Chasing the Wind (44 page)

Jude nodded. "We'll work it out, Luke. Get you used to it. Come on." He stood, bent, and gently lifted the child into his arms. "Come with Jude."

Luke hooked one arm around Jude's neck and studied his face from the new angle.

Jude chuckled, then brushed Luke's forehead with a kiss. "I guess you must be hungry. Let's go find some breakfast." He turned toward the door, and as he did he saw the beginning of what he thought might be a smile on the little face.

Bingham Murdoch went into the bedroom and pulled a small, dark-green duffel bag from where he'd stashed it in the closet, behind the shoes and under the hanging clothes. He could get comfortable now. Whistling, he wandered to the window while he untied his tie, scanning the sky in the direction of the lake. City haze muted the blaze of sunshine, softening the vista in a yellow sheen.

Bingham yanked off his tie with glee. He changed into a pair of khaki pants and a light-blue linen shirt that he'd always liked because it let the air in, kept him cool. He sat on the edge of a chair and yanked off his socks, then slipped his bare feet into a pair of well-worn loafers. No more socks either.

When he'd inspected himself in the long mirror and found everything to his satisfaction, Bingham retrieved a package from the chest of drawers, one he'd prepared yesterday. He'd wrapped it himself in slick white paper that he'd bought at Woolworth's. He'd even tied it with a gold ribbon that curled at the ends. For a moment he considered writing a note and then rejected the idea. The gift spoke for itself. He tossed it on the bed.

The telephone rang, and he picked it up.

"Mr. Benjamin Salter of Banc Franck is on the line, Mr. Murdoch."

"Thank you." He waited through a few seconds of hisses and clicks as they were connected. Gazing through the window, he envisioned himself flying through the clouds, unbound.

"Benjamin Salter here."

He snapped to and slid the sheet of paper on the desk closer to him. "Hello, Ben," he said in a cheerful tone. "Bingham Murdoch."

"Yes, Bingham."

"I'm calling to confirm my second set of standing instructions dated November 16, 1977."

"I've got it here."

"Please confirm the funds transfer order from account number 13672 in accordance with those instructions."

"May I have your security code?"

Bingham gave it to him.

Ben Salter then read the instructions back to him, word for word. Bingham looked at his watch. It was now 9:40.

"And the status?"

"One moment." There was a pause. "Right. The two transfers are confirmed, completed in accordance with the instructions."

"Thank you, Ben."

"My pleasure."

Bingham hung up.

From the closet he picked out a leather jacket, one with long sleeves with ribbed stretch cuffs and waistband. He plucked a blue baseball cap from the top shelf of the closet and jammed it into the jacket pocket. Chuckling, he tucked the package with the gold ribbon under his arm and headed for the door.

A general feeling of celebration pervaded the conference room during the lull while waiting for bank money to roll in from the syndicate. Frank Earl had parked himself in a chair near the telephone. The line to the wire room was held open now. After a half hour, he made the first announcement of bank funds received.

Amalise and Rebecca sat side by side at the conference table, lounging and drinking coffee, struggling to stay awake. Neither had slept in more than twenty-four hours. But most of their work was finished now—all they could do was wait. Rebecca said she was looking forward to the celebration at Arnaud's. Tom was driving her there, she said, with a sideways look at Amalise.

But Rebecca's words were lost in Amalise's haze of worry. The end of the day loomed like the Berlin Wall for Amalise, with the confrontation with Robert she knew was coming.

She consoled herself with the thought of seeing Luke tonight at Jude's house. She wanted to hold him for a while, take him home to her own house on Broadway. And she longed to talk with Jude about everything that had happened, to be near him.

Rebecca nudged her. "Go call him. See how the boy's doing."

Amalise hesitated.

"Oh, go on. There's plenty of time." She glanced at Frank Earl sitting by the phone. "We've got at least a couple hours before the last bank money hits."

Amalise nodded and pushed herself up from the chair. Rebecca was right—she should call. She fixed a smile on her face as she walked to the door. Robert would never see her tears. Nor her fear.

When Amalise returned to the conference room, Rebecca flagged her. Working her way through the tired and jubilant crowd, she dropped into the chair beside Rebecca again.

"Did you get in touch with Jude?"

Amalise smiled. "Everything's fine. They're getting along, he says. He's feeding Luke breakfast."

"Just like that man."

Amalise looked about. Tom and Robert were hunched over a calculator at the end of the table, Robert's fingers racing over the keys while Tom murmured. She suppressed a sigh of relief. Right now she wasn't his main diversion.

"How many banks are in?"

"Four. The two on the West Coast are the only ones left. The holiday traffic's slowing down the wires, but we're still on schedule." Rebecca leaned back, spread her arms over the chair, and smiled. "And then the Cayman funds will arrive, and then we'll all go off to Arnaud's."

"Or home to sleep."

Rebecca gave her one of those looks. "Amalise, we've had this talk before. You've got to socialize, get to know people like Robert and Tom and Bingham. You need face time; they're players." She grinned. "We're the Silver Girls, remember?"

Right, but this one has been tarnished.
Aloud she said, "You're right. I know you're right."

If Robert won, Rebecca would find out soon enough anyway.

An hour passed and then Frank Earl announced receipt of the funds from Sacramento. One bank to go. It was getting close to lunchtime. Preston said he'd order sandwiches or something, but Robert objected. It was early yet, he said. The celebration at Arnaud's was to be a late lunch.

At twelve noon Amalise picked up
the phone in her office. Sitting in the conference room all morning across from Robert had set her nerves on end. She'd call Jude one more time, just to make certain Luke was safe.

A thought struck like lightning: This was mother love. In Luke's heart—and somehow her own—he was hers.

Slowly she set down the receiver and swiveled back to her desk, turning over this thought in her mind. She had never let herself think this way before. This child wasn't a toy she could borrow from Caroline to play with and then return when he became inconvenient.

Across the room the transaction books held her gaze. Deals. Excitement. Travel.

And then there was Luke.

She dropped her head into her hands. This wasn't the time to spin that web, the compartmentalizing of one part of her life from the other, as she'd done when she was married to Phillip, struggling to give one hundred percent of herself to her marriage
and
her career. Because even if Robert was successful in having her fired from Mangen & Morris, she would fight to retain her license, to continue practicing law. She would find a way, somehow.

And where would that leave Luke?

Her thoughts cleared. She saw the struggle, a single mother competing against men and women like Rebecca, whose careers were their highest priority. The competition in the legal profession was fierce.

No. Loving Luke was like loving Jude. An impractical, unobtainable, but profound emotion that was better left alone.

That settled, she picked up the phone and called Jude.

"Hello?"

"Hi. How's Luke?"

"As I told you an hour ago, he's just fine." Jude's voice held a smile, and she felt herself relax. "I've been singing to him all morning, but he's asleep right now."

"Singing?"

"Yeah." He laughed. "Well, what can you do? Listen. I just talked to Caroline. Luke's going to stay here a few nights. He's comfortable, and frankly, she sounded relieved. She's worried about those stairs and how he'll get around."

"But—"

"I told her not to worry. We'll get him some crutches tomorrow, those little ones they make for kids. I'll teach him how to use them before he goes back."

Amalise didn't say anything.

"Are you coming here once you're finished there?"

"Of course!"

"Good. Caroline wants you to stop to pick up some of his clothes. She'll have them ready for you. Can you do that?"

"Oh. Ah, sure." Her thoughts spun. Everything had been flipped upside down. She picked up a pencil and drew circles on a notepad, thinking of Robert and what lay ahead here in the office. "It might be a while."

"No problem." Jude's voice was hearty. "He's asleep right now. Like I said, I've been singing. I think going to sleep was his way of shutting me up."

Amalise had to laugh.

"Amalise?"

"Yes?"

"How are things at the office? Did anyone notice your absence last night?"

"No. You and Rebecca took care of everything." Her throat grew tight. She blinked back tears. Self-pity, she knew. Jude loved Rebecca. And Robert was lurking in the conference room, waiting like the Count of Monte Cristo to exact his revenge.

After providing Jude with a few more details of how she'd slipped unnoticed into the conference room the night before, they said their good-byes and she hung up the telephone.

She pulled her purse out of the drawer and applied some lipstick and powder. She brushed her hair, tucking back some stray stands, and stood. She would go back to the conference room and wait along with everyone else on the team, and when the last twenty million arrived from Cayman, she'd find out her fate.

At 12:30 Frank Earl walked into the conference room waving a piece of paper in the air. "The last bank's in. Funds just arrived. I've sent Banc Franck a fax stating that the lending group's funds have all been received."

Tom raised his fist and shook it.

Robert stood and raked his hands through his hair. "Let's get Ben Salter on the phone. Get that twenty million moving."