Loe raamatut: «Family Found»
“Learning the truth could be dangerous if we continue,” Mitch said.
“If?” Laura shook her head. “There’s no ‘if’ for me.” She was climbing out of her fatigue, fueled by a new desperation. “I deserve the truth and I intend to ask for it.”
Still, she was afraid. But she coudn’t give up now. “I can understand if you don’t want to get involved any deeper,” she went on. “I can continue alone. There’s no need for you to put yourself in danger.”
“I am rather fond of my neck,” he replied. “But you really don’t think I’m going to let you continue alone, do you?”
Relief was trickling past the fear, diluting it. “I’m letting you off the hook,” she said, though even to her ears her resolve sounded weak.
Somehow his arms were around her, pulling her near. “I’ve always been a sucker for a damsel in distress.”
“Damsel? I’m no—”
But his lips were cutting off her indignation. And suddenly her protest didn’t seem at all important. Not nearly as important as the warmth of his arms holding her tight and the sanctuary she was finding there.
Closing her mind, she also closed off the warning bells that had been ringing for so long. Just for the night, she told herself. Just for the night.
Dear Reader,
I was drawn to write Family Found because the landscape of today’s family has changed so much. And I believe each family, from the typical mom, dad and kids to single- and blended-parent families, is special. This is particularly true of families with adopted children, children of the heart.
Mitch and Laura have both been searching for roots, but it’s love that brings them together and love that will cement the roots of their own “family found.”
I wish you happy reading and joy in your own special family.
Bonnie K. Winn
Family Found
Bonnie K. Winn
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
To Laura Shin and Paula Eykelhof, for embracing this story with such wonderful enthusiasm.
For my son, Brian Thomas Winn. I blinked and you grew up. I blinked again and you are a man serving his country. And my eyes continue to fill with pride.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
THE OXYGEN WAS being sucked out of the very air, certainly from Laura Kelly’s lungs. Instinctively, she clutched her eighteen-month-old son, Alex, closer. It was an effort to protect, to deny and certainly to disbelieve. If what the physician said was true, Alex might have only months, even weeks, to live.
Dr. Fletcher gentled his voice. “Mrs. Kelly, I realize the news is a shock to you. However, you must know exactly what you’re facing.”
“But when you talked about treatment for Alex, you said I was a likely donor candidate!” Laura exclaimed, her mind racing through the possibilities. She’d never considered that as the child’s mother she wouldn’t be a match. She stared at Dr. Fletcher, silently willing him to produce a miracle. It was now the twenty-first century, the beginning of a new millennium. It seemed impossible to believe that a cure for acute leukemia wasn’t within the doctor’s ability. Houston boasted one of the most advanced and respected medical and cancer research centers in the world. If the cure wasn’t within reach here, where would it be?
The frown line between Dr. Fletcher’s eyes deepened, and Laura felt her heart clutch. “That’s part of the problem, Mrs. Kelly. As we discussed during your last visit, the most effective course of treatment is a bone marrow transplant. However, your genetic makeup isn’t adding up.”
Alex fussed, and automatically, Laura ran a soothing hand over his plump legs, then handed him a set of plastic toy keys. “Not adding up? What do you mean?”
“I’ve run some preliminary tests on your potential donors. It’s more than the fact that no one’s a match. Genetically, it appears that they aren’t blood relatives.”
For a moment Laura was speechless, and when she did speak, she had to struggle for words, for some sense of what the doctor was telling her. “My aunt and my mother’s cousins—of course they’re blood relatives.”
Dr. Fletcher shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Is it possible you’re adopted, Mrs. Kelly?”
“Of course not!” Then Laura paused. It didn’t seem feasible, yet… People had often commented that she didn’t resemble either of her parents. Her mother and father had always jokingly replied that the dissemblance was Laura’s lucky chance of fate.
Meeting the doctor’s troubled eyes, Laura realized her luck had just run out.
CHAPTER ONE
A WEATHERED SIGN identifying the office as belonging to Mitch Tucker, private detective, was just this side of shabby. As was the rest of the small building’s exterior, Laura decided critically. Really not in keeping with the expensive commercial land it was situated on; but then, she wasn’t shopping for a spotless houseboy. She wanted a first-rate detective, and despite outward appearances, Mitch Tucker came highly recommended by several adoptee search organizations.
Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door, making herself ignore the chipped paint.
A hawkish, high-pitched voice ordered her to enter.
Now, that was a voice that would grate steel, Laura decided as she obeyed the order. The interior was dim, nearing murky. Having just come in from the glare of bright sunshine, she found focusing difficult. But even with the disadvantage, it was rapidly clear that Mitch Tucker was nowhere in sight.
So who had spoken?
“Hey!” the voice screeched again.
Startled, Laura whirled around. A bright-green parrot eyed her balefully.
“Hello,” she replied cautiously.
“Hello,” the parrot mimicked as he lurched sideways in a scooting motion across his perch.
Laura glanced at an ancient desk covered by disorganized piles of seemingly neglected papers. Immediately, she wondered if the man’s detective methods were equally sloppy.
The phone rang, startling her anew and making the bird squawk. “Hello,” the parrot repeated, swinging from side to side.
An answering machine clicked on. A husky male voice invited the caller to leave a message.
Laura listened while the female caller ended her one-sided conversation with a suggestive kiss. Strolling closer to the desk, she saw that a light on the answering machine indicated several other messages.
“Probably all women,” Laura muttered in disapproval.
A masculine voice from the doorway surprised her. “Then maybe we’d better listen.”
“That’s not necessary.”
He met her gaze. “And you’re Miss…?”
“Kelly,” she replied shortly. “Laura Kelly.”
He glanced at his caller I.D. “You’re right. Practically all women.” There was an indiscernible note to his voice and Laura couldn’t tell if he was serious or simply needling her.
Then he motioned for her to take one of the chairs angled in front of the desk. After she was seated, Mitch pushed himself back in his own chair, propping boot-clad feet on the scarred edge of his desk. “So what’s your story, Laura Kelly?”
Laura didn’t care for his casual demeanor or neglected office. She crimped the handles of her purse together as she started to rise. “I’m obviously wasting your time.”
He didn’t answer right away, instead studying her again. “Depends. What’s your problem?”
“My problem?” Without warning she was shaking—with fury, fear and an inescapable sense of injustice. “Is that what you reduce the agonies in people’s lives to? Their problems? Sarcastic, insignificant—” But she couldn’t speak any longer as the pain assaulted her.
“Oh, hell,” Mitch mumbled, swinging his legs off the desk, his chair scraping the wooden floor as he pushed it back. His boots thudded as he crossed over to her, a dull but distinctive sound in the echoing room. Awkwardly he shoved a box of tissue toward her. “Didn’t know you were going to get all weepy on me.”
But Laura had not given in to tears. The fear was too great for that. And she was all out of retorts.
Mitch’s sigh reverberated in the soulless office. “Divorce? Hey, it’s rough. You marry someone, expect picket fences and champagne. Instead you get barbed wire and beer. But, trust me, you aren’t the first.”
The pain in her chest was multiplying. Suddenly she was dragging in big gulps of air; yet they didn’t seem to be reaching her lungs.
“Oh, man, you’re really freaking.” Mitch rapidly looked around the office; his eyes landed on the remains of yesterday’s lunch. After dumping soggy French fries, onion rings and the remainder of a cheeseburger, he popped open the white paper fast-food bag. Without hesitation, he pulled the smelly, grease-stained sack over Laura’s head.
In a few minutes, her breathing returned to normal and she pushed the bag off her head, ignoring the fragrance of onions that lingered in her hair.
“You okay?”
Not quite meeting his eyes, she nodded.
His gaze was sympathetic. “No need to be embarrassed. Divorce isn’t pretty.”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
He poured coffee into a disreputable-looking mug and handed it to her. “No?”
She drew in the warmth of the mug, feeling the coldness that had accompanied her since she had learned that she might lose her son. It was a chill she couldn’t shake. “It’s worse.”
Mitch paused as he poured his own mug of coffee. “How much worse?”
“It’s a matter of life and death.”
His voice gentled. “Why don’t you tell me about it.”
Laura knew she couldn’t conceal the pain that possessed her. She didn’t even try. “I need your help to save my son’s life.”
“What’s he in danger from?”
“Being related to me.” She took a deep breath. “Because I don’t know who I’m really related to. That’s why I need your help. I need to find out who I am.”
SHE WAS EITHER a ding-a-ling or a mental case. Mitch wasn’t sure which, but he didn’t need this kind of complication in his life right now. He’d lost months of work after an investigation had left him laid up in the hospital. The fact that his client had failed to pay the huge bill he’d racked up on the case had only further compounded his problems. He was close to losing the small building that housed his office, along with the valuable land it sat upon. He had already lost his condominium, and had been forced to move somewhere less expensive. And he’d been forced to trade in the sports car he loved for an annoyingly practical SUV that made him cringe each time he climbed inside.
He didn’t have time to waste on an unbalanced woman. Maybe he could find a number for some sort of help hotline.
But then she raised large, deep-blue eyes and he paused. It wasn’t instability he glimpsed there, rather an immense pool of pain.
“Why did you come to me?” He had noticed the distaste in her expression as she’d glanced around his neglected office. It was hardly the indication of someone who believed in his work.
“I’ve been told you’re the best.”
An arrow of ego pierced his armor. “Oh, yeah?”
“I understand your success rate with finding birth parents is phenomenal.”
He nodded in acknowledgment. Before his extensive recuperation it had been true. “But that’s not usually considered a life-and-death matter.”
“It is when your eighteen-month-old son needs a bone marrow donor to survive.”
“You’re not a match?”
She shook her head.
“What about your husband?”
“We’re divorced.” She met his gaze. “I contacted him. He was tested, but he wasn’t a match, either. Nor were any of his relatives who agreed to be tested. So, of course, I looked for potential donors in my family. That’s when I learned they aren’t my blood relatives. To cut to the chase, since my parents are both dead, I confronted my aunt Rhoda, and she admitted I had been adopted.”
“Any reason your adopted parents didn’t tell you the truth?”
“Such as?”
“Perhaps they knew the birth mother, had promised to keep the adoption secret.”
But Laura was shaking her head. “No. My aunt Rhoda contends that at first they didn’t know how to approach telling me, then they decided there was no point in risking my happiness. And, she said, deep down they were afraid of losing me. They were older when they got me and I guess they weren’t completely comfortable with the entire parenthood thing.”
She stood suddenly, crossing to the window, presenting her back. Waves of long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, glinting in the few rays of sunshine that struggled through the murky panes. She crossed her arms and rubbed at her elbows as though chilled. Yet if anything, the office was too warm.
“Have you tried looking yourself?” he asked, ignoring the appealing picture she made.
She turned to face him, visibly arming herself with determination. He guessed he must have imagined that glimpse of vulnerability.
“Of course. But I’ve come up empty. I’m told the records are sealed. End of story.” An even fiercer determination seemed to possess her. “But I refuse to accept that answer. I’m assuming your familiarity and methods can open doors closed to me.”
“It usually works that way,” he acknowledged.
She pulled out a check. “I’m prepared to pay you a sizable retainer so you can devote your time solely to this case.”
Considering he had been back to work for only a week, exclusivity wouldn’t be much of a problem. Clients palming ready cash weren’t exactly lined up at the door. “With expenses, my rate isn’t cheap,” he warned. “In fact, the bill can escalate—” he snapped his fingers “—like that. And I don’t want to be burned. Can you afford an all-out investigation?”
Her face registered mere annoyance. It mingled with the distaste that had never completely disappeared from her expression.
“My parents left a comfortable inheritance. Your bill won’t be a problem.”
He should leap at the offer, but despite not knowing where his next client was coming from, he still didn’t like the disdain in her expression. “People think they want to find out all about the past when they start looking. But the truth can be pretty ugly.”
She raised those deeply blue expressive eyes. “Nothing’s uglier or less acceptable than the alternative. I don’t care what you learn about me—as long as it saves my baby’s life.” For a moment he saw a flash of something else in her face, something she used the disdain to camouflage. It was desperation coupled with a healthy dose of fear. And, he guessed, like a protective mother bear, she would claw and scratch to safeguard her young. Grudgingly, he respected the quality—even more than the impressive check she had allowed to drift onto the desk in front of him.
She held out one neatly manicured hand. “Do we have a deal?”
He accepted the handshake, refusing to acknowledge the softness of her skin, the betraying tremble. And especially the pull of her beckoning eyes.
CHAPTER TWO
HOW ODD, Laura decided, as she sat across the living room from her aunt Rhoda. With Mitch Tucker seated in the wing chair between them, it seemed strangely like the days when she had been a teenager and she had brought a boy home to meet her parents. There was the same sense of inspection, skepticism and uncertain approval. But her mind raced past the comparison. Could her aunt Rhoda give Mitch any information that would help?
They had been talking for hours and Mitch had diligently taken notes the entire time. In many ways, though, his questions were similar to the ones Laura had asked herself. True, he inquired about many things she hadn’t thought of, but she wondered if that would be enough. Wouldn’t he find some of those same avenues of pursuit relentlessly closing up? Frustrated, she wanted to jump in and help—to rush the process.
However, her aunt Rhoda was echoing some of her very concerns. “I’ve already told most of this to my niece. What makes you think you can learn any more than she has?”
“Because I’m a professional investigator, Ms. Johnson. No disrespect intended, but I know the ins and outs of the system, where to probe and poke.”
Rhoda sighed. “Of course. I wasn’t discounting your ability.” Her shrewd gaze swept over him. “It’s just that I don’t want Laura’s hopes raised on a wild-goose chase.”
But he didn’t back down. “Isn’t that Ms. Kelly’s choice to make?”
A grudging look of approval crossed Rhoda’s face. “I suppose it is, young man.”
Although Laura didn’t comment, silently she acknowledged that he had just raised his esteem in her own book sizably.
Yet there was a more nagging question, one she hadn’t been able to put to rest since Mitch had posed it. “Aunt Rhoda, can you think of any other reason Mom and Dad didn’t tell me about the adoption?”
A shadow flickered over Rhoda’s face and she answered slowly, her voice strained. “I’ve already told you. They thought you were happy. Why rock the boat?”
Laura glanced over at Mitch and saw the skepticism on his face. She wasn’t sure why, but she sensed that Rhoda was concealing something. Still, her aunt had insisted she would do anything she could do to help in the search. “And there’s nothing else?”
A dart of something resembling fear surfaced in Rhoda’s eyes, but she shook her head. “No.” Then she looked at Mitch. “But you’re supposed to discover things mere mortals can’t, aren’t you?”
Mitch lifted one side of his mouth in a wry grin. “I haven’t heard it put that way, but yes, I suppose so.” With the words he rose.
Automatically, Laura did so as well, but she reached out to snag his arm, not ready to stop her questions. As she started to speak, his gaze cautioned her to drop the inquiry. Startled by the insistence in his eyes, she followed him, absently bidding her aunt goodbye as they left.
Once outside, though, she wasn’t as acquiescent. “Why did you stop me? We need to find out everything we can about—”
“Pushing people isn’t the way to do it. We got enough for today.”
Frustration borne of worry seized her. “You don’t seem to understand. We don’t have time to waste. My son’s life is at stake!”
He met her gaze, his deceptively easygoing manner not concealing the intelligence in his tigerlike eyes. “I understand perfectly. Which is why we don’t want to alienate your relatives. Right now they’re our strongest source.”
Sobered, Laura had to agree. And that frightened her even more.
OBLIVIOUS TO THE alteration of cells that threatened his life, Alex was an extraordinarily happy baby, whose world was decorated with smiles and chortles of joy. Laura hadn’t realized such pure love and utter happiness could be found on this earth. She had made her share of mistakes and bad choices, but everything about Alex was both good and right.
Seeing her approaching the nursery, he stood in his crib, stretching out his arms, and shrieking for her. “Mama! Mama!”
Laura’s answering smile was instant and huge.
“How’s my boy?” she asked, bending to lift him.
“He’s an absolute peach,” Mrs. Plummer replied affectionately.
“Not that you’re prejudiced,” Laura told the older woman as she hugged Alex.
Mrs. Plummer continued picking up toys, stacking them in the padded toy box. “I am and I don’t mind admitting it.”
Once again Laura thanked the fates for Mrs. Plummer. A widow whose only daughter had died before she could marry, Mrs. Plummer had no grandchildren of her own. And she treated Alex like the grandson she’d never had. She was dependable to a fault.
Laura had struggled through the first days of single parenthood, terrified about leaving Alex in the care of strangers. And then she’d discovered Mrs. Plummer. Terror had receded, replaced by a growing dependence on the older woman. While she provided Laura with invaluable security, Laura believed that she and Alex filled a place in Mrs. Plummer’s lonely life. And although Laura had a good relationship with her, it was Alex whom Mrs. Plummer had fully connected with. But that was only natural; they spent the greatest amount of time together.
“The restaurant called,” Mrs. Plummer told her as she continued straightening the room.
Laura sighed. “I guess they don’t know what leave of absence means.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Mrs. Plummer agreed. “They take advantage of you.”
“The good and bad of being the manager.” Laura paused to nuzzle Alex’s cheek. “I’m relieved to know I’m missed, but on the other hand I’d like to leave the worries behind.”
“Then stop taking all their calls!”
“It’s not that easy. I’d like to know my job’s still there when—” she paused, her hold tightening on Alex “—I’m ready to get back to work.”
“You’ve got your inheritance,” Mrs. Plummer reminded her. “And D’Beti’s isn’t the only restaurant in the city.”
Laura sometimes wondered about the wisdom of confiding all the intimate details of her life to her baby-sitter, but Mrs. Plummer had been determined not to accept any pay while Laura was on her leave of absence. Unable to allow such a sacrifice, Laura had disclosed the source of her funds.
“So, has the hotshot detective found out anything?”
Grinning, Laura shook her head. It was a good description of the man. “Not yet. He wants me to be patient.”
Worry settled over Mrs. Plummer’s features. “But we don’t have time to be patient.”
Laura patted the older woman’s arm, knowing Alex couldn’t have asked for a more devoted surrogate grandmother. “That’s what I told him.”
Mrs. Plummer sniffed suspiciously, then ducked her face for a moment, no doubt hiding a trace of tears. “Good for you.” Then as abruptly, she headed out of the nursery. “I’d better check the chicken, or it’ll be spitting dry.”
Laura took advantage of the quiet to settle into the well-worn rocker. The gentle creak of the wood against thick carpet soothed. Alex was content to snuggle in her arms, his fingers latching onto hers. Laura smoothed back the baby-fine hair on his forehead, feeling her heart clutch. What if she couldn’t save him? Couldn’t unlock the secrets to her birth?
He kicked chubby legs and she stroked his soft skin. “Somehow I’ll find out, Alex.” Briefly, she closed her eyes. “I don’t care how it affects me.” And Laura knew it was true. Mitch Tucker could learn she was the child of criminals and she wouldn’t care—as long as it brought her closer to a cure for Alex.
HER EYES WERE definitely blue, Mitch concluded. An intense blue, one that evoked thoughts of a stormy Irish sky. Emphasis on stormy, he acknowledged. Laura Kelly was a woman possessed. And it was getting on his nerves.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, pushing still sleep-rumpled hair from his forehead. “It can’t be much later than six.”
“Seven-fifteen, Tucker. We don’t have time to waste.”
“I never consider sleeping a waste of time,” he retorted, seeing the bluish haze of dawn on the Houston skyline through the living room windows. He shook his head in continued disbelief, wishing he hadn’t provided her with his home address and phone number. “And if we’re going to talk while I’m still in my boxers, you might as well call me Mitch.”
Her face flushed, not two petite, delicate spots of color but a tidal wave of embarrassment. “Don’t you own a robe?”
“Tell you what, Laura. Next time I show up at your house before breakfast, I’ll be sure to call the fashion police, too.”
Laura’s gaze collided with his bare legs, then darted away. She lifted her chin. “I think we have more important things to worry about than your wardrobe.”
“You brought up the issue,” he replied easily, enjoying the way she emotionally scrunched herself up into a tight knot. He guessed there was a lot of inhibition trapped inside, just waiting to bust loose. Then again, she could be one of those eternally rigid fusspots.
She ignored the rebuke, her single-mindedness vaulting back to her initial purpose. “We need to go over what you’ve learned.” As she spoke, Laura trailed behind him through the apartment.
At the door of his bedroom, Mitch turned around, leaning one hip idly against the doorjamb. “It’s not that I mind sharing my shower, but I draw the line at discussing business at the same time.”
If possible, Laura flushed even darker.
Unable to resist needling her, Mitch let one hand drift toward his waistband. “I’ll leave the choice up to you.”
Laura whirled around and retreated into his living room.
Chuckling, Mitch padded into the bathroom and turned the shower on full blast. He suspected he would need the bracing wake-up to face the morning.
Ten minutes later he was sure of it. Strolling into his kitchen, he found that Laura had commandeered the space. Blissfully, he inhaled the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. He grabbed a mug and filled it to the brim. After sipping the strong brew, he tipped the mug toward her in a mock salute. “I’ll give you this—you know how to make a decent cup of coffee.”
But her eyes were doing some sort of strange dance that didn’t seem to have anything to do with the coffee. “Don’t you get completely dressed before noon?”
He glanced down at his jeans. “Didn’t know we were going formal today.”
She waved in the direction of his bare chest. “I don’t think anywhere we go today will be that informal.”
“We?” He lowered his mug. “Look, you hired me to do a job. I work solo.”
“But I can help you. There must be some grunt work I can do that will free you up for the more difficult things.”
“So, you’re going to be my gofer?” he questioned skeptically. She didn’t seem like the sort to take orders well.
Laura met his eyes evenly. “I would clean sewers bare-handed if it would help my son.”
Sobered by the reminder, Mitch lowered his mug. “Our methods may not be the same, but I know how serious the situation is. You don’t have to dog my steps to make sure the investigation’s being conducted the right way.”
“That’s not the point.”
He guessed it was, but let the comment pass.
“I can’t just stand by doing nothing.” Laura paced toward the window, yet she didn’t seem to notice anything beyond the shuttered panes of glass.
Mitch studied the fierce determination in the set of her shoulders, the earnestness in her eyes. And sighed in defeat. “If I let you help—”
“You’ll—”
“I said if, Miss Kelly. And let’s get one thing straight. I’m in charge of the investigation. I won’t put up with you second-guessing my methods.”
“What do we do first?” she asked, choosing to ignore his warning.
“First, we put on my shirt.” His gaze took another unhurried appraisal, enjoying the sudden jumpiness in her eyes. “Or do you want to be in charge of that?”
Instead of answering him, she turned her back and made a production out of clattering the mugs in the sink and yanking at the faucet, purposely adding the roar of the water to the manufactured noise.
“Oh, and, Laura—”
“Yes?”
“Next time you show up before breakfast and drag me out of bed—you’d better mean it.”
LAURA FELT MORE in control with the width of a sturdy oak library table between them. And it didn’t hurt that Mitch had donned a shirt. Papers and books surrounded them, but he didn’t seem to mind the clutter. He had selected the library for the morning’s work since it contained microfilm records he needed to probe.
“What is that you’re doing?” she asked, impatient to cut to the chase, to find the key they needed to unlock her past.
“Finishing your personal profile,” he replied. “We did the preliminaries before talking to your aunt. Now we need to dig deeper.”
She frowned. “Why?”
The librarian strolled by, hushing them, her wrinkled face looking like that of a pug dog’s—set in permanent lines of disapproval.
Laura lowered her voice. “So?”
“Right now, we have an equation of the unknown, and the only known factor in the formula is you. I have to learn everything about you, Laura. From top—” he paused as his eyes drifted over her slowly “—to bottom.”
Despite the fear gnawing at her, Laura felt an unexpected warmth curling in her belly. Resolutely, she straightened up in the rigid, narrow-backed chair. “And we had to come to the library to do this?”
“I need to dig through their old records. Of course, we could have stayed at my apartment to complete your profile.”
“No, the library’s good.” She tried to hide her discomfort. “I’ve told you I’ll do whatever it takes to help Alex.”
He had a way of blinking, a slow easy motion that seemed to mock and tantalize at the same time. “Then let’s start where we left off.”
And they did, including her memories of junior and senior high school. Patiently Laura recounted her past, balking only when they got to the choice of her senior prom escort.
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Why do you want to know that?”
His answering smile was a lazy curl of his lips that seemed to reflect deep amusement. “Wondering if you hung out with the jocks, the geeks or the brains.”
“What possible relevance can that have to finding my birth mother?”
Again the librarian hushed them.
Tasuta katkend on lõppenud.
