Excuse Me? Whose Baby?: Excuse Me? Whose Baby? / Follow That Baby!. Jacqueline Diamond

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      She couldn’t imagine herself rolling around in a delirium of sweaty ecstasy with such a man. Or rather, she didn’t want to imagine it, because she had done it and regretted it ever since.

      A tall woman on the far side of the elevator gave Jim a come-hither look and flirtatiously finger combed her hair. Dex was impressed. She couldn’t drag her fingers more than two inches through her tangled mane without the aid of a blowtorch.

      As they stopped at floor after floor, the occupants dispersed. For the last leg, there were only two people in the elevator.

      Dex edged away from Jim, keeping her gaze averted. With luck, he’d go striding off at the seventh floor, never to be seen again.

      “Don’t I know you?” The remark rumbled through her nervous system. She felt his breath whisper across the crown of her head, which was all he could see.

      What the heck? Lifting her chin, she met his eyes squarely. “You might say that.”

      She could see at once that she’d misjudged the distance. She was closer than she’d thought, so close that when the elevator stopped, the tiniest stumble brought her against his arm.

      She drew back in time to glimpse surprise on his face. And recognition. Oh, heavens, not recognition!

      “Didn’t we—?” Jim stopped in mid faux pas.

      “That was my twin sister,” Dex said. “The one who does stupid things at faculty parties.”

      His face registered confusion. Curiosity. Doubt. When the doors opened, Dex hurried to exit, forestalling further conversation.

      The name of the law firm blazed from glass doors dead ahead. Apparently the partnership took up the entire seventh floor.

      “Paying a visit to your lawyer?” Jim asked. He was very close to Dex’s ear, or else his baritone reverberated at a particularly sympathetic frequency.

      “My lawyer?” Good heavens, what kind of budget did the man think she had? “Well, you know how it is. Between the personal trainer, the live-in hair stylist and the full-time guru, I had to let somebody go. So I decided to come fire my lawyer.”

      Her humor fell flat. His silence, possibly offended or merely bored, followed her through the glass doors. She’d made another great impression, Dex thought uneasily.

      The law office, she discovered as she entered, was decorated in such intense black and white that humanity seemed like an intrusion. Then, from a back office, she heard a baby cry. If it went with the decor, it must be a baby penguin.

      On sighting Jim, the receptionist snapped to attention. The only other person present was a young man tending the plants. He stared at Dex’s chest so hard that he accidentally watered the file cabinet.

      “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.”

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