The MacGregor Brides (11 page)

“Diana’s caseload is already overburdened. But I’ve got a few minutes to spare.”

For the first time, Royce smiled. “Mr. MacGregor, if I had a legal problem, you’d be the very last lawyer in Boston I’d come to. You’d like nothing better than to see me locked away for ten to twenty, preferably in solitary.”

“Not at all. I was thinking more along the lines of hard labor in a maximum-security facility.” But because Caine appreciated a man who knew the lay of the land, he opened the door.

He led the way into the reception area, with its antiques and polished woods. “File this under Christmas, Mollie,” he asked the woman manning the desk.

“Oh, Mr. MacGregor, it’s the choker, isn’t it? Can I peek?”

“Just make sure my wife doesn’t see it, then buzz her, will you, and see if she has a moment for Mr. Cameron?”

“Right away.” But she was already slipping the velvet box out of the bag and opening the lid. “Oh.” She pressed a hand against the starched jacket she wore. “Oh, it’s the most beautiful necklace I’ve ever seen. She’s going to love it.”

Distracted, Caine eased a hip on the desk and took another look himself. “You think?”

“Any woman who found this under the Christmas tree would know she’s adored. Just look how the sunlight catches these stones.”

Baffled, Royce watched the dignified former attorney general of the United States grin down at a piece of jewelry the way a giddy boy grinned at a jar full of lightning bugs. And it struck him that this was a man completely besotted by a woman he’d been married to for a quarter of a century.

How did that happen? Royce wondered. How did it last? How did two people possibly live together for a lifetime and still love?

“No comment, Cameron?”

Royce jerked himself back and took a look at the necklace. It was exotic, deeply colored stones glinting against thick gold. He imagined it would suit Diana MacGregor perfectly. And undoubtedly her daughter, as well.

He shifted, felt remarkably foolish. “It’s impressive,” he said. “I don’t know much about glitters.”

“Women do.” Caine winked at Mollie. “Right?”

“You bet we do.” She slipped the bag into her bottom drawer and turned a small key. “I’ll just buzz Mrs. MacGregor now, Mr. Cameron. If you’d like to have a seat.”

“He can come up with me. Ring my office if and when Diana’s free, Mollie.” Caine’s wolfish grin spread as he turned to Royce. “Suit you?”

“Sure.” Deliberately cocky, he shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans as he followed Caine up straight, uncarpeted stairs with a brass-and-wood rail that gleamed with a mirror shine.

The place smelled rich, was all he could think. Subtle scents, thick rugs, leather, polish. The wainscoting in the hall they walked down had to be mahogany. But, more, it had the feel of a home, rather than a place of business. It impressed him that anyone could accomplish that, or bothered to even try.

Caine stepped inside his office, his turf. Wanting to set the tone, his tone, he sat behind his desk. “Have a seat, Cameron. Want anything? Coffee?”

Royce chose a wing-backed leather chair in deep navy. “I haven’t been a cop for a while now, but I remember how to set up an interrogation. I’m probably as good at it as you are.”

“I’ve been at it a lot longer. Let’s just cut straight to the heart of the matter, shall we? What are your intentions as to my daughter?”

“I don’t have any. No intentions, no plans, no designs.”

“You’ve been seeing her for nearly three months now.”

“That’s right. I’d imagine she’s dated a number of other men.”

But this was the only man Caine had ever worried about. “Her social life didn’t begin with you. Laura is a beautiful, outgoing young woman. A wealthy young woman,” he added, keeping his eyes level on Royce’s. The flash of heat, the snap of insult, pleased him enormously.

“You don’t want to go in that direction.”

“It’s an undeniable fact.”

“Do you think I give a damn about her portfolio?” Royce’s temper snapped, shoving him to his feet. “Do you think a man could be with her for five minutes and think of anything but her? I don’t care what you think of me, but you ought to think better of her.”

“I do.” Relaxing now, Caine leaned back in his chair. “And now I know you do, as well.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“As you say, what we think of each other doesn’t really matter. I love my daughter. I also trust her judgment in most cases, and have always found her to be a good judge of character. She sees something in you, and I’m going to try to accept that. But hurt her …” He leaned forward again with eyes that gleamed. “Cause her one moment’s unhappiness, and I’ll come down on you like the wrath of God.”

When his phone rang, he answered without taking his eyes from Royce’s. “Yes, Mollie. Thanks.” He hung up, inclined his head. “My wife will see you now. Her office is across the hall.”

Because he didn’t trust himself to speak, knew whatever came out of his mouth at that moment would be bitter and vile, Royce turned on his heel and walked out.

“Control,” Caine murmured, and felt a first twinge of sympathy for the man. “Admirable.”

“Royce.” Diana opened the door herself, and her smile was a telling contrast to her husband’s frost. “How nice to see you. Please come in and sit down. Would you like some coffee?”

“No, I don’t want anything.” He set his teeth. “I don’t want anything.”

Fury, Diana mused, barely leashed. She flicked a glance at the office across the hall and controlled a sigh. “All right, then, what can I do for you?”

“Nothing. I don’t want anything from any of you, and I never did. I’ve got some information you may be able to use on the Holloway case.”

“Oh? Please, sit down.”

“I don’t want to sit,” Royce snapped out. “I just want to get this over with and get the hell out of here.” He stopped himself, forced himself to take one long, calming breath. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. I imagine Laura’s father was difficult.”

“I don’t think we’d better discuss Laura’s father. Or Laura, or anyone named MacGregor just now.”

“Then why don’t we discuss Amanda Holloway?”

“I don’t know her, I never met her. I knew her husband slightly when we both worked out of the same house. Precinct,” he elaborated.

“Did you work with him directly?”

“Only once. We took a call together. I hate this,” he said, and finally sat. “Look, cops back each other, because when you go through the door together you’ve got to know the one going in with you is with you. All the way.

“We took a call, domestic dispute. The worst. Guy had been pounding on his wife, kids were screaming. I restrained the man, Holloway took the woman. Her face was bashed up, bleeding, and she’d gone over. I mean, she was going after her husband now. She wasn’t going to take it anymore. I remember her screaming that when Holloway took hold of her.

“He hurt her,” Royce continued. “I had the man on the floor, cuffing him, and I heard the woman cry out. I saw Holloway yank her arm back, it’s a wonder he didn’t snap a bone, and he shoved her back against the wall. I told him to ease off, and he said something like ‘The bitch is asking for it.’ That her husband had a right to teach her a lesson. And he slapped her, backhanded her. I had to leave the husband on the floor to drag Holloway off the woman.”

Royce paused a moment, tried to gather his thoughts. “He had a rep as a good, solid cop. The men liked him. He did the job. I told myself he’d just snapped that day, just lost his grip for a minute. But I kept seeing the way he looked when he hit that woman, and I knew he’d gotten off on it. And I knew if I hadn’t been there, he’d have done worse. So I reported the incident to the lieutenant.”

“Would that be Lieutenant Masterson?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s no mention of an incident such as you described on Holloway’s record.”

“Because the lieutenant ordered me to forget it. Holloway had been defending himself against a violently hysterical woman. Bottom line, he brushed it off, and a few weeks later I was transferred. I was ticked off enough to do a little digging. In the six-month period before I transferred, three 911 calls were logged in from Holloway’s house. Domestic dispute. Officers responded. No charges filed, and the reports were buried.”

“They closed ranks,” Diana murmured.

“Yeah. And Holloway moved up them, beating on his wife whenever he felt the urge.”

“You’ll testify to the incident you were witness to?”

“If I have to. It doesn’t change the fact that she whacked him. You’re going to go for diminished capacity, and this doesn’t add that much to the medical records that she was abused continually over the course of years.”

“It speaks to the character of the man, the despair of the woman and the complicity of the police. She’d called for help, and no one helped. She did what she could to survive. There was no one else to take her part.”

“You have. Laura has.”

“Yes, and now you have. Why?”

“Because maybe it’ll make a difference, and I’d stopped thinking I could make one. And because it’s important to Laura.”

“And she’s important to you.”

“She … matters,” he said, after a moment. “If you need to go over this again, I’ll be available. I’ve got some things to do.”

“I appreciate you coming in.” She offered her hand. “I very much appreciate it.”

She watched him go out, and knew the instant the door across the hall opened. “Well?” Caine demanded.

“He just gave me some weight to add to the Holloway defense.” She looked at Caine. “And he’s in love with Laura. She’s in love with him.”

“Diana, she’s just … She’s only a …” He leaned against the door.

Understanding perfectly, Diana crossed the hall and cupped Caine’s face in her hands. “She’ll still be ours. Nothing changes that.”

“I know. I know.” He let out a windy sigh. “Trust Laura to pick a guy who’d like nothing better than to kick my ass from here to Canada.”

She laughed, kissed him. “And that, Counselor, is one of the reasons you like him.”

Two days before Christmas, Laura rushed up the steps to Cameron Security. As usual, Royce’s secretary was away from her desk. Laura all but danced to the door of the inner office, and knocked briskly.

“Got a minute, Mr. Cameron?” She poked her head in, saw him on the phone. He gave her a come-ahead curl of his finger.

“If you’re sure this time, I can start right after the first of the year. No,” he said firmly, then again, with a hint of exasperation, “No, Mr. MacGregor, I can’t do that. I appreciate— No,” he said again, and rubbed at the headache brewing behind his eyes. “I understand, thanks. Yes. Merry Christmas.”

“It had to be my grandfather,” Laura said when Royce slapped the receiver back on the hook. “Of all the Mr. MacGregors, he’s most likely to cause that reaction.”

“He’s finally decided on the system he wants. At least he’s decided, again, for the moment. I think the man wants to keep me on a string for the rest of my life.” He looked over, saw her beaming smile. “What are you so happy about?”

“Oh, a number of things. We really turned a corner on the trial today, Royce. Your testimony yesterday made an enormous difference.”

“Good.”

“I know it wasn’t a happy day for you, but it helped. And I’m hearing rumors that IAD and the district attorney’s office are going to investigate Masterson. Amanda Holloway is going to get justice.” She leaned over the desk and kissed him. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything to speak of. I thought you’d be on your way to Hyannis.”

“I’m just on my way home to pick up my bags. I wish you’d change your mind and come with me. You know you’re welcome.” She lifted a brow. “And I know Grandpa has been nagging you for weeks to come up for the holidays.”

“I appreciate it, but I can’t. Besides, I’m not a family-gathering type. Christmas is for kids and families.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t even put up a tree.”

“You bought me that ugly little ceramic one.”

“It’s not ugly, it’s tacky. That’s entirely different.” She wanted so much to ask him again, to find the right words to persuade him to spend Christmas with her, to be part of her life. But she’d resolved to make do and accept what she had. “I’ll miss you.”

“You’ll be surrounded by people.” He smiled a little as he stood up. “Hordes of MacGregors, even the thought of which unnerves me. You won’t have time to miss me.”

“I’ll miss you anyway.” She kissed him lightly. She pulled a brightly wrapped box out of her pocket, handed it to him.

“What’s this?”

“A present. It’s traditional. I want you to open it Christmas morning.”

“Look, I don’t have—”

“Royce, say thank you.”

Though he was as miserable as he’d been in his life, he made his lips curve. “Thank you.”

“Now say Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Slim.”

“I’ll see you in a few days.” She hurried out, telling herself it was the sentiment of the season that misted her eyes.

Royce sat where he was, continued to sit as the sun slanted lower through his small window, as the light dimmed and darkness fell.

He couldn’t avoid it any longer, he thought. He couldn’t keep denying what had happened to him, what had become of him. It had probably happened the first moment he saw her face, when she stood there wearing next to nothing and prepared to hold him off with a kitchen knife.

How could a man not love a woman like that?

But it didn’t matter how he felt about her. Hadn’t he already argued with himself for days about this single point? She didn’t just come from a different world, she lived in one. She was the niece of a president, the granddaughter of a financial legend. An heiress, as her father—who hated the sight of him—had so acerbically pointed out.

Just in case he’d missed those facts, he had only to note that she wore diamond studs in her ears, lived in a house in the Back Bay filled with arts and antiques, and drove a spiffy car that would cost a year of his annual income. In a good year.

She was Harvard Law and he was community college, and he hadn’t even finished that. It couldn’t possibly work. He was deluding himself by even fantasizing about it.