Against the Law (7 page)

The corner of his mouth edged up. “You're right. We'd better get started.”

She felt his hand at her waist, guiding her toward the door. It made her hot all over.

“I don't think it's fair for you to wear clothes like that while we're working,” he said, looking her up and down once more.

“We're going out to dinner with friends, but I'll keep that in mind for next time.” Not that it was going to change anything. She always dressed this way and if it bothered him, so much the better. No matter what did or didn't happen between them, it was a relief to know the attraction she felt for him was returned.

And if their luck held, tomorrow they would discover the name of the couple who had adopted Heather's baby. After that, it shouldn't take long to find them. If they were decent, loving parents, she would let the phony adoption stand. She wouldn't take the little girl's family away from her.

If all went well, and she prayed that it would, then her
status as Dev's client would be over. She could decide then whether or not to take their relationship to a sexual level.

But first they had to find Heather's child and make sure she was okay.

T
he Strip House was an interesting place, with old-fashioned red leather booths and gilt-framed pictures on the wall. The interesting part was that the pictures were old, twenties-era photos of actual strippers, some of them nude.

“You gotta love this place,” Madman said as Dev ushered Lark inside the restaurant and found his friend waiting.

“I have to say, it isn't what I expected.”

“Strip House,” Clive said. “Play on words. Great steaks.”

Dev offered his hand. “Good to see you, buddy.” Clive shook, gave him a man hug. He was a big guy, nearly a foot taller than the petite, auburn-haired woman beside him with the big brown eyes and a bosom a little too large for her tiny stature. Madman had always been a boob man.

Clive leaned over and kissed Lark's cheek. The
women hugged. Madman turned to his wife of less than six months. “Dev, meet my wife. Molly, this is Daredevil Raines.”

“It's just Dev.” He leaned down and gave her a welcoming hug. She was married to one of his best friends, a man who had backed him up and helped him stay alive in places he'd rather forget. That made her part of a very special family.

She smiled up at him. “It's really nice to meet you, Dev. Clive has told me so much about you.”

Dev cast his friend a glance. “Not too much, I hope.”

“Nothing too awful, I promise.” With sandy hair and hazel eyes, Clive was even taller than Dev's own six-foot-two-inch frame, and heavier through the chest and shoulders.

“That's good to know.” He winced at the thought of Clive repeating some of their more colorful escapades.

“Why don't we get something to drink?” Molly suggested. “Lark, I want you to tell me everything that's been going on with the investigation.” She tried to climb up on a tall stool at a round table in the lounge and Clive gave her bottom a boost. A hot look passed between them that made Dev think of Lark and what they wouldn't be doing when they got back to her condo.

He bit back a groan.

Molly reached across the table and took hold of Lark's hand. “Clive says if anyone can find your sister's baby, it's Dev.”

Lark caught his eye across the table. “I think maybe Clive's right.” When the waitress arrived, she ordered an
appletini, a drink that was exactly the green of her eyes. She and Molly talked over their drinks while he filled Madman in on what they had discovered so far.

“Then tomorrow's the big day,” Clive said, taking a drink of his Jack and Coke.

Dev had ordered Jack Daniel's and water, just for old times' sake. “Should be. We've dug up plenty of dirt. Enough to squeeze them for the info we need.”

“Then this should all be over soon.”

“Should be.” He felt a faint vibration in the noisy bar and realized his cell was ringing. He didn't give out his personal number that often so he didn't get a lot of calls. When one came in, especially at night, it was usually important.

“Be right back,” he said to the group as he slid off the stool, pulled his phone out of the pocket of his slacks, and pressed it against his ear. “Raines.”

“It's Riggs. I got that information you wanted.”

Dev had called his friend a couple of days ago. Johnnie Riggs was an ex-Ranger who a P.I. license who worked for him on occasion. Living in L.A., he kept an ear open for word on the streets, which made him good at getting answers to difficult questions. “What'd you find out?”

“Margaret Oldman, AKA Martha Olcott, AKA Mary Fellows had the gambling monkey on her back. Her husband was into cards, enough he couldn't complain when either of them lost.”

“Big dollars?”

“Would be for someone like me. Together their habit
ran fifty to a hundred thou a year. They're not what you'd call heavyweights, but it ain't chump change, either.”

Amusement curved Dev's lips. “No, it isn't.”

“I can't say whether or not they're still at it.”

But the couple was currently out of town, likely at the gaming tables someplace. “Anything else?”

“If there is, I'll call you.”

“Thanks, John. Town'll make sure you're taken care of.” The call ended, Dev shoved his iPhone back into his pocket and returned to the table.

Lark looked up at him expectantly.

“Our friends, the Fellowses, spent their hard-earned dollars in the casino.”

“That's what they did with the money?” she asked.

“Apparently.”

“If they're gamblers,” Clive said, “odds are they'll need more. Gambling's a hard habit to kick.”

“Especially if you don't really want to,” Dev said.

“You think they're selling babies out of the day care center?” Lark asked, her voice going up a notch.

“I think they might be using the center as a resource for locating pregnant women who might be desperate to find their newborns a home.”

“We have to stop them. They don't care what happens to those babies. We can't let them get away with it.”

Dev blew out a breath. What the hell had ever made him think this was going to be easy?

“It isn't that simple,” he said. “A lot of the information we've got didn't exactly come through legal channels.”

Lark seemed to mull that over. “Well, there must be something we can do.”

“She's right, Dev,” Clive said. “If the bastards are black-marketing babies, you can't just let them keep doing it.”

Dev took a long, slow drink of his whiskey, giving him time to think. “Let's get through tomorrow first. Then we'll see what we can do.”

Lark looked at him as if she'd just moved him back to the top of her good-guy list.

“That's right,” she said optimistically. “We'll figure something out. First we have to find Heather's little girl.”

 

Lark didn't sleep well that night. Between knowing Dev was asleep in the room next door and worrying about what they might find out tomorrow, she tossed and turned and finally gave up a little after 4:00 a.m.

Putting on a pair of jogging shorts, a tank top and her Reeboks, she grabbed her house key, crept down the hall past Dev's closed door, left the condo and headed for the stairs to the building's exercise room.

On the main level behind a wall of glass, a mirrored room housed rows of rowing machines, ellipticals, stationary bikes, treadmills and a half dozen miscellaneous types of weight equipment. At this hour, there would likely be no one there.

When she shoved through the door, she jerked to a halt at the sight of Devlin Raines doing push-ups on the exercise mat.

He didn't see her at first and she was able to watch all those beautiful muscles at work. The sinews in the backs of his legs gleamed with sweat. Biceps bulged.
Back muscles tightened beneath his thin white T-shirt. It made her insides soften, turn hot and quivery, made her sex feel damp and achy.

He was counting past five hundred when he spotted her in the mirror, stopped, and gracefully came to his feet. He blotted the sweat from his forehead with the towel draped around his neck.

“I guess you couldn't sleep, either,” she said as she walked up to him.

His gaze dropped to her bare legs. “I guess not.”

“How'd you get in?”

“The cleaning staff was in here, they let me in.”

Why wasn't she surprised?

She watched a bead of sweat roll down his suntanned throat. “I've got a few more things to do before I finish and head back upstairs,” he said.

She held up the apartment key she'd brought down with her, jangled it in front of his nose. “If I hadn't come down, how did you plan to get back in?”

He grinned and the dimple appeared. “In this case,
don't ask, don't tell
is probably the best policy.”

Her eyes widened. “You were planning to break in?”

He just smiled.

“Okay, okay, I don't want to know. Let's get to work.”

They hit it hard for an hour, then took the stairs back up to the condo. Wordlessly, they disappeared into their respective bedrooms to shower and change.

Dev was setting plates filled with bacon and eggs on the table by the time she finished drying her hair and
applying her makeup. She had dressed down today in tan slacks, a light blue short-sleeve, cotton-knit sweater and sandals. No spike heels today. She wasn't sure exactly what she would be dealing with, and it wasn't that easy to run in six-inch shoes.

The bacon and eggs, coffee and toast were delicious.

“You know, you're going to make someone a very good wife,” she teased, taking a sip of the dark, aromatic brew.

Dev tossed her a look. “Thanks.”

“So what's the plan?” Lark ate another mouthful of her eggs, took a big bite of toast and closed her eyes at the flavor.

“It's still early. If we leave soon and go directly to the house, we can confront them together.” He bit the end off a crisp piece of bacon. “Might be able to press them harder.”

“I thought the cops liked to separate the criminals so they couldn't get their stories straight.”

“First—we aren't cops. Second, we know they'll probably lie. We also know they aren't going to want us going to the police with the evidence we have.”

“I thought we didn't have any evidence.” She began to work on her second piece of toast, which she slathered with boysenberry jam.

“We've got evidence. Some of it we just can't hand over to the authorities. Fortunately, the Fellowses don't know that. Besides, when they skipped, they broke parole. That's enough to get them arrested.”

“Got it.” Lark finished eating and so did Dev. Polishing
off the last of her coffee, she came to her feet, carried the empty plates over to the sink, rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher. Dev brought over the empty mugs.

Lark looked up at the clock. “We need to get on the freeway before it gets too crowded.”

“Right. You ready?”

She dragged in a nervous breath. “I guess so.”

“Everything's going to be fine. Just let me do most of the talking.”

Lark nodded. Hurrying back down the hall to her bedroom, she grabbed her big LARK bag, and they headed downstairs. A few minutes later they were on the road in Dev's rented Buick.

He took the freeway to the Hollywood Boulevard exit and they eventually made their way into the Hollywood Hills. Turning onto Prospect, he drove up a steep, narrow driveway to the address Chaz had given them. Two cars were parked in the carport, a black Nissan Altima and a white Honda Accord.

Dev parked in an open area off to one side and they climbed out of the car. Lark felt his hand at her back, guiding her up to the porch, and took a steadying breath.

Dev knocked firmly. Benedict Fellows answered the door in brown slacks and a yellow button-down shirt. A man in his late fifties, he was handsome, even dapper, with thick silver hair and pale blue eyes. Mary Fellows appeared beside him, also in her fifties, her short brown hair threaded with gray. She was dressed for work in a simple beige pantsuit and low-heeled brown leather pumps.

“Mr. and Mrs. Fellows?” Dev asked.

“That's right.” There was only a hint of wariness in Ben Fellows's voice. “What can I do for you?”

Mrs. Fellows stood close to her husband, the epitome of the wholesome American couple, and Lark thought how easily they had duped her grandparents into trusting them. Anger flared inside her. She took great care not to let it show.

“I'm Devlin Raines. This is my client, Lark Delaney.” He smiled, but it didn't look friendly. “You might remember the name. Four years ago, under the alias Martha and Evan Olcott, you conducted an illegal adoption of Heather Delaney's baby. We're here to find out what happened to the child.”

Benedict's face turned as white as his hair. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Why don't you let us in so we can discuss it?” Dev said. “We aren't here to cause you problems. We just want information.”

“I think you'd better leave,” Mary Fellows said.

“I think you'd better hear us out,
Mrs. Oldman,
or you'll find yourself back in prison.”

The woman gripped her husband's arm and a look of fear passed between them.

“Come inside,” Benedict Fellows said stiffly, stepping back to allow them into the house.

Lark followed Dev through the door, her heart hammering as the Fellowses led them into the kitchen: yellow wallpaper and ruffled yellow curtains, ceramic tile floors.

No one sat down.

Mary Fellows fixed her attention on Lark. “What is it you want?”

“I want to know the names of the people who adopted my sister's baby and I want to know where to find them.”

“All we want,” Dev added, “is to be sure the baby was placed in a good home. We need to be sure the child is safe and well-cared for.”

“Even if what you are accusing us of were true,” Benedict said, “we couldn't help you. The adoption was closed. The adoptive parents were adamant their names would never be divulged. We can't break that confidence.”

Dev stepped closer, well into Benedict's personal space. “I don't think you understand,
Ben.
You broke every law in the book when you ran an unlicensed adoption agency. You never even recorded the documents. The Delaney adoption was totally bogus, nothing more than the black-market sale of a baby. Tell us what we need to know or we go to the police.”

Fellows didn't move. “You can't threaten me.”

“Can't I? With the information we have, you and your wife will be hauled straight to prison. By the time you see the light of day, you'll be walking with a cane.”

“We just need to be sure the baby's all right,” Lark added. “If she is, we have no intention of taking her away from the only parents she's ever known.”

Mary Fellows sank down in one of the kitchen chairs, her hands falling limply into her lap. “We didn't sell her. We found the baby a home. It was the best thing for everyone.” She looked at Lark and a faint sheen of tears
glistened in her eyes. “Whatever we've done, we've never hurt anyone.”