“Nor I.” Ben tried to make out her face in the darkness, but it was impossible. “For what it’s worth, Christina, you were a good sport at the Lamaze class. Pretending to be pregnant. That probably wasn’t pleasant.”
“I didn’t mind. I enjoyed it, actually. I once mentioned to you that I…had a chance to be a mother. I let that slip away, for reasons that seem trivial now. The way my life is shaping up, that pillow stuffed under my blouse is probably as close to motherhood as I’ll ever get.” She paused. “Thanks for letting me pretend.”
Ben sat silently on his side of the closet. Christina could still surprise him, it seemed.
“So, since we’re having a little tête-à-tête,” Christina said, “may I ask a personal question?”
“Such as?”
“Why won’t you take any money from your mother?”
“What makes you think she’s offered any?”
“Common sense. If you can raise fifty grand at the drop of a hat for me, I suspect you could get out there and find yourself a decent office.”
“I prefer to take care of my business on my own.”
“Of course. Ben Kincaid, the eternal lone wolf. He’s not going to let other people intrude in his life. He can do everything by himself.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But it’s what you meant. Ben, maybe you’ve been burned a few times, but that’s no reason to isolate yourself from the rest of the world. Let other people help you.”
“Other people confuse me. I’m better off keeping to myself.”
“Is that what your shrink told you?”
Ben fell silent. How did she know these things?
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Christina continued.
“I saw a psychiatrist once. After my divorce. I was pretty strung out. Spent an hour lying on a sofa spilling my guts to this guy with a beard and a steno pad, but it didn’t help. I never went back.”
“That must be rough,” Ben said. “Divorce.”
“Yeah. It was.” She inhaled sharply. “Good grief, Ben, you’re thirty years old. Reasonably attractive. I’m surprised you’ve never been married.”
Ben bit down on his lower lip. Not here. Not in front of. Christina.
“Ben?” She leaned forward and touched him on the shoulder. “I didn’t mean to pry. I’m sorry if—”
“It’s all right,” Ben said quickly.
“I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you for taking my case. I realize I’ve kept you from accepting other cases that would be more profitable.”
“Yeah, those corporate giants have been banging down my door.”
“Still, merci.” She settled back into her corner. “Think we’ll ever get out of here?”
“Not till morning.”
“Without getting caught?”
“Seems unlikely.”
“You’ll think of something. You always do.” Ben felt her reposition herself. “I suppose we ought to try to sleep.”
“I haven’t been sleeping very well lately at home. My chances for a good night’s sleep in a closet are not good.”
She yawned. “I’m sleepy already. Mind if I catch forty winks?”
“Be my guest.”
“Thanks. Feel free to sing me a lullaby.”
“The only song I know the words to is ‘Oklahoma.’ ”
“Maybe in the morning.” She snuggled in closer.
Ben listened to the sound of her breathing, inhaling, exhaling, gradually falling into a slow, easy rhythm. In a few minutes, she was asleep.
“Christina?”
She didn’t stir. He nudged her gently. “Christina? Christina, wake up. I hear movement outside.”
“What—where—Ben?” After a moment, she regained her bearings. “We’re still in this closet, aren’t we?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Was I asleep?”
“Yes. Very soundly. All night.”
“Oh, God. I didn’t snore, did I?”
Ben smiled. He wasn’t about to tell. “You were fine.”
“Ugh.” She tried to straighten herself out. “My legs feel like lead.” She reached down and yanked off her shoes.
“Yeah, I’m pretty stiff, too.”
“Did you sleep?”
“Not really, but I tried not to move too much. Didn’t want to wake you.”
“You sweetie.”
“Shhhh! Footsteps.”
They listened to the clicking of little heels down the hallway. The footsteps turned into the supply room, then they heard a woman’s voice: “What in the—” The footsteps returned to the hallway. “Cliff, can you come here?”
Another pair of footsteps, softer and squeakier (sneakers, Ben guessed) bounded down the hallway. “What’s up, Marjorie?”
“Would you look at the copy machine? How did it get out in the middle of the room?”
“Beats me.”
“Were you and the other clerks playing around last night?”
“No way, Marjorie. Honest.”
“Making goofy faces? Xeroxing your hairy buns?”
“I promise, no.”
“Well, help me get it back where it belongs. Mr. Reynolds will pitch a fit.”
Ben listened to the grunting on the other side of the door. “Look, it’s wedged under the doorknob,” Marjorie said. He heard some more heaving and straining, then the door popped free. Ben could see it slacken in the jamb. “Got it. Now let’s wheel this behemoth back where it belongs.”
A minute later, the squeaking of wheels came to an end. “That about right?” Cliff asked.
“Close enough,” Marjorie said. “Thanks. Now go back to sorting the mail. Mr. Reynolds gets grumpy if it’s not set out neatly on his desk when he arrives.”
Ben waited until they both left the room. Slowly, he opened the door, just a crack. The coast was clear.
Ben and Christina crawled out of the closet. Their joints cracked and popped as they pulled themselves erect for the first time in hours.
“My legs are asleep,” Christina whispered.
“Mine, too.”
“I hate this. Tingles and pinpricks.” She shook her legs until the sensation subsided. “How do we get out of here? Marjorie’s probably sitting by the front door. Even assuming we could explain our presence here, I can’t let Marjorie see me without my pillow.”
“I know.” Ben spotted a telephone on the other side of the room. “I have an idea.” He glanced at the extension numbers on the card beside the phone, then dialed the operator.
“Hello, operator, can you help me? I can’t seem to get an outside line. Thanks.” He covered the receiver and whispered to Christina. “I don’t want Marjorie to be able to tell the call is coming from inside the office.” After he heard the dial tone, he punched in the front desk number.
“Hello?” Marjorie said.
Ben affected a fake nasal tone. “Lady, we got a package down here for you.”
“Are you the one who left all these document boxes on the dolly outside the front door?”
“Uhh, yeah. That’s right, ma’m. Any problems?”
“The boxes are all filled with blank paper.”
“Really. The things people do. Look, lady, we just ship ’em. But you need to get this package.”
“Send it up.”
“No can do. You have to come down and sign for it.”
“Mister, I’m eight months pregnant. I don’t make trips for no good reason.”
“Sorry, lady. Regulations. Must be really confidential information.”
“Very well; I’ll be there in a few minutes. Assuming I don’t give birth on the way.”
As soon as they heard her leave, Ben and Christina tiptoed out of the supply room. Ben dropped the originals of the financial documents back into Reynolds’s credenza, more or less as he found them. Careful to avoid the clerk, they sidled out the front door. They had rounded the corner and almost made it to the stairwell…when Quinn Reynolds stepped out of the elevator.