Everything but the Baby. Kathleen O'Brien

      She accepted one of the bottles, nodding. He was taking her arrival quite calmly. It was as if he’d never really doubted that she’d show up, sooner or later.

      “It does,” she said. “I’ve found him.”

      She had surprised Mark. It felt good. He was a very polite and civilized man, but all that confidence could get on your nerves.

      “You did? How?” He frowned over the water, then took a long drink. “My P.I. hasn’t turned up a single lead.”

      “Well…” She hesitated. “I had an idea about where to look.”

      His dramatic black brows went up slightly. She’d known this was the tricky part. If she had a lead, why hadn’t she shared it with him a week ago?

      And she had known, even back then, exactly where she’d start the hunt for Lincoln Gray. She decided to return to the spot where she’d met him in the first place—Sole Grande, the South Florida beach resort that catered to the rich and idle. He had a friend who wintered there, an older woman who occasionally loaned Lincoln her mansion during the summer.

      It seemed like a long time ago—though really it had been only about two months. The day she met Lincoln, Allison had been sitting in the airport lounge, waiting for an overdue plane to take her back to Boston.

      It was only about three months after her father’s death and she’d been feeling pretty low. Her mission in Sole Grande—to contact her mother’s family, from whom she’d been estranged for twenty-five years—had been a disappointing failure.

      The O’Haras owned a luxurious beachside hotel called O’Hara’s Hideaway. Allison had made it all the way to the front door and then lost her nerve. How could she go in, announce her connection and expect the fatted calf? She hadn’t reached out to the O’Haras in the past twenty-five years. They’d be insulted if she did so now, as a last resort.

      However, they had been her last resort. An only child, now an orphan, she was absolutely alone. She didn’t even own a dog. Her business was booming, but as the pundits always said, you couldn’t cuddle up next to your bank account on a cold winter night.

      She’d been easy pickings for Lincoln, who had sat next to her in the lounge that day. When she’d tried to discreetly blow her nose, he’d noticed and asked her what was wrong.

      A month later, he’d asked her to marry him. And she’d said yes.

      It had been so simple for him. She thought it just barely possible that he’d go back to Sole Grande now to find another lonely, foolish heiress who would drop into his hands like an overripe plum.

      Still, when her detective called, it had surprised her, just a little, to be right. Lincoln wasn’t exactly hiding under a rock, was he? He obviously believed Allison would be too proud to come looking for him.

      “I didn’t really think my idea would pan out,” she said, as if Mark had posed the question with words instead of with his eyes. “And you may remember, when you asked me if I had any clues, I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to help you find him.”

      “I remember. So we seem to be back to the original question. If you don’t want me to find him, why are you here?”

      She took a deep breath. “I’m here to ask you to stop looking for him.”

      He frowned, as if he hoped he hadn’t heard her correctly. His face hardened. “Then I’m afraid you’ve made the trip for nothing.”

      “No, please. Hear me out. I have a plan.”

      His dark eyes scanned her quickly, from her head to her toes. Probably doing a wacko inspection. She was glad she’d tamed her hair into a smooth chignon, even though it had taken nearly the whole bottle of mousse. When it was flying around, she always looked slightly mad.

      She must have passed, because he set his water down, leaned an elbow on the fireplace mantel and nodded.

      “Okay. Tell me about your plan.”

      She’d rehearsed this on the plane, and she’d decided then that it was best to start out with the punch line. Mark Travers didn’t seem like a guy who would appreciate a cowardly, meandering preamble.

      “I’m going to get Lincoln to marry me again.”

      There was a momentary silence. Then Mark’s mouth tilted up at one side. “You’re joking, right?”

      “Not at all. It’s the best way to catch him, don’t you see? In fact, it’s the only way. As things stand, he hasn’t done anything illegal. But I’ve looked into it, and bigamy is definitely not just creepy and cruel—it’s against the law.”

      “Indeed it is. I looked into it, as well.”

      “Good, then you know what I mean. The minute he actually takes the vows and signs the marriage certificate, the police can arrest him. He won’t do a lot of time—two years max, probably less. Not much justice, but a little is better than none, don’t you think?”

      “That’s the usual theory,” he agreed, though it was clear he still thought she might be pulling his leg.

      He scratched his cheek. “Look, Allison. I don’t mean to be rude, but you couldn’t quite get Lincoln to the altar the first time. What makes you think you’d be more successful the second time?”

      She felt herself flushing. “For starters, I know what I did wrong the first time,” she said. “I asked him to sign a prenup. The night before the wedding. That must have spooked him, which makes it pretty obvious he was in love with my money, not me.”

      “So?”

      “So this time I’ll make it clear there are no strings attached. I’ll promise him anything—unlimited access to my bank accounts, safety-deposit boxes, whatever he wants.”

      “And you think that will do it?”

      “Yes.” She put on her most confident voice, the one she’d always used when arguing with her father, who hated weakness. “If it doesn’t, what have we lost? A couple of weeks, at most. If I can’t land him, you are free to swoop in and beat him black-and-blue, or whatever it is you are secretly dying to do.”

      He really was the most physically controlled person she’d ever met—except, of course, for her father. Though Mark smiled at her comment, he didn’t fidget or twitch. He stood there leaning gracefully against the mantel and didn’t move a muscle. He might have been an oil painting.

      The Travers Heir, at Leisure.

      She knew the power position at this point was silence, but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted a response.

      “Surely you can see that it is our best course?”

      “No,” he answered mildly. “I’m not sure that I do. My instincts tell me it’s risky. I think I’d prefer to approach him myself.”

      She straightened her back. “You don’t know where he is.”

      “True.” Mark’s smile deepened. “But I know where you are.”

      She was embarrassingly slow—it took her several seconds to process that, but when she did she saw he was right. He could have her followed and that would lead him to Lincoln. The easy way.

      All right. Checkmate. But she’d been prepared for his resistance. She knew that a certain kind of man was accustomed to control and would dislike handing over the reins, even for a couple of weeks. She picked her purse up from the floor and pulled out the photographs her investigator had delivered this morning.

      “I’m sure you’d find it personally satisfying to rush in and take Lincoln by the throat,” she said. “But that’s a little shortsighted. And, frankly, a little selfish. Remember how you told me you wanted to keep him out of some other woman’s bank accounts—and her bed?”

      “Of course.”

      “Well,