Читать книгу Family Found - Bonnie Winn K. - Страница 10

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.

Mitch’s voice was low, but it reached her easily. “I didn’t say it was relevant. I just wondered.”

Exasperated, she was prepared to let him have it, albeit in a quiet tone.

But he was smiling fully. “That’s better. You were looking entirely too serious.”

“This is serious.”

“Right. You won’t be much help, though, if you burn out.”

Realizing she must appear entirely humorless, Laura eased off a bit. “We have been at it for hours. I guess we could both use a break.”

Surprise drew his brows upward. “You said it.” Rising, he swept the papers into his well-worn leather portfolio. “Why don’t we finish this over something to drink.”

Sighing, Laura realized she’d brought this one on herself. Give a playboy time to play and of course he would do just that.

However, as they strolled from the weathered brick building, Mitch steered her not toward the car but toward a grassy slope. Perhaps the bar was within walking distance, she reasoned. Likely the detective would have picked a library close to his creature comforts.

They climbed to the top of the gentle incline. To Laura’s surprise, a wooded park greeted them. Like many of the dichotomies of the cityscape, skyscrapers framed the outline of the trees. The park should seem like an encroachment. Instead the green sanctuary felt like a fitting oasis for the glass-and-concrete edifices.

Again Mitch took her elbow, then led her down the path to a coffee cart. “They’ve got everything from cappuccino to regular old sludge.”

Suddenly the heat and flavor of a latte sounded immensely appealing, and she placed her order.

As the vendor handed her the steaming, foamy cup, Mitch pulled out a bill. “Just my usual, Pat.”

The older man grinned. “None of that fancy stuff for you, eh, Tucker?”

“Simple man, simple tastes,” Mitch agreed, tipping the man generously.

Then he turned to Laura. “There’s a bench down by the water. Bound to be a few ducks doing a matinee.”

Laura smiled, caught by the whimsy in his words. “You think they only swim for show?”

“Keeps the bread crumbs coming. It’s steady work, not much chance for advancement, but no layoffs or forced retirement, either.”

Once more, Laura smiled. The detective might needle her, but he could also be amusing when it suited him.

The bench curved as the shoreline did, a scallop that placed Mitch and Laura together in the center of the weathered redwood structure.

Preposterously, the proximity made her nervous. Again Laura straightened her spine, but the gesture made her feel even more foolish. She wasn’t a blushing teenager out with a man for the first time. Not that they were out—still, she felt ridiculously prudish. Just because she had been badly burned by one man, it didn’t mean she couldn’t relate on a nonpersonal level with the entire sex.

Frustrated with herself, she took a large sip of her latte, forgetting until it was too late that the liquid was still very hot.

“Getting burned?” Mitch asked.

“What?” Had he read her mind? Realizing she had advanced beyond ridiculous, Laura settled the lid back on her drink. “No, not really. It’s just so good I got impatient.”

“And a good thing shouldn’t be rushed.”

Laura glanced at him skeptically. “Really?”

“Yep.” His gaze sidled over her face. But he didn’t add anything else.

And judging from the reaction in her twisting insides, he didn’t need to.