Everything but the Baby

It had been so simple for him. She thought it just barely possible that he’d go back to Sole Grande now to find another lonely, foolish heiress who would drop into his hands like an overripe plum.

Still, when her detective called, it had surprised her, just a little, to be right. Lincoln wasn’t exactly hiding under a rock, was he? He obviously believed Allison would be too proud to come looking for him.

“I didn’t really think my idea would pan out,” she said, as if Mark had posed the question with words instead of with his eyes. “And you may remember, when you asked me if I had any clues, I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to help you find him.”

“I remember. So we seem to be back to the original question. If you don’t want me to find him, why are you here?”

She took a deep breath. “I’m here to ask you to stop looking for him.”

He frowned, as if he hoped he hadn’t heard her correctly. His face hardened. “Then I’m afraid you’ve made the trip for nothing.”

“No, please. Hear me out. I have a plan.”

His dark eyes scanned her quickly, from her head to her toes. Probably doing a wacko inspection. She was glad she’d tamed her hair into a smooth chignon, even though it had taken nearly the whole bottle of mousse. When it was flying around, she always looked slightly mad.

She must have passed, because he set his water down, leaned an elbow on the fireplace mantel and nodded.

“Okay. Tell me about your plan.”

She’d rehearsed this on the plane, and she’d decided then that it was best to start out with the punch line. Mark Travers didn’t seem like a guy who would appreciate a cowardly, meandering preamble.

“I’m going to get Lincoln to marry me again.”

There was a momentary silence. Then Mark’s mouth tilted up at one side. “You’re joking, right?”

“Not at all. It’s the best way to catch him, don’t you see? In fact, it’s the only way. As things stand, he hasn’t done anything illegal. But I’ve looked into it, and bigamy is definitely not just creepy and cruel—it’s against the law.”

“Indeed it is. I looked into it, as well.”

“Good, then you know what I mean. The minute he actually takes the vows and signs the marriage certificate, the police can arrest him. He won’t do a lot of time—two years max, probably less. Not much justice, but a little is better than none, don’t you think?”

“That’s the usual theory,” he agreed, though it was clear he still thought she might be pulling his leg.

He scratched his cheek. “Look, Allison. I don’t mean to be rude, but you couldn’t quite get Lincoln to the altar the first time. What makes you think you’d be more successful the second time?”

She felt herself flushing. “For starters, I know what I did wrong the first time,” she said. “I asked him to sign a prenup. The night before the wedding. That must have spooked him, which makes it pretty obvious he was in love with my money, not me.”

“So?”

“So this time I’ll make it clear there are no strings attached. I’ll promise him anything—unlimited access to my bank accounts, safety-deposit boxes, whatever he wants.”

“And you think that will do it?”

“Yes.” She put on her most confident voice, the one she’d always used when arguing with her father, who hated weakness. “If it doesn’t, what have we lost? A couple of weeks, at most. If I can’t land him, you are free to swoop in and beat him black-and-blue, or whatever it is you are secretly dying to do.”

He really was the most physically controlled person she’d ever met—except, of course, for her father. Though Mark smiled at her comment, he didn’t fidget or twitch. He stood there leaning gracefully against the mantel and didn’t move a muscle. He might have been an oil painting.

The Travers Heir, at Leisure.

She knew the power position at this point was silence, but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted a response.

“Surely you can see that it is our best course?”

“No,” he answered mildly. “I’m not sure that I do. My instincts tell me it’s risky. I think I’d prefer to approach him myself.”

She straightened her back. “You don’t know where he is.”

“True.” Mark’s smile deepened. “But I know where you are.”

She was embarrassingly slow—it took her several seconds to process that, but when she did she saw he was right. He could have her followed and that would lead him to Lincoln. The easy way.

All right. Checkmate. But she’d been prepared for his resistance. She knew that a certain kind of man was accustomed to control and would dislike handing over the reins, even for a couple of weeks. She picked her purse up from the floor and pulled out the photographs her investigator had delivered this morning.

“I’m sure you’d find it personally satisfying to rush in and take Lincoln by the throat,” she said. “But that’s a little shortsighted. And, frankly, a little selfish. Remember how you told me you wanted to keep him out of some other woman’s bank accounts—and her bed?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I’ve just found out that the ‘other woman’ has a face. And a name.” She extended the photo. “Meet Janelle Greenwood. Apparently Lincoln calls her Janie.”

Mark accepted the picture and studied it carefully. Allison knew what he would see there. Janelle Greenwood was young, even younger than Allison—midtwenties at most. She wasn’t plain, but she wasn’t beautiful—Lincoln’s favorite type. She had chin-length brown hair, a wide, honest face with almost no makeup, a snub nose and ears that stuck out just a bit. She was dressed in tennis clothes and sitting next to Lincoln, leaning toward him the way a plant leans toward the sun.

The sparkle in her cute brown eyes said it all. Janelle Greenwood was already hooked.

“Damn it,” Mark said. It was the first real emotion Allison had seen from him since she arrived. He turned the picture over, as if he hoped to find proof that it was a fake. It wasn’t. Looking at Janelle one more time, he ran his hand through his wet hair. “Damn it.”

“Exactly. So here’s how I see it. We can race down there and you can beat him up while I warn her. That would mean we could save this one woman, just this one. But then Lincoln would disappear, maybe change his name or his looks. We might never find him again. We can see Janelle’s face, Mark. But what about the next one, the one we can’t save? How young will she be? How much will he steal from her?”

He drummed his fingers along the mantel, still staring at the picture.

She waited.

Finally he looked up, looking more Batman than ever.

“I’ll give you two weeks. On one condition.”

She frowned. “What condition?”

“I’m coming with you.”

CHAPTER FOUR

MARK HAD NEVER BEEN to Sole Grande before. As a lifelong Californian, he’d wasted many a teenage weekend surfing and snorkeling and checking out the bikinis, but he’d always been satisfied with the Pacific beaches.

He’d done his homework, though, so he knew what to expect from this tiny barrier island in the Atlantic. Sole Grande was a short bridge ride across the intra-coastal from Fort Lauderdale, just far enough away to leave all the bustle behind.

The mansions and hotels on the island were too expensive for the noisy riffraff to infiltrate. Sole Grande didn’t allow putt-putt golf or Dairy Queens, video arcades or tattoo parlors. Nothing that might mar the idyll of sleek sailboats, penthouse restaurants, Given-chy boutiques and day spas.

The island was about twenty miles from tip to tip and shaped like an hourglass. The narrow center formed two bays: East Nook, which looked out onto the ocean and was, therefore, the more exclusive, and West Nook, which faced the intra-coastal and had lowered prices to match the diminished view.