CHAPTER THIRTEEN

WHITNEY CHECKED HER reflection in the towering plate-glass doors of the high-rise in the Marina District where Broderick Babcock had his offices. Her pale pink twinset and navy slacks didn’t seem businesslike enough to visit a criminal defense attorney. Well, it was the best she could do.

Whitney had walked only the dogs that absolutely needed to be taken out before rushing downtown. She’d called Ryan to apologize and tell him Lexi had been found but he’d already left. She’d nearly choked on her apology to Ashley, but she’d managed to spit it out. Ashley had been “totally thrilled” to hear Lexi had been returned. Whitney told her to contact Ryan immediately. She didn’t want her ex wasting his time calling test labs, searching for Lexi.

As she swung open the tall glass door and walked into the immense marble-floored lobby, she admitted to herself that a sense of relief had replaced the animosity she’d felt toward Ryan and his new wife. She wanted the divorce behind her. Last night, while she’d been in bed with the dogs, she’d realized how much she needed to begin all over. She told herself not to see Adam Hunter as part of this new life. Put him out of your mind, she kept thinking. But in the next minute, swear to God, his image would pop up unbidden.

She checked the directory on the wall and found Broderick Babcock’s office was in the penthouse. Silently rehearsing what she would say to the attorney, Whitney rode the elevator to the lawyer’s offices. Another glass door led into a large waiting room decorated with minimalistic furniture in muted shades of cocoa. It was empty except for an older woman behind a desk.

Whitney entered and the woman with blue-tinged hair and a gray suit looked up with a smile. “May I help you?”

“I’m Whitney Marshall.” She expected “Marshall” to ring a bell. Apparently, it did not. The woman waited for her to continue. “I have a divorce agreement I’d like an attorney to look over.” She stopped right in front of the desk.

“We’re a criminal law firm,” the woman responded pleasantly. “I can recommend-”

“I would really like to see someone here,” Whitney replied. “You see, since my cousin-who’s like my sister-is on her honeymoon with Mr. Babcock, I thought…”

“Your cousin?”

“They’re honeymooning. You know, in Fiji.” Was it possible the attorney hadn’t told his office staff? The woman seemed perplexed, but she was smiling. The wedding was supposed to be a secret from his clients. She’d assumed his staff had been told, but she might have blown it by coming here and spilling the beans.

“Married?” the woman asked as if she’d never heard the word.

“Yes. I just thought maybe another attorney in the firm could take a quick look.” She waggled the document she had brought with her.

“What did you say your name was?”

“Whitney. Whitney Marshall. My cousin is Miranda Marshall, now Miranda Babcock.”

“I see.” She rose, saying, “Wait here. Someone will be right with you.”

The woman disappeared behind double doors that must lead into the inner offices. Whitney took a deep breath and gazed out the window at the amazing view of San Diego Harbor. Looking at an aircraft carrier slowly moving toward the navy yard, she again rehearsed what she would tell the attorney. She needed to inquire about making payments on his fee. That was the important part; she had almost no money.

The door opened and the receptionist said, “Right this way.”

Whitney followed her down a long corridor. She glimpsed several people diligently working at desks in various offices. At the end of the hall she saw a large office and beyond it the gleaming blue waters of the harbor. It had to belong to a senior partner, she decided. Her simple settlement agreement wasn’t worth bothering someone so important. Why couldn’t one of the other attorneys look at the document?

Before Whitney could suggest this, the receptionist stepped into the office and announced, “Whitney Marshall, sir.”

From behind a glass desk the size of a pool table rose a tall man with black hair burnished at the temples with gray. His dark brown eyes warned her that he missed nothing in his field of vision. They also said he was a man who didn’t know the meaning of the word compromise. What had she gotten herself into?

“Thanks, Karen,” he said to the receptionist with a smile.

Whitney relaxed a little as the older woman closed the door. Men who were kind to their staff were kind in general. Right?

He extended his hand across the desk. “Broderick Babcock.”

A whooshing sound like a shrill wind swept through her head. Whitney’s lips parted and she croaked out the words “Whitney Marshall.” She managed to extend her hand, but it felt limp in his.

“Sit, sit.” He waved her to a chair in front of his desk.

She dropped into the seat, inhaling sharply, struggling to comprehend what she’d just heard. How could this be Broderick Babcock? What was going on?

His bold gaze assessed her with searching gravity, then he allowed himself to smile. “People have tried lots of tricks to get in to see me when they know I’m not taking any cases because I’m overbooked, but this beats all. That’s why I told Karen I’d see you. I wanted to look eye to eye at the person who’d concoct such a story.”

Beam me up, Scottie, was all she could think. Obviously, Miranda had played a trick on her or something. “I didn’t concoct a story,” she responded in a weak but high-pitched voice, sounding like Minnie Mouse’s timid sister. “I actually thought…Never mind.” She stood with as much dignity as she could muster. “My cousin must have played a practical joke on me. Obviously, I made a mistake. I’m sorry to have taken up your time.”

“Sit down and tell me about it.” He pointed to the stacks of papers littering his glass desk. “I need a good laugh.”

Whitney had no trouble seeing how the attorney swayed juries. His words were spoken in a persuasive voice that permitted no argument. She dropped back into the chair. “My cousin convinced me that she was going on a honeymoon to Fiji. I hadn’t seen Miranda much until very recently so I hadn’t met the man she was supposedly marrying-Rick Babcock.”

“That was her first mistake. I use Broderick professionally because big fancy names impress people, especially juries. But my friends call me Rod.”

For the first time, it struck Whitney that Miranda might never have met the attorney. Strangers might think Broderick would be shortened to Rick, but his friends knew to call him Rod.

“Go on,” he prompted.

“Miranda was very convincing. She moved everything out of her place and let me have it. You see, I’m going through a divorce. Ah, actually, I am divorced, but…”

“Either you are or you aren’t. It’s like being pregnant. You’re pregnant or you’re not.” He said this in a joking tone that forced Whitney to smile, but she felt more like strangling someone-Miranda.

“I thought I was divorced.” She held up the document she’d been clutching in her left hand. “I signed an arbitration agreement months ago, then my ex reappeared. He claims it isn’t legal because it needs to be signed in front of a notary.”

“That’s correct.”

“I’m a little-” she started to say suspicious, then amended it to “uneasy because the document seems longer than the original. That’s why I decided to have an attorney review the papers. I came here because I fell for Miranda’s prank.”

He shook his head slowly, saying, “Arbitration. What a laugh. Arbitrators are usually law students who couldn’t pass the bar. People think they’re saving money. Most end up at an attorney like you.”

She smiled weakly. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. I’ll find another lawyer to review these papers.”

“It’s not a bother,” he quickly assured her. “Leave the agreement with me. I’ll have someone review it and get right back to you.”