Baby's First Christmas. Marie Ferrarella
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mister, if I had a cake, you’d be wearing it right now. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Aren’t you Mr. Spencer?”
Sullivan suddenly had an inkling that a horrible mistake had been made, and that he had been the one to make it. Some of his anger abated. He stared at her like someone who had opened the wrong door and found the tiger, not the lady, waiting for him.
“No, I’m not. Who’s Mr. Spencer?”
“John Spencer. He’s a private investigator—” Marlene stopped abruptly. “Why am I explaining this to you?” She certainly didn’t owe him an explanation. She didn’t even know who he was. All she did know was that he had to be deranged. Taking a step back, she raised her voice. “Sally—”
The woman had never gone more than a few steps into the next room. “I’m already calling 911,” Sally assured her as she hurried to the phone.
“No, wait,” Sullivan called out. It was an order, not a protest.
Like a feisty bantam rooster, Sally bobbed into the doorway. “Why should I?” she demanded. “The way I see it, you could be dangerous.”
Men had called him that, but the description had been issued across a bargaining table. It had never been applied to him in the sense that this small troll of a woman meant it.
He leveled a look at Sally that was meant to freeze her in her tracks. “Hardly.”
“I don’t know about that.” Marlene folded her arms before her as she regarded him coldly. “Most deranged people are dangerous to some degree.”
“I am not deranged.” Although after years of having to deal with Derek’s indiscretions, he probably had a right to be. Sullivan looked at Sally expectantly, waiting for the woman to go. “Ms. Bailey and I have some business to discuss, so if you don’t mind leaving…”
“Stay where you are, Sally,” Marlene ordered. Her eyes flashed as she looked at Sullivan. “We have nothing at all to discuss. How could I have any business with you? I don’t even know who you are.”
His eyes swept over her form. “In a manner of speaking, you do.”
If she hadn’t been waiting for Spencer, if overwhelming curiosity hadn’t kept her up at night and wiggled its way into the structure of her workday like a tenacious gopher burrowing its way through the ground, the thought wouldn’t have occurred to her. But it did, coming to her riding a lightning bolt.
Marlene’s mouth dropped open. Her hand splayed across her abdomen as if that could somehow protect the baby from this. In the last month she’d imagined the baby’s father over and over again. At times he was tall, dark and handsome, just like the man standing in her living room. But never once had she envisioned a ranting madman.
“You don’t mean that you’re…?” Her voice trailed away. She was unable, unwilling, to complete the thought and give it credence.
The last bit of doubt that she had in any way known the name of the donor disappeared. “No, my brother is.”
She didn’t understand how he could have known that, or what he was doing here. The Institute prided itself on secrecy and discretion. That was why she had chosen it in the first place, and why, eight months later, she’d been forced to hire a private investigator to uncover the information she now wanted. They had refused, politely but firmly, to give a name to her.
Marlene struggled to pull together the scattered pieces of information into the semblance of a whole. “Do you want to start this at the beginning?”
Sally drew closer until she was at Marlene’s elbow, an old, protective pit bull whose teeth were still sharp enough to be reckoned with. “Why don’t I just make myself comfortable here?” she suggested to Marlene.
Instinctively Marlene knew she had nothing to fear from the stranger, at least not physically. Emotionally might be a completely different story, but she needed to get to the bottom of this. “It’s all right, Sally.”
But Sally stubbornly remained where she was, unconvinced. “He looks shifty to me.”
Despite the situation, Sullivan couldn’t help laughing. Now that was a new adjective for him. He was hard and tough when he had to be, but no one had ever accused him of being shifty.
“I assure you that you have nothing to worry about from me.”
Marlene wasn’t altogether sure about that. Fear worked on many levels, and there was something in the man’s eyes that made her feel uneasy, although she couldn’t quite say why. Still, she knew that she wasn’t going to find out anything more as long as Sally remained in the room like a hovering harpy. His bearing made that clear.
“I can take care of this, Sally.”
Reluctantly, Sally withdrew for the second time. “All right, but I’ll be within earshot if you decide that you need me.”
Marlene’s eyes remained fixed on the stranger’s. Never let your opponent know that he had intimidated you. That had been one of her father’s prime rules of thumb. And whatever else this man was, he was her opponent. It was written all over him.
“Fine,” she told Sally.
“With the dogs,” Sally added as a postscript. Her small eyes narrowed to slits as she looked at the man standing in the living room. “Hungry dogs.” With that, she shuffled out of sight.
Marlene saw what appeared to be amusement flicker across the stranger’s face. “We don’t have any dogs,” she said. But she had a feeling he already knew that.
A hint of a smile curved his mouth. The old woman was as protective of her as Osborne was of his father. It was nice to know that there were still people like that out there, even if it was getting in his way now. “I didn’t think so.”
Marlene silently indicated the sofa again. He sat down, waiting for her to do the same. Rather than join him, she took a seat in the wing chair opposite him. He noticed that she was gripping the arms.
First things first. She couldn’t keep thinking of him as “the stranger.” “You seem to know my name, but I still don’t have a clue as to who you are, or why you’re here in my house, ranting at me.”
“I am not ranting.” Sullivan caught himself before his voice had an opportunity to rise again. Taking a breath, he started over. “My name is Sullivan Travis.” He paused, waiting. There was no recognition in her eyes.
He obviously thought that piece of information was supposed to create an impression on her. “Should that mean something to me?”
“It should if you’re involved in land development or know anything about it.”
The company’s acquisitions and developments periodically made the newspaper columns. Among other accomplishments, they had all but single-handedly developed an entire city in Orange County.
Marlene looked at him in surprise. He couldn’t be that Travis. “I’m involved in advertising,” she informed him. She glanced down at her stomach before continuing. Oh baby, if this is true, what roots I’ve inadvertently given you. “Are you by any chance related to Oliver Travis?”
He tried to read her expression and couldn’t. He nodded. “About as closely as possible. Oliver Travis is my father.”
Though his tone was formal, there was warmth in the words. Marlene couldn’t help wondering what that had to feel like, to feel warmth when you spoke of your father instead of just experiencing an incredible void.
Though she’d never stopped trying until the end, Marlene had long ago come to terms with the fact that she would never really get through to her father.
She was under no illusion that James Bailey had ever felt anything for her or her sister. The only thing that had ever mattered to him was his company, his work. After Robby had died, the advertising company her father had built up had become his