Bound by the Kincaid Baby / The Millionaire's Miracle. Emilie Rose

make sure the document is valid.”

      He was going to challenge her right to Rhett. It was all she could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other. “It is.”

      “Find a renter for your house yet?” he asked before she could get past her panic.

      “No.”

      “Are you comfortable leaving it vacant?”

      If his goal was to ruin her run, he’d succeeded. “My neighbors will keep an eye on it for me.”

      “You trust them that much?”

      “I do.”

      “You might want to consider a security system.”

      “I can’t afford one.”

      “You could. Just say the word.”

      “If I moved back home, I wouldn’t need a security system.” Carly usually ran farther, but she couldn’t stomach more of Mitch’s company this morning. She took a sharp right at the intersection without warning and headed back toward the manor.

      Mitch’s steps echoed hers, and he tracked her back toward the house. “Running from something, Carly?”

      Yes. You. She glanced at him. “I need to go into work early this morning.”

      A lone dark eyebrow hiked as if he recognized the lie for what it was. But she didn’t care. Mitch wasn’t interested in his half brother’s well-being. All he cared about was the billions of bucks Rhett represented.

      Carly needed to call her attorney and find out if Mitch had any chance at all of stealing her precious nephew. If he did, then renting her house wasn’t going to be an issue, because she’d have to sell it and use the equity to pay the legal fees.

      Mitch Kincaid seemed determined to screw up hers and Rhett’s lives. And Carly was just as determined to stop him.

      No matter what the cost.

      “Fax coming through,” Frank Lewis’s voice said through the cell phone line. “You’re not going to like it.”

      Mitch tossed his keys into the porcelain bowl on the credenza. “Why?”

      “Because Carlene Corbin is squeaky-clean.”

      “Nobody’s that clean. How far back did you go?”

      “Eighteen. Want me to look further? Check for a juvenile record?”

      “Yes.”

      “It’ll take some time to crack sealed records.”

      “I’ll wait. What about the other matter?”

      “I used my connections to get what the police had on the sister’s accident. Nothing of interest so far. No flags on your father.”

      Mitch exhaled in relief. “Good. Keep looking.”

      “Everett wasn’t Mafia, Mitch.”

      Mitch entered the study and closed the door. As predicted, the fax machine spewed pages. “No, but we both know you didn’t cross him. Marlene Corbin backed Dad into a corner. He would have come out swinging. And he wouldn’t plan to lose the fight.”

      “I hear you. I’m on it. Read the fax. Give me a call if anything rings your chimes.”

      “Will do. Thanks, Frank.” He disconnected, retrieved the report and scanned the pages, noting Carly’s University of Florida, Gainesville, education, her steady work history and her broken engagement. Something niggled at him as he settled in his leather desk chair. He reread until he nailed the odd part.

      She’d graduated from high school at nineteen when many kids did so at seventeen or eighteen. That wasn’t too unusual. Had she missed the age cutoff for entering school? Repeated a grade? He double-checked her birth date. July 9. She hadn’t missed the age cutoff. Probably nothing, but he’d get Frank on it.

      She’d had a long-term relationship with one man in college, and she’d been engaged until recently to another. What had happened to the college boyfriend and the ex-fiancé?

      A knock on the door yanked him away from those intriguing questions. He opened a drawer and shoved the fax inside. “Yes?”

      The knob turned and the oak panel opened. Carly filled the gap. She had Rhett on her hip and judging by her purple tracksuit had just returned from work.

      “Mitt,” the kid screamed and beamed and waved.

      A stab of something, probably a hunger pain, jabbed Mitch in the midsection. He jerked a nod. “Hi, kid.”

      Carly stepped into the study. “Della needed another day. I can have dinner ready in about an hour. Will that work for you?”

      “That makes three days off.”

      “Get over yourself, Kincaid. She’s trying to take care of her sister, not going out of her way to inconvenience you. And I told her to take as long as she needed.”

      He gritted his teeth over Carly interfering with household matters. Keep your eye on the goal. Get the kid. Get rid of the aunt. “We’ll go out to dinner.”

      Refusal tightened Carly’s features and stung Mitch’s pride. Women didn’t turn down his invitations. “I just picked up Rhett from day care. Lucy said he was teething and cranky today. I’m not going to leave him with a sitter.”

      “We’ll take him with us.”

      Carly’s brown eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You want to eat out with Mr. Messy even knowing he’s likely to be fussy?”

      He’d rather have a vasectomy without anesthetic. “We have to eat, Carly. And you’ve worked all day. You shouldn’t have to cook.”

      Most women would fall all over themselves to be accommodating. Carly deliberated for nearly sixty seconds, and the lack of enthusiasm on her face wasn’t flattering.

      “Give me ten minutes. And don’t make reservations for some swanky place. Make sure it’s family-friendly. Rhett will need a high chair.” She left, closing the door behind her.

      Mitch steepled his fingers and tapped his chin. Earlier today his lawyer had informed him Marlene’s will was airtight. Not only had the document been written in her handwriting, the writing of the one-line testament had been witnessed by two bank employees who knew her well.

      I leave everything I hold dear, my possessions, my assets and my beloved son, Rhett, to my sister, Carlene Leah Corbin, because she’ll be a better mother to my son than even I could be.

      In an overkill move, Marlene had had the thing notarized. Had she taken such drastic moves because she’d feared Everett’s rage?

      Mitch had never seen his father as livid as he’d been that day in late January when Marlene Corbin had brought her eight-month-old son to the house to meet his daddy. Everett’s fury hadn’t abated during the month of February while they’d awaited the DNA test results. And then on the first of March Marlene was dead. His father’s only comment, “Good riddance,” had been heartfelt.

      Had his father stooped to murder? Mitch shrugged to ease the knot of tension cramping between his shoulder blades. He’d know soon enough. And then he’d deal with it.

      But for now, contesting Marlene’s will was out.

      He retrieved the fax and resumed reading, but found nothing else of value. True to her word, Carly returned ten minutes later. She’d changed into a short white denim skirt that displayed the length of her legs and a sleeveless wraparound red knit top that clung to her breasts and narrow waist.

      She looked good. Good enough to momentarily distract him from his plan. Forcing his head back into the game, Mitch rose and escorted her outside. She headed for her car, he for his.

      She stopped in the driveway.