I Know Who Holds Tomorrow (30 page)

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Authors: Francis Ray

BOOK: I Know Who Holds Tomorrow
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“So you say. Forgive me if I'm not particularly fond of how you gather your information.” Rising, Madison picked up Manda, who had awakened and was grinning. “By all means, get the information you need for your report. Manda and I have storytime after lunch—just the two of us. I'm sure you'll understand if I don't ask you to stay.”
 
 
Tossed out again, Camille thought, shoving the strap of her purse over her shoulder. She wasn't going to let it bother her. So what if she'd hoped she and Madison could be friends? She knew better. She was the enemy. Untrusted. Unwanted.
“Camille?”
Camille didn't want to turn around, but she wasn't given a choice when Gordon stepped in front of her. After a week of hot and heavy sex that showed no sign of abating, the sight of him gave her a sharp punch, quickly followed by a strong desire to rip his clothes off. “Hello, Gordon.”
He was surprised by her frigid tone. The last time he'd spoken to her she'd been draped in nothing but moonlight and a thin sheen of perspiration from their lovemaking. “Were you coming to see me?”
“I just left Ms. Reed's office. If you'll excuse me, I have another appointment.”
He took her arm and steered her into an empty conference room. “So what happened between you and Madison?”
“That's confidential.”
He said one very explicit word. He whirled away, then back and kept coming until his body was aligned with hers, her hips pressed against the edge of the oval conference table. “Madison loves Manda. Surely you can see that.”
Her eyes went wide at the implications of his words. He might make love to her, but he didn't trust her or her judgment. “Get away from me.”
The misery in her voice pulled at him. “Camille.” At the moment there was nothing he wanted more than take her in his arms, but he knew from the moisture shining in her eyes he'd have a fight on his hands. “Please talk to me.”
“I'm not defending myself to you or anyone else ever again.” Shoving him aside, she left.
Gordon didn't even hesitate. He headed to Madison's office. If he couldn't get answers from one place, he'd try another. He passed Madison's assistant with a brief nod, then knocked on her door. There was no answer.
He glanced at Traci. “Is she in there?”
“Yes, sir, but she's probably reading Manda a story and she doesn't like to be disturbed,” Traci answered, apprehension in her voice.
Any other time he might adhere to her wishes, but not after seeing the sheen of tears in Camille's eyes. He knocked again. “Madison?”
“Enter at your own risk,” she called out, her voice steely.
“I think I'll take lunch now.” Traci quickly grabbed her purse and left.
Gordon was made of tougher stuff. He opened the door. Madison was in the rocking chair with Manda in her lap, and an oversized picture book in her hands.
“What happened between you and Camille?”
Madison kept rocking. “I don't like your taste in lady friends.”
That much was obvious. “She cares deeply about the children in her caseload.”
“That's your opinion.”
He stared down at Madison, the tight set of her lips, the misery in her eyes. “She left here almost in tears. That doesn't sound like a woman who doesn't care.”
“Tears are the oldest weapon in the book to soften up a man,” Madison said.
Gordon squatted down and placed his hands on the arms of the rocker to stop its motion. “Then what's the reason for yours?”
She shook her head. “I don't want to talk about it and if you push I might say something we both will regret.”
“You want me to call Zachary?”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “Zachary?”
Gordon couldn't tell where her wariness was coming from. “He left his number yesterday when he delivered the rocking chair.”
“You said it was a gift.”
Gordon frowned. “It was a gift. From Zachary.”
She came to her feet, causing him to stand and step back. Going to the double window, she stared out.
“Did something happen between you two?”
“No,” she snapped, then took a deep, calming breath. “I've got the guests for the shows almost lined up. You want to go over it tomorrow?”
“In other words, mind my own business.”
“Please.” Her voice wavered.
Gordon sighed. “I'm calling for your car and sending you home. You're not going to get much more done today.”
“I'll be in tomorrow.”
He started to tell her not to bother, then realized it might be best for her to come back after a good cry. “See you tomorrow, then.” Leaving her office, he stopped at Traci's desk and called the car service. He knew the number by heart. The station used the same service for all their executives and guests. For his next call he waited until he was in his office with the door closed. The phone was answered on the second ring
“Zachary Holman.”
“Zachary, it's Gordon.”
“Are Madison and Manda all right?” he questioned sharply.
“Manda seems fine. I'm not so sure about Madison,” Gordon said, sitting on the edge of the desk.
“Why? What's the matter?” Zachary asked anxiously.
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Gordon said. “She's hasn't been the same since she came back to work from the weekend.”
There was a brief moment of silence before Zachary, his tone guarded, said, “Maybe she's just having trouble just getting back into the routine.”
Gordon tapped his gold pen on his desk. “It's more than that. Camille was here and both of them ended their meeting upset.”
“What happened? Did she upset Madison?” Zachary's voice took on a hard edge.
Gordon had to make himself not take offense. The pen in his hand stilled. “I don't know who did what. Neither is talking.”
His tone strained, Zachary said, “I can't help you.”
“I thought you cared about her.”
“Sometimes that's not enough,” Zachary said quietly.
Gordon thought about Camille. “Don't I know it.”
“Just take care of her.”
“I'll do my best.” Gordon hung up the phone, no closer to learning what was going on now than he had been thirty minutes ago. Once he had been the best investigative reporter in the business. He was definitely losing his touch.
Picking up the phone again, he dialed Camille's cell number, then her work number, and got her answering machine or voice mail each time. She could be busy, but he had a bad feeling that their relationship had
just hit
another bumpy patch.
H
ELEN COULDN'T BELIEVE HER good fortune. She could have jumped with glee when she saw Madison, head down, coming down the hall toward her. She wasn't smiling and playing with the brat as she usually was. If the scuttlebutt around the station was true, Madison wasn't too happy these days … except with the kid. That wouldn't be for long, though. Helen planned to see to that.
For more nights than she'd cared to remember, she and Edward had sat outside Madison's home, and for what? One lousy picture of her hugging the carpenter. They probably were going at it hot and heavy after they went inside. The cowardly Edward hadn't wanted to sneak around to the back to try and get another shot, but Helen wasn't giving up. She'd go back by herself if necessary.
Since she had gone to Madison's house after the funeral, the guards at the gate remembered her and always let her in. No way she wasn't going to see this through. She wanted Madison's job and she was getting it.
“Leaving early, Madison?” Helen asked sweetly.
Madison's head came up and she stared straight into Helen's smirking face. Of all the people she could have run into while she was upset, Madison couldn't think of a worse one. “Yes.”
Madison knew her shaky voice had betrayed her when Helen's smirk grew.
“Getting settled back in all right?”
“Yes. If you'll excuse me, Gordon called the car service and the driver is probably waiting,” Madison said, clutching Manda to her.
The smirk vanished. “I can't even get the station to pay for a lousy refrigerator in my office and you have a driver at your beck and call.”
Madison had no intention of pointing out that it was in her contract or that she hadn't used the service before Manda or that Helen was only two doors down from the lounge. “Excuse me.”
“Cute kid.” Helen reached toward Manda.
Manda burrowed against Madison at the same time Madison stepped back. The hatred that flashed across Helen's face had Madison wanting to step back farther. “She's shy. Good-bye, Helen.” Madison hurried to the front door, her skin prickling with unease.
 
 
After a glance at the readout on her pager, Camille ignored the vibration of her beeper. She had nothing to say to Gordon. And if he thought he was getting her into bed tonight or any other night, he was very much mistaken.
Leaving the courthouse, she slipped into her car just as the meter clicked off. The case she was slated to testify in had been canceled. The defendant's lawyer had said he hadn't had enough time to prepare his client's case. Six months was more than enough, but by getting a contingency, the bruises on his wife's face would be less noticeable. Thank goodness the children were in foster care. The wife, however, kept going back.
Camille's temper kicked up a notch when she thought of the woman's battered face in the emergency room last night, of her sticking to her pitiful story that she had tripped in the dark. An imbecile could tell that was a lie. All the time her husband, who outweighed her by seventy-five pounds, watched her with cold eyes that promised retribution if she didn't lie to keep his sorry butt out of jail.
And people wondered why she didn't give, why she pushed.
Turning up the air-conditioning to full-blast, she drove down the side street then made a U-turn onto Commerce, heading for her office on Central Expressway. She was too keyed-up and too angry to do a home visit. There was always paperwork at her office.
Downtown traffic snarled. Pedestrians jaywalked. City buses pulled in front of cars with only the briefest signal. Everything was normal. Sighing, she glanced over and saw a sign on the specialty-store glass window that caused her to perk up. LAST CALL.
Clicking on her signal, she ignored the blast of the car horn behind her
until she could pull into the far left lane and the store's parking lot. She considered it a stroke of good fortune when the attendant put up a LOT FULL sign behind her car. Finally, something was going right in her day.
 
 
Madison couldn't shut her mind off. The more she tried, the more Zachary's face intruded. In the backseat next to her Manda sat quietly in her car seat with one tiny arm circling the neck of her teddy bear as the limo crept through the heavy downtown traffic toward Central Expressway.
Her silence added to Madison's worries.
Manda was usually a whirlwind of action and loved to try to talk. Today had been different. Intuitively she had picked up on Madison's growing discontent. It made no difference if Madison smiled or not, Manda seemed to know if her heart was in it.
She had to snap out of it. But how? Looking out the window, she saw the LAST CALL sign and considered the possibilities. It had been a long time since she had indulged in a frantic search through racks or on tables for the deal of a lifetime. With her six-figure salary she had the money to buy what she wanted, but her time was at a premium; that was why she had Cindi. But if she went home now, what would she do?
Think of Zachary and mope.
Leaning over, she hit the intercom. “Stanley, pull over.”
 
 
Madison knew exactly where she wanted to shop first. Ladies' Shoes, located on the first floor. Manolo Blahnik wouldn't be on sale, but it wouldn't hurt to look at the latest style of the most coveted shoe of women today.
As expected, the area was a beehive of activity. LAST CALL sales at Neiman Marcus always were. Salespersons rushed to and fro with boxes of shoes, women sat in comfortable leather chairs or waited at the pickup area for shoes already purchased during the presale. Madison hefted Manda in her arms.
She'd left her bag and the carriage in the limo because she'd known how congested the area would be. Her platinum card tucked in the pocket
of her double-breasted navy blazer was all she needed. She kissed Manda on the cheek.
“First lesson in shopping. Shoes can make or break an outfit and, despite what some people say, a black, white, or bone shoe does not go with everything.”
Madison picked up a mauve, hand-crafted leather shoe with narrow stripes of leather over the toe and around the ankle. “Now, this is a shoe.” Sexy. That was the only word for the Manolo Blahnik. Seven hundred ninety-five dollars and worth every penny … if a woman wanted to impress the right man or indulge herself. Since Madison wanted to do neither, she replaced the shoe on the elongated rosewood table and headed for the sales rack. She might have money, but she had enough of her mother in her to keep an eye out for a bargain.
While Madison was looking, Manda promptly pulled a shoe from the upright rack. By the time Madison had that one out of her hand and back on the rack, she had grabbed another. This time Madison stepped out of the aisle of shoes. “Mustn't touch, sweetheart.”
Not wanting to give Manda another chance to get any shoes, but just as reluctant not to place the shoe back where it belonged, Madison tried to figure out what to do.
“I'll put it back for you.”
Madison turned toward the softly spoken voice, words of thanks forming on her tongue until she saw the social worker. She hesitated, then held out the shoe. “Thank you.”
Taking the shoe, Camille replaced it on the rack and walked around to the other side. Madison could go upstairs to the children's department as she'd planned, or she could do something else her mother had taught her. “Ms. Jacobs, can I please speak with you?”
Camille stared at the Ferragamo slingback pump in her hand a moment longer, then put the pewter-colored shoe back. “What about?”
The woman wasn't going to make this easy for Madison and she couldn't blame her. “My behavior in my office earlier. Perhaps we can find a seat by the espresso bar.”
“All right.”
Madison made her way to the cozy area tucked between the escalator and the cases of rich and exclusive chocolates. Sitting on the three-foot-high
stool, she pushed the napkin holder out of Manda's reach. The baby promptly began slapping her hand against the smooth surface of the small round table. “She likes to pretend she's a drummer,” Madison said indulgently.
“Children should be allowed to express themselves.”
Madison almost sighed. The words were stiff and formal. “I overreacted in my office and I apologize. It wasn't your fault, but you took the fall out. I don't want you to write in your report that I'm difficult.”
“Are you apologizing so you'll look better in my report?”
“I'm apologizing because I was wrong,” she told her, her voice barely short of snapping. Her eyes closed. “Sorry.”
“You want to talk about it?” Camille asked softly.
Zachary's name almost tumbled out of her mouth. “No.”
Shrewd eyes measured her. “Would it have anything to do with Mr. Holman?”
Madison straightened with a desperate look on her face. She barely kept from spluttering. “Why do you say that?”
Camille pulled the chain strap of the Prada bag from her shoulder and placed the lavender quilted leather bag on the round table. “Perhaps because when I mentioned his name earlier you got the same shell-shocked look you have in your eyes now.”
“He's just a friend,” Madison said, and felt her face heat. A kiss from a friend did not make your body burn with heat and desire.
Camille folded her hands and placed them beside her bag. “People who were in a happy marriage are far more likely to enter into a relationship quicker after losing a partner than those who were unhappy.”
“I have no intention of entering into a relationship with Zachary or anyone else,” Madison told her, her irritation growing. “Why do you insist on thinking there is something between Zachary and me?”
“Perhaps because I look at you and see me. Perhaps because I know what it is to have mixed feelings about a man and not know what to do about them,” Camille told her.
“Gordon,” Madison guessed.
Camille's sigh was long-suffering. “For the first time in years I've met a man I could really care about, but he could also hurt me.”
Madison shifted Manda on her leg. “Gordon's my friend and boss. Why would you tell me something like that?”
“If I expect you to trust me. I have to be honest with you.” She brushed her hair behind her ear. “Besides, talking helps and I was hoping that we could be friends.”
Madison wanted to talk with someone. But there were secrets she couldn't share with Manda's caseworker. “Is that possible given the circumstances?”
“We could try,” Camille suggested, her willingness obvious by the burgeoning smile on her face.
Madison realized the decision was hers. Wasn't it about time she took the next step in taking control of her life again? And that meant friends. “So, I gather you're upset with Gordon.”
Camille's pleasant expression vanished. “I met him after I left your office, and he immediately assumed the worse of me.”
“I'm sorry. That's my fault,” Madison said, trying to help Gordon out. He obviously cared about Camille. “I treated you badly—”
Camille interrupted with her upraised hand. “No matter what, he should have known I would never treat a client unfairly. I was doing just fine before he pushed his way into my life. Why do men always make life so complicated?”
“Why do we let them?” Madison asked with a twist of her lips.
“Touché.”
“Can I get you ladies anything?” asked the smiling young waiter as he came up to their table.
Camille propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her folded hands. “What do you have that's superhigh in calories, and decadent? Preferably with chocolate and strawberries.”
His smile broadened. “Chocolate supreme. A double chocolate brownie topped with freshly made ice cream, slivers of chocolate, and strawberries.”

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