He was no threat. Had never been a threat.
But the Wainwright name was apparently too pristine to be linked, in any way, with his.
Or Diamond Rose’s.
In the end, that was what stuck in his throat. The fact that she’d mentioned his newborn baby in her dirty court papers.
Glancing at the sleeping baby, he grabbed a garbage bag, collected the things on Stella’s list, down to the toothbrush he’d meant to throw away, thankful he’d been too distracted to do that yet—could he be sued for a toothbrush?—and left the bag out on the porch, looking over at the waiting unmarked car at his curb. He’d sign her document in the morning, with a notary present.
And he’d call an attorney, too. One who was good enough at his or her job to go head-to-head with the Wainwrights. He wanted the whole mess gone before anyone was the wiser. Wanted no evidence it had ever existed. There was no way in hell he was going to live under the threat of a restraining order for the next three years. Anytime Stella wanted to, she could “run into” him somewhere and claim he’d violated the order. He could end up in jail.
The idea gave him the cold sweats. His whole life, everything he’d worked for...
He was going to “be someone,” his mother had told him so many times. What he’d taken her words to mean was that he’d never see the inside of a jail cell.
He’d barely escaped the nightmare eight years before. And had been hell-bent ever since on making sure he never came remotely close again.
He wasn’t a defendant. Wasn’t ever going to be a defendant. That order had to go away.
When the baby awoke, he was bothered enough by Stella’s bombshell that he forgot to be nervous about giving his little one her first bath. Mallory had offered him some pointers and he’d watched several internet videos, too.
He talked to Diamond Rose the whole time, taking care to keep his voice soft, reassuring. He’d turned up the heat in the house first, kept the water tepid and a towel close so she wouldn’t get cold, and he worked as rapidly as he could with big hands on such a small, slippery body. In the end, the two of them got through the process without any major upsets.
Something else came out of the evening. Any feelings he might still have had for Stella were washed down the drain with the dirty bathwater.
Too bad about his frozen dinner, though. It dried out in the oven.
* * *
Tamara had expected Flint to take her to an establishment not unlike the one they’d visited for lunch on Tuesday. Instead they’d gone to Balboa Park, sitting in the sun on a cement bench, having a wrap from a nearby food truck—possibly one of the best-tasting meals she’d ever had.
With a man she found more attractive than any other man she’d ever shared lunch with. Business or otherwise.
What was it about Flint Collins that did this to her? It wasn’t like he was drop-dead model material, not that she went for that type. Yeah, he was fine-looking—enough that she’d noticed several other women checking him out during the time they’d been in the park. But the blond hair and brown eyes, the more than six-foot-tall lean frame, even the expensive clothes, could’ve been matched by any number of other “California blond” men. The state was flooded with them.
/> “I saw a brochure at the Bouncing Ball this morning,” he told her. “The founder of this food truck is a lawyer in Mission Viejo and a former client of Mallory’s.”
“You’re talking about Angel’s food truck! I didn’t know it had been renamed!” she said, glad to have something other than his sexuality to think about. It’s a Wrap fit the menu better. It wasn’t fancy, but she liked it so much more. It was as though he’d known she’d prefer sitting in the park during her lunch hour to being trapped at a table in a fancy restaurant. She spent a lot of the day trapped in a seat at a desk.
“I never met the couple because I was in Boston,” she continued, “but Mallory called me about the case from the first day she met them. The woman wanted Mal’s help in identifying her abducted son, without alerting his father, the abductor, to the fact that he’d been found out.”
“Why not just call the police?”
“Not enough evidence for them to do anything. The woman was acting on instinct, based on a picture she’d seen at the day care.”
“What did Mallory do?”
“She helped her! Without giving up any confidential information, or putting the child or his father at risk, in case the man wasn’t guilty. Anyway, it all turned out well.”
He was staring at her as though he couldn’t get enough. Of her story, she had to remind herself, not of her.
“So...it was the woman’s son?”
“Yeah. And Mal was the one who got the proof.”
Flint Collins’s full attention was a heady thing. Wiping everything else from her mind. And—
This wasn’t going to help her father.