“Mr. Bonderoff!” the receptionist said. “This is an honor. And you must be Miss, uh, Fenton. Mr. Page is waiting for you.”
“For which one of us?” Dex asked.
“Both,” the woman said.
“The two of us?” Jim seemed as taken aback as she was. “There must be some mistake.”
“Why, no,” the woman said. “Please, go right in.”
Dex and Jim exchanged glances. This, she realized instantly, was a mistake. Those dark eyes of his plugged into her as if he were installing his software directly on to her hard drive.
They had only one thing in common, she reminded herself as she dragged her gaze away, one stolen night, slightly tipsy but not full-out drunken. She didn’t want a repeat. She also couldn’t imagine what possible involvement a lawyer might have.
“Does this guy represent you?” she asked.
Jim shook his head. “My company has its own legal department in-house. I’m as mystified as you are.”
Now they had two things in common, Dex mused.
Following the secretary’s directions, they crossed the salt-and-pepper tile and entered an office the size of a roller rink. The black-and-white theme was no more appealing here, Dex found, even when expressed in a diamond-pattern carpet and a gleaming black desk.
A wall of windows overlooked the shake-shingle and red tile roofs of downtown Clair De Lune. One tidy block after another of low buildings spread in all directions, some constructed of Spanish-style white stucco, others of funky wood. Even from this height, she could make out window boxes overflowing with petunias and geraniums.
She wished she were outside, anywhere but here. James Bonderoff’s nearness was proving even more disturbing than his absence had been.
From behind the massive desk emerged a man with stooped shoulders and pale eyes. “Burt Page,” he said. “We’ve met.” He held out his hand to Jim.
“Oh, yes. Chamber of Commerce breakfast last month, right?” Jim returned the handshake.
“What’s this all about?” Dex asked.
“Ah, Miss Fenton. Please have a seat, both of you.”
Jim draped himself over a chair. Dex perched on an identical one and had to prop her gym shoes on a crossbar because her feet didn’t reach the floor.
“Well.” Burt Page folded his hands atop his desk. “This is an odd situation.”
“What is?” Jim asked.
“It’s about Helene Saldivar,” said the attorney. “You do know her?”
“I’ve funded some of her research,” the millionaire said.
“That’s your only connection with her?”
Jim cleared his throat. “She ran some, well, private medical tests for me. As a favor.” Quickly, he added, “She’s a fine person. Nothing wrong, I hope?”
Instead of answering, the lawyer said, “And you, Miss Fenton? You knew her as well, I believe?”
“Sort of.” Dex squirmed. The kind of contact she’d had with Helene Saldivar wasn’t something she cared to discuss in front of James Bonderoff. “I heard she had some kind of problem with an elephant.”
“I’m afraid so.” The lawyer shuffled a sheaf of papers on his desk. “It seems that, while she was in India, she suffered a coronary.”
Jim frowned. “She had a heart attack?”
“It was an unfortunate coincidence,” said the attorney. “Although it’s not uncommon for a motorist to suffer an attack and crash the car, it’s the first time I’ve heard of anyone being stricken and falling off an elephant.”
“Is she going to be all right?” Jim leaned forward, his hands clenched. What kind of tests had she run for him, anyway? Dex wondered.
The lawyer stopped rattling the papers. “I’m afraid the accident was terminal.”
Dust motes swirled against the white wall behind him as silence reigned. After a moment, Dex said, “You mean she’s dead?”
Page nodded. “I have her will here. You’re both named.”
“But why?” She couldn’t imagine that Dr. Saldivar would leave her so much as a test tube. Dex had simply become, at the doctor’s request, an egg donor to help out some of her desperate patients.
Then she remembered with a jolt that, according to LaShawna, Dr. Saldivar didn’t treat patients.
“I don’t understand, either.” Jim’s voice had a hoarse quality. “What’s going on?”
“It has to do with the disposition of Ayoka,” said the lawyer.
“The elephant?” Dex peeled off a loose bit of fingernail polish. The rose-colored flake dropped onto the black-and-white carpet, where it stood out like a neon sign.
“No, no.” Burt Page cleared his throat. He stared at his desktop, then at the ceiling, then out the window. “Ayoka isn’t an elephant. She’s the, er, baby.”
2
NORMALLY, Jim’s brain worked on multiple tracks like the quantum computer—which so far was only theoretical. He could solve so many problems simultaneously that his brain must be operating in various universes. In none of those universes, however, did Burt Page’s comments make any sense.
“What baby?” he asked. “If she went to India to adopt a child, what could that possibly have to do with either of us?”
“Ayoka isn’t adopted.” The lawyer’s Adam’s apple made a noteworthy trip up his throat. “She’s yours. Uh…both of yours.”
Dex’s face went white. She swayed in her chair.
Jim caught her arm to steady her. As he did, a strand of her scouring-pad mane brushed his cheek. It smelled like herbal shampoo, he noted in a daze.
The woman bore only a faint evolutionary resemblance to the type of ladies he usually dated, yet she aroused a powerful male response. Four months ago, she’d sent him spiraling out of control. Jim Bonderoff was a man who never lost control.
He’d luxuriated in her spontaneity and her ample curves. She didn’t fit the image of a wife and mother that he’d formed in his mind, yet he’d begun to think, for the first time in years, that perhaps he should stop trying to control every aspect of his life and simply trust his instincts.
Then she’d announced that she was leaving town and had declined to give any forwarding address. He’d been bitterly disappointed and had contemplated pursuing her to the ends of the earth.
A few days later, his common sense had reasserted itself. She was obviously the wrong woman for him, and both of them knew it. So he’d taken steps to make sure he would never lose control that way again.
Now, however, her warm presence penetrated all the layers of his consciousness. He ached to cup that pointed little chin and to touch her wiry hair, which straggled in all directions as if spread across a pillow. Not to mention what he’d like to do to those rosebud lips.
“Are you all right, Miss Fenton?” Burt leaned across his desk. “Perhaps I should summon a doctor.”
“I’m all right.” Dex wiggled out of Jim’s grasp. “And there’s no need to prop me up, either.”
“You were sagging,” he said.
“Wrong.”
“Swaying, then.”
“Catching my breath,” she snapped.