Laura stared at herself in the vanity mirror. The reflection looking back seemed to be of someone else. The woman in the mirror was disheveled, not as meticulously turned out as usual. Most disturbing, her eyes were filled with uncertainty. Where was the characteristic self-confidence? What had happened to the surety that she had a grip on the situation? Who was this tremulous stranger?

She ran her fingertips across her lips and dabbed at the smudge of mascara at the corner of her eye. No question, the image in the mirror was hers.

“Laura?”

She spun around, flattening her hand against her chest. “Foster. I didn’t hear you.”

“Obviously not. You nearly jumped out of your skin.” His wheelchair was straddling the threshold between bedroom and bath. “Manuelo told me you were home.”

She had parked in the detached garage, entered the house through the mudroom, and used the back staircase. “He said you were on the telephone.” She forced a light laugh. “At least I think that’s what he said. I didn’t want to interrupt your call. I’m glad you chose to stay at home today. The heat is unbearable. It’s making everyone cranky. People were driving like maniacs, so rush hour was more hazardous than usual.”

Realizing that she was talking too much and too fast, she forced herself to slow down. “All this to say, I’m a mess and wanted to take a quick shower before seeing you. How was your day?”

“Uneventful. Besides the weather and the traffic, how was yours?”

“I had back-to-back appointments this morning, including the one with the reps from the FAA to discuss Southwest’s and American’s complaints.”

“You’ll have to be more specific. Southwest and American are always filing complaints against us.”

“Highest form of flattery.”

He grinned. “If we were failing, we’d never hear a peep out of them. How did your appointment with Griff Burkett go?”

The question came so suddenly and out of context, it took her off guard. “The same as before. Briefly. Efficiently.”

“I thought he might be the reason you’re so late getting home.”

“Why would you think that?”

“No reason.”

She let it drop. “I hope you didn’t wait dinner on me.”

“Mrs. Dobbins made a sandwich to tide me over.”

“Good.”

“So why are you late?”

“I was almost home when I remembered something I’d left at the office and had to go all the way back for it. Myrna was still there.”

“My assistant is usually the last to leave. Unless it’s you.”

“She was finishing up some business letters and asked if I would wait on them so I could bring them home for you to sign. I have them right here.”

She tried to squeeze past his chair into the bedroom, but he caught her hand. “The letters can wait. I want to know Burkett’s reaction when you told him this was the last time you’d be meeting him. Or did you tell him?”

“I told him as soon as he arrived.”

“And?”

“And nothing, really. Once I assured him that we would adhere to the original terms if he remained the donor, he said it was all the same to him. Something like that.”

“He’s not backing out then?”

“I didn’t get that impression, no.”

“I didn’t think he would. Did you discuss how we would retrieve the semen?”

“Only in the most general terms. I told him I had to consult a specialist first. Then when he’s needed, he’d be notified.”

“Maybe the A.I. won’t be necessary. Let’s hope.”

“That’s what we all hope, Foster.”

He surprised her by pressing his hand against her lower abdomen. “I feel good about this time. Karma. Something. It just feels different, like something significant happened.”

She smiled, hoping it didn’t look shaky. “Hold that thought.” Stepping away, she said, “I really would like to get out of these clothes. You’re welcome to stay.”

“No, I’ll leave you to your shower. I’d only stay if I could offer to wash your back.”

“You can pour me a glass of wine instead. I won’t be long.”

“How about club soda? Just in case.”

“Okay.”

He kissed the air, then maneuvered his wheelchair across the adjacent bedroom and through the door, each of his motions done in a sequence of three.

Laura waited until she was alone, then closed the door to her bathroom and hastily removed her clothes. Before stepping into the shower, she worked up enough courage to examine herself in the full-length mirror. Her eyes were still glassy and dazed looking, her lips slightly abraded. She touched her nipples, navel, pubic hair.

Holding back a guilty whimper, she placed her fingers vertically against her lips and whispered, “Oh, God.” But she wasn’t certain for what, specifically, she prayed.

CHAPTER 21

THE MONTH WAS LONGER EVEN THAN ANY HE’D SPENT IN prison. Compared with this, those months had whizzed past like comets.

He’d held out for three days before doing the forbidden. He’d called the SunSouth offices. After listening to a seemingly endless menu of confusing options that required pushing a series of digits, he finally reached a human being who told him in a polite but busy-sounding voice that he had reached Ms. Speakman’s office. “Kay Stafford speaking, how can I help you?”

“I need to talk to Ms. Speakman.”

“In regard to what?”

He wondered what the cool, well-trained Kay Stafford would say if he told her the unmitigated truth. Instead, he replied, “Foster is a former college buddy of mine. I met with the two of them a few months back.”

“Your name?”

“Ms. Speakman will remember.”

She put him on hold and was gone for an interminable time. When she finally came back on the line, she said, “I’m sorry, Ms. Speakman isn’t available to take your call. Would you care to leave a message?”

She asked by rote. If Laura had refused his call, chances were good that her assistant would deep-six any message he left. Besides, what could he say?

Leave your rich husband and be with me.

Or don’t leave him and be with me.

I don’t care what the hell you do, just be with me.

“No message,” he said brusquely and hung up.

He charted her menstrual cycle even more diligently than before, marking the days off on his calendar.

He got hooked on a soap opera.

He watched senior tour golf tournaments and chess matches on the sports networks, and they moved even more slowly than his days.

He perused the classified ads daily, but unless he wanted to be a telemarketer, he found nothing he could do anonymously, and he knew before trying that no one would hire the infamous Griff Burkett.

Desperately lonely one afternoon, he called Marcia and invited himself for dinner. “I’ll bring the dinner and the wine. How can you pass up a deal like that?”

“I appreciate the offer. But give me a bit more time, Griff.”

Time. It had become his enemy.

By way of consolation, Marcia offered to set him up with one of her girls. He declined, which brought on her husky, sexy laugh. It was good to hear her laughing again, a sign that the old Marcia was emerging from the bandages and the trauma. “You don’t want a date with one of my talented girls? That’s interesting. Are you seeing someone?”

He experienced a vivid flashback to Laura, moving beneath him, purring that low, sexy sound that he now heard in his dreams. “Yeah. I’m seeing someone.”

He spent most of his time restlessly pacing the rooms of his condo, wondering when he would hear from her, if he would hear from her, what he would hear.

Rodarte didn’t reappear. Griff could only hope the Vista boys had strongly advised him against hassling Griff further. But that was naïvely optimistic. Contrary to what Rodarte had implied, he wasn’t in league with Vista or answerable to them. And even if he had been, they would have supported any bad ending he had planned for Griff Burkett.