Читать книгу Family Found - Bonnie Winn K. - Страница 9

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.