closemouthed.” She glanced at Chris for confirmation. “Maybe he’s got some skeletons in his closet.”
Why else would someone be that secretive, Sherry wondered, nodding. She glanced again toward the doorway. No Rusty. “That’s what I’m thinking.”
“Well, if it makes a difference, none of them have gotten there by foul play. At least,” Chris qualified, “not to the Bureau’s knowledge.” She stopped and nodded toward the doorway. “Hey, there’s your coach.”
Without waiting for Sherry to turn around, Chris raised her hand and waved at the short, wiry man until he saw her. Raising a hand in response, he waved back and made his way over to the small, tight group.
Sherry sidled over to make room for him. Jerome Russell Thomas had been the first person to learn about her pregnancy, before her parents, even before Drew. They’d been out on a rare field assignment together, trying to corral a statement from a high-seated judge who had been brought up on bribery charges when she’d had to excuse herself. She’d barely made it to the ladies’ room in time before her lunch, breakfast and whatever might have been left of her dinner the night before came up unceremoniously.
When she’d emerged from the ladies’ room ten minutes later, sweaty and slightly green, Rusty was waiting for her just outside the door. One look at her and he’d asked her how far along she was. Her heated denial was short-lived in the face of his gruff kindness.
“My kid sister was the same shade of green that you are with her first,” he’d told her matter-of-factly. “Couldn’t keep anything down, not even water. Only thing she lived on was mashed potatoes and beef Stroganoff. You might want to try some.”
Rusty had also stood by her when Drew had decided to pull his disappearing act on her and had been there for her when the studio had all but given her the bum’s rush.
Having shown his true colors through the hard times, Rusty had seemed like the logical choice to be her coach. When she’d asked him, Rusty had protested vehemently at first, telling her that she would be far more comfortable if she had a woman as her coach. That he would be far more comfortable if she had a woman as her coach.
But Sherry had remained adamant, insisting she wanted him, and finally, he’d given in and agreed, grumbling all the way. She’d expected nothing less of him.
“Sorry I’m late. Had to fight off a horde of women at my door to get here,” he cracked.
Given the truth of the matter, the only female in his life, other than the ones he worked with, was his dog, Blanca. Sherry didn’t waste any time commenting on his fanciful excuse. Instead, the moment he dropped down beside her, she hit him with her question.
“What do you know about St. John Adair?”
Accustomed to her abrupt, greetingless greetings, Rusty paused to think.
“What everyone else knows. That he’s one of the richest son-of-a-bitches around. I don’t trust a man who looks that comfortable in a suit in ninety degree weather.” Rusty never cracked a smile. “There’s talk he’s the devil. Why?”
She watched Lori work her way to the front of the room. They were getting ready to start. “Owen’s giving me a crack at an investigative story.”
Rusty filled in the blanks. It wasn’t hard. He looked at her stomach, his meaning clear. “Couldn’t he have started you out on something easier? Like finding out where Jimmy Hoffa’s buried?”
Sherry shifted slightly. As if that could hide something. “Easy doesn’t put you on the map.”
He shrugged carelessly. “Neither does coming up to a dead end.”
She didn’t buy that. Although Lori was saying something to the gathering, Sherry lowered her voice, doing her best to appeal to Rusty. “You know everything there is to know about everything, including where all the bodies are buried. Tell me how I can get to him for a few minutes where he can’t get away. Other than an elevator,” she added.
“You always did know how to flatter a guy.” It was a tall order, but not anything he wasn’t up to. There was very little he wouldn’t do for Sherry. In the vernacular of the old-timers who had taught him his trade, he considered Sherry Campbell one hell of a broad. “Okay, I’ll see what I can dig up for you, although it probably won’t be very much.”
Sherry got herself into position, ready to begin. “At this point, I’ll settle for anything. I tried to corner him in the elevator but I couldn’t get anything out of him.”
“Any man who can say no to you just isn’t human.”
Touched, Sherry leaned over and kissed Rusty’s leathery cheek. “Thanks, Rusty. I needed that.”
Rusty tried not to blush. “Shhh.” He pointed to Lori. “Teacher’s talking. You’ll miss something.”
She was still smiling at him. “I’ll always have you to fill me in.”
Rusty’s blush deepened beneath the bronzed, craggy suntan.
Chapter Three
“Ladies, I have a confession to make.”
Lori sank her long-handled spoon into the mound of whip cream atop her fudge-ripple sundae before looking up at the other three women seated with her in the ice-cream parlor booth.
The establishment, decorated to resemble something straight out of the early fifties, provided an informal atmosphere where they could each give voice to the concerns that were troubling them, concerns about the way their lives were about to everlastingly change because of the heart that beat beneath their own. It was something they all looked forward to far more than the classes that were to ready them for the upcoming big event.
“Let me guess,” Chris interjected, deadpan. “You’re not really a Lamaze instructor, you’re actually an international spy.” Not being able to hold it back any longer, Chris grinned as she glanced around at the others. “Sorry, occupational habit. I’ve been bringing my work home with me a lot.”
Joanna nodded knowingly. “Trust no one, right?” A healthy spoonful of cookie-dough ice cream punctuated her declaration.
Chris acknowledged how good it felt to laugh about her work. So much of it revolved around darker elements. “That’s only a rule of thumb when you’re checking out aliens on Sunday nights, Joanna.”
Sherry leaned forward. They were meandering again. That was usually a good thing as far as their conversations went, but Lori looked as if she had to get something off her chest. “What’s your big news, Lori?”
Lori let her spoon all but disappear into the dessert. Sherry noted that, unlike the rest of them, Lori had hardly eaten any of hers. A distant bell went off in her head, but for now she kept her suspicions on ice.
“Well,” Lori blew out a breath, “I don’t know if it’s big—” She hesitated.
Chris was a firm believer in cutting to the chase. Even when she was trying to relax. “Sure it is, otherwise you wouldn’t be hemming and hawing. C’mon, woman, out with it.”
There was no putting this off. Even if Lori wanted to, it would be evident soon enough. And these women had become her friends. Initially, she’d been the one to encourage them to turn to her and one another. Now she needed them. Life certainly had an ironic bent to it.
Her glance swept around the square table. “I think that my ties to this little group are going to get stronger.”
Joanna looked at her, slightly confused before a light slowly began to dawn. The light had already reached Chris, but before she could say anything, Sherry beat her to it. “You’re pregnant.”
Pressing her lips together, Lori nodded.
“And you don’t think you and the dad are going to get together.” It wasn’t hard for Chris to fill in the blanks, given the nature of the expression of Lori’s face.
“Not anymore.” Lori looked down at her dessert. Rivulets of light brown were flowing down along the entire circumference of the tulip-shaped glass bowl, forming a sticky ring around the base. She dabbed at them with her napkin. “My husband is dead.”
Chris looked at her sharply. “Oh, Lori, we’re so sorry.”
“Yes, I know. So am I,” Lori said, her hand inadvertently covering her still-flat stomach, mimicking a motion she’d seen time and again in her classes. She tried to sound positive. “I’ll be all right.”
“Of course it will.” Sherry could see that the woman didn’t really want to talk about it, that what she wanted right at this moment was to have the unconditional support of her friends at a time in her life that could charitably be called trying.
Reaching out, she squeezed Lori’s hand. When Lori looked in her direction, Sherry quipped, “So, how about those Dodgers?”
Laughing, the others took their cue, and the conversation drifted to all things light and airy, temporarily taking their minds away from the more serious areas of their lives.
A great deal of ice cream was consumed within the next hour.
The insidious ringing sound burrowed its way into the tapestry of her dreams, shredding the fabric before Sherry could think to snatch it back and save it for review once she was awake.
