The Next Right Thing (Harlequin Superromance) (15 page)

“Em and Amber are connecting,” Marc said. With all the commotion in the room, they could safely talk without being overheard.

“Amber’s found a kindred spirit.” She paused. “And Emily, too. Maybe Amber is somebody she can genuinely relate to.”

He nodded, appreciating Cammie’s insight into Em.

He’d always known Cammie to be independent and driven, but here at Dignity House he was seeing her sensitive side, too. She was good with these girls. He supposed that could be due to her being a caretaker for her mother, but this felt different. More nurturing, intuitive. Shame that someone who had such natural mothering instincts was adamant that she never wanted to have her own children.

“I overheard them talking earlier about an Eco-Glitter rally,” he mentioned, switching gears. “What’s that?”

“You’re asking me? I still eat meat and sugar, and wonder if vegans are distant cousins of Vulcans.”

“Sounded as though Amber wants Em to go with her.”

“Ain’t gonna happen. Amber is a house resident, meaning she never leaves the facility except for supervised group activities.”

“Sorry to hear about her mother.”

Cammie looked around, then said quietly, “Actually she’s not dead. But Amber tells everyone she is.”

“Did her mother abandon her?”

“Yes. In a Dumpster. Amber was only a month old, so she doesn’t remember the incident, of course, but she knows the truth and it hurts to know she wasn’t wanted.”

He chopped in silence for several moments.

“Unlike us,” Marc said quietly. Both of them had had their parental issues, but at least he and Cammie had both known they were wanted and loved.

“Yes,” Cammie said softly.

Their eyes caught, and in that singular moment, he realized they shared a secret.

They yearned for family.

Maybe because they’d both come from broken homes, they were still searching to fix that as adults. Or maybe they’d been orbiting in their own worlds for so long, they wanted to return to a home base, to make the circle whole. He wondered if her volunteering at Dignity House—even though it was court-ordered—partially fulfilled that need within her. Without a doubt, his proposing to Gwen had been a badly thought-out plan to fulfill his. He’d been looking for someone who needed him, and Gwen did an excellent impression of helplessness.

He observed Cammie’s profile as she focused on her dicing and chopping. No one would ever call her helpless. He noticed the feathery texture of her eyelashes, the strong line of her nose. He lingered on the lips that he’d almost kissed earlier today.

At the time he told himself he’d pulled back because he was out of control, acting juvenile. Now he realized he’d gotten too close to something that felt too real.

Just because he yearned to complete the circle, didn’t mean he was ready for it.

In fact, he was terrified of it.

CHAPTER TEN

W
HEN
C
AMMIE
ROLLED
P
HIL
into Bergstrom’s Bridals’ parking lot at 9:30 the next morning, Delilah’s red Fiat 500 was already there. No Prius. Good. She wanted a few minutes alone with the older woman before Emily and Marc arrived.

The front door was large and white with the words
Bergstrom’s Bridals
scrawled across it in shiny gold letters. Cammie turned the knob. Locked. After punching the bell, she heard distant bells playing “Here Comes the Bride.” Moments later, a middle-aged gentleman wearing a buttoned-up suit with a matching bow tie opened the door.

“You must be Miss Copello,” he said, enunciating each word. “I’m Mr. Bergstrom.”

They shook hands.

“We keep the door locked during appointments so I can give my undivided attention to the bride. Please come in and make yourself comfortable. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Cream? Sugar?”

“Cream.”

With a twitch of his manicured moustache, Mr. Bergstrom exited quickly.

Walking into the bridal salon was like going snow-blind. Except for the polished hardwood floors and a crystal chandelier that looked like an upside-down Vegas showgirl’s headdress, everything was a shade of white. Over the speakers, violins trilled in a classical piece.

A high-back white couch faced a small white stage surrounded by floor-to-ceiling mirrors. On the glass coffee table was an arrangement of off-white roses.

From behind the mirrors, Delilah sashayed out wearing a cream-colored caftan that blended into the decor, giving her the eerie impression of being a floating head and cleavage.

“Darling,” she cooed, carrying two cups of steaming coffee, “Frankie told me you’re feeling a tad uncomfortable trying on these dresses. So I put a little comfort in your coffee.” She set down the cups on the table, then settled on the couch. “Come, sit.” She patted the seat next to her.

“What kind of comfort?” Cammie asked, sitting.

“Frangelico. Just a drop.”

She took a sip and coughed. “More like six or ten.”

“Enough to take the edge off.”

Delilah had a valid point. After taking another sip, she set the cup down. “Delilah, I need to ask a favor. I know you’re thinking of me, but please...no more matchmaking.”

The older woman gave a who-me look.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Cammie continued. “Promise me you won’t say anything this morning that even hints at Marc and me getting together.”

“Getting together,” she repeated slowly, as though she’d never before heard those words in the English language.

“I know you know what I mean,” Cammie said, speaking through her teeth. “The other night you left me in the restaurant, alone with Marc, who would have had to drive me home if—” She didn’t need to go into what happened in his hotel room. How he’d rejected her. How she’d walked out and grabbed a cab.

“I know my uncle has told you I had a crush on Marc for a long time, but not anymore. Well, soon it’ll be not anymore. I’m working on it. For the record, he had a chance to kiss me yesterday and he didn’t want to.” She waved off Delilah’s interruption. “What matters is that he and I are
business
associates. I need to keep that line firmly drawn in the sand—” she drew the line in the air with her index finger “—because he’s the boss, I’m the employee, and that’s that.”

Delilah picked up Cammie’s coffee cup and handed it to her. “Have another sip, dear.”

Cammie did. It seemed the right thing to do.

They shared a companionable silence, occasionally nodding with the music or staring off into space. It was actually quite pleasant. Surprisingly so. Cammie didn’t know if she’d ever been this comfortable around Delilah. Maybe there was something to this Frangelico.

Finally, the older woman stood and adjusted her caftan. “I won’t say anything to him, dear. I promise. Although I’ve already told Emily that I’ll need her help in the dressing room, so please know my whisking her away isn’t part of some wicked matchmaking scheme.”

Cammie nodded. “Thank you. He and I will sit out here going over the case. When you need me to try on something, give a holler.”

“Wonderful.”

Electronic bells played “Here Comes the Bride.”

Mr. Bergstrom appeared from behind the mirrors, walking purposefully toward the front door.

“That’s my bridal assistant and her adorable father,” Delilah said in a singsong voice as the gentleman passed. “Please bring my lovely assistant to the dressing room. The father will stay out here with his business associate.”

And with that, Delilah floated away, merging with the white.

* * *

M
INUTES
LATER
,
Marc and Cammie sat by themselves on the couch. They hadn’t talked one-on-one since preparing the salad last night. During dinner, the girls had bombarded Marc with questions about the law and his legal practice. Some girls had questions about their pending criminal cases. Such as sixteen-year-old Deniqua, who’d been charged with creating a public nuisance, or fourteen-year-old Wanda, who was facing two counts of shoplifting.

“I enjoyed last night,” Marc said, opening a manila folder filled with papers. “Nice how some of the girls walked us out to our car afterward.”

“You and Emily were big hits.”

“Before we drove off, Takira leaned in and bumped fists with Emily.”

“Good sign,” Cammie acknowledged.

“It’s funny—she didn’t talk about missing her friends today. Which is a good thing because it was tough feeling like the bad guy for taking her away from them.” He pulled out a sheet of paper. “Ready to be my investigator again?”

“It’s like coming home.”

He studied her face for a moment before looking at the paper in his hand and passing it to her.

“This report run by a Denver investigator a few months ago shows Gwen had relatives here in Las Vegas.”

Cammie scanned the document. “One’s dead.” She pointed to a symbol next to the name.

“I wondered what that meant.”

“I’ve run reports using this database before,” she explained, reading the report. “Appears the second relative left Las Vegas seven years ago, and there’s no current address for him.”

“I’d noticed that.”

“Awfully convenient.”

“How?”

“Those are the only two relatives listed in this report. With both of them unavailable...well, that’s convenient for Gwen because it makes it difficult to find family members who might know where she is.”

Marc took a sip of his coffee, which he’d requested black. Delilah hadn’t seen the need to add any comfort to his cup.

“Did she ever mention having relatives in Las Vegas?” Cammie asked.

“Never. It was a surprise to me that it came up in a report.”

She tapped her finger on her bottom lip. “You mentioned she had ties to Southern California, but this report doesn’t list any such addresses. In fact, her address history abruptly ended five years ago.”

“I thought she’d lived in Southern California because she’d once told me that she and her girlfriends loved to bodysurf. I asked which beach, but I got interrupted by a business call and the subject never came up again.”

“She could’ve bodysurfed in Florida.”

“You ever been there?”

Cammie shook her head no.

“Waves are puny. Too many sharks. Which is why I thought she meant Southern Cal.” He glanced at the report. “Why do you think her address history ended five years ago?”

“Information on a person can dry up when they stop applying for credit or start dealing in cash only or somebody else starts paying for everything...lots of reasons.” Cammie frowned. “Didn’t you find it odd that she never talked about the town she grew up in, or that you never met her parents?”

He shook his head emphatically. “No, because she said her dad was in the military and they moved around a lot. Seemed a painful topic, so I didn’t probe. Anyway, figured we had lots of time to get to know each other better. As to her parents, Gwen would say they were traveling overseas, or that they were back east visiting an ailing relative. There was always a reason. She showed me photos of them once.”

“Was she in any of them?”

“No.”

Cammie thought back to how quickly Gwen came on board at Hamilton & Hamilton. If only Cammie had conducted a cursory computer check, like this P.I., she would have seen warning signs. But Cammie hadn’t been content with subtle. She’d immediately gone for the jugular with her illegal phone record retrieval.

If Marc had listened to her first suspicions instead of booting her out the door, he could have saved himself a lot of trouble. Coolly, she said, “I’m going to guess you hired her without conducting any sort of background check.”

“Correct.”

“Started dating and within weeks, you offered her a job as your bookkeeper.”

“We got serious, fast.”

“Or you did.” Cammie tried to keep the bite out of her voice, but it wasn’t easy. “I think your fiancée was using either a stolen ID or an ID for someone who is deceased.”

As though on cue, a dramatic organ riff played over the speakers. Marc cracked a droll smile. “Bach’s ‘Toccata and Fugue in D minor.’ I feel as though I’m starring in a bad remake of
Phantom of the Opera.
”

“Where the mysterious Gwen is the phantom.”

“So to speak.”

“For Gwen, the mask would be an improvement.” It was fun to be lighthearted for a moment, but Cammie saw the worry return to Marc’s eyes. “What is it?”

He rubbed his neck. “I’ve heard from a friend that the Attorney Disciplinary Agency is taking steps to suspend my license.”

His apprehension was almost tangible. She could feel it like a force field around him. “Does your dad know?”

“No. I haven’t felt comfortable discussing it over the phone. Supposedly all our calls are protected by attorney-client privilege, but I’ve known the feds and the state to tap in anyway. Plus he’s had health issues.”

“Anything serious?” She remembered how Harlan’s hands shook slightly. Sometimes he’d abruptly stop talking and, with a surprised look on his face, ask to be reminded what he’d been talking about.

“Some kidney troubles. High blood pressure. Although these are not uncommon health problems for the elderly, I’m still concerned because—let’s be honest—prisoners don’t get the best medical care even if they are Harlan Hamilton. He needs to be paroled so he can get proper, ongoing healthcare.”

“And be with his family.”

“Which is me. And Em when she visits.”

She’d thought Marc was sitting alone in that big house with nothing but memories for company. It was more than that. He wanted to bring home his father and take care of him.

“You’re the best lawyer to represent Harlan at his parole hearing. Nobody else has the balls or the intelligence.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “That’s a resounding recommendation.”

“The only way to stop the Disciplinary Agency from taking away your license is to find Gwen, which means we have to act fast. When are you returning to Denver?”

“Thursday, 8:00 p.m.”

She blew out a low whistle. “Gives us three days. Of course, there’s a lot I can do on my own after you leave, but while you’re here I need you to prepare the subpoena
duces tecum,
which includes of course the date and time for her deposition. You’ve already scheduled that, right?”

“Yes.”

“Could you have that paperwork ready this afternoon?”

He nodded.

“Good. I’ll keep the papers with me so the instant I find her, I can serve her.”

He straightened. “Ideally, I’d like to be there, too. It’s my shot to try to reach a settlement, to tell her I won’t sue her civilly if she admits to the theft and returns the money. Or as much as she has left.”

In general, she preferred working alone to having a partner, especially not a partner with intoxicating blue eyes, who had the power to crush her willpower with a single doughnut. Still, she had to admit, this conversation had been thoroughly businesslike. No heartthrobs. No inappropriate thoughts. Maybe he wouldn’t be a huge distraction, after all.

“Not much time. You’re leaving Thursday.”

“As you said, we have to act fast.”

“Darlings?” Delilah called out.

They looked over at the stage, where the older woman posed in a long, satiny dress the color of peaches. Emily hovered behind her, adjusting the short lace train.

“What do you two think?” Delilah asked.

“There’s no cleavage,” Cammie blurted. She barely recognized Delilah with her breasts covered up.

The older woman sighed dramatically. “I know, it’s the first thing I noticed, too. How do you like the dress, Marc?”

“You’re a vision,” he said. “A bride above all brides.”

Mr. Bergstrom strolled onto the stage with a wide-brimmed peach-colored hat. “This is an exact replica of what the Crown Princess Victoria of Sweden wore to the royal wedding. It will look divine with your dress.”

As he and Delilah fussed with the hat, Cammie whispered to Marc, “‘A bride above all brides’?”

“Can’t claim the best track record with marriages,” he said quietly, “but I’m enough of a sensitive male to know a woman deserves the best memories surrounding her wedding day. After all, life is all about memories, isn’t it?”

“Cammie, darling,” Delilah interrupted, “there’s a Princess Fantasy apricot dress just begging for you to try it on. Ready, dear?”

Cammie inhaled a deep breath. “Yes?”

Marc hummed a few bars of the old song “Memories.”

Cammie stood, holding up two fingers in the rock-on gesture. “Your maid of honor is ready to rock that dress!”

* * *

A
FEW
MINUTES
LATER
, Marc was typing into his smartphone when Emily plopped onto the couch next to him.

He looked at her. “That’s some dress.”

Emily ran her fingers over the tulle skirt. “Isn’t this color yummy? Mr. Bergstrom says the dress can be worn to a prom or a wedding. Aunt Dell says the color is champagne. Did you notice the beads on the bodice?”