Книга - Prescription for Romance / Love and the Single Dad: Prescription for Romance / Love and the Single Dad

Prescription for Romance / Love and the Single Dad: Prescription for Romance / Love and the Single Dad
Marie Ferrarella

Susan Crosby


Prescription for Romance Undercover reporter Ramona was on a mission. But Paul Armstrong, the gorgeous and stubborn head doctor of the Armstrong Fertility Institute, was a serious obstacle to unearthing the famous facility’s secrets. And now Ramona was falling for him!Love and the Single Dad Photojournalist Donovan owes his son a stable life, so he’s abandoned life on the road for his home town. Former love Laura has given up hope of ever having a family. Yet now Donovan’s back, Laura wonders if happily-ever-after could still be on the cards…
















PRESCRIPTION FOR ROMANCE

MARIE FERRARELLA



LOVE AND THE SINGLE DAD

SUSAN CROSBY












www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)








PRESCRIPTION FOR ROMANCE

MARIE FERRARELLA






About the Author


USA TODAY bestselling and RITA


Award-winning author MARIE FERRARELLA has written almost two hundred novels, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website at www.marieferrarella.com.


Dear Reader,

I love babies. I always have, always will. Unlike a lot of my friends, I had absolutely no trouble getting pregnant. I also know, much to the embarrassment of my children, exactly when each of them was conceived.

Since holding my newborns in my arms and being a mom is something I cannot imagine not being part of my life, I can completely understand how the Armstrong Fertility Institute could be perceived as a beacon of hope to childless couples. This is the first book in a six-book series about the Institute and the people who are a part of helping to make the miracle of birth happen for couples desperate to have a baby. But, along with the miracles come secrets and intrigue … I hope that this book and the books that follow will entertain you.

Thank you for reading, and, as ever, I wish you someone to love who loves you back.

Wishing you all the best,

Marie Ferrarella


To

Jessica and Nicholas

with all my love forever,

Mom




Chapter One


Dr. Paul Armstrong was deeply concerned.

His sister Olivia Armstrong Mallory could have never, by any stretch of the imagination, been described as robust or even glowingly healthy, but she sat in his office today, turning to him not just as her older brother, but as the chief of staff of the Armstrong Fertility Institute. He knew talking about this wasn’t easy for his sister. She’d addressed half her story to the crumpled tissue she held in a death grip between her fingers in her lap.

How many times since he’d begun to work here had he heard this same story before? Too many times, and yet, not enough to become insensitive to it.

Olivia wanted to become pregnant and all her attempts, she had confided quietly, had thus far failed.

Even as he listened to her haltingly pour out her heart, Paul began to suspect that there was more to all this than she was telling him. Something beyond the hunger to have a child.

“Olivia,” he pointed out gently, “you’re being too hard on yourself. You’re just twenty-nine—”

Eyes full of misery and unshed tears looked up at him. “And I’ve been trying to get pregnant for five years, Paul. Five very long, disappointing years.”

This, too, he’d seen over and over again. The anguished faces of frustrated women, pleading for help, asking him to make the most natural of dreams come true for them. He’d never imagined he’d see this look on the face of one of his sisters.

“Olivia, there are other avenues. You could adopt a child,” he tactfully suggested.

But he could see, even as he said it, that for Olivia, this wasn’t the solution. She pressed a small, fisted hand beneath her breast, pushing against her incredibly flat belly. “I want to feel life growing inside me, Paul.”

Though his heart went out to her, Paul felt bound to tell her what he told every woman or couple who came in to see him with this same dilemma. “It isn’t all roses, Livy. There’s a very real downside to being pregnant.” Assuming, he added silently, that he could even get her there.

Olivia shook her head, her sleek black hair shadowing the adamant movement. “Don’t you understand I don’t care?” Reaching across the desk that separated them, his sister took his hands in hers in supplication. “I really want to be pregnant. Help me, Paul. Whatever it takes, help me.”

The force of her words had him wondering again. He had to ask. “Olivia, is everything all right?”

Releasing his hands, his sister drew herself up in her chair as she squared her shoulders. “Everything’s fine, Paul.”

Her words only reinforced his concern. “You said that much too fast.”

Olivia inclined her head. “All right, I’ll say it slower. Every-thing’s-fine.” She deliberately drew out the sentence, saying it in slow motion and awarding it a host of syllables.

He would have laughed if he wasn’t so concerned. “Livy, I’m your brother. You can talk to me.”

“I am talking to you,” she insisted. “I’m telling you that I want to have a baby. As the chief of staff you should be able to understand that.” Blowing out a breath and clearly struggling not to cry, Olivia asked, “Now, can you help me?”

Though he had a tendency to be oblivious to the obvious at times, the irony of the situation did not escape Paul. The daughter of the famous fertility expert Dr. Gerald Armstrong was infertile. Somewhere, the gods were chuckling.

If he ever helped anyone at all, Paul thought, he should be able to help his sister.

“Yes,” he answered gently, “I think there’s a good chance that I can.” Of late, there had been a number of allegations of wrongdoing, rumored to be made by a former disgruntled employee, of eggs and sperm being switched, research that was held suspect and too many multiple births, all of which had caused a cloud of suspicion to be cast over the institute and the work they’d done over the years. Paul had been going out of his way to try to right all of this. He began by luring the world-famous Bonner-Demetrios research team away from a prominent San Francisco teaching hospital and getting them to head up the institute’s research operations here.

Just in time, he thought, looking at his sister.

“We’ve just scored a coup and managed to get two top-flight physicians to join our staff here. Both of them have been on the cutting edge of fertility research for some time now. I’m going to refer you to one of them.”

Olivia nodded, desperately trying to draw hope from her brother’s words. “What’s his name?”

“Dr. Chance Demetrios. If there’s any way possible for you to wind up getting morning sickness, he’ll find it,” Paul promised with a quick smile. Paul wrote a few words on a pad, then tore the page off and held it out to her. “I know he doesn’t have patients today until later. Are you willing to go now?”

Olivia looked down at the slip of paper her brother had given her, unable to read a single word. She sincerely hoped that another doctor would have no trouble deciphering the hieroglyphics. “Are you sure he can see me?”

Paul smiled the shy, boyish smile she remembered so well from their childhood, the smile she recalled gracing the lips of her protector. Derek, their other brother, was always the one in the foreground, gregarious, loud and charming. But it was Paul she always felt she could count on. Paul was the dependable one who spoke little, but meant every word he said.

“Yes,” he assured her. “I’m his boss. Chance’ll see you.” Rising, he came around the desk and squeezed his sister’s hand. “Sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me?”

Olivia stood up and did her best to smile. “I’m sure.”

That wasn’t good enough for him. Paul tried again. “Maybe there’s something you don’t want to tell me, but should?”

“Only that I love you.” Olivia rose on her toes and brushed a quick kiss to his cheek. Backing away, she held up the note he’d just given her. “Thank you.”

Paul sincerely hoped that Chance was the magician the man claimed to be. “Anytime,” he replied.

His sister left his office, closing the door behind her. Paul went back around to his chair.

He’d just managed to sit down when the door flew open again, this time without a perfunctory knock or even the pretense of formality. His other sister, Lisa—the head administrator at the institute—burst in with just a tiny bit less noise than a detonating cherry bomb. Ordinarily, she vacillated between looking harried and looking pleased because another happy couple had left the institute, pregnant and satisfied. Now she looked as if she was about to bite someone’s head off.

“Do you know what he did?” she demanded angrily, slamming the door closed with a bang.

Paul had always found it was best to remain calm in the face of anyone’s tirade. If he remained calm, he could assess the problem more accurately. “Who?” he asked mildly.

Lisa looked at him as if he’d suddenly turned simple on her. “Derek, of course.”

“Of course,” Paul echoed. Taking a breath, he patiently pointed something out—and not for the first time. “Lisa, contrary to legend and a handful of fair-to-bad movies, just because Derek and I are twins does not mean that I automatically know what he’s thinking, so, no, I don’t know what he did.” And then he smiled indulgently at her. “But I’m sure you’re going to enlighten me.”

Lisa let out a loud huff and Paul would have been hard-pressed to say who she was angrier at right now, Derek or him. “He’s gone off on his own, that’s what he’s done.”

He was going to need more of a hint than that. “As in … he left?” He sincerely doubted that Derek would just run off at such a difficult time and leave his siblings to deal with the entire mess. But he had to admit that he and Derek often marched to completely different drummers and there were times when his brother’s actions and motivation completely mystified him. Not only that, but of late, he seemed to be preoccupied.

“No, as in going off and hiring someone to—Now wait a sec—” Lisa held her hand up in case Paul was going to interrupt her”—I want to get this straight. ‘Someone to help us repair our image.’” Then Lisa fisted her hands on her hips. “I’m head administrator here and Derek’s gone and hired a PR manager without so much as saying boo to me.”

Paul sighed. He lived and breathed his work to the exclusion of almost everything else, except for his family. Very seldom did he come up for air, much less to mingle in the everyday dealings of running the institute.

Paul asked his fuming sister, “What do you mean?”

“Public relations, Paul,” she said, even more annoyed. “Derek went and hired a damn spin doctor.”

“So what’s the issue?” he asked, confused.

Lisa threw up her hands in desperation. “For such an intelligent man, you can be so dense sometimes. The point is, Derek is the chief financial officer—he isn’t supposed to hire anyone without consulting us. Major positions are supposed to be filled by the three of us evaluating the candidate for the job, remember?” She didn’t wait for him to respond before she went on. “If you ask me, I think Derek’s beginning to envision himself as Caesar.”

Lisa was the youngest and as such, she was given to exaggeration. “Dial it down a notch, Lisa. I don’t like Derek doing something like this without consulting us, either, but I think it’s a stretch equating him with Julius Caesar.”

“I’m not equating him with Caesar,” she protested. “I think Derek sees himself as Caesar. The bottom line is,” she said with a toss of her short black hair, “we don’t need a PR manager.”

Paul nodded. “At least we’re in agreement about that.”

It never occurred to her that Paul would see it any differently than she did. “Good, then fix it,” she demanded. When he raised an inquisitive eyebrow, Lisa pressed, “Unhire her.”

Even though terminating this unwanted new employee was his first inclination, Paul did want to be fair. That would mean talking to Derek and finding out just what his brother was thinking when he hired this person. “Where’s Derek now?”

Lisa sighed. “I have no idea. You know how he is, social butterflying all over. But I do know where the new girl is,” she said triumphantly. “She’s in Connie Winston’s old office,” she said, referring to a recently retired officer of their board of directors. Lisa was clearly not finished with the topic. “You know, Derek’s got no right to constantly usurp us like that.”

Paul had always been ready to go the extra mile, giving everyone the benefit of the doubt. “Derek probably doesn’t even realize that’s what he’s doing. You know he gets impatient when things don’t go as fast as he thinks they should.” Paul shrugged philosophically. “He doesn’t have the patience of a scientist.”

Lisa pounced on her brother’s words. “Good thing you do. Now get rid of this woman and give Derek a piece of your mind when you find him.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “If I gave all the people who I think deserve it a piece of my mind, I wouldn’t have any mind left to use for myself.”

Lisa’s frown was back. “So then you’re not going to tell Derek that he’s got to stop making unilateral decisions?”

“I didn’t say that, did I?” His eyes held hers until Lisa shook her head. “I’ll talk to Derek,” he told her, then added, “not that I think it’ll do any good.”

“You’re probably right,” she was forced to agree. “But you never know, maybe we’ll get lucky. But first,” she emphasized, “you have to give that woman her walking papers.”

There were times when Lisa was like a hungry dog with a bone. She just wouldn’t let go. Which meant he’d get no peace until he gave in. Paul rose again. “Connie Winston’s old office, you said?”

Lisa nodded. “The three of us are supposed to be running this clinic. It’s the Armstrong Fertility Institute, not Derek Armstrong’s Fertility Institute. If anything, it should be Dad’s name, not Derek’s.”

Paul put his hands on his sister’s arms, trying to settle her before she got riled up again.

“Take a deep breath, Lisa—and calm down. There are a hell of a lot worse things going on in the world. Derek playing king is really just small potatoes in comparison.”

“Emperor,” Lisa corrected doggedly.

He closed his eyes for a moment. He was not going to get sidelined with semantics. “Whatever.”

Paul was fully aware that if he even attempted to put off this woman’s termination, Lisa would continue bedeviling him until such time as he would make good on his promise. His sister meant well, he thought, but she tended to get far too worked up. Still, she was right. Derek shouldn’t have just gone off and hired someone without even running the idea past them. This was a completely new post his brother had created.

Did they really need someone to try to restore the institute’s good name? Or rather, their father’s good name even though it wasn’t imprinted on the front of the building?

Dr. Gerald Armstrong had always been a little larger than life when it came to the public eye. Paul was not ashamed to say that he revered his father and the groundbreaking work he had done. He’d gotten away from the boy he had once been. The boy who, when he was growing up, felt his father was accessible to everyone but his own family. He knew his mother felt that. Gerald Armstrong was always far too busy making a name for himself to enjoy the name he had already gotten, almost by accident: Dad.

Still, that was all water under the bridge now. A man was what he was and Gerald Armstrong was an excellent physician, a visionary and the last hope for a great many women who had been told that they would never be able to hold a child of their own in their arms.

The rest of it—the feet of clay, the women, the preoccupation—well, that could all be forgiven, Paul thought, walking down the corridor to the office where, according to his sister, he would find his brother’s latest mistake—and it really was a mistake, in Paul’s opinion. Right now, they needed every last penny to be spent on research, not “spin.” The research team he’d lured away from San Francisco did not come cheaply.

Approaching the until recently evacuated office, Paul knocked on the door, then knocked again when he received no answer. He was about to try again when a melodious voice told him to, “Come in.” Apparently the focus of his sister’s ire was indeed in.

He wasn’t good at firing people. Actually, to his recollection, he never had. He’d always been satisfied with the people he’d selected. There was no need to fire any of them.

Twisting the knob, he opened the door and walked in, not knowing what to expect.

He wasn’t prepared for what he saw.

She was sitting at her desk, a slender blonde whose every movement promised curves that would melt a man’s knees. She looked up at him with the clearest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen. The word beautiful pushed its way through the sudden cobwebs that had taken his brain hostage. It took him a moment to realize that he wasn’t breathing.

She did not look like someone who was hired to do battle with mudslingers. She looked more like a fairytale princess who had sprung up from someone’s smitten fantasy.

The woman seemed to light up as she saw who was walking into her office. Her face became a wreath of smiles.

“Mr. Armstrong, hello.” The young woman half rose in her seat, as if she was eagerly ready to hop to do his bidding at the slightest suggestion. “What can I do for you, sir?”

Bracing himself, Paul said in his kindest voice—because it wasn’t in him to be cruel—“I’m afraid you’re going to have to pack up your things and leave.”

The smile on her perfect face faded, replaced by bewilderment. “Excuse me?”

He hated this, he thought. He tried again, sounding even more gentle than before. “I think there’s been a mistake.” Each word felt more awkward on his tongue than the last. This was definitely not his forte. “I mean, we really don’t need a public relations person.”

The woman was obviously not going to go quietly. “But you just hired me,” she protested with feeling.

She didn’t look angry, he thought, which surprised him. What she looked like was someone who was set to dig in. She still thought she was dealing with his brother, Paul realized. He needed to set her straight before he continued.

“No, I didn’t,” he began, but got no further in his explanation.

“Yes, you did,” she insisted. “Yesterday. We were in your office and you distinctly said you were hiring me.” Her blue eyes seemed intense as she peered at his face. “Is something wrong?” she wanted to know. “I haven’t done anything yet, much less something that would make you want to fire me.”

“I don’t want to fire you,” Paul said and it was true. “I wouldn’t have hired you in the first place—”

“But you did,” she reminded him with feeling.

“No, I didn’t,” Paul told her again. “That was my brother.”

Her eyes narrowed and the frown on her face told him she wasn’t buying it.

“Your evil twin?” she asked with more than a tiny trace of sarcasm in her voice.

Finally, Paul thought. “Actually, I don’t generally think of him in that light, but now that you mention it, yes.”

The young woman stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Excuse me?”

Any breakthrough he’d thought had been made faded like dancing dandelion seeds in the warm spring breeze. “Maybe I should explain—”

He could see that she was struggling to remain civil. Looking at it from her point of view, he couldn’t blame her.

“Maybe you should,” she agreed.




Chapter Two


Bravado was second nature to Ramona Tate. It always had been. Her chosen field of investigative reporting had only honed that ability. She could bluff her way through practically everything.

Because she had never gone through an ugly-duckling stage and had been a swan from the moment she came into the world, Ramona had to constantly keep proving herself. People naturally assumed that a) because she was beautiful, that meant she didn’t have a brain in her head, and b) she’d gotten to her present stage in life because she’d slept her way there.

In both cases, nothing could have been further from the truth.

Blessed with a near-genius IQ, Ramona still had to work twice as hard as the next person to be taken seriously and to keep from being dismissed as “just another empty-headed pretty face.” This while politely, but deftly and succinctly, putting men in their place if they decided to become too familiar with her. In the latter case, whenever “hands-on” experience was mentioned, her antennae instantly went up because most of the men she’d encountered took that to mean their “hands on” her body.

Ramona always made it perfectly clear that working and playing well with others did not refer to the kind of playing that could be done beneath the sheets. She fought her own battles and protected her private life—what there was of it—zealously.

Since wrongdoing on any level was something she abhorred, Ramona found that she took to investigative reporting like the proverbial duck to water. Even at her seemingly tender age of twenty-five, she had already broken a number of stories, revealing fraudulent practices at one of the country’s larger life insurance companies, and exposing a doctor who had made a career out of bilking Medicare, submitting charges for the treatment of nonexistent conditions for nonexistent patients in order to collect Medicare’s payments. Both stories had necessitated her going undercover to get the information she needed to substantiate her allegations.

Ramona had followed the same path here, at the Armstrong Fertility Institute. Once revered as a bastion of hope for the terminally infertile, the institute’s outstanding success rate had bred a certain amount of envy, which begged for closer scrutiny. This scrutiny in turn gave birth to ugly rumors, some that were quite possibly well founded, others that almost certainly were not.

That was going to be her job—to separate fact from fiction, no matter how deeply the former appeared to be buried.

But Ramona had a far more personal reason to have gone undercover at the institute. She needed to gain access to the institution’s older records in hopes of saving her mother’s life. Her mother, who had raised Ramona by herself, had been diagnosed with leukemia less than six months ago. The prognosis was not good. If something wasn’t done soon to stem its course, her mother had only a very short time to live.

Katherine Tate desperately needed a bone-marrow transplant. Ramona would have gladly given up hers. She would have given her mother any organ she could to save the woman’s life, but, as happened all too frequently, her marrow wasn’t a match. So the search was on for some miscellaneous stranger whose marrow might provide the cure.

There was, however, a glimmer of hope when Ramona remembered accidentally stumbling over a piece of vital information packed away in a long-forgotten box hidden in the back of her closet.

Katherine Tate was one of those people who never threw anything away, she just moved it around every so often from one pile to another, from one room to another. In one of her many, many boxes throughout the house was a bundle of receipts and bills dating back more than a couple of decades. Including a receipt from the Armstrong Fertility Institute for the purchase of donor eggs.

In between jobs and desperate for money, Katherine had sold a part of herself in order that “some poor childless couple know the kind of joy I do.” At least, those had been her mother’s words when Ramona had finally confronted Katherine with her find.

Now Ramona could only hope that the eggs had been used and that somewhere out there she had a sibling walking around. A sibling whose bone marrow would turn out to be a perfect match for her mother.

Finding this sibling was far more important to Ramona than breaking the story of any ethical wrongdoing on the institute’s part.

But she wouldn’t be able to do either if this bipolar man made good on his threat to terminate her before she even got started in her search. For that to happen, she needed to get entrenched here. She already knew that calling the institute’s administration office with her plight was an exercise in futility. When she had, the woman on the other end of the line had briskly told her that accessing the old records would be a violation of those patients’ right to privacy.

Yeah, right. As if the Armstrongs and their minions actually cared a fig about doing the right thing.

“You were hired,” Paul began slowly, trying to carefully hit all the salient points, “by someone who didn’t have the proper authority to hire anyone by himself.”

Ramona felt her temper shortening.

“I don’t understand,” she said, hoping that the smile on her lips didn’t look as fake as it felt to her.

Paul backtracked in his head, realizing that he’d failed to state the most obvious part, the part that would instantly untangle the rest. Or so he hoped.

“You see, I’m twins.”

She stared at him, her blue eyes widening. “You are?”

That sounded stupid, he upbraided himself. “I mean, I’m one of twins. I have a brother,” he told her. “He looks just like me. His name’s Derek and he’s the one who hired you.”

Her expression never changed, but her tone was slightly incredulous as she asked, “You’re not Derek Armstrong?”

Finally. The light at the end of the tunnel was beginning to materialize, he thought, relieved. “No, I’m Paul.”

Twins. Damn, how had she missed that? She’d been so consumed with getting ammunition against the institute and being angry because they wouldn’t just help her get at the information she needed to, hopefully, find a sibling, she’d completely skimmed over the Armstrongs’ family dynamics.

She needed to be more thorough, Ramona told herself sternly.

Cocking her head, she scrutinized the man in front of her, doing her best to give off an aura of sweetness. She knew that she could be all but irresistible if she wanted to be. She eased her conscience by reminding herself that this was definitely not for personal gain. This was for her mother.

“Now that you mention it, you do look a little more robust and athletic than you—I mean, your brother—did yesterday.” She was five-seven, not exactly a petite flower. But the man before her was taller, way taller. He looked even more so since she was sitting and he was not.

Ramona raised her eyes to his in a studied look of innocent supplication. A look she’d practiced more than once. “So he—your brother—can’t hire me?”

Now she was getting it, Paul thought. “Not by himself, no.”

Again she cocked her head, employing a certain come-hither look as she asked him, “Can he hire me if you hire me?”

Why did he feel as if the ground beneath his feet was turning from shale to sand, leaving him nothing solid to stand on? “Not without Lisa’s okay,” he heard himself say hoarsely.

Another country heard from, Ramona thought impatiently, trying to remember exactly how many Armstrongs worked at the institute. Her smile never wavered as she repeated, “Lisa?”

Paul nodded, trying not to stare. Was it his imagination, or did she somehow suddenly look more beautiful? “My younger sister. She’s the head administrator here at the institute.”

That had to have been the cold voice on the phone, Ramona thought. “Does anyone else have a vote?”

He smiled and she thought he had a rather nice smile. It softened his features and made him appear less distant and forbidding.

“No, that’s it,” he assured her. “Just the three of us.”

She nodded slowly, as if taking it all in and digesting the information. What she was really doing was casting about for a way to appeal to him and make him let her remain.

“Well,” she said slowly with a drop of seduction woven in, “we know that I have your brother’s vote. Do I have yours?”

For one unguarded moment, he could have sworn that he felt some sort of a sharp pull, an attraction to this young woman. But then he told himself it was just that he had always appreciated beauty no matter where he came across it. He certainly couldn’t allow it to cloud his judgment, especially when it came to the institute.

Still, a public relations manager might prove useful, he supposed. Paul was honest in his answer. “I’d have to think about it.”

She appeared undaunted. “Well, that’s better than ‘no,’” Ramona allowed.

Faced with her optimism, Paul wavered a little more in his stand, shifting in a direction he knew that Lisa would easily disapprove. “I tell you what. Let me talk to the others and we’ll get back to you.”

Ramona smiled. It made him think of a sunrise. Warm and full of promise. And then she looked just a tad shy as she asked, “In the meantime, would it be all right if I drafted a press release?”

“A press release?” Paul echoed, confused. “About what?”

“About doctors Demetrios and Bonner joining your staff. Mr. Armstrong—Mr. Derek Armstrong,” she amended, “said that so far, no mention had been made of the transition. I think it would be a big plus for the institute, not to mention that it would be a huge draw, as well.” Not that the institute actually needed it, she thought. The rich and famous flocked here, and the masses followed. “These two researchers are very famous in their field.”

“I know,” he said, amused that she believed she was telling him something he wasn’t aware of.

“Of course you do.” Holding her breath just so allowed the right amount of pink to creep into her cheeks. She instinctively knew that Paul was the kind of man who reacted to blushes, even though it was as out of date as a silver disco ball. “I just meant that it should be brought to people’s attention. It’s positive reinforcement.” And then she flashed him another guileless smile. “I promise I won’t do anything with the draft until I get your—all of your,” she amended, “okays.”

She sounded so eager and upbeat, Paul found that he hadn’t the heart to tell her to wait until after he’d won Lisa over. Lisa could be difficult at times, especially if she felt that her territory was being encroached upon and threatened. Her earlier tirade was likely only the tip of the iceberg on this matter.

“That’ll be fine,” he told her and then he quickly walked out of the room before he wound up agreeing to something else.

He needed to find Derek and have a few choice words with his brother for putting him in this situation. A few very choice words.

He found Derek just outside his brother’s office, engaged in what appeared to be a very private conversation with one of the newer and younger administrative assistants. From the looks of it, it appeared that groundwork for far more than further conversation was being laid.

Suppressing a sigh, Paul inserted himself between the exceedingly perky young redhead in the platform heels and his brother. “Excuse us, please, um—” He had no idea what the young woman’s name was.

“Danielle.” Both the young woman and Derek said the name at the same time, which caused them to exchange more covert looks. Paul heard the assistant smother a giggle.

“Danielle,” Paul repeated with a slight nod of his head, “I need to speak with my brother.”

“Of course.” Inclining her head, the administrative assistant drew away. But not before she exchanged one more overtly steamy, sexy glance with the institute’s CFO.

Paul walked into his brother’s recently remodeled office and waited for Derek to follow. Which Derek did. Languidly.

The moment the door was closed, Paul immediately started talking. “What the hell were you thinking, hiring that young girl?” he demanded.

Derek looked at him, apparently confused. “Who?”

“The one sitting in Connie Winston’s old office. Your so-called PR manager.”

If he was aware of the sarcasm in his brother’s voice, Derek didn’t show it. “Oh, you mean Ramona Tate.” Derek grinned broadly, obviously pleased with himself. “That was a real lucky break.”

Derek was usually more intuitive than this. Ordinarily, he picked up on tension. Maybe his brother thought it would all just go away if he didn’t acknowledge it. Think again, Derek. If nothing else, Paul wanted some of the ground rules reaffirmed.

“Some of us,” he told Derek, “don’t think so.”

Derek laughed shortly. “By ‘some’ I take it you mean Lisa and you.” Even as he said the words amicably, he knew the answer. Just as he knew that their baby sister was behind this confrontation. Even as a kid, Lisa was into power plays. As the youngest of the Armstrong children, she always wanted to come out on top, to be the one the others listened to.

Putting his hand on Paul’s shoulder, Derek said patiently, “Paul, you’re an excellent physician and a wonderful chief of staff here at the institute. If you ask me, you deserve a lot more credit than you’re getting. But let’s be honest, there’s no denying that the institute needs help.”

“I got us help,” Paul pointed out tersely. “I got Demetrios and Bonner to leave their hospital and join the institute. In case you missed it, they’re the cutting-edge research team who—”

“I didn’t miss it,” Derek answered crisply, cutting in. “But I just might have been the only one around who didn’t.”

Paul had absolutely no idea what that even meant. “What?”

“Exactly,” Derek declared as if Paul had made his point for him. “What newspaper was that where the press release announcing their joining the institute was run? Oh, wait, it wasn’t,” he said with exaggerated enlightenment. “Because we had no one manning our PR desk to make that press release. But we do now,” he concluded with a smug, triumphant smile.

Paul was easygoing up to a point, but he dug in now. If he didn’t take a stand here, he might as well just lie down and have Derek walk all over him. “Not until Lisa and I agree to hire her.”

“Then agree,” Derek told him, trying to control his irritation. “Because she’s already hired.”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean ‘not exactly’?” Derek wanted to know. “I hired her yesterday.”

“And I put her on temporary notice.”

The smile evaporated instantly. Derek exploded. “For God’s sake, why?”

Paul dug deep for patience. Derek, he knew, was accustomed to doing whatever he wanted to unopposed. But when it came to the institute, important decisions had to involve all three of them. They’d agreed on that when they took over the famous facility from their ailing father.

As if it was the first time, Paul doled his words out evenly. “Because you can’t just go off and do this kind of thing whenever you feel like it without at least consulting Lisa and me.”

“So you’re going to let Ramona go because you’re mad at me?” he asked in abject disbelief. Derek shook his head in amazement. “Boy, leave it to you to be such a cliché.”

Paul’s gaze became flinty. “Excuse me?”

Derek frowned, exasperated. “That old chestnut about cutting off your nose to spite your face. That’s what you’re doing.”

Any moment now, his brother was going to throw a tantrum, Paul thought. “You’re carrying on as if I just fired Woodward and Bernstein. That girl looks like she’s barely out of high school, let alone college. We implant embryos here, Derek, we don’t hire them.”

Derek raised his voice to be heard over him. “Ramona Tate is twenty-five years old and she has impressive credentials—”

“Which I’m sure you checked thoroughly.” Paul couldn’t help the note of sarcasm that came into his voice. He sincerely doubted that Derek had done anything but glance at her résumé.

Derek squared his shoulders indignantly. “I was getting to that.”

Sure you were, Paul thought. “Want another old chestnut?”

Derek slanted a glance toward him, a suspicious look entering his eyes. “Like what?”

“Like you’re putting the cart before the horse.” In this case, he’d hired the woman and planned to rubber-stamp her references—if she even had any.

A deep chuckle escaped Derek’s lips. “Maybe you didn’t notice—and if you didn’t, you’d be the only one who wouldn’t—but this ‘horse’ has lines that could stop a charging rhino in his tracks.”

Paul sighed, shaking his head. “So this is about your libido.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Unlike you, I have one, but in this case I was thinking of the institute.”

Paul leaned a hip against his brother’s desk. “This I have to hear.”

“There’s nothing wrong in having an extremely attractive—and able—woman to represent us. To be the ‘face’ of the Armstrong Fertility Institute.” Seeing that he was losing Paul, Derek hurried to add, “Which would you rather look at when it comes to getting your information, a gnarled, short, bald, fat man or an attractive young woman who makes your blood surge and makes you think of fertility just by looking at her?”

“I’d just as soon get it in a report on my desk.”

Derek threw up his hands. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

Paul made no comment on that. He didn’t feel he needed to defend himself. This wasn’t about him, or Derek. This was about their father’s legacy. “How much is she costing the institute?”

Derek rallied for a second defense. “Not as much as you would think—and Ramona is worth every penny of it.”

Paul gave his twin a knowing look. “I’ll bet.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Paul. I was referring to the press release I asked her to prepare.”

Was that why the woman had asked him if she could draft a statement? “About?” he asked cautiously, wanting to see if the stories agreed.

“Your dynamic duo, of course. Bonner and Demetrios bring their own sterling reputations to the table—just as you planned.” Derek wasn’t above trying to butter his brother up if he had to. “We get the public focusing on that, they’ll forget the rumors.”

He blew out a breath, then looked at Paul hopefully. “So how about it, Paul? Can we take her off notice and just watch her work?” He put his arm around his brother’s shoulders in a gesture of solidarity. “I promise you won’t be sorry.”

There was no way that Derek could guarantee that. “And if I am?”

Derek laughed. “Not even you can be that much of a stodgy old man.” Derek tapped his brother’s chest with the back of his hand. “Loosen up, Paul. You’ll not only live longer, but you’ll get to enjoy yourself, too.”

“I do enjoy my life,” Paul insisted. And he did. He was dedicated to continuing his father’s work and to granting childless couples their fondest wish. That was more than enough for him.

Derek merely shook his head. “Can’t see how, but okay. Do you know where Lisa is?”

Paul laughed quietly. “Most likely sharpening her tongue so she can give you a good lashing.”

“That’s why I want to head her off,” Derek confessed. “I was hoping to make a preemptive strike.”

Paul thought of the expression on Lisa’s face when she burst into his office earlier. “Too late,” he speculated.

Derek was not easily defeated. And he had the ability to talk someone to death—or at least until he got what he wanted.

“Maybe not,” he countered as he went off in search of their sister. Ramona Tate was staying and that was that. He was not about to tolerate being overridden. The institute needed to continue to make money and that was not going to happen if people—wealthy people—stopped coming to avail themselves of what they had to offer here. Their focus needed to be redirected to a positive image, and Ramona Tate seemed just the person to do it.

Both he and the institute would benefit from that.




Chapter Three


Ramona already knew that there was nothing in this small office that could help her with her investigation. If there was data that could openly incriminate one or more of the staff at the institute for engaging in the wrongful substitution of eggs or sperm, it wouldn’t be readily accessible. She was also fairly certain that nothing tangible would turn up to back the claim that too many embryos were being implanted purely to up the success ratio.

There was no way she was going to learn how to access records that had been archived just by sitting here, staring at the walls. Ramona wasn’t even certain that there were archived records. Since they might prove to be incriminating, they might have been destroyed years ago. She knew for a fact that they weren’t on any database within the institute.

All she could do was hope that Gerald Armstrong, who ran this facility until ill health had forced him into retirement, had been vain enough to hang on to everything—good or bad—that even remotely testified to his accomplishments and his genius. From what she’d read and heard, the man had a more than healthy ego.

If the senior Armstrong had played God and implanted her mother’s eggs into someone, she thought, adrenaline rushing excitedly through her veins, that had to have been noted in the recipient’s file. She might be looking for a needle in a haystack, but at least she’d know that there was a needle.

Dr. Gerald Armstrong had been in charge of operations and treatments when her mother had sold her eggs to the institute, Ramona thought. Pacing about her small office, she wondered now if there was any plausible excuse she could come up with in order to gain access to the man. All she needed was about ten minutes. She knew that these days he led a fairly low-key, quiet life, hardly ever leaving his home. He was cared for and looked after by his very long-suffering wife.

It had to be hell for both of them, Ramona thought. Emily Stanton Armstrong came from a good family and had a high social standing in the community when she married the up-and-coming pioneering doctor. The woman spent her days planning charitable events and her evenings attending them.

From her research, Ramona knew that the good doctor had made sure that he got his share of mileage out of the successes the institute achieved. Handsome, dynamic and blessed with the gift of gab, rumor had it that Gerald Armstrong had more than one illicit relationship. Mrs. Armstrong cast a blind eye to his dealings and partied harder.

Now they were almost like two shut-ins—he, more often than not, relegated to his wheelchair, she to nursing a man she had quite possibly learned to loathe.

Not exactly the type of people she wanted to have anything to do with, Ramona thought. Still, she was not above using any means, fair or foul, to achieve her main goal: finding out if her mother’s desperate action had ultimately resulted in a child who could save her life.

For now, though, Ramona had no choice but to stay in her office and wait for Armstrong—be it Paul or Derek, or perhaps even Lisa—to come and tell her whether or not she was to stay on as PR manager.

Because she wasn’t the type to waste time by aimlessly surfing the Web, Ramona decided to do exactly what she’d told Paul she was going to do: draft a press release about the research team who had recently been enticed to add their names to the fertility institute’s roster.

Even though she was only twenty-five, she already had established several strong connections within the media world. Pulling a few strings, she was certain that she could get sufficient coverage for Demetrios and Bonner’s shift from working at a teaching hospital to bringing their research program to the Armstrong Fertility Institute.

And as for the public, she’d already learned that they were mercurial, as fast to revere as to condemn. All it took were the right words in the right place to achieve either reaction. For the time being, it served her purpose to give the Armstrongs a little something to put in the plus column.

Her mouth curved as she thought about it. If everything went according to plan, this would amount to the calm before the storm. Because, if her information turned out to be correct, she intended to bring the Armstrong Fertility Institute down so fast, the pompous family would wind up choking on the dust that was kicked up.

She crossed back to the desk and sat down to work. Pausing just for a moment to find the right first word, her fingers soon flew across the keyboard, trying to keep up with her racing brain and coming in a close second.

Engrossed in wording the release so that it would pop as a whole, Ramona didn’t hear the knock on her door. She also wasn’t aware of that same door being opened a beat later.

Paul slipped in unobtrusively, a considerable feat for a man who measured six foot one. But then, he had the kind of quiet, easygoing manner that allowed him to blend in with the scenery at will. Unlike his outgoing brother, who had never been known to fade into the background, even for a moment, in his entire life. The very act would have been against everything that Derek stood for.

She looked diligent, Paul observed, completely involved in her work. She was obviously intent on doing a good job.

Maybe Derek had been right in hiring this young woman after all, he mused. Maybe a public-relations spokesperson was exactly what they needed to give them that much-needed shot in the arm. Good works didn’t count for very much if no one knew you did them, and the public, fickle at best in their loyalties, couldn’t exactly be expected to embrace something if they didn’t know about it.

Paul took a step forward and cleared his throat.

The sound caught her attention and Ramona raised her eyes. The next moment she was clamping her lips together, stifling a gasp. When had Armstrong come in? “How long have you been standing there?”

A slight smile curved his mouth. “Long enough to discover that you nibble on your lower lip when you’re thinking—or was that fretting?”

Fretting. Now, there was a word she hadn’t heard in—well, maybe forever. This man definitely had stepped out of the last century. Quite possibly the first half of the last century, she speculated.

“No, no ‘fretting,’” she answered with a straight face. “You were right the first time. I was just thinking something through. Don’t worry. There’s nothing in what I’m writing that should stir up any kind of concern.” She gestured toward the screen, which, given its position, only she could see right now. “It’s just the institute doctors’ backgrounds, plus I’ve added a little family history for each of them.”

Personal histories had never really interested him all that much. They were just fillers, padding that was easily eliminated. It was what a person did, not who their parents were, that mattered. Though he had to admit that maybe his own background tainted his view of things.

Still, he asked, “Do you think that’s really necessary?”

As far as she was concerned, a person’s history was the most interesting part. She always wanted to know what made people tick, how they got to be the way they were. She sincerely doubted that she was alone in this.

“People like to know who they’re dealing with. It makes the whole challenging process of fertility treatment a little more down-to-earth for them—and a little less like science fiction.”

Leaning back in what she hoped would continue to be her chair for at least a modest amount of time, Ramona did her best to appear relaxed. The very act belied the knots in her stomach. She laced her fingers before her and tried to sound cheerful as she asked, “So, what’s the verdict?”

Technically, there was no official verdict yet. He told her what was happening. “I managed to send Derek to Lisa to apologize.”

Well, that didn’t sound very heartening. “For hiring me?” she asked. This would be the part where she would have gotten up and told him what he could do with his apology. But she wasn’t being herself, she was being a subservient employee. She assumed that was what Paul Armstrong wanted and she was willing to go along with it, as long as it eventually got her access to the archives.

“For hiring you without consulting with the rest of us,” Paul corrected.

That still didn’t give her the answer she was hoping for. “So you’re letting me go?” she guessed. She had trouble envisioning the woman who belonged to that cold voice over the phone giving her a thumbs-up. Even so, there was absolutely no way she was going to go without a fight. “Because if you are, Dr. Armstrong, you’re going to regret it.”

“Are you threatening me, Miss Tate?” he asked quietly.

“No, I’m telling you that you need me,” she responded with feeling. “I’m very good at my job.” Ramona straightened and squared her shoulders.

She made him think of a warrior princess. He had no idea where that had come from, only that it seemed like a very appropriate description.

“I’d like you to read what I’ve been writing before you have security eject me.”

Paul held up his hand to stop her before her mouth launched into double time. The woman was already talking faster than he could listen. He had a feeling that, like Derek, Ramona Tate could talk with the best of them, easily winning battles simply by wearing her opposition down.

“No one’s ejecting you, Miss Tate,” he assured her. “You have a temporary stay of execution.”

The surprise came and went from her face in an instant. Had he blinked, Paul suspected he wouldn’t have seen it at all.

“How temporary?” she wanted to know, banking down her eagerness.

“That remains to be seen,” he told her. It depended on whether she actually got results that would do them any good. For now, he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Why don’t we just take this one step at a time, shall we?”

“That’s all I ever wanted, an opportunity to prove myself to you—whichever ‘you’ I happen to be talking to,” she added with an amused smile. Rising, she cocked her head just a tad as she peered at him closely, her eyes swiftly taking inventory and reviewing everything she noted. And then she made her decision. “You’re Dr. Paul,” she declared with just a hint of triumph.

He hid his amusement. “What makes you so certain?” he asked.

Even though he felt that there was a world of difference between his brother and him, Paul knew that as far as looks went, he and Derek were close to interchangeable unless they were standing beside one another. It was only then that someone might notice that Derek was thinner, while he looked as if he availed himself of the gym’s facilities whenever he could, which he did.

When they were younger, both of their parents managed to confuse one with the other, in part, Paul suspected, because neither parent ever really took the time to get to know either of them. Although, if he thought about it, Paul had a feeling that if his parents had taken the time, it would only have been Derek who would have garnered their focused attention.

It wasn’t only the squeaky wheel that got greased, it was the noisy, silver-tongued brother who ultimately got all the attention.

Ramona smiled up at him. The smile penetrated clear down to his bones. “Your eyes.”

He waited, but she didn’t elaborate. “What about my eyes?” he pressed. He fully expected her to say something to the effect that they were dull, that Derek was the one whose eyes looked as if they held a host of secrets and the promise of excitement.

But she surprised him. “You’re the one with the kind eyes,” Ramona said. “Your brother’s eyes are … unfathomable.”

Maybe she didn’t have such a happy way with words after all. Paul interpreted her meaning. “So Derek is the man of mystery while I’m the flat, two-dimensional one.”

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows drew together into a V. She looked surprised at his interpretation of her assessment.

“Not at all,” she protested. “On an absolute level, you’d be the one who people would trust, Dr. Armstrong, not your brother. They’d go to him looking for a good time, not honesty.”

Ramona firmly believed that it was never too early to begin laying groundwork in order to build a viable relationship. That was her goal at the moment to build a connection with Paul. She could accomplish more at a quicker pace if she had one of the Armstrongs in her corner, and Paul, although reserved, struck her as the one who was more real, more open. She had the feeling that Derek had his own, private agenda, one he meant to pursue no matter what. A man like that couldn’t be manipulated.

Besides, Derek Armstrong was far too into himself to be of any use to her.

Paul shook his head ever so slightly. “I already said you had a temporary stay of execution, Miss Tate. There’s no need to try to flatter me.”

Annoyed with herself that she’d come across so transparent, nonetheless Ramona managed to rally quickly. “I wasn’t flattering, I was telling it the way I saw it,” she informed him simply.

She might have given him a simple answer, Paul mused, but he had the impression that this woman was anything but that. As a matter of fact, he would have been willing to say that, despite declarations of honesty and truth, there was something Ramona Tate was keeping back.

The fleeting thought intrigued him.

In case she believed he was fishing for more validation, he changed the subject. “By the way, about your references—”

Ramona was one jump ahead of him. She’d learned that a good defense was to have a good offense. “I have them right here.” Reaching for her oversize purse, she pulled it toward her, then flipped the locks open. “Your brother said he’d be getting around to reviewing them eventually, but I think they should be a matter of record, don’t you?” Taking out a light blue file that contained more than a few letters of praise, she offered the folder to him. “There’s also a copy of my academic transcript and employment history,” she told him.

Taking the folder, Paul opened it and scanned a few of the pages. There were letters from college professors and from news editors, some of whom had the logos of local TV stations stamped on them. One was from the Washington Post. He’d expected one letter, perhaps two. If asked, he would have said that she was too young for more than that.

“And you said that you were just twenty-five?” he asked incredulously.

Maybe Monty had laid it on a little thick, Ramona thought. Monty Durham was the computer geek/wizard she’d befriended in her first year in college. He’d been so grateful to have someone to talk to, he became Sancho Panza to her female Don Quixote. There wasn’t anything that Monty couldn’t make a computer do, including spew out lies and make them look like gospel. There also wasn’t anything that Monty wouldn’t do for her.

“I graduated two years early,” she told Paul by way of an explanation.

Which was true. Eager to start leaving her mark in the world, Ramona had opted for an accelerated course of study. It had allowed her to crunch four years of high school into three and then do the same with college. To make it work, she’d attended school year-round, picking up courses part-time in the summer. In her spare time, she had also worked any job in her field she could get her hands on. That in turn gave her a much-needed solid core for her résumé. Monty had done the rest, embellishing where he could. He was also responsible for half the letters of recommendation in the folder.

She was unusual, Paul decided, he’d give her that. “In my experience, most people like to extend their college experience if they can.”

“Maybe so,” she allowed. “But I wanted to get started with my life,” she countered. “College was great,” she added quickly, not wanting him to think she was bucking for some kind of sainthood, “but college isn’t life. It’s more like the TV version.” Angling the monitor so that it turned in his direction, Ramona realized that she’d come full circle and made the offer again. “Would you like to read what I’ve written so far?”

That would probably be the best way to determine whether or not she could actually do them some good, he thought. Or if having her around was just Derek’s way of having eye candy on hand.

“Actually, I would.”

Smiling, she hit the key combination that caused the wireless printer in the corner to come to life. Within moments, it produced the four pages she’d composed. Ramona crossed to the machine and removed the sheets, then returned and handed them to Paul.

And that was when he realized that he’d gotten caught up in watching her move, and Paul found that for once he couldn’t fault his brother for admiring Ramona’s looks. He had to admit, the sway of her hips was something to behold. It was enough to even make a man believe in Santa Claus.




Chapter Four


Back in his office, Paul read through Ramona’s pages.

Even if he wanted to, Paul could find no fault with the rough draft that she had given him to review. Obviously the new public relations manager definitely had a way with words.

Maybe, Paul thought, putting the four sheets of paper down on his desk, Derek was actually onto something.

There was a quick rap on his office door and before he could say, “Come in,” the person on the other side of the knock did.

Speak of the devil.

Derek stuck his head in, holding on to the doorknob as if he was prepared to make a quick getaway. Paul couldn’t help wondering if something was wrong. Derek seemed edgier to him these days. Was that just because of the tense climate at the institute, or was there more to it than that?

“You can stop holding your breath,” Derek informed him cheerfully.

“I wasn’t aware that I was.” Paul waited for his brother to follow up with an explanation.

“Sure you were. About Little Miss PR’s fate,” Derek prompted when Paul continued to look at him quizzically. “I got Lisa to come on board with our decision.”

“‘Our’ decision?” Paul asked, emphasizing the plural possessive. Was Derek trying to share the blame, or the glory?

“Sure.” Derek looked surprised that he was even questioning that it was a joint effort. “You wanted to hire her, too, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes, now,” Paul admitted, because he had been won over, but he certainly hadn’t started out that way. “However—”

Derek breezed right past his brother’s “however” as he continued his narrative. “I convinced Lisa that we need a professional to help take the tarnish off the institute’s reputation. Ramona stays.”

Paul thought how angry Lisa had looked when she’d stormed into his office earlier. He shook his head in wonder. “Derek, you could probably sweet-talk the devil into giving you back your soul, couldn’t you?”

Derek inclined his head. He saw no reason to argue. “If I had to.” And then he grinned. The harried look he’d sported earlier faded as he asked, “By the way, you wouldn’t be referring to our youngest sister as the devil, would you?”

Paul blanched. That was all he needed, to have Lisa think he was calling her names behind her back. “No, I would never—”

Derek laughed, waving away the rest of whatever his twin was about to protest. “Take it easy, Paul, I was only kidding. You’re so nonconfrontational you wouldn’t even call the devil a devil.”

Paul read between the lines. “Are you telling me I’m spineless?”

Derek sobered for a second. His voice was devoid of any cynicism or sarcasm. For a fleeting moment, it almost seemed to be a tad wistful. “No, I’m telling you that everyone thinks of you as the ‘good’ brother. The nice guy.”

There was something in his brother’s voice, an unfathomable undercurrent that caught Paul’s attention. This was the second time today that he felt as if a member of his family was hiding something, keeping something back. Prodding, he had a feeling, was going to be as futile with Derek as it had been with Olivia, but he wouldn’t have been Paul if he didn’t try.

“Is something on your mind, Derek?”

And just like that, the serious look in Derek’s eyes completely vanished. The cocky, confident air was back. In spades.

“Something’s always on my mind, Paul.” He winked broadly. “It’s called responsibilities. Gotta fly. I’m heading out.”

Paul tried to pin Derek down to something specific. “For the day?”

“For the rest of the week.” That, Paul knew, was what he was afraid of. Of late, Derek behaved more like a hurricane, striking swiftly and then moving on just as quickly. “Maybe longer,” Derek was saying. “Listen, I was going to help familiarize Ramona with the institute, give her a tour of the place, answer any questions she might have, that kind of thing. But now that I’m not going to be here, I’d really appreciate if you did the honors for me.”

“Why aren’t you going to be here?” Paul wanted to know. For his part, he was always here. Or at least it felt that way. He was not only chief of staff at the institute, but he saw his patients here, as well. Derek, on the other hand, hardly seemed to be present at all.

“Something came up” was all that Derek would say. “I need you to fill in for me. Will you do it?” To the untrained ear, it sounded as if Derek was giving him a choice.

But Paul knew better.

He frowned. He wasn’t good with people in any prolonged capacity. And he was exceedingly bad when it came to making small talk. Despite their age difference—he was thirty-six to her twenty-five—he had a feeling that Ramona Tate was far more of a sophisticated creature than he was. This was out of his ballpark.

“Can’t Lisa do it?”

Derek laughed shortly, dismissing the suggestion, or, in this case, request. “Lisa’s got a lot on her plate right now, too. Besides, she’d be too busy sizing Ramona up to be of any help. You know how competitive our baby sister can get.”

This was true, but she’d always been fiercely competitive with her three siblings—not, to his knowledge, with strangers.

“Why would she be competitive?”

Derek sighed, shaking his head. “She’s female. In case you haven’t noticed, brother dear, so is Ramona.”

That was just the trouble. He had noticed. Really noticed. Ramona Tate was a stunning young woman. Just the type he could envision Derek—or their father, in his day—pursuing.

Without saying he would do it, he pressed Derek for some kind of specifics. “Where did you say you were going again?”

“I didn’t.”

And with that noncommunicative response, Derek closed the door and, for all intents and purposes, the institute’s CFO vanished.

Paul sighed. That was so typical. There were times when Derek treated the institute as his own personal playground, someplace to pop in, stay just long enough to stir things up, then hop a plane and go back to New York, where he actually lived.

If that was even where he was going this time. Derek was a fine one to bandy the word responsibilities about. For the past few months, he’d certainly been shirking his while stepping on everyone else’s toes, egging them on to pick up the slack he’d created.

Paul glanced down at the paper he’d just finished reading, his mind shifting to the problem Derek had left in his wake. He didn’t have time for the so-called orientation tour that Derek had palmed off on him—at least not today. But he could tell the woman that she had her job and that, by the way, she’d done a rather nice one on the press release she’d just worked up.

Paul had never cared for empty flattery, but he did believe in telling someone if they’d done good work. It was something he’d learned not to take for granted. Praise was something that he’d never heard himself when he was growing up. His father hadn’t been reticent when it came to acknowledgment, he just wasn’t around all that much to begin with. It was hard to honestly comment on any accomplishments if you didn’t know about them; if you hadn’t been around to see or hear anything about them. Dr. Gerald Armstrong always seemed either to be at the institute he’d founded, or on his way to the institute.

Paul swore to himself that if he ever had any children of his own—something he was doubtful at this point would ever come about—he would never miss an opportunity to praise them if they did something well.

Hell, he’d even praise them for an attempt to do something well. People needed to be encouraged, especially children. That was why he’d initially become a doctor. To get the great Gerald Armstrong’s approval. To get Gerald Armstrong’s attention, at least for five minutes.

Neither really happened, but somewhere along the line, he grew to love his work. He supposed that made him one of the lucky ones after all.

Paul was just about to go see Ramona and discuss her release when there was another knock on his door. Had Derek changed his mind and decided to stay? He figured it was probably too much to hope for.

“Come in.”

And he was right. It was too much to hope for. It wasn’t Derek who walked into his office. It was Olivia.

“I saw your wunderkind doctor,” she told him. There was no sarcasm in her voice. The title was bestowed in earnest.

Paul noticed that her face was flushed. Was that a good sign? Or a bad one?

“And?” Paul asked when she didn’t continue. He gestured for her to take a chair.

She did, perching her weight on the edge of the cushion as if she anticipated the need to fly away at any moment.

“And he said there was a chance I could become pregnant. Slim, but a chance,” she added breathlessly, clinging to the word chance as if it were a lifeline.

Paul nodded. He more than anyone knew how iffy that statement was. But he was not about to rain on Olivia’s parade.

“Well, he would be the one to know. There’s none better,” he assured her. For a moment, he sat there just looking at Olivia, debating whether or not to back away. He decided to try one more time to get her to open up. “Livy, is it Jamison?” he asked, referring to his brother-in-law, the up-and-coming junior senator from Massachusetts and media darling.

Olivia looked up sharply, a porcelain doll about to shatter. Her eyes were wary. “Is what Jamison?”

Paul had no idea how to phrase this, he just knew he had to get it out into the open somehow. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his sister’s un-happiness than just the failure to become pregnant.

“Is Jamison pressing you to become pregnant?” He knew how important lineage and legacy were to the Mallorys. They were practically their own dynasty, the young lions of the world, determined to leave their mark. Part of that involved offspring. “I mean, there are other ways to go, you know. You could adopt, or have a surrogate mother who—”

Olivia began shaking her head the moment he’d said that there were other ways to go. She didn’t want to hear it.

“No. I want to feel this, to do this myself.” Olivia pressed her hand against her flat belly, splaying her fingers out beneath her chest.

Paul looked into her eyes for a long moment. “Having a baby doesn’t solve anything, you know,” he told her quietly. “It usually creates its own set of unique problems.”

“I know that.” There was tension wrapped around each word and he noticed that Olivia was clasping and unclasping her hands in her lap.

Paul pressed again, more succinctly now. “Are you sure everything is all right between you and Jamison?”

“Yes,” she finally snapped. “Which is more than I can say about between you and me if you keep asking these ridiculous questions.”

This wasn’t getting him anywhere. Paul retreated. “Sorry. I’m just concerned about you, Olivia, that’s all.”

She pressed her lips together and took in a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. “I appreciate that and I’m sorry, too. I really didn’t mean to snap at you like that, it’s just that it seems like everywhere I look these days, I see women either pushing a baby carriage or being pregnant and looking as if they’re about to pop at any second. Everybody is pregnant but me.” Her voice quavered and she looked down at her knotted fingers. “We’ve been trying for five years now. Five long years.”

“Yes, I know. You told me,” he replied gently.

Olivia abruptly rose to her feet, a deer about to flee. Paul rounded his desk, coming to her side. Though he wasn’t a demonstrative person by nature, seeing his sister like this tugged on his heartstrings. He hugged her, albeit awkwardly.

“Everything’s going to be all right, Livy,” he promised.

“I hope so,” she murmured against his shoulder. “I sincerely hope so.”

There was yet another knock on his door. Undoubtedly that was his nurse, here to remind him that he had patients to see this afternoon. Anxious patients who felt exactly like his sister.

“Come in,” he called out.

Ramona came in just as he gave his sister another bracing hug before releasing her.

Olivia stepped back.

Surprised, certain that she’d inadvertently walked in on something, Ramona instantly looked down at the rug as if it had suddenly become fascinating. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“You didn’t,” Paul told her crisply. “This is my sister Olivia Armstrong Mallory.”

Ramona looked at the other woman, a wariness automatically entering her eyes. Another Armstrong. Another hurdle?

“Someone else who has to approve my being hired?” she asked politely.

Turning from the woman in the doorway, Olivia looked at him quizzically.

“Long story,” Paul told her, forestalling any questions on her part. “And I have to be somewhere.”

Olivia slipped the strap of her designer purse onto her shoulder. “So do I,” she told him. “Thanks for getting me in to see Dr. Demetrios,” she said, then nodded at Ramona before slipping out. “Nice meeting you.”

But you didn’t, Ramona thought. The fourth branch on the Armstrong family tree—this had to be Senator Mallory’s wife, she realized—hadn’t learned her name, making the introduction incomplete.

“She didn’t,” Ramona said out loud to Paul once the door was closed again.

That had come out of nowhere. Much like the woman herself, he observed now. “She didn’t what?”

“Meet me,” Ramona told him. Because Paul looked at her as if she’d just lapsed into a foreign dialect, she elaborated, “You gave me her name, but you didn’t give her mine.”

She was right. Paul lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug.

“She was in a hurry,” he explained, then glanced at his watch. “And so am I.”

“Then I won’t keep you,” Ramona promised, getting down to business. She subtly stepped into his path so that he couldn’t leave his office without answering her. “I just wanted to know if you have any changes you want me to incorporate into the article.”

His mind still on his sister’s troubled demeanor, he looked at Ramona blankly. “Article?”

“The press release,” she prompted. Seeing the pages on his desk, she pointed to them for emphasis. “That.”

“Oh.” What was it about this woman that seemed to drive any coherent thoughts out of his head? Paul glanced back at his desk, as if seeing the pages there would crystallize his thoughts. “No, no changes. It’s very good just the way it is.”

She knew she should let it go at that. But she couldn’t. It wasn’t vanity that prodded her, just a desire to make sure that everything was clear and aboveboard.

“Then you really did read it?” Her eyes held his. She liked to think that she could tell if a person was lying.

“Every last word,” Paul assured her. And then he added, “You have a very fortuitous way with words, Ramona.” There was genuine admiration in his voice. “I know learned colleagues who sweat bullets just to get out a paragraph. You whipped that whole thing out in what, twenty minutes?”

“Ten,” Ramona corrected. “I spent the other ten praying.”

Whatever he might have expected her to say, that didn’t even come close. Maybe he’d misheard her. “Praying?”

Ramona nodded. He watched her hoop earrings swing in time to the rhythm she’d created. “That you’d come back and tell me that you’ve all agreed to let me stay on.” She put on the most earnest face she could. “I really want this job.”

It seemed odd to him that anyone would get so caught up or passionate about a public-relations position. “Why?”

Mentally, Ramona crossed her fingers. She really did hate lying, even though it did come with the territory. Right now, she needed to be convincing. Ultimately, in order to do what she had to, she wanted Paul Armstrong to think of her as an ally. The sooner she gained the man’s trust, the easier it would be to gain access to other records.

“Because as far as I’m concerned, the work that’s being done here at the institute is of paramount importance.”

Even though he was still in a hurry, her words made him pause. Crossing his arms before him, he took a moment to study his newest staff member. “So this is a crusade for you?”

Ramona’s already dazzling smile grew brighter. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

He wanted to believe her. Things would be a great deal simpler if he just could and let it go at that. Maybe the betrayal of their former employee had put him on his guard, making him more suspicious than he ordinarily was. Or maybe he was just being supersensitive, but for the third time today, he felt he was in the presence of someone who wasn’t being completely up-front with him. Someone who, for whatever reason, was holding something back.

Although, he had to admit that when it came to Ramona Tate, he hadn’t a clue what that “something” might be. He didn’t know the woman well enough for that. It was just a hunch. A feeling.

He was being far too paranoid, he upbraided himself. There was no real reason not to believe that the young woman was being honest with him. After all, he was the one who’d posed the question, who’d prodded her. It was possible that Ramona was every bit as altruistic as she presented herself to be.

Possible, he reasoned, but was it actually probable? He really wasn’t all that sure that the answer to that was yes. However, only time would tell.




Chapter Five


He should be on his way, Paul thought and yet, here he was, still lingering. Still sharing space with this woman with the expressive eyes.

“Derek asked me to take you on a tour of the institute and to give you a miniorientation,” he told her.

Her natural curiosity kicked in. “Why doesn’t he give me the tour himself?”

Paul took the question to mean that she would have preferred his brother’s company to his. He understood that. People always gravitated to Derek. He was the outgoing one, the one with the ability to make people laugh. The one who could defuse any situation and had a story to fit every occasion.

Ordinarily, it didn’t bother him to have someone prefer Derek over him. He was used to it. Why it bothered him this time was something he wasn’t about to let himself explore.

“He had to leave,” Paul told her.

She nodded, accepting the excuse at face value. “So, when do you want to get started? Now’s fine with me,” she volunteered.

She certainly did seem eager. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time today. I have several patients scheduled for this afternoon.”

Her eyes widened ever so slightly and he found himself being drawn in. “So you practice medicine as well as oversee the staff here.”

“Yes, why does that surprise you?” he wanted to know.

She laughed, adding a touch of self-consciousness to the sound, as if she hadn’t expected to be caught. She knew how to play her role well. “I didn’t take you for a multitasker.”

He knew he should have already been on his way to his other office. His sense of responsibility had him making a point of being early rather than just on time, but her reply caused more questions to pop up. He didn’t think of himself as the kind of person that people formed any sort of impression about—unless they felt they had to or when being in contact with him directly affected their lives.

“All right, I’ll bite. What did you take me for?” he asked.

There was no hesitation. Ramona had the answer all worked out. “Someone who is very focused. Who follows the rules. Someone who does one thing at a time and who does that one thing very, very well.”

He realized he was watching her lips as she spoke and he looked away. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“You didn’t,” she assured him quickly. “Actually, I don’t mind being wrong when it turns out to be a pleasant surprise.” She said it with such feeling, he half expected her next words to be “gotcha.”

But they weren’t.

Realizing that she was waiting for him to say something further, he finally asked, “How’s tomorrow for you?”

Ramona smiled before answering. As hackneyed as it might have sounded to someone had he voiced his sentiments out loud, her smile really did seem to fill the room with sunshine. Maybe he needed to get out more, Paul thought.

“Tomorrow’s fine. What time?”

“Early,” he told her. “I have a procedure scheduled for ten o’clock, so why don’t we get together about eight—unless that’s too early for you.”

“No, it can even be earlier if you’d prefer. I’m a morning person,” she volunteered cheerfully.

“Eight will be early enough,” he assured her, all but riveted by her smile.

It took effort to look away and even more effort to get himself to walk out of the office and put distance between them.

The problem was Ramona had started to walk out at the same moment that he did. They found themselves together in the doorway; their bodies wound up brushing up against one another. A host of shock waves seemed to travel right through Paul, and he pulled back instantly as if propelled by a live wire.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized quickly, hoping that she didn’t think he’d done that on purpose. Had he been Derek, he realized, he probably would have—and then smoothed it over with his golden tongue.

Something else they didn’t have in common.

Incredibly, her smile seemed to widen even more and there was a hint of laughter in her eyes as she absolved him of all blame.

“That’s all right,” she assured him as if she realized it had been an accident on his part. “And for the record, I don’t bite.”

Even though he opened his mouth to respond, Paul had no comeback for that. His mind had gone completely blank in the face of her smile. He was really going to have to work on that, he chided himself

Mumbling “Tomorrow,” Paul hurried down the hall to his other office, grateful that he could retreat somewhere.

Ramona stood in his doorway for a moment longer, watching the quietest member of the Armstrong tribunal disappear down the corridor. She wasn’t really sure what to make of Dr. Paul Armstrong. If she didn’t know any better, she would have said that the man seemed almost sweet. But that wasn’t possible, not given the overall circumstances.

One thing she did know was that Dr. Paul Armstrong was going to be the subject of some heavy Internet research tonight.



Time was that after she’d put in a full day’s work, she’d head for her cozy little apartment, eager to enjoy a little well-deserved solitude. Dinner most likely would be something she’d have delivered. She’d wind up consuming it while sitting on her chocolate-colored sofa—purchased expressly to hide a multitude of sins, otherwise known as indelible stains—and channel surfing. It was her way of unwinding.

But these days, her own gratification, not to mention rest, was usually postponed, if not put on hold altogether. Instead, she would wind up swinging by the house where she had grown up. The house where her mother still lived.

The key phrase here, Ramona thought, changing lanes to pass a slow-moving SUV, being “still lived.”

Ramona became aware that her grip on the steering wheel had tightened and she forced herself to loosen it—while still keeping a grip on her fragile emotions.

Once upon a time, not all that long ago, she’d been so eager to make her own way, find her own path in the world. But even as she did, she was very aware of the solid foundation she had in her life. Aware that if ever anything went wrong, or she needed a haven, she had her mother, someone who would always be there for her. Always. And if everything was falling apart around her, her mother could always make her feel that it was going to be all right.

Until now.

The threat of mortality, of death always hovering in the background, an invisible wraith that had the power to steal absolutely everything from her, was now ever present.

Ramona knew it was childish, but even so, on some level she felt that she could stave off the threat of her mother’s demise for another day if she just swung by the house and saw her for a little while in the evening. Some nights, “a little while” stretched out into the wee hours of the morning. At other times, she didn’t bother going home at all, crashing in her old room instead.

Turning onto her mother’s street, Ramona was aware that she was once again holding her breath, the way she did now every time she came. She only released it after a swift scan of the surrounding area told her that there was no ambulance parked nearby, no paramedics rushing in or out of the New England–style house that, according to family legend, her mother had fallen in love with thirty-five years ago.

All clear, Ramona thought, pulling up onto the recently repaved driveway.

Taking a moment to collect her things—her purse and the state-of-the-art laptop that went just about everywhere with her—Ramona got out and locked her vehicle, then made her way to the front door.

She paused, juggling purse and briefcase, searching for the keys that habit always had her dropping into her purse the moment she took them out of the ignition. She knew she should just hold the keys in her hand, but that never seemed to happen. She always wound up playing a frustrating game of hide-and-seek in front of the door before locating her keys.

This time, Ramona didn’t have to. The front door opened before she could pull her keys out of her purse again.

Katherine Tate, or what was left of her these days, stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorjamb to support herself. There was a slight smile on her lips as she looked at her daughter fondly.

“I thought I heard your car pull up.” A tiny “yip” had her mother amending her words. “Actually, Roxy was the one who heard you pull up,” she confessed, referring to the tiny, energized mix-breed puppy that was all but tap-dancing behind her, trying to get at Ramona. “How she can tell your car apart from all the others that pass by, I have absolutely no idea. But she’s never wrong.” Placing her very thin hand on her daughter’s shoulder to anchor herself, the five-foot-two woman stood up on her toes in order to press a kiss on Ramona’s cheek. “How’s my famous undercover daughter doing?”

Shifting her briefcase to the same side as her purse, Ramona linked her free arm through her mother’s as if they were just two carefree girlfriends, walking and chatting, instead of a daughter who was attempting to unobtrusively guide her mother back inside the house.

“That’s a contradiction in terms, Mom. If I was famous, I couldn’t get away with being undercover. I’d be recognized immediately.” With a wink she pointed out, “I’d rather be good than famous.”

“To me you’re both,” Katherine declared with great feeling.

Ramona beamed at her mother, biting back a wave of fear. Life couldn’t go on if anything happened to her mother, she thought.

Hear that, God? You can’t have her. I need her too much.

“I can always count on you to pick up my spirits,” Ramona said to her mother. Roxy eagerly scurried back and forth. It was the dog’s way of showing she was happy to see her.

“Why?” Katherine asked, slipping her arm out and shutting the door behind them as they walked in. She flipped the lock into place then slowly turned around to face her again. “Do your spirits need picking up?”

They did, but only because seeing her mother like this, a shell of her former vibrant, youthful self, was always a shock to her system for the first few minutes. She didn’t know why she expected her to look exactly the way she had a little over six months ago. Probably because she still liked to believe in miracles and secretly prayed that one would occur in the hours that she was away from the house and her mother.

But the miracle just didn’t happen.

It will. As soon as I find who your eggs went to, Mom, it will, she silently promised.

“Just a tough day,” she said, knowing Katherine expected some kind of response. Ramona attributed her own success as an investigative reporter as something that came naturally to her thanks to her mother, who would approach a subject from an endless multitude of angles until she got what she was after. Surrendering or giving up were never considered options.

Ramona was aware that her mother’s breathing was becoming labored. It took very few steps to tire her out these days. Katherine sank down on the sofa in the living room. Roxy instantly hopped onto the seat beside her mistress. Smiling wearily at the dog, she stroked it as she looked at her and asked, “Where is it again that you’re pretending to work?”

“I’m not pretending, Mom,” Ramona corrected fondly. She thought of the article she’d written for the press release. It was damn good. Even Derek Armstrong’s stone-faced evil twin had liked it. “I really am working.”

“But you’re also digging, aren’t you?” The question was merely for form’s sake. Katherine knew the kind of work her daughter actually did. She was exceedingly proud of the path that Ramona had chosen.

“Yes, I am,” Ramona answered.

Except that no real “digging” had taken place yet. She needed to get to know people a little better before she could safely start asking questions without arousing suspicion. She had, she felt, a perfect cover in her role as public-relations manager, and the tour that Paul Armstrong had promised her was going to be an immense help in getting her started.

“So what is this place where you’re working undercover?” And then, before her daughter could answer, Katherine’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not one of these so-called escort places, is it? Because I saw an exposé on one of those magazine programs the other night and I really don’t want you associating with people like that.”

Ramona suppressed a smile. Her mother still felt she could shelter her from the world’s darker elements. In a way, she almost found it sweet. There was no way she could have ever reached her present position not having dealt, at least fleetingly, with the seamier side of life. But she’d never want her mother to worry and was rather relieved that she could set her mind at ease without having to lie.

“No, it’s not a ‘so-called escort place,’” Ramona assured her. “And honestly, Mom, the less you know about it right now, the better.”

It wasn’t exactly the truth. She just didn’t want to raise her mother’s hopes by telling her that she was trying to track down a possible sibling. If she told her that she was working at the Armstrong Fertility Institute, her mother would make the obvious connection: that she was there to get access to the archives and to locate the couple who had profited by her desperate donation. If there were no siblings to be found, her own disappointment would be difficult enough to deal with. Maintaining a positive attitude was exceedingly important right now.

Katherine drew her own conclusions from what her daughter wasn’t saying. Her concern was palatable. “Then it is dangerous.”

“No, it’s not dangerous, Mom,” Ramona was quick to tell her with feeling. “It’s that if you don’t know, you won’t accidentally let something slip when you’re talking to one of the checkers at the supermarket or the beauty salon. Or one of your friends. Undercover means just that—undercover. Secret,” she added, though she knew it was overkill.

Katherine looked just the slightest bit hurt. “When have I ever betrayed a confidence?”

“I wasn’t thinking of betrayal, Mom. I was thinking of being human and last time I checked—” Ramona patted the hand that wasn’t stroking Roxy”—you were most definitely human.”

Her mother sighed quietly. “At least for a little while longer. Then I’ll be a guardian angel, watching over you.”

Ramona completely dismissed the serious part of Katherine’s statement, refusing to give it any credence by even insisting that her mom had more than a little time left. She defused the moment the way she always did, with humor. “I don’t think God lets you pick out your own assignments.”

“Why not?” Katherine wanted to know. “It’s heaven, isn’t it?”

Ramona didn’t bother suppressing her grin. “And your idea of heaven is watching over me?”

“Yes,” Katherine answered with feeling. It drained her meager supply of energy for a moment.

Ramona laughed and shook her head. “Oh, Mom, we’ve got to get you out more.”

“That would be lovely,” Katherine agreed wistfully. “The minute I’m better—if I get better,” she qualified, “you and I will do the town.”

“The minute you’re better—and you will be,” Ramona emphasized fiercely, “I’m going to get you a guy and the two of you are going to do the town. You can do the town with me anytime.”

Katherine rolled her eyes. Roxy, having lain down and been stroked into sleep, was snoring gently. “Oh, Ramona, why would I need a guy?”

Ramona grinned as she leaned over and patted her mother’s hand again. “It’ll come back to you, Mom. If not, I have a book I can lend you.”

Katherine laughed and Ramona paused to listen to the soft, melodic sound, thinking how very much she loved hearing her mother laugh.

She intended to move heaven and earth if she had to, in order to continue hearing that sound for the next half century or so.

* * * * *

It was late.

Very late.

Paul had already put in a full day and then some as far as he was concerned. He was actually on his way out of the institute when his pager had gone off.

A quick call to his answering service told him that the McGees were frantically on their way in. Allison McGee was spotting and they were terrified that she was going to lose the babies she was carrying. The woman at the answering service said that Marc McGee sounded as if he was the on verge of having a heart attack and was barely coherent. He was driving and shouting into his cell phone at the same time.

Paul knew that he could have easily turned their case over to one of the more than competent doctors on the staff, but he knew that seeing him would calm Allison down a little.

And besides, he felt a personal obligation to the couple, just as he felt a personal obligation to every couple he counseled and worked with.

So he called Marc and told the frantic father-to-be that he would meet them at the nearby hospital where he had surgical privileges. The McGees arrived in the parking lot, tires screeching, less than five minutes later. Knowing what part of town they were coming from, he judged that they’d have to have done eighty all the way. Paul and an attendant greeted them with a wheelchair and Paul personally helped Allison out of the vehicle and into the chair.

What he’d hoped was just an aberration had turned into a premature delivery. A rather difficult one at that, requiring the services of two other obstetricians besides himself. But at the end of the ordeal, Allison and Marc had two viable sons, both now sleeping peacefully in their incubators. They were alive and that was the only thing that mattered.

And he was beat beyond measure. If he tried to drive home now, he had a feeling that he would undoubtedly be the subject of headlines tomorrow: Head of Staff of Armstrong Fertility Institute Caught Driving Erratically and Arrested. Drug or Alcohol Abuse Suspected. Possibly Both.

Or at least something along those lines. The press loved building you up and then tearing you down and the institute, for the moment, was in the tear-down stage. Since he had absolutely no desire to fall asleep behind the wheel, he decided that he would be better off sacking out on the couch in his office for at least an hour until he got his energy back.

With a weary sigh, he lay down on the leather sofa. He was asleep within five seconds.




Chapter Six


Paul felt the beads of sweat forming along his forehead. His hair stuck to his forehead. His limbs felt too heavy to lift. He had no more control over any part of his body.

He was having that dream again.

The one where he was trying to find his way to his office and the more he walked toward it, the farther away the office became.

Frustration and anxiety filled him. His breathing grew more shallow. His lungs began to ache. He kept walking, going faster now.

The corridor shifted. Instead of going straight, it became a series of twists and turns that led him down unfamiliar hallways. And all the while his sense of urgency continued building. Building until it grew to almost unbearable proportions.

Just as he thought he finally saw his office at the end of the long, tunnel-like hallway, the ground beneath his feet disappeared and he found himself plummeting into a ravine.

The churning waters below threatened to drown him and then carelessly wash his body away, casting it wantonly where no one would ever find him.

Then suddenly, unlike all the other times he’d had this unnerving dream, there was someone touching his arm.

Someone grabbing it and shaking him.

Someone was saving him, keeping him from being swept out to sea. He was saved!

More frustration assaulted him because he couldn’t make out the face of the person who had rescued him at the very last, possible moment.

And then he heard the voice—a woman who had hold of his arm, calling his name even as she shook him.

Somehow, he finally managed to open his eyes.

And then he saw her bending over him, her blond hair falling into her face, her hand on his arm. Holding him and keeping him from falling.

Startled, he bolted upright.

The ravine, the churning waters, they were gone. He was back in his office again. The same office where he’d lain down a few minutes ago to catch a short nap before driving himself home.

No, wait, it wasn’t a few minutes ago. It was last night.

Except that, unlike last night, he wasn’t alone. Ramona Tate was looking down at him, concern evident in her sky-blue eyes.

“Are you all right?” she asked, and he realized that this wasn’t the first time he’d heard the question. She’d voiced it before, only then it had been part of his dream—or maybe he should start calling it his nightmare. Nightmare seemed like a far more fitting label for it.

Sitting up, he swung his legs off the sofa, trying to gather his dignity to him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked gruffly, dragging his hand through his hair.

“It’s eight o’clock,” she told him politely. When he continued staring at her, she added, “You told me to come in early for a tour. Introduce me to some of the other people, things like that. I knocked on your door first,” she added. “You didn’t answer, but I heard you moaning.”

Scrubbing his hand over his face, Paul tried to focus. “I was having a nightmare.”

Ramona nodded. “That’s what it sounded like,” she agreed. Her eyes washed over him, taking in every last detail, or so it felt to him. What was she thinking? he couldn’t help wondering. “You never went home last night, did you?”

“One of my patients called in, or rather, her husband did. She was spotting and really afraid. I met them at the hospital. I seem to have a calming effect on her and her husband,” he added with a shrug. A pain zigzagged up and down his spine. He’d forgotten how uncomfortable his sofa really was.

“And?” Ramona prodded.

The woman actually looked interested, Paul mused. “She delivered just before midnight.”

Her eyes held his. “Everything went all right?” she wanted to know.

He laughed shortly. “Other than the fact that the babies arrived six weeks prematurely and that Marc McGee fainted at the first sign of blood, everything went just fine.”

“Babies?” she echoed. One of the allegations making the rounds against the Armstrong Fertility Institute was that there were entirely too many embryos being implanted at one time, resulting in multiple births. “How many babies?”

Was that interest, or suspicion, he heard in her voice? He wasn’t sure. “She had twins. Two boys. I think she was hoping for one of each, but the last few hours, she was just hoping they’d be alive and well—and out of her.”

Her mouth curved warmly. “So you delivered them and then came in here to catnap?”

Paul shrugged dismissively. “Something like that.”

He still looked tired, Ramona thought. She wasn’t going to ingratiate herself to him if he felt that he had to drag her around when he was half-asleep.

“Look, if you’d like to postpone my orientation and go home to catch up on your sleep, I understand completely. We can do this tomorrow,” she told him cheerfully.

Paul rotated his shoulders, trying to get the kink out. The sofa had definitely not been constructed with napping in mind. Still, though she’d given him an out, he didn’t want to postpone the tour. He’d already postponed it once when he shifted it from yesterday to today.

“Tomorrow,” he told her, “has a habit of never coming.”

Tongue in cheek, she pretended to take this as a revelation. “You know something that the newscasters don’t?”

He wasn’t sure if she was kidding or not. “I just meant that life has a habit of interfering with things. If we postpone this now, who knows what might come up tomorrow? For all I know, there might be a bigger fire to deal with.” He stretched, feeling several muscles line up in protest as he did so. “Just give me a couple of minutes to pull myself together.”

She was more than willing to be cooperative. “No problem. I can wait in my office if you like. And, better still,” she volunteered, “I can get you a cup of coffee.”

The offer out of left field surprised him. “I thought that women didn’t do that anymore, get coffee for their boss.”

Were her eyes smiling or laughing when she looked at him? He couldn’t tell. “Women don’t like being told to get coffee. Volunteering to do it is a whole different story.” She leaned in closer to him for a moment. Close enough for him to get a heady whiff of her perfume. Something remote stirred for a second, then faded. “And in case you didn’t notice, I was volunteering. You take it black, don’t you?”

“Is that a guess,” he wanted to know, “or are you clairvoyant, too?”

“Just a guess,” she assured him cheerfully. “The percentages were in my favor,” she confided. “You don’t strike me as the latte type, or even the cream-and-sugar type.”

“I strike you as the black-coffee type,” he said and she couldn’t tell if she’d affronted him, or if he was just trying to figure out what that actually meant. He seemed to be the kind of person who needed to have everything in black and white. He was, she silently promised him, in for a surprise. But for the time being, she’d play things his way.

Ramona nodded. “Basic. Good, rich, no frills.”

He realized that for a second, his breath had backed up into his lungs. That did it, no more sleeping on the office sofa.

“Are you describing the coffee or me?” He didn’t realize until he heard the words that he had said them out loud.

She smiled in response and for a second, he didn’t think she was going to answer. But then she grinned impishly and said, “Both,” just before she left the office.

Paul sat there for a long moment, staring at the closed door. He needed to get his day going, he reminded himself, not try to figure out the puzzles that hid behind Ramona’s sparkling eyes and long, shapely legs.

Crossing to the door, he locked it and then went to change into the spare suit he kept on hand.

A shower would have been nice, as well, but that was a luxury he couldn’t afford right now. He had a full schedule today, which was why he’d suggested doing the orientation so early. These days, he thought as he swiftly changed clothes, he always felt as if he was half a league behind in his life.

Someday, he promised himself, he was going to catch up.



Ramona was just looking at her watch for a second time, wondering if Paul Armstrong had decided to postpone her orientation tour after all when she heard the light rap on her door.

Rather than bidding him to come in, she opened the door, thinking that was the friendlier path to take. She was trying everything in her power to build a bond between them. If she was going to get anywhere, she knew she needed to erase that suspicious glint that came into his eyes whenever he looked at her.

Her immediate goal was to put him at ease and get him to trust her. If she could accomplish that, everything else would fall into place, both her primary reason for being here and the one she’d given her editor, Walter Jessup, so that she’d have his blessing and backing to be here.

“Hi,” she greeted Armstrong brightly as she opened the door. “I thought maybe you’d changed your mind or forgotten about me.”

“Not much chance of that,” he said, commenting on the last phrase.

Paul sincerely doubted that anyone could forget about Ramona Tate once they met her. She wasn’t the kind of woman who, left unseen, would just fade into some nether field. She had the kind of face that lingered on a man’s mind long after she’d walked away. Long after.

Closing the door again, Ramona produced a tall container of coffee, strong and hot, and held it out to him.

“Coffee, as promised,” she said.

It smelled rich and delicious. He was willing to bet any amount of money that this coffee had definitely not emerged out of any of the vending machines located on the first floor. Or any of the other institute floors for that matter.

Tempted, he took a sip and savored the outstanding brew for a moment. “Where did you get this?”

Ramona gestured toward the machine. “I brought my own coffeemaker to work.” The machine, which first ground whole beans and then brewed the results, was sitting on a file cabinet that, when the last occupant worked out of this office, had housed countless piles of books and papers. “This way, I don’t have to drop everything to go find Starbucks.”

That sounded incredibly dedicated.

“I’m sure that when he hired you, my brother didn’t intend for you to be chained to your desk for hours at a time.”

Ramona didn’t respond to his statement. Instead, she seemed to be watching him intently as he paused to take another sip.

“So,” she asked, her voice a tad lower and more melodic, “is it the way you like it?”

Jarred, Paul blinked and stared at her. He must have heard wrong. “Excuse me?”

“The coffee.” She nodded at the container he held in his hand. “Is it the way you like it?”

“Oh.” For a minute, he thought she was asking him if he—

Unconsciously shaking his head, Paul banished the thought that had popped unwittingly into his head.

“You didn’t like it?” Ramona asked, trying to make sense out of the way he was reacting.

She looked disappointed. Was she that sensitive? Or was this all an act for some reason he couldn’t quite fathom yet?

“No. I mean yes, I did. And no, that wasn’t why I was shaking my head.” It felt as if his thoughts were all scrambled and it was only partially due to his waking up so abruptly. “I’m just trying to get the last of the cobwebs out of my brain.”

She smiled and indicated the container with her eyes. “If you finish the coffee, I think the cobwebs will self-destruct on their own. Oh.” She said the words as if she suddenly remembered something. Before he could ask if she had, she answered his question. “I brought pastries.” She flashed a grin and a little ray of sunshine entered the room. It was becoming a given. “In case you wanted something sweet to go along with your coffee.”

The sweet thing that he found himself wanting to go along with his coffee hadn’t come from any oven, but because he was hungry, he forced his thoughts to zero in on the practical.

Ramona was taking the box she’d brought out of the double drawer where she’d put it. Placing it on her desk, she took off the lid and pushed the box closer toward Paul. He took one small muffin and sat down in the chair facing her desk.

She took a seat, as well. “I’m guessing this sort of thing happens to you on a regular basis. Spending the night here,” she added when Armstrong looked at her quizzically.

She was right, but he had no idea where she’d gotten her conclusion from. He doubted that very many people here took note of the fact that sometimes his hours threaded themselves well into the night if the situation called for it.

“What makes you say that?” he wanted to know.

“Your clothes. You changed,” she pointed out when he looked down at what he was wearing. “You keep a change of clothing in your office or locker or whatever. That means you’ve slept in your office.”

He saw no harm in admitting to her that she’d deduced correctly. “It’s happened a few times,” he acknowledged.

Armstrong seemed almost modest. She prided herself on being able to spot a phony. Could he actually be the genuine article?

“You must be very dedicated,” she observed with what she felt was just the right touch of awe.

He didn’t know if he’d call it dedicated. He did feel a sense of responsibility toward the people who came to his father’s institute.

“The people who come here looking for help are desperate,” he told her without any fanfare. “We’re their last hope. You tend to feel responsible for them as well as to them. If I’m only available to them on a strict schedule or when it’s convenient for me, then I have no business working in medicine. Punching a time clock is for people who work on an assembly line. I’m in a different line of work,” he concluded quietly.

She studied him for a moment. “You do extraordinary things here, Paul. You help people conceive babies. Some would say that’s God’s line of work.” She smiled warmly, keeping her tone nonjudgmental. “I guess what I’m wondering is if you sometimes feel, well, godlike.” Her eyes raised to his and pressed innocently. “Well, do you?”

The whole idea was completely absurd.

“Never once,” he informed her firmly. Finishing the pastry, he wiped his fingers on the napkin she’d supplied and finished the last of his coffee, dusted off a crumb from his jacket and then looked at her. “Are you ready to take that tour of the institute now?”

She was on her feet immediately, closing the lid on the pastry box and abandoning her own coffee. She raised her face to his and told him, “I was born ready.”

Paul had no idea why he felt she wasn’t really referring to the tour, but was, instead, putting him on some kind of notice.

But he did.

A warmth, joining forces with anticipation, washed over him. He banked it down, but his pulse continued marking time at a heightened beat that only seemed to increase the closer he walked beside Ramona.




Chapter Seven


The tour through the institute lasted close to an hour. Because he was pressed for time, Paul moved quickly throughout the modern three-story building. Ramona kept pace with him and peppered him with questions every step of the way. Endless, probing questions.

If he didn’t know any better, Paul would have said that it felt as if he was under interrogation. He’d never encountered anyone who was so incredibly and relentlessly curious about the place in which she found herself employed.

He took her to see the various meeting rooms and then on to the boardroom. When they arrived, Ramona walked in before he could move on.

“My God, this is huge,” she breathed, looking around in awe. It felt as if her voice was echoing in the cavernous room.

It made him think of Alice when she first took stock of Wonderland. Ramona even had the long blond hair.

Where had that thought even come from? He shouldn’t be evaluating her looks—just her skills.

Ramona took it all in, moving around slowly. The room was wood paneled and had floor-to-ceiling windows. It was a sunny day and there were prisms of light bouncing off the walls and the very large, elegant oak conference table.

Paul watched, mesmerized despite himself, as Ramona spun around full circle beside the windows before turning to look at him.

“I think my apartment is smaller than this. Why do you need such a large conference room?” Before he could answer her, she made her own guess. “Is it to dwarf the egos that might be here?”

Being caught off guard by this woman was beginning to be an unfortunate habit. “What?”

“A room this large makes a person feel small,” she explained. “That might be handy in getting people to do what you want them to.”

“I have nothing to do with the size of this room,” he told her. “That was my father’s design.”

His father had been the one to choose this location to begin with and he’d been involved in every phase of its construction. Despite the fact that he had not been part of it for a while now, the institute bore Gerald’s indelible stamp and would always be his building, even long after the man was gone.

“I see,” Ramona said thoughtfully as they both exited the room.

He didn’t like the way she said that. “What is it that you see?”

Keep it low-key, Ramona. You don’t want to push the man away or put him on his guard. “Just that your father must be a very forceful man.”

“At the moment, he’s a retired man.” Paul thought about his father, about how withdrawn and, on occasion, bitter the man had become. The senior Armstrong hardly ever left the house now.

She knew that Gerald Armstrong was retired, but she was curious if he still kept a finger on the pulse of “his” clinic. For some men, retirement was just a meaningless word. “Does he ever come in and see how things are going?”

Initially, his mother had tried to get his father involved in the institute again. It seemed rather an ironic turn, seeing as how Gerald’s obsession with the institute had taken such a heavy toll on their marriage in the beginning.

Paul thought Ramona would abort her line of questioning when he told her, “My father’s in a wheelchair.” He realized that he should have known better. The woman just kept going and going.

“That doesn’t stop some people,” Ramona said tactfully.

“It does others,” he countered. They were making their way back to the elevators. He couldn’t keep his curiosity in check any longer. “Why are you asking so many questions?”

She looked at him with an innocent expression that seemed to say that the answer was self-evident. “How else am I going to find things out? By the way,” she continued, stepping into the elevator car, “where are the archives housed?”

He stared at her for a moment, then pressed for the next floor down. “In the basement. Why?”

The answer was tendered in utter innocence. The doors closed. “I thought I’d take a look at them when I got the chance.”

In less than a minute, the elevator doors were opening again on the floor below. “Again, why?”

“To get a sense of the institute’s history,” she told him as they got off.

He had no desire to have her rummaging through the files that were stored down there. For the most part, they were charts and records that belonged to some of the institute’s first patients. “If you have any questions, you can come to me.”

He was walking faster, she noted, and lengthened her own stride. Was he just trying to get this over with, or was he subconsciously running from something?

“You just wanted to know why I’m asking so many questions,” she reminded him. “I don’t want to bother you any more than I have to.”

It might have seemed like a good idea to Derek at the time, but he was back to being sorry that his brother had talked him into letting Ramona stay. That was going to have to change and soon. He didn’t particularly want Ramona Tate digging around, disrupting the rhythm of things.

“As far as I’m concerned,” he told her as they went down the corridor, “this position is a one-shot deal. And you’ve fired the shot, or you will sometime today I imagine.”

It was her turn to be confused, Ramona thought. “Come again?”

“The press release about Bonner and Demetrios joining our staff,” he reminded her. “You wrote it. You’ll deliver it if you haven’t already. That’s why my brother initially hired you.”

“Initially.” She picked up on the word he used and emphasized it. “But that was just the beginning, Dr. Armstrong.”

Paul stopped walking and looked down at her, a man whose overnight guest had just announced she was settling in for the next six months. “Oh?”

Ramona continued walking as if she was oblivious to the fact that he had stopped. “The way I see it, the institute is in a precarious state, like a forest in the middle of a really hot summer. There are bound to be fires. It’s my job to put those fires out.”

He resumed walking. “And what if there are no fires?” he challenged.

“Then I’ll have a very stress-free job.” She slanted a look at him, more than a hint of a smile on her lips. “But do you really think that will be the case?”

He didn’t want to dwell on “fires” or public relations or baseless rumors that were running amok. He just wanted to do his job. “All I want to do is help couples have the families they’ve always wanted.”

She wanted to believe him, to believe that even in this modern, fast-paced world there were still people who wanted to do decent things out of the goodness of their heart. But until she disproved those rumors that she’d come to investigate, she couldn’t allow herself to be taken in by the innocent look in his eyes.

“I understand, Dr. Armstrong, but things are never as simple as we’d like them to be. It’s my job to make sure that you can do yours without being hampered by innuendo or, more important, lawsuits,” she told him, deliberately presenting him with a cheerful demeanor. “Public opinion can either be a wonderful tool, or a weapon.”

He stopped right in front of the lab. “How old are you?”

“Old enough to be good at what I do.” It sounded like an evasive answer, but she didn’t want to give him a direct answer. She knew that Armstrong was thirty-six and to him, she undoubtedly looked as if she was just out of elementary school.

“I was only thinking that you seemed awfully young to sound so cynical.”

She didn’t think of herself as cynical, but she let it go. Instead, she said, “These days, cynicism is built into the DNA.”

With a sigh, Paul shook his head and then pushed open the door to their state-of-the-art lab. He was proud of the equipment, proud of all the advances they’d made in the field because they were able to afford the kind of cutting-edge research to be done here.

Holding the door, he allowed her to walk in ahead of him.

Like the conference room, the lab was one large room. Unlike the conference room, it had two tables instead of one. The tables were waist high, equipped with sinks and a number of microscopes that were hooked up to projection screens and computers. There were several people in the lab at the moment, all dressed in white coats.

She’d heard as well as read a great deal about the newly transplanted research team of Bonner and Demetrios before she ever came to the institute. Consequently, she knew them on sight.

Only Ted Bonner was present at the moment. Chance Demetrios had an office in the building. Her guess was that he was probably there now.

Bonner did strictly research. He had the luxury of divorcing himself from the people who ultimately made use of the end product of his research via one of the doctors on the staff. This allowed him to throw himself wholeheartedly into his work. His failures had no faces on them, but then, neither did his successes.

She heard Paul take in a breath, as if he was bracing himself for some kind of ordeal. The next moment, she realized that she was the ordeal.

“Dr. Bonner,” he addressed the exceedingly tall, exceedingly good-looking dark-haired man who was about to bend over to look into one of the microscopes, “I would like to introduce you to Ramona Tate. She’s our new public-relations manager.”

Shaking her hand, Ted quipped, “I didn’t know you had an old public-relations manager.”

“We didn’t,” Paul answered before he realized that Ted was joking. “This is my brother’s idea. He thinks we need protecting.” He flashed a semiapologetic smile toward Ramona.

Thinking to spare him, she made no comment. She was getting a great many mixed signals from this man and decided it was better to pretend to be oblivious to all of them.

She turned her attention to the man who was still holding her hand enveloped in his. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Bonner. Would you mind if I got back to you later sometime? I’d like to ask you a few questions if I may.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” Ted assured her. “Anything I can answer now?”

She slanted a glance toward Paul. “No,” she assured Ted. “Not now.”

“Then I’ll get back to work,” he said, releasing her hand.

“What do you want to talk to him about?” Paul asked her the moment they walked out of the lab. He didn’t bother to try to hide the suspicious look on his face. What was she up to? he wondered. Were all these questions normal? Was he so out of touch with the way things worked outside his small sphere?

She was ready for him. “Well, for one thing, I want to know what enticed Dr. Bonner and his partner to come here to do their research.”

They walked down the corridor, each with a different destination in mind. He to his other office and she back to hers. But for now, they walked together.

“The lab they came from wasn’t exactly third rate or shabby by any means,” Ramona continued. “And there’s a certain amount of inherent prestige being associated with a teaching hospital–slash–college the caliber of the one they came from.” She stopped walking. He stopped a second after that and looked at her, waiting. “Did you offer them more money?”

He made no answer, trying to gauge what, if anything, he should say. Maybe, if he just waited long enough, she’d go away. Silence ricocheted between them.

Ramona pressed her lips together. “Dr. Armstrong, you need to talk to me if I’m to do my job and do you any good.”

“It was a little more money,” Paul finally admitted to her.

The inflection in his voice told her there was more. “And?”

Paul drew himself up. It was a purely defensive move. Knights running to man the castle parapets. “And I gave them carte blanche.” He shrugged carelessly. “I thought that having them here would negate any bad publicity that might have cropped up.”

“Aggressively heading that publicity off at the pass accomplishes that,” Ramona pointed out. “For starters, I need to get that press release—released,” she concluded, humor curving her generous mouth.

He glanced at his watch, blinking once to focus in on it better. “I have a procedure to get to,” he reminded her—and himself.

“Then I should get out of your way,” Ramona responded amiably. “Thanks for the tour,” she added.

As far as it went, Ramona added silently. She noticed that the good doctor had conspicuously left out the basement with its archives. But she wasn’t put off. She was confident that she’d find a way to get into that one way or another. Ramona had a very strong feeling that was where she’d find what she was really looking for.

At least, she sincerely hoped so.

Nodding at Armstrong, she turned on her heel and quickly headed back to her office. She had work to do: theirs, her editor’s and, the first moment she could find an island of time when no one was around to catch her, her own.

Paul stood like a pillar, watching her leave. With effort, he roused himself. He had no time to stand here like some pubescent adolescent, watching her hurry away, he silently chastised. He had a reputation to uphold. That reputation included never being late, especially not for a procedure.



How the hell had things gotten so damn out of control?

The question echoed over and over again in Derek’s brain, haunting him.

Taunting him.

It had all started out so innocently. So harmlessly. A simple weekend trip to Atlantic City. He was going to be staying at one of the more luxurious casinos and, if time permitted, he figured that he’d indulge in a little gambling.

How was he to know that things would mushroom into this—an obsession that would threaten to completely ruin his life?

He’d never seen it coming.

In his defense, he’d never even felt the inclination to gamble before. But that had been before the first incredible rush had found him.

There was no other way to describe the feeling that exploded in his veins when turn after turn of the card rendered him the big winner at the table. It was an exhilarating, overwhelming rush. The closest he had ever come to a religious experience.

By the end of that first evening, he was staring at more money than he ever had before. And it was his money. Not his father’s, not his family’s or the institute’s, but his. Exclusively.

He wasn’t just one of Gerald Armstrong’s sons, or the CFO of the Armstrong Fertility Institute, an empty title awarded him because of who his father was. At that specific moment in time, he was Derek Armstrong. Winner.

And then, when he returned to the table the next night, as mysteriously as it had found him, his winning streak abandoned him. Hand after hand, he lost. Desperate to recapture that magical feeling, to see that life-affirming envy in the other players’ eyes, he kept betting.

And he kept losing.

At the end of the weekend, he’d not only lost all the money he’d won, but he lost twice as much as he’d brought to Atlantic City.

He began signing notes, barking that he was good for it. His luck remained bad. He only won enough to remind him that it was possible. Just not probable.

Eventually, the house stopped accepting his markers. That was when someone else did. And his life took a turn for the worse.

Addled by his desire to recoup his losses and to prove that his groundless certainty that he could win it all back if he just kept at it long enough was right, he went on to accept the loan for a large sum of money. The loan had come from a well-dressed, older man with the flattest eyes he’d ever seen.

And now, now he was in so far over his head that he despaired he would ever break through the surface again. Lying on top of the rumpled bed in the shabby Atlantic City hotel room, he dragged both hands over his face in abject despair.

What was he going to do?

The demands for payments were relentless. And the threats, the threats frightened him most of all. Not just against his life, but against his parents and the institute, as well.

The threats hadn’t been in so many words, but when he was late with his third payment, a payment that had become swollen out of proportion because the interest that had been slapped on it grew at a prodigious rate, his “benefactor”—as the man had referred to himself at first—quietly slipped him a news clipping. The clipping was from a West Coast newspaper from approximately six months ago. The photograph that was at the top of the article showed a once-famous hotel going up in flames.

“The owner of that piece of property didn’t think he had to pay on time, either,” was all the man said to him in that raspy voice that came across like a poor imitation of Marlon Brando in The Godfather.

Derek never asked who the benefactor was referring to. He didn’t want to know. The lesson was crystal clear. If he didn’t continue to pay off his loan on time, the institute would be burned to the ground.

He sold everything he owned and still, it wasn’t enough. Having nothing left, immersed in maintaining a facade, Derek was left with only one source of money to tap. He handled the institute’s finances. So he set aside his conscience and did what he had to do.

It was either that or watch the institute burn.

He refused to think of the consequences of his actions, but he knew they were coming.

And soon.

In the meantime, he would continue to burn the candle at both ends, trying to stay alive one more day. Hoping that, at the end of the day, there would be some kind of miracle that could save him. It was the only way he could go on. Searching for a miracle. And praying that his luck had changed.




Chapter Eight


Paul had to admit that the press release looked even better in newsprint than it had on the antiseptic white pages that Ramona had handed him to read several days ago.





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