Baby Vs. The Bar. M.J. Rodgers

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      Marc’s eyes swung to his client. Louie Demerchant was staring hard at Binick. Gone was the cold, bitter despair that had dwelt in the faded gray eyes for the past two years. In its place was something that looked suspiciously like hope.

      Damn. Of course Louie wanted to believe it. What man in his position wouldn’t? Which was why Binick was perpetrating this fraud. And that’s when Marc realized just how cruel a deception this was. He could taste the heat of growing anger on his tongue.

      Finally, the courtroom quieted and the judge motioned for Marc to proceed. He wasted no time.

      “Mr. Binick, let me get this straight. You’re now saying that your misuse of David Demerchant’s sperm has produced a child?”

      “Yes.”

      Marc leaned as close to his witness as he dared and let the sarcastic sneer come through in his voice. “Do you really expect this court to believe that after two years of being certain that David Demerchant’s sperm was destroyed without issue, a week before this trial you just happened to find this seventh woman who just happened to have conceived from David Demerchant’s sperm?”

      Binick rubbed his hands nervously across the chair arms. Fresh sweat popped out on his upper lip. He had a scared-but-resolute look in his eyes.

      “I know it defies the odds, Mr. Truesdale. But, well, it happened, so it just proves that long shots do come in sometimes.”

      “The odds against this long shot coming in must defy all the probabilities of chance,” Marc said in a cold, cutting voice.

      “Your Honor, I object,” Sato said.

      “Sustained,” the judge said.

      “What is the name of this woman?” Marc demanded.

      “Remy Westbrook.”

      “And you claim this Remy Westbrook came to Bio-Sperm for impregnation and was given David Demerchant’s sperm?”

      “I don’t just claim it. I know it to be true.”

      “How do you know it?”

      “By our records, of course.”

      “Would those be the same records that caused you to misdirect David Demerchant’s sperm to the donor banks, and which ultimately led to its destruction?”

      Binick sank again in his chair. “I explained how that mistake happened.”

      “Yes, you put the wrong name on a form. What makes you so sure you haven’t entered another wrong name on Mrs. Westbrook’s form?”

      “I showed you the computer printout. Her record doesn’t have a name, it has David Demerchant’s code. This is not a mistake. She got David Demerchant’s sperm. I swear it.”

      “You swear it. Like you swore to Louie Demerchant that you would preserve his grandson’s sperm? What good is your word, Mr. Binick? You were ready to pass off someone else’s sperm as David’s!”

      The slithering tongue darted out once more. “It was a joke. I told you that! I wouldn’t have really done it! I’m truly devastated about what happened.”

      “You’re truly devastated. How do you think Louie Demerchant feels?”

      “But there is a child now! He has a great-grandchild!”

      “That remains to be proved, Mr. Binick. How well do you know this Remy Westbrook?”

      “I don’t know her. She’s just a computer record to me. But my attorney has arranged for her to be present here today in anticipation that you might wish to talk to her. She’s waiting outside this courtroom right now.”

      Marc swung toward the bench. “Your Honor, I would like to interrupt my examination of this witness to call this Mrs. Westbrook to the stand.”

      “Does the defense have any objection?” the judge asked.

      “No,” Sato replied.

      “Then bring her in, bailiff.”

      Binick slid out of the witness chair and slunk back to the defense table. Like everyone else in the packed courtroom, Marc faced toward the back, eager to see this woman. He didn’t for a moment believe this preposterous story. He’d get to the bottom of it even if it meant tearing her to shreds on the stand.

      She was either dumb and had been duped, or she’d been paid to lie. Either way, he was prepared to deal with her; he knew what to expect.

      Or at least he thought he did...until she stepped into the courtroom.

      Chapter Two

      Remy Westbrook’s brown silk dress rustled its gold-and-persimmon flowers against the long slim legs of her five-foot-eight-inch frame. Her high heels clicked on the tiled courtroom floor, an echoing percussion to the rhythm of her long limbs. She held her head high on well-defined, erect shoulders that swung ever so slightly in sensuous synergy with her hips. Her thick, straight chocolate hair lifted off a lovely, serene face—sailing far down her back as though being blown by a slight breeze.

      Despite the fact that the last time Marc had seen those legs they had been rising out of running shoes, he knew he would have recognized them anywhere. He also knew he had been wrong. If he had waited to see Remy Westbrook’s face, he definitely would not have been wasting his time.

      Marc had always been a sucker for long legs, high heels and a long romantic dress—the combination never failing to set off a violin string or two in his head. But as he watched her enter the courtroom that morning, he suddenly found every red-blooded male corpuscle in his body throbbing to a steamy, sophisticated, sultry jazz beat.

      He stared, openly and admiringly, following every inch of her progress, along with every other male eye in the courtroom. Yet she gave no sign that she was aware of any scrutiny. In complete contrast to the hot pulse of her walk, her pale face and serene cinnamon eyes broadcast an ultracool calm.

      She passed within inches of him on her way to the witness stand, yet she did not as much as glance in his direction. He caught her fragrance—sweet spice kissed with pepper—a scent that enveloped his nose in one instant, only to vanish in the next, tantalizing a lot more than just his curiosity.

      The court clerk swore her in. She claimed the witness chair on a collected downbeat and nonchalantly crossed those long, luscious legs. She leaned back, effortlessly serene and composed.

      He stared at her, this time with a different object in mind. He’d always found quiet staring to be one of his most effective beginning techniques with an unexpected witness; in fact, he was capable of rattling even the calmest of countenances.

      But he soon realized that this witness was unaffected by his stare. She sat smack-dab in the middle of this courtroom—clearly the focus of all attention—and yet she also clearly dwelt inside some quiet, self-contained center, totally separate and apart from these proceedings.

      The way she walked on those luscious legs could melt СКАЧАТЬ