Someone to Watch Over Me

“Then why did you write it that way?”

Courtney took another bite of apple and chewed it while she contemplated her answer. “I wanted to set the record straight on Michael Valente.”

“I know you did, and I appreciate that. But I also remember that your professor was only going to give out one A in the class, and I know how much you wanted to get it.”

“I did get it.”

“You did? How?”

“I got major points for ‘Degree of difficulty of access to the subject’ and for ‘Fresh point of view.’?”

“I can believe that,” Leigh said with a smile.

“But there was one other little thing that practically guaranteed me that A”

“What was it?” Leigh asked, trying to fathom Courtney’s hesitant expression.

In answer, Courtney pulled a new issue of USA Today out of her lap, opened it to an inside page, and folded it; then she slid it across the table to Leigh. “I even got my own byline on the story.”

Leigh’s eyes widened with a mixture of alarm and horrified amusement as she transferred her gaze to the open newspaper. “Oh, my God.”

“Honestly—I didn’t realize our professor was going to submit all the articles to the news services, just to see what might happen,” Courtney explained, “but when I heard my article was the one they chose, I really felt that since Michael was maligned in the national media, that’s where the situation ought to be corrected. I mean, he’s already sort of a hero in New York City to anyone who’s ever been hassled by a rude cop over a traffic ticket. But I wanted to set the record straight everywhere else.”

She seemed to run out of words in her own defense, and her shoulders slumped. “What do you think Michael will say? I mean, it’s sort of an invasion of his privacy, particularly when I never actually interviewed him—formally, I mean.”

Unaware that Hilda and O’Hara were also looking worriedly at her, Leigh tried to imagine how Michael would feel about the article. “He’s never cared what other people think of him,” she said after a moment. “He didn’t care when the newspapers blackened his reputation, so I doubt that he’ll be any more concerned that you’ve shined it all up for him.”

Chapter 76

* * *

With her cheek resting atop the muscled warmth of Michael’s chest, Leigh glanced at the clock on his nightstand and realized it was almost time to start getting dressed for their wedding. But first she had something to tell him, and she decided on an indirect approach. “There’s something very hedonistic about making love right before you go to your wedding,” she remarked softly.

Michael smiled, completely contented, lazily tracing his fingers over the curve of her shoulder and down her arm. “Nice word, ‘hedonistic.’?”

“Actually, there’s a section in our contract that relates to that subject.”

“To the pursuit of pleasure?”

She nodded, her cheek rubbing against his chest.

“I don’t remember that section,” he teased. “What does it say?”

“It says that in your diligent pursuit of pleasure, certain results may occur that require amending one of the other clauses.”

“Which clause needs to be amended?”

“I think you said it was Clause 1, Section C—the one that’s headed, ‘Someone to Watch Over Me.’?”

“Mmm,” Michael replied. “Have I failed to live up to that clause?”

“Not at all,” Leigh hastily told him. “But the clause needs to be amended because the pronoun is no longer correct.”

“Really?” Michael asked, his smile already widening in anticipation of her answer. “What should that clause say now?”

“It should say, ‘Someone to Watch Over Us.’?”

She was telling him she was pregnant, and Michael’s joy made his voice husky. “Renegotiating a prior, binding contract can be a complicated, lengthy procedure. When will that particular clause need to be changed?”

“In about seven and a half months.”

He gazed at the ceiling for a moment, calculating dates, and his smile turned to a grin. “Really? The first night?”

“Probably so.”

“A baby,” he sighed. “What a perfect wedding present!”

She buried her laughing face against his chest. “I knew you would see it that way.”

“Have you picked out names yet?”

She laughed harder. “No. Have you?”

“No,” he admitted, “but in anticipation of this moment—” He paused to reach over to his nightstand and open the drawer. “—I got one of these a few days ago.” Into Leigh’s hand he placed a tiny, delicately crocheted infant’s bootie. It was yellow, with blue laces up the front and interlocking pink and green circles on the side.

“You only got one of them?” Leigh asked, her eyes swimming with tears of mirth as she lifted them to his.

He nodded.

“Don’t you think you should have gotten two?”

“There’s something inside that,” he explained.

Leigh felt it then—a hard object in the bottom. “Please tell me it isn’t a toe,” she joked.

Beneath her cheek, his chest shook with laughter as she turned the bootie upside down.

An exact replica of the bootie dropped out, perfect in every detail and color. It was made of diamonds.

Chapter 77

* * *

With his tuxedo jacket slung over his shoulder, Michael headed toward the bar, intending to open a bottle of champagne while Leigh was getting dressed for their wedding. They still had almost two hours to go, and the Plaza was only a few blocks away, but Jason Solomon had phoned a while ago and said he needed a ride from the theater on Broadway to the Plaza. For some reason, Leigh had agreed to go all the way down to the theater district to pick him up, instead of telling him to take a cab or phone a car service.

Michael was in the process of opening a bottle of Dom Pérignon when he heard O’Hara answer the phone in the kitchen. A moment later, O’Hara appeared and said, “Lieutenant McCord is downstairs in the lobby with Detective Littleton. Is it okay to let them come up?”

“It’s fine,” Michael said, but he was understandably puzzled by the arrival at his home of two of his wedding guests, whom he expected to see later, at the Plaza, instead.

As Leigh had suggested at the hospital, they’d sent McCord two front-row tickets to Leigh’s play, and McCord had escorted Samantha Littleton. After the play, Michael took everyone to the Essex House for dinner at Alain Ducasse, and during their three-hour meal, a sud

den friendship had sprung up between the two women. On the surface, they had little in common except two things: They were both about the same age, and they were both in love with men who were unapologetically in love with them. Within minutes after sitting down to dinner, Michael had sensed that McCord was completely hooked on the pretty brunette detective, and when Michael made a pointed, joking remark about that, McCord hadn’t denied it.

That at least gave Michael something in common with McCord, which was a good thing, because Michael had the distinct impression that Leigh and Sam Littleton wanted McCord and him to be friends; though, at the time, he couldn’t imagine why two intelligent, lovely women would think that he and McCord had anything whatsoever in common. Nevertheless, Michael went along with their scheme because he sensed that Leigh wanted to forge new friendships of their own, as part of her life with him, rather than drawing him into all her old friendships, many of which were tainted with memories of Logan.

Since McCord was heading up the mayor’s investigation into all the charges brought against Michael by the City of New York, McCord and he were required to meet periodically to discuss all that, so they’d actually seen quite a lot of each other in the last three weeks. To Michael’s secret amusement, he was actually developing a wary liking for his former enemy, and he knew McCord felt the same way about him.

As he thought about that, he heard O’Hara letting them in and he poured champagne into four glasses. He handed the first one to Sam Littleton, who gave him a smile and a quick hug. “You look very handsome,” she told him. “I don’t know how you do it, but you and Mack both manage to look macho and rugged in tuxedos, instead of like penguins.”

“Thank you,” Michael replied with a lazy grin. “And may I say that you look extremely feminine in that gown even though I know the bulge in your beaded handbag is probably a large, loaded, semiautomatic weapon.”

“You’re right, it is.” She laughed. “Where’s Leigh?” she asked, accepting the glass of champagne he was handing to her.