CHAPTER TWO
He was late. Checking his watch and frowning, Jake drove his pickup into the parking lot of his new office building. Tall maple and fir trees separated the lot from the main road, and the building itself, a pasty-colored stucco cottage with sloped roof, gables, moss-green shutters and several chimney stacks, reminded him of country homes he’d seen in Europe. Without the wooden sign swinging in the front yard, no one would guess this quaint little retreat to be a lawyer’s office.
Perversely the office appealed to him, though he’d bought Diane Welby’s practice on a whim because he was tired of the run-as-fast-as-you-can pace of downtown Portland.
He parked the pickup near the door and climbed out. Rain lashed at his neck and tossed his hair away from his face. Hiking the collar of his denim jacket against the wind, he lowered the tailgate and pulled out the first box of books he could reach.
Despite a plastic tarp, the box was wet. The cardboard sagged as he carried the awkward crate through the lot and down a mossy brick path to the door. Cursing as the box began to split, Jake shouldered his way into the building.
He dropped the box on his desk and rubbed the crick from the small of his back. As he surveyed the spacious room with its mullioned windows, fawn-colored carpet, any use fireplace and plaster walls, he wondered if he’d made a mistake.
But he’d been bored with the rat race of the city and was sick of the high-rises, chrome, glass and crisp white shirts beneath neatly buttoned wool vests. He’d had it. If he never saw an athletic club again, or walked into a boardroom of self-important executives surrounding a hardwood table and puffing on cigars, or spent hours reading through the latest books on tax loopholes, it would be too soon.
“So, here you are, McGowan,” he muttered as he spied a half-full bottle of Scotch shoved into his soggy box. His lips curled into a sardonic smile. Ignoring the fact that it wasn’t quite noon, he dusted off the bottle, twisted off the top and, mentally toasting this new turn of his career, muttered, “Cheers.”
He took a long pull right from the bottle. As the liquor hit the back of his throat and burned a path to his stomach, he grimaced. Without bothering to recap the bottle, he strode outside.
Sooty gray clouds moved restlessly across the sky. The wind whistled through the fir boughs, and rain peppered the ground. Growling to himself, Jake climbed into the rear of the pickup, threw back the tarp and yanked on a heavy crate. He’d overslept, got a late start packing these final boxes and now he couldn’t possibly drive to Mt. Bachelor by nightfall.
Hearing the purr of an engine, he glanced over his shoulder.
A sleek black Mercedes wheeled into the lot. The driver, a woman, yanked on the emergency brake, cut the engine and climbed out. Clasping a billowing black jacket around her, she headed straight for the cottage. She didn’t even glance his way, but sidestepped the puddles and walked crisply along the path. Once inside the open door, she stopped dead in her tracks. “Hello?” she called in a voice so low he could barely hear it. “Sarah? Are you here?”
Jake vaulted from the bed of the pickup. His eyes narrowed on the rich woman and her raven-black coat and matching boots. He hauled the box off the back of the truck and followed her path just as she, perplexed, walked back outside. Statuesque, with high cheekbones, skin flush from the cold and mahogany-colored hair dark with the rain, she stared at him through the most intense blue-green eyes he’d ever seen. “Excuse me, I’m looking for Jake McGowan,” she said, offering a tentative smile.
“I’m McGowan.”
“You?” she repeated as if she didn’t believe him. Her gaze moved from his wind-tossed hair to his scuffed boots. “But I thought—the man I’m looking for is a lawyer. . . .”
“As I said, I’m Jake McGowan,” he repeated flatly.
Kimberly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. This was the hotshot attorney Diane had told her about? This man dressed in worn denim, in desperate need of a shave and smelling slightly of alcohol? “There—there must be some mistake.”
“If you say so.” He shifted a huge box full of books and desk paraphernalia and carried it down a short hallway—to Diane’s office, or what had been Diane’s office.
Wary, half-expecting him to own up to the fact that he was the groundskeeper, Kimberly followed a few steps behind, noting the man’s broad shoulders stretching taut a cotton T shirt, his lean hips, low-slung, extremely faded jeans and well-worn leather boots.
He dropped the crate in the one empty corner of the office, then turned to face her, resting his hips on a large walnut desk and crossing his arms insolently across his chest. “What can I do for you, Ms.—?”
“Bennett. Kimberly Bennett. I have an appointment with Mr. Mc—you—this morning.”
Something flashed in his eyes. “So, you’re Kimberly Bennett,” he drawled as if her name were distasteful. His gaze moved slowly from her head to her feet, then he glanced through the window to the parking lot at her car.
“Diane told you about me?”
“A little. But your appointment is next Monday.”
“This is the second—”
“Sarah told me the ninth.”
“Oh, no.” Kimberly thought ahead to her schedule at the bank. Next week was overbooked with trust clients starting to put together their year-end information. “I don’t know if I can make it then ... look, I’m here now. Can’t you just see if this is going to work?” she asked. “I don’t know if I can get away next week.”
He smiled as if at some private joke.
Kimberly plunged on. “Diane must’ve mentioned how desperate I am,” she said nervously. “I don’t want to lose my daughter.”
“Not even to her father?”
Why did he sound so bitter? “Not to anyone. Lindsay’s only five. The divorce was hard enough on her, and Robert and I agreed that I should have full custody.”
Jake’s brows shot up.
“But he’s changed his mind.”
“Why?” His strong, chiseled features were taut beneath his tanned skin.
Kimberly’s shoulders squared at the antagonism charging the air. He hadn’t said as much, but she felt as if he didn’t trust her, didn’t believe her, though they’d barely met. “He claims it’s because he remarried and his new wife can’t conceive children.” Her lips twisted at the irony of it all. Robert, the man who had once thought she should consider abortion as the solution to her surprise pregnancy, now wanted his daughter all to himself. “Robert claims Stella doesn’t want to adopt.”
“He claims?” Jake repeated. “You don’t believe him?”
“It’s difficult—with Robert.”
“Why?”
Kimberly bristled. Damn, these questions were personal. What did you expect? “He, uh, was less than honest while we were married.”
Jake’s mouth twitched. “And now he wants full custody?”
“That’s what he says.” She felt herself shaking inside, shaking with the rage that gnawed at her often during the nights when she couldn’t sleep. “He told me he’d go to any lengths, even if it meant proving me unfit.”
“Could he?”
“Prove me unfit? No! Of course not.” Her cheeks flushed angrily. “I mean—it’s not true. He has no proof, no evidence—and I don’t even think he’d go through with it, but I don’t know. He’s been obsessive about Lindsay lately.”
“Lindsay’s your daughter?”
“Yes.”
“And Stella’s his wife—have I got it straight?”
“Right.”
His silvery eyes were cold, his gaze intense. “Wasn’t Robert ‘obsessed’ with your daughter while you were married?”
“No—not at all.” She cleared her throat. “At times he acted as if she didn’t exist.”
“And yet, now that he’s changed his mind, he’d go as far as to claim you’re unfit?”
Was this man baiting her? “I believe him.”
“Because of his track record?”
That did it. “Look, I’m just telling you what he told me—okay? That’s what he’s threatened.”
Scowling to himself, Jake plowed one hand through his wet, near-black hair. Then, noticing the condition of the room for the first time, he muttered something under his breath, cleared a dusty stack of files from a nearby chair and waved her onto the cushion.
Kimberly perched on the edge of the chair.
“I wouldn’t worry about the unfit business,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Why not?”
“If there’s no proof, your husband’s attorney won’t go along with it.”
“His attorney would jump off a cliff if Robert told him to.”
Jake actually grinned—a crooked smile twisted by derision.
Kimberly smiled back. “Will you take my case?”
“I don’t usually handle custody or domestic problems—”
“You did once. Diane said you were the best in Portland.”
“She’s stretching the truth.”
Kimberly’s eyebrows raised. “And why would she do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe to satisfy you.”
“I don’t think so, Mr. McGowan. She seemed to think you could help me.”
“Any attorney can help you,” he replied evenly.
“I want the best.”
“Then try Ben Kesler,” he suggested coldly, feeling the irony of the situation. The bastard had been Jake’s wife’s lawyer. “He’s gained quite a reputation for himself as a divorce attorney.”
“Can’t do it,” she said softly as all the color drained from her face and her voice threatened to give out.
“And why not?”
“Kesler’s my husband’s lawyer.”
Jake froze. His shoulders bunched, and pain flickered across his angular features before he looked away quickly, through the window to a flock of geese flying south in an uneven V. “Then we’ve got problems.”
“That much I already know,” she snapped. “Listen, this wasn’t my idea. But Diane seems to think you’re the best attorney around. I don’t know you from Adam, but I trust Diane.” Kimberly rose to her feet and took two steps closer to him. The pointed toes of her boots nearly brushed the worn leather of his. “I’ll do anything I have to do for my child,” she said in a low, determined voice. Her chin angled upward mutinously. “Do you have any children, Mr. McGowan?”
His breath hissed between his teeth. “No,” he replied. He knew his expression was giving too much away, and he pressed his lips together.
“Then you can’t possibly understand what I’m going through. Until you’ve experienced the vulnerability of having a child—”
“I understand,” he said swiftly.
“Do you? Do you know what it’s like to think you’ll never see your child laugh again? Do you know how you’d feel if your daughter were scared at night? Can you imagine how much it hurts to think you’ve inadvertently caused your child some pain—”
“I get the picture,” he cut in.
“What I’m trying to tell you, Mr. McGowan, is that I’m afraid—terrified—that I’ll lose my daughter.”
“To her father,” he whispered.
Kimberly drew herself up to her full five feet six inches, then pinned him with her sea-green eyes. “I have the right to be afraid. Robert doesn’t like to lose.”
“No one does.”
“But it’s deeper than that.”
“Meaning?”
Kimberly hesitated, thought for a moment and then said with forced calm, “Robert accused me of being unfaithful to him. He claimed he knew who my lover was, had a private detective follow us and could name places and times when we’d met.”
“I’m not interested in your love life,” he said flatly.
Kimberly wasn’t about to stop. Not now.
“There’s nothing to be interested in, Mr. McGowan. That’s the point. I never cheated on him. But the fact is he had the gall to accuse me, and could bring it up in court, then pay off someone to lie. To put it frankly, Robert put the fear of God in me.”
“Nice guy, your ex.”
She clamped her lips shut and glared at him. “Obviously this is a waste of my time.”
“I didn’t say that. But you paint him as an ogre.”
Smiling bitterly, she ran shaking fingers through her hair. “I didn’t know him—at least not well enough. And he changed . . .” She stopped, knowing it sounded trite, though it was true enough. During the course of their short marriage, Robert’s business connections had taken a different direction, had turned a corner that frightened her. She swallowed against a suddenly dry throat.
“And now he’s going to create a phony case against you, then perjure himself to get his kid back, is that right?”
“Yes.” It did sound bizarre, even to Kimberly.
“Who is this guy? If he’s lying, it’s easy enough to prove.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her long and hard.
She was ashamed of the weak little wife she’d once been—the girl with her head in the clouds. She’d been blind and foolish. But no more. “My marriage was a mistake, and the only good thing that came from it is Lindsay. And I assure you, Mr. McGowan, I don’t intend to lose her,” she vowed, her fingers curling in conviction. “He can drag me through hell and back, but this time I intend to fight him every step of the way. Now, either you can help me, or I can find someone else.”
Jake stared straight at her, and though subconsciously he knew that he should hear her out, trust her wide-eyed innocence, he didn’t listen. He wasn’t about to be dragged into this mess, whatever it was. Maybe she was a liar, maybe her husband wasn’t such a bad guy—and maybe she was telling the truth. Whatever the case, it didn’t concern him. “I’m sorry, Ms. Bennett,” he said levelly, “but I think you’d be better off with someone else. Tyler Patton—”
“Has worked for my husband.”
Jake’s brows pulled together. Something in the back of his brain clicked together. “What’s your ex-husband’s name? Robert Bennett?”
“Fisher,” she said. “I took back my maiden name when the divorce was final.”
Jake didn’t move, but just stared at her. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he felt every muscle in his body go stiff. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “Just one question.”
“Shoot.”
“Why did you marry him?”
“Because I was young and stupid,” she answered. “He represented everything I didn’t have as a child—money, power, looks, sophistication. What I didn’t realize is that all those things don’t add up to love.” As if she were suddenly embarrassed, she looked away, glanced pointedly at her watch and frowned. “I’ve got to go, Mr. McGowan. . . .” She handed him her card and met his gaze squarely. “Can you help me?”
His expression was intense. “I don’t know.”
She let out an exasperated breath and headed for the door. “I’m sorry I wasted my breath and your time. I guess Diane was wrong about you. Just send me a bill for—” she gestured with one hand “—this.” At that, she swept out of the room.
She shoved open the door, and a blast of damp wind blew into the room, snatching at the hem of her cloak and tangling her hair. Without looking back, she marched determinedly across the puddled parking lot.
Jake caught up with her at the car and grabbed the crook of her arm. “Wait.” He tugged, whirling her around until she was face-to-face with him again, her eyes level with his chin. “Look, I said I didn’t know if I could help you, but I told Diane I’d try and I will. If—if it doesn’t work out, I’ll find you someone else.”
“Don’t bother. I’m tired of being passed around like yesterday’s trash. Diane said you were the best, and that’s why I’m here. If you can’t handle the job, I’m perfectly capable of finding someone who is.”
His throat worked, and the crook of her arm tightened. “Diane didn’t have all the facts.”
“Meaning?”
Scowling, he said, “Meaning that there are other people more qualified.”
“She didn’t seem to think so.”
“As I said, I’ll look over your file, make a few inquiries when I get back into town next week—”
“Don’t bother,” she muttered, jerking her arm free and sliding into the interior of her car. “I’ll find someone myself.” She slammed the car door shut and turned on the ignition.
Surprised, Jake stepped back and watched as she threw the car into gear. She glanced back once. Intense blue-green eyes focused on him without blinking, and Jake, who’d sworn never to trust another beautiful woman again, especially a beautiful rich woman, realized with fatal dismay that he wanted to help her. Kimberly Bennett with her black Mercedes, expensive coat, rain-dampened hair and high cheekbones now flushed from the cold, had gotten to him. Even though she’d fairly oozed money.
Robert Fisher’s money.
Money made from Fisher’s illegitimate business deals. Drugs, smuggling, you name it—Fisher was reported to be into it these days. Somehow, though, he managed to keep his distance from the actual crimes. And no one in his organization would talk. At least no one had. But maybe that could change.
Jake’s gut tightened as he watched the sleek car roll onto the main road and disappear. His fists clenched impotently, and he shoved them into the pockets of his jacket.
Kimberly’s Mercedes and her expensive clothes made sense. Robert Fisher was one of the wealthiest men in Portland. He owned real estate in the West Hills, several restaurants downtown, held the majority interest in three lumber mills outside the city and was allegedly one of the kingpins of organized crime in the Pacific Northwest.
Nothing had ever been proven, of course. Fisher was too slippery, his attorneys too slick. No, Robert Fisher always managed to keep one step ahead of the law—even when the law had been Jake’s half-brother, Daniel Stevens.
Rain drizzled down Jake’s neck and slid beneath his collar. He didn’t notice.
So, Diane’s friend, Fisher’s ex-wife, wanted to battle Robert Fisher. For that, Kimberly Bennett had Jake’s grudging approval. And she was willing to fight not only Fisher, but his attorney, Ben Kesler, a man Jake would personally nominate for bastard-of-the-century.
Well, more power to her. If nothing else, Kimberly Bennett had guts. And if she were going to take on Fisher, she’d need all of them.
Shoving wet hair from his eyes, he walked back to the pickup, unloaded another crate of files and headed inside. Once in his new office, he dropped the crate and pawed through Diane’s files until he found one marked, BENNETT, KIMBERLY L. He noticed the bottle of Scotch and a glass tumbler. Well, why not? he thought with one glance at the rain outside. He poured himself another drink and smiled grimly.
Leaning back in his chair, wet boots propped on the top of his desk, he began to read all about Robert Fisher’s intriguing ex-wife. He probably couldn’t help her, but he’d make a stab at it, for Diane if nothing else. After all, he’d promised.
And the prospect of nailing Robert Fisher’s hide to the wall was appealing—if purely selfish and vengeful.
The only problem was the child. She was an innocent in all this. She shouldn’t have to suffer. He eyed his drink. He had a few days to think about Kimberly Bennett and he could run a check on her. In the meantime he had other plans. As soon as he was unpacked, he was going to take a short skiing vacation to clear his mind. When he came back, he’d have a decision on the Bennett/Fisher custody case.
Taking a long swallow from his glass, he felt the liquor burn the back of his throat. He glanced down at the open file folder and began to read all about Ms. Kimberly Bennett.
* * *
Kimberly wheeled into the parking garage of the bank where she worked and slid the Mercedes into her spot. “Idiot,” she muttered, cutting the engine. She took a minute to compose herself. There were other attorneys, she told herself, hundreds of them in Portland alone. She’d find one who would help her, someone who would care, someone who didn’t seem to be prejudiced against divorced mothers and someone who wouldn’t be cowed by the thought of riding roughshod over Robert Fisher.
She winced a little at that and glanced around the parking lot of the bank where Robert still did business. Hadn’t she gotten her job here because of Robert? Didn’t the bank’s president consider Robert his personal friend? Weren’t Robert’s companies the biggest depositors at First Cascade?
“So get another job,” she told herself for what had to be the thousandth time. She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Worried sea-green eyes stared back at her. “There are other banks ... and other lawyers.”
Frowning at the thought of Jake McGowan again, Kimberly quickly finger-combed her hair, hoping to tame her wayward auburn curls. Then she grabbed her briefcase and made a beeline for the elevator
In the trust department on the third floor, Kimberly weaved her way through a maze of desks. Computers hummed, telephones rang and snatches of conversation floated in the air. The walls were polished cherry wood, the carpet plush forest green, and brass lamps and fixtures added to the image of money the bank tried so hard to preserve.
Kimberly’s secretary, Marcie, was typing frantically at her desk. A black headset creased her perfect, honey-blonde locks.
She glanced up at Kimberly’s approach and ripped off the headpiece. “Thank God you’re back!”
“That sounds ominous,” Kimberly remarked.
“No kidding.”
“What happened?” Kimberly picked up a stack of messages on the corner of Marcie’s desk. “Miss me?” she asked
“Everything!” Marcie stage-whispered, “It’s been a zoo—I mean an honest-to-God zoo around here. Zealander’s on the warpath again, claims you’re stealing his clients.”
Kimberly smothered a smile. Bill Zealander was always worried that Kimberly was climbing the corporate ladder a little more quickly than he. He blamed it on her looks, women’s rights and the fact that their boss, Eric Compton, had asked Kimberly out several times since her divorce. “I can handle Bill,” she said, hoping to calm Marcie down.
But Marcie was in no mood for calming. “And then there’s Mrs. Pendergraft,” she rattled on. “She fell and broke her hip and is in a nursing home. The trust has to pay her expenses . . .” Marcie went on and on, filling Kimberly in on office gossip as well as client problems. When she’d finished, she sighed loudly.
“Why don’t you take a break?” Kimberly suggested, glancing around and spying Bill’s secretary. “Heather and I can hold the fort.”
“If you’re sure . . .” But Marcie was already reaching for her purse.
“Positive. And when you get back, send Mrs. Pendergraft some flowers with a note from the bank, and whatever you do, don’t charge her account for it!”
“Will do,” Marcie promised.
Smiling, Kimberly walked into her office. She hung her coat on the brass hall tree near the window just as Marcie popped in and set a steaming cup of coffee on the desk.
“I thought you might need fortification.”
Kimberly sighed gratefully. “I think I needed this two hours ago, before I went out.”
“So, the meeting with the new lawyer didn’t go well?”
“That might be the understatement of the century,” she said wryly.
“Can I help?”
Kimberly took a sip from the hot coffee and thought aloud. “Can you find out all the attorneys who work directly or indirectly for the bank?” she asked. “Anyone who’s on the board, or done real estate work or that sort of thing?”
“I suppose so. But it’ll take time.”
“That’s okay,” Kimberly said, frowning a little. “I just don’t want anyone even loosely connected with First Cascade.”
“Will do.” Marcie said. “I’ll get on it the minute I get back from break.” With a wave she hurried out of the office, and Kimberly was left holding her steaming cup of coffee between her hands. McGowan hadn’t said he wouldn’t represent her, but Kimberly wasn’t certain she wanted him. She needed someone dedicated, someone who had Lindsay’s best interest in mind, someone committed.
And that left Jake McGowan, with his unconventional good looks and cynical disposition, out of the running.