The Baby Came C.O.D. Part 4

"Good, I won't have that much work to do. I'm really busy with another case, as it is."

So Devin was working. No ego, no attempt at crowing or rubbing the matter in. Maybe he'd been too hard on Devin, after all. Evan thought a minute. "How about the cruise entertainer?"

She was the first one Devin intended to question. "By all means, include her."

It wasn't that easy. "I haven't got an address for her, or a number. Or a name, for that matter," he added, thinking out loud. "She called herself Siren."

"Original," Devin commented dryly. "That's where the detecting part comes in, brother of mine." He tapped a pencil on his desk, thinking. "I'll need the name of the cruise line-and anything else you can think of. Fax everything to me when you're ready."

Evan was ready now. "I don't have to fax it-I can give you everything you asked for right now."

Jotting them down for his own sake as he went, Evan recited the women's names. There was a grand total of three. He added in everything that seemed relevant, includ-ing the fact that as far as he knew, two of them were in relations.h.i.+ps now. They might even be married. He'd lost touch.

"You're right," Devin agreed, looking the names over. "It's a short list. Sure you haven't forgotten anyone?"

Evan knew that Devin hadn't meant it as a criticism, but it still smarted. "You're the one who's always had women pounding at your door, not me."

His brother was referring to their formative years, Devin thought with a smile, when for some d.a.m.n reason, Evan had hung back, refusing to avail himself of the ready com-panions.h.i.+p that was out there. But that was all in the past. These days, Devin had more-serious thoughts on his mind than the easy, pleasurable loving of willing women. More and more, one woman was beginning to take center stage.

"Only because you weren't interested," Devin reminded him. He had the feeling his brother could do with someone in his corner. "Look, like I said, I'm busy with another case right now, but I can take a commuter flight and be up there in forty-five minutes if you need me."

The offer was unexpected and appreciated, even if Evan didn't know exactly how to make that fact known without embarra.s.sing both himself and his brother. Because he didn't know how else to do it, he let it slide without comment.

"Just find whoever's responsible for this charade. Oh, there's a note." He suddenly realized he hadn't mentioned that. "Doesn't say very much, but maybe you can match the handwriting to a signature on the DMV applications."

Devin smiled to himself. Evan was giving him a h.e.l.l of a lot of credit. "You must think I can work magic."

For the first time, Evan allowed himself a hint of a smile. Maybe it was going to be all right, after all. "No, just that you're underhanded."

"You certainly know how to flatter a guy. Fax the note," he told Evan. "I'll do what I can. Call you later," he promised.

"Thanks." Evan couldn't say more than that. It was enough.

Evan broke off the connection and then quickly redialed his brother's number while feeding the wrinkled note into his fax machine.

The note was just slipping out the other end when Alma knocked and opened the door. She appeared surprised to see Evan faxing. She usually took care of that sort of thing for him.

"Yes?" Like a man with something to hide, he quickly slipped the note back into his pocket.

Curious, she managed not to show it. Alma was the soul of business. "Mr. Donovan and the gentlemen from j.a.pan are waiting for you in the conference room." She could see he'd forgotten.

d.a.m.n, and he hadn't reviewed the notes yet. Maybe he should have handled that first, Evan upbraided himself. Now he was going to have to fly by the seat of his pants, and this wasn't the time for maiden runs.

It wasn't a very comforting thought. He wasn't the spontaneous type. But it looked as if he was going to have to learn. Adam Donovan wasn't a man to be kept waiting, especially by a man he had taken under his wing.

"Tell them I'll be right there," Evan promised without looking in her direction. He gathered up the folder with his notes and charts and hoped he hadn't forgotten anything.

This little ordeal with the baby couldn't have happened at a more inopportune time.

But then, Evan thought as he walked out of the office, he doubted that there could have ever been an opportune time for this to occur.

He just hoped Devin could come through with something.

The slow boil that had been going on all evening now reached critical ma.s.s and threatened to scald everything in its path. Claire was angry, really angry. There was absolutely no excuse for this. She had agreed to take care of Evan Quartermain's daughter-or alleged daughter, as he probably thought of her-not because of him, but because she felt sorry for Rachel. It was obvious that the man was more concerned about getting back to his office than he was about the little girl's welfare. Claire was surprised, now that she thought of it, that Evan hadn't just left the baby sitting in her infant seat in front of the television set until he returned.

Which he hadn't done.

But, she continued with her mental tirade, she'd agreed to watch Rachel for a few hours, not a few days.

Claire stared out the window that faced the street, just as she had done on a fairly regular basis since she had put Libby to bed three hours ago. Libby had resisted bedtime with even more vigor than usual. Once in bed, she'd popped up four times like overdone toast, getting up on one pretext or another and returning to the living room where Claire had set up the Portacrib. Libby just couldn't get enough of the baby.

Unlike Evan Quartermain.

Though she could see perfectly well through the opaque white curtains, Claire pushed them back.

No telltale beam of headlights approaching from a distance. No sound of a car.

Nothing.

The residential street where they both lived lay wrapped in soft slumber.

Where the h.e.l.l was he? And just who did he think he was, staying out until all hours while she tended to his baby?

His baby, not hers. His.

And there was no doubt in her mind that it was his. Rachel even smiled like Evan did. She looked as if there was a gas bubble building in the middle of her chest. The same could be said about his smile-it was small and offered under duress.

The tiny wail finally penetrated her consciousness, interrupting her silent railings against the missing Quartermain. She crossed quickly to Rachel before her cries could carry to Libby's room.

That was all she needed, Claire thought, to have Libby out here again, offering to help. Libby was already completely enamored with Rachel, treating her like a cross be-tween a little sister and a new, anatomically correct doll.

"Hush, I'm here, I'm here," she murmured in a voice that sounded far more soothing and subdued than she actually felt.

Claire lifted the small bundle into her arms, automatically feeling Rachel's bottom. Dry, thank goodness. She'd already gone through all the diapers she'd found. By four o'clock, she'd had to make a quick run to the store, both children in tow, to buy disposable ones, as well as more milk. For every ounce she took in, Rachel produced four.

"You're about six months old, I'd guess. Haven't you learned how to sleep through the night yet?" she asked. Rachel's reply was to wail louder. Rocking her, Claire rubbed concentric circles along the baby's back. "I thought Libby was the only one who refused to learn."

At almost five years old, Libby still insisted on waking up three or four times a night and calling for her each time. Claire was unable to turn a deaf ear no matter what her pediatrician advised; there was a rut worn in the rug between her room and her daughter's.

"If it were me, I'd love to have someone fuss over me and then put me to bed. I'd go out just like that." She snapped her fingers, catching Rachel's attention. The sobs softened, then disappeared. "Okay, one more song and then it's over between us, you hear?" she warned Rachel.

Rachel responded by making a noise and then sucking on Claire's shoulder. Claire laughed softly, extracting the material from the baby's mouth.

"You're just trying to soften me up, that's all. Well, don't think I'm a pushover just because I pick you up every time you cry. I'm not. I have no intentions of letting you get to me. I've got a daughter of my own, and that's quite enough, thank you very much. This is just a one-night stand between us. Understood?"

A one-night stand was most likely exactly what had taken place between Rachel's mother and the man who was supposed to have been here hours ago, Claire thought darkly.

He probably thought he could just enjoy himself without any consequences, then balked when consequences insisted on occurring.

The miserable, self-centered...

No, that wasn't fair of her, Claire chided silently. It wasn't fair to condemn Evan Quartermain just because Jack had walked out on her as soon as she had told him she was pregnant. Not everyone was like Jack.

Her mouth quirked into a hollow smile as she paced about the perimeter of the room.

Funny how quickly undying love could die in the face; of a tiny stick turning blue.

Rachel seemed to be burrowing against her shoulder. If she didn't know any better, Claire would have said the little j girl was almost cuddling. Claire fought hard not to give in to the warm feeling threatening to engulf her. She had no intentions of getting attached to this baby. She'd already learned the dangers of forming attachments to things that were only pa.s.sing through her life. Rachel would be in and out in a blink of an eye. Once Evan finally showed up.

Claire forced herself to concentrate on her anger. It wasn't difficult. She'd already called his house several times, in case he'd somehow slipped in without her noticing. But there was only his answering machine to listen to her. Calling his office had yielded the same result, except that there she was talking to his voice mail.

You'd think that with all these messages being left, one of them would get through, she thought angrily.

Rachel began to cry again.

"Tell me about it," Claire muttered. "I know, I know, I promised you a song. Okay, here goes."

Maybe singing would take both their minds off the fact that Evan wasn't here.

When morning came and Evan didn't, it was the last straw.

Trying very hard to bridle her anger, Claire hustled Libby into clothes, took along some of Libby's outgrown things to use as a change of clothing for Rachel and bundled them both into her car.

If Muhammad refused to return to the mountain, the d.a.m.n mountain was going to go to his office looking for him, she thought hotly.

Claire took a deep breath before she turned the key in the ignition. She couldn't afford to drive feeling as angry as she did. Unless, of course, Evan Quartermain were standing in front of the car.

Sitting in the back seat beside the baby's car seat, Libby was the soul of excitement and hope.

"Does this mean we're going to keep Rachel?" Only the seat belt kept her from jumping up and down in her glee. "He didn't come back for her," she explained needlessly.

Claire schooled herself not to say anything in front of Libby that she'd regret, or worse, that Libby would instantly absorb as her phrase of the week.

"Yes, I know that and no, we are not keeping Rachel. Right now, we're doing fine, just the two of us, understand?" Libby nodded, but Claire knew that she wasn't happy about it.

"Then why are we going out again?" Libby wanted to know. "Are we out of diapers again?"

"No, we're not, but that's not because Rachel hasn't been trying." Claire was grateful that the brunt of morning traffic had pa.s.sed. She wasn't in the mood to be stuck on the road behind some truck with two live wires in the car. "We're going to Mr. Quartermain's office to remind him that he forgot something at our house last night."

He hadn't come over and, as far as she knew, he hadn't even come home. She'd remained awake until midnight, and then Rachel had woken her up at two and then again at six. There'd been no signs of anyone being at home next door any of those times.

This morning, sick of his answering machine, Claire had gone over and banged on his door, to no avail. That was when she'd decided that he probably hadn't returned home at all. His newspaper was still lying out front in his driveway.

By now, he'd been demoted to a life-form that was barely just ahead of the c.o.c.kroach. And she was beginning to think that she was insulting the roaches.

Libby wasn't about to give up easily. There was too much of Claire in her. "But if he doesn't want her, we can keep her, then, right, Mama?"

"Wrong, Libby. She's a baby, she's not a wallet we found in the street. We can't take her to lost and found and hope n.o.body claims her."

Libby wasn't quite sure she understood all that, but she nodded anyway. "I know that."

Claire spared her a smile. It wasn't Libby's fault she had a big heart. She came by it honestly. "Then you should know that we can't keep people."

Her eyes were still hopeful. "But we can adopt them, right?"

Adopt. The word stung. Claire sighed, annoyed with herself. Was she ever going to hear that word without a pang?

Claire banked down her feelings. She had more-important things to think about now.

"Wrong, sweetie. And where did you hear about that, anyway?" They hadn't talked about adoption. There was no reason to. It wasn't as if Libby was adopted, the way Claire had been. A little fact her father had failed to tell her until he was on his deathbed. The revelation had completely shaken her up, but she'd learned to deal with it and go on.

"On TV," Libby informed her brightly.

She might have known. Libby retained absolutely everything she came in contact with-like flypaper. Maybe she should start monitoring those children's programs, Claire thought.

She pulled up against the building in a s.p.a.ce marked Guest Parking. She didn't feel like a guest. She felt like a very angry woman whose good nature had been taken ad-vantage of.

"Okay, we're here," she announced to her crew.

With Rachel nestled against her shoulder and one hand restraining Libby-who looked poised to run off in several directions at once-Claire rode up the seven flights to Evan's office. She was eternally grateful she'd had the presence of mind to ask him for his business card before he'd left her house yesterday.

Her hand in Libby's, she marched down the hall like an avenging fury. She would have marched straight into his office if not for the woman whose desk was in the outer office.

Gaping at the two children, Alma was on her feet instantly, blocking Evan's door. "You can't go in there."

Claire wasn't about to be put off by any of Evan Quartermain's minions. Her eyes narrowed as she fixed Alma with a look guaranteed to burn holes in wood.

"I wouldn't try to stop me if I were you. I'm here to see Evan Quartermain and I'm here to see him now." She indicated the baby in her arms. "This is his problem, not mine."

Alma was barely one step ahead of the woman as she flung her small body into Evan's office. "Mr. Quartermain, they're multiplying like rabbits."

Evan looked up. His head hurt. He felt as if there was more information in it now than in the data base of his computer. Yesterday's meeting had broken for dinner, then gone on into the small hours of the morning. They were attempting to forestall a hostile takeover they had gotten wind of, and there had been no time for him to go home. Evan had spent the night on the sofa and showered in the penthouse washroom. He still felt as if he had been summarily chewed up and spit out, and he was in no mood for riddles.

"What are you talking about?"

"Babies," she declared in a voice that might have been used by one of the ancient Egyptians when they had spoken of descending locusts.

"Babies?"

And then it burst on his brain. Oh, G.o.d, with all this talk of a takeover, he'd completely forgotten. Evan groaned.

He groaned even louder when he saw her. Claire was standing in the doorway, her eyes narrow, the look on her face far from tolerant. She was holding Rachel.

"Did you forget something?"