Читать книгу Secrets and Seductions - Pamela Toth - Страница 12

“M r. Davis asked me to convey his apologies for running late. He’ll see you just as soon as he finishes his call.” The assistant adjusted her headset and smiled at Emma Wright, who was seated in the small waiting area.

The brass nameplate resting on the corner of the desk next to a potted plant with purple leaves read Cora Hanson. Behind her blond head, the tall windows framed a summer sky that was the same intense blue as the most precious turquoise jewelry.

“Is there anything I could get you?” Cora asked. “Coffee? Some water?”

Emma shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

Actually she had been anything but fine since first learning about Children’s Connection, an adoption agency associated with Portland General Hospital. Coffee would only make her more jittery. As for water, well, she didn’t want any interruptions once she got in to see Morgan Davis, the agency director.

Scarcely able to contain her impatience after waiting a week for her appointment, Emma had arrived early at the sprawling medical complex. She was meeting a friend for lunch afterward and hoped to have some startling news to share.

After parking her car in the garage, she’d followed the signs directing her past lawns that were still green despite the dry July weather and well-tended flower beds exploding with color.

Now she flipped through the pages of a travel magazine without the slightest idea of what she saw there. Her hands shook with a combination of nerves and anticipation, her palms damp and her heart thudding.

She hadn’t seen it coming, the bomb her parents dropped that shattered Emma’s life as she’d known it. She hadn’t suspected a thing, not until she looked into her mother’s eyes and saw the lie. In just a few minutes, though, she would finally have what she needed to begin piecing the scattered bits of her life back together.

“Ms. Wright?” The assistant had sneaked up without Emma’s notice to hover expectantly. “If you’d come with me, Mr. Davis will see you now.”

Emma shot to her feet so fast that she actually felt dizzy. Refusing to give in to the momentary weakness, she clutched her purse tightly as she followed the other woman down a short hallway. Ahead of her was an imposing set of double doors. One of them stood open.

Cora stepped aside and motioned for Emma to go on in.

A handsome black-haired man in a gray suit stood in front of a massive, heavily carved desk. The formality of his appearance made Emma feel slightly self-conscious about her own casual summer top and tan skirt.

“Ms. Wright? I’m Morgan Davis.” He extended his hand, his grip warm and firm. “Won’t you come in and have a seat?”

He nodded to his assistant, who shut the door quietly behind her. Emma took one of the purple tub chairs in front of the desk and the tall windows. Willing herself to be calm, she drew in a deep, slow breath.

Instead of returning to his black leather throne, the director surprised her by sitting in the chair next to hers. He was startlingly attractive, with deep blue eyes and cheekbones that would make a photographer weep. His dark tan was emphasized by his white shirt and maroon tie.

Ignoring the awareness dancing across her nerves, Emma stayed focused on her mission. She glanced over at the folder lying open on the desktop behind him. Did it contain the information she had come here to find?

He turned his head for a moment. His profile should have been on a stamp. His jaw was strong, his nose straight and his black eyelashes were as thick as the bristles of a paintbrush. Before she reeled herself back in, Emma wondered if the honey-gold tan of his face and hands extended to the rest of him.

“How can I help you?” he asked, lifting his brows. As he rested his hands on his thighs, a gold ring glinted on one finger.

Thank God he couldn’t read her mind.

Emma crossed her legs, trying not to fidget, and moistened her suddenly dry lips. She’d planned so carefully what she wanted to say, but now her mind threatened to go blank.

“I just found out that your agency handled my adoption,” she finally blurted out, lacing her fingers together tightly. “Is that my file on your desk?”

“That’s right,” he replied without turning his head. “As you can imagine, our records go back many years.” He folded his arms loosely across his chest. His smile flashed even white teeth. “I hope there isn’t a problem.”

Sitting rigidly, she lifted her chin. The sense of injustice and pain still raged inside her. “The problem is that I wasn’t told about it until a very short time ago.”

He frowned, clearly puzzled. “About this agency?”

“About being adopted,” she clarified. “I had no idea until now.”

His expression softened as he leaned forward. “I’m so sorry.” His voice was husky. “After all this time, the news must have come as quite a shock. I expect it’s been difficult for you.”

“Yes, very.” She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. Her voice wobbled. “That’s why I’m here, to find out what I can.”

His frown returned. “I’ll help in any way that I can, of course,” he replied, “but I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

“I need the names of my biological parents,” she said firmly. The Wrights had claimed not to have that information, but her faith in their honesty had taken a major hit and she wasn’t sure that she believed them.

“If you don’t mind my asking, how did this all come about?” He spread his hands wide. “After keeping your adoption a secret for all this time, what made them suddenly decide to tell you, do you know?”

His sympathetic smile and his show of interest threatened to shatter Emma’s composure. Afraid she might break down and start sobbing, she clenched her teeth and stared down at her toes, painted red to match her shirt.

No one else except her parents—her adoptive parents, she reminded herself—knew the situation. Since she was no longer speaking to them, she’d had no one to confide in. She hadn’t even told her close friend, Ivy Crosby, who’d been out of the country on business.

Ivy had been supportive throughout every bad thing that had happened to Emma, who was beginning to feel like a drama queen. Maybe she’d bring Ivy up to speed on her latest disaster over lunch.

Deliberately Emma stiffened her spine. “I found out just recently that I have a medical condition which is usually considered to be hereditary,” she began.

His eyes narrowed with concern. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”

“Well, I’m not dying or anything like that,” she said quickly.

He made a noncommittal murmur of relief.

There was no point in telling him about her endometriosis, a condition in which cells similar to those found in the uterus formed lesions in other areas of the body. It was a condition that sometimes caused a woman to miscarry.

“It’s just that when I talked to my mother—” Emma shook her head and corrected herself “—my adoptive mother, it became obvious that I didn’t inherit it from her.”

Emma swallowed hard as she recalled her feeling of relief that Sally Wright hadn’t had to suffer even the minor discomfort associated with the condition. Her reluctance to discuss it and her uncharacteristic nervousness hadn’t raised Emma’s suspicions until later, when she went back over everything she could remember about their conversation.

“I assumed then that I must have gotten the problem from the paternal side of the family,” she continued, “but I was wrong.”

“You discussed it with your adoptive father?” he asked.

“With my grandmother the next time I visited her. It was obvious from what she said that she never experienced any of the symptoms.”

Emma swallowed the bitter taste of regret. “Sometimes I wish that I had let the subject drop, but I can’t go back, can I?” she asked the man seated across from her.

“If that were possible, I’m sure there are things in all our lives that we would change.”

Was that sadness she heard in his deep voice, or merely empathy? With his looks and his position of authority here, plus whatever else he had going, did he still have regrets?

“What did you do after that?” he prompted her gently.

“I did some research on the Web,” she admitted grimly, “and then I hotfooted it back to the Wrights’ house with a couple of real burning questions.”

“The Internet may not be the best place to get medical information,” he reminded her. “There can be many different ways to interpret whatever you might find there.”

“Oh, I know.” Emma had been bluffing when she brought the subject up again. “I tried not to jump to any conclusions, but there was a look that passed between my parents—”

This time she didn’t bother to correct herself as she bowed her head. The habit of more than a quarter of a century wasn’t going to be changed in a matter of weeks, no matter the sense of betrayal burning in her heart.

“Anyway,” she continued, blinking hard, “a red flag went up and I just knew.” She looked back at him. “At first they denied everything, but I kept pushing. Finally the whole sordid story came out.”

Since he’d read Emma’s file, he knew more about her right now than she did. “Are you sure that it’s sordid?” he asked.

“That’s what I’m here to find out.”

His expression changed, becoming more wary. “What do you mean?” He touched the knot of his tie, as though it had suddenly gotten too tight. The flash of gold she had noticed on his hand earlier looked like a college ring.

Emma rolled her eyes. “After the big confession, they actually expected me to accept their apology, let the subject drop, to go on as though nothing was any different.” She waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal. “But of course I can’t do that.”

It had been painfully clear to her that her adoptive parents had never intended to tell her the truth at all. Thank God the subject was no longer shrouded in secrecy.

“So that’s why I’ve come to you.” Emma gave him what she hoped to be a beguiling smile. “I’m here to find out about my real parents.”

When he remained silent, a sudden feeling of panic gripped her and she couldn’t resist glancing over at that open folder on his desk. What if it was incomplete? What if part of her file had been somehow lost, or destroyed in a fire or a flood?

“You do know who they are, don’t you, the people who gave me up?” she demanded, her heart thudding in her chest.

“Whenever possible, we do like to have the records of both parents.” The frown was back, causing a crease between his brows. If he kept it up, he’d be looking at Botox injections someday. “If you need another copy of your medical history, we’ll be happy to provide one. My assistant can give you a form to fill out.”

Suddenly breathless with anticipation, Emma pressed her palm to her heart. “I guess I didn’t really take the time to make myself clear,” she said. “It’s not just the medical information that I’m after, it’s everything.”

His expression shifted, his frown lines deepening, and he seemed to lean away from her in his chair. “What exactly do you mean by everything?”

Emma balled her hands together in her lap. She wasn’t going to give up now. “I need to know the names of my biological parents so I can find out if they’re still alive.” Her voice rose. “I might have siblings out there, family I never knew existed.”

Contacting them would be a huge first step in taking back control of her life.

He had already started to shake his head before she finished speaking. “I’m sorry, but what you’re asking is impossible. This agency can’t help you.”

Emma’s mouth fell open as she stared at him, stunned into momentary silence.

“What do you mean?” she finally croaked as his refusal sank into her consciousness. “You just admitted that you have their names.”

He spread his hands, palms up, in a helpless gesture. “That’s true,” he agreed, “but your file is confidential.”

“Okay, I understand.” Quickly Emma unzipped her purse. “I’ve got picture ID.”

Before she could open her wallet, he surprised her again, this time by resting his hand lightly on hers. His touch was warm, but something about his gesture made her shiver as an icy chill slid down her spine.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again as he let her go. “It’s not just your confidentiality that our agency is sworn to protect.”

His gaze held hers. “This was not an open adoption, so the only thing I’m allowed to share with you is your medical history.”

Emma stared at him blankly. “But they’re my parents. They’d want me to know who they are!”

Intellectually she knew that wasn’t always true, but her emotions wouldn’t let her believe it could apply to her. She wasn’t going to be stonewalled! Panic shot through her. If she lunged across his desk and grabbed the folder, would she be able to read its contents before he got it away from her?

“Emma,” he said quietly, startling her with his use of her first name, “I’ve read your entire file very carefully. There were no provisions made to give you contact information if you were ever to ask. Quite the contrary, there is a statement insisting on absolute privacy. I’m sorry.”

She wasn’t willing to give up, but she could tell by the set of his jaw that threats or pressure wouldn’t change his mind. He appeared to be giving her time to absorb her disappointment.

“I see,” she said, trying to sound reasonable.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Would you like some water?”

“Yes, please.” Think, she commanded herself while he went over to a sideboard and poured a glass for her. Frantically trying to come up with something to change his mind, she stared with fascination at the large blown-glass vase sitting proudly on a side table.

Talk about ugly!

When he came back and handed her the water, she took an obligatory sip before setting it down. “Thank you.”

He was watching her closely, as though he expected her to do something crazy. Was there a secret alarm that he’d activated, calling for security? Somehow she doubted it. With his height and athletic build, he appeared more than capable of handling whatever she could dish out.

“Is there anything else I can do?” he asked when the silence began to lengthen between them.

Anything else?

“Surely there’s another channel I can explore,” she said. “Some person I can talk to, an appeal process, something, in order to find out what I need?”

“I’m sorry. I’m afraid the buck stops with me.”

Suddenly she had an idea. “You can contact them for me. They have a right to know that I’m looking for them, so they can give you permission to show me my file.”

She was babbling, but she didn’t care. “I’ll swear on the Bible that I won’t bother them if they don’t want me to,” she promised. “But society has changed a lot in the last twenty-seven years. Maybe they meant to revoke the ‘no contact’ order, but they forgot all about it. You could ask them.”

“That’s not possible.” He looked genuinely regretful. “I’m sorry.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” she demanded, her frustration bubbling over.

“I know it sounds trite, but you have to accept the things you can’t change,” he said, spreading his hands wide. “I wish I could offer something more, but I can’t.”

“Accept?” Her voice rose like a hot-air balloon. “You want me to accept what I can’t change?” She leaped to her feet, barely noticing that her purse had dropped to the floor, and leaned over Morgan Davis to look right into his killer blue eyes.

They widened slightly.

“Let me tell you what I’ve had to accept lately.” She stuck her hand under his nose, fingers spread, and began ticking off items.

“I couldn’t change my miscarriages or the divorce that followed.” She tapped two fingers. “How about the layoff from my job as a school counselor? How was I supposed to change that?” There went another finger. “Unfortunately, none of the other districts around here are hiring, either, and I have bills to pay.”

She hesitated, then decided that deserved a finger, too. “Maybe my creditors will have to accept not getting any money from me until I find another job, huh?”

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off ruthlessly. “If all that wasn’t enough, I found out that I’m not even who I thought I was.”

She waggled her splayed hand at him. “How can you tell me that not knowing my parents’ names is just one more thing I have to accept?”

For just an instant he looked genuinely horrified before he quickly masked his expression. When he got to his feet, he was a head taller than Emma, who was forced to retreat.

“I wish there was something I could do,” he said with apparently limitless patience.

“But you’re the director,” she cried. “I know you could make an exception if you really wanted to.”

“No, I can’t.”

Stubborn ox! She had failed at so many things lately, being a wife, a mother, a successful counselor. How could she go away from here empty-handed?

Normally she hated whiners, but she was running out of options. “No one else would have to find out,” she wheedled softly. “I’d never let on where I got the information, I swear, please.”

“Ms. Wright,” he said.

Back to formality, she noticed.

“You may not believe me,” he continued, “but I truly can understand your disappointment. However, this agency has entered into a contract with the people who entrusted you to us for placement in the first place. It’s a binding legal document that I am not willing or able to violate.”

Emma began to steam. Why had he told her the information was only a few feet away—to taunt her? How sadistic was that?

How could this petty bureaucrat in his fancy suit, sitting in his corner office like some potentate in his ivory tower, claim to know what she was feeling?

She had to try one last time, just in case he was beginning to weaken. “Are you sure there’s nothing you can do?”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks and rocked back on the heels of what were no doubt very expensive shoes. “If you want to send me your résumé, I could ask around,” he suggested with obvious reluctance. “Have you checked with the employment agencies here in Portland?”

“No!” Emma exclaimed, her frustration finally breaking through as she threw up her hands. “That’s not the help I meant, and you know it!”

He shook his head. “Eventually you’ll adjust to the idea that you were adopted by two people who wanted a baby very much,” he insisted. “They should have told you a lot sooner, but they didn’t. There it is and you can’t change it.”

If he said it was time to move on, she was going to slug him. Instead he shrugged.

“I’ve been doing this for a long while,” he continued, apparently encouraged by her silence. “The adoption process isn’t something that people go through unless they’re desperate for a child. It’s expensive and time-consuming. Their privacy is shredded, their lives picked apart.”

He paused for breath while she gave him her iciest glare. “It sounds as though you’ve had a heck of a bumpy ride lately,” he said, “but you look like a capable woman. Give yourself time to accept once again the identity that you’ve grown up with and the parents who raised you.”

Emma’s fuse, which had often been regrettably short, finally blew at the platitudes he was trying to heap on her poor head.

She picked up her purse. “You may think, just because you run this agency, that you’re so wise and all-knowing about how it feels to be adopted, Mr. Davis.” She grabbed the knob and yanked open the door, too angry to thank him for his time.

“As for your advice, your platitudes and your pseudo sympathy,” she continued loudly, pointing at the big vase, “you can stick them right into that cheap, tacky glass monstrosity you seem to be so proud of.”

Head held high, she sailed out the door and slammed it shut behind her.

Morgan stood in the suddenly silent office with his hands braced on his hips. He understood the reasons behind the agency’s confidentiality regulations; he agreed with them one hundred percent.

In this case, Emma would never know that he was protecting her as well as her biological parents. She had been through enough without having to deal with a father who would never acknowledge her because the personal cost to him and his career might be more than he was willing to pay.

Between the shouting and door slamming, Emma Wright’s exit had been a noisy one. At any moment he expected his assistant to burst into his office in order to reassure herself that he was still in one piece.

Absently he looked around, his glance landing on the large blown-glass vase that Emma had disparaged on her way out the door.

“It’s not tacky,” he muttered defensively as he studied the blue and purple sculpture. Created in the manner of Dale Chihuly, a prominent Northwest artist, the twisting, fluid shape resembled either a man-eating flower or a floppy hat, depending on the angle from which it was viewed.

“And it sure as hell wasn’t cheap.” Morgan winced as he recalled his winning bid at the recent charity auction. Even so, he would have willingly given up the vase in exchange for a magical elixir to remove that wounded, lost look from Emma Wright’s sad gray eyes before she got angry and they turned to fire.

He had plenty of experience reading people, and the most satisfying part of his job was being able to help them. Emma’s case was an unusual one, but she didn’t know that and he couldn’t tell her. It was part of the reason she stayed in his mind.

It had nothing to do with the fact that she was hot.

Portland was full of hot women wearing vividly colored cropped tops, tight miniskirts and miles of bare skin that replaced winter’s long, dark raincoats and high boots. Quite a few of them worked right here in the hospital complex, but he’d gotten good at ignoring them.

His mother was always nagging him about giving her grandchildren, but he had rules about mixing business and pleasure. His rules hadn’t protected him from Emma. Her red knit top hadn’t been especially snug, nor did her short khaki skirt expose an unusual amount of her long, attractive legs. It was those big gray eyes that grabbed him first, eyes a man could dive into and get lost. Wavy brown hair he wanted to plunge his fingers into and muss all up.

Full lips…

His appreciation of Emma Wright as a woman wasn’t what she needed, so he forced himself to ignore the rush of heat as several rapid knocks sounded on his closed door.

“Enter,” he called out as he turned away from the window.

Just as he had expected, it was Cora who poked her head inside. “Everything okay?” she asked.

As much as he was tempted to ask her opinion, he didn’t have that luxury.

“Everything’s fine,” Morgan replied with a reassuring smile.

She studied him for another moment with a concerned expression, like a soccer mom checking for injuries, before she finally returned his smile with one of her own.

“Okay, good,” she said. “Since you don’t have any wounds in need of binding up, I’m going to lunch.”

Around the corner from the assistant’s station, Everett Baker had pressed himself against the wall so that he wouldn’t be discovered. He’d been on his way back to the accounting department where he worked when he heard the woman shouting at the director. Yelling and anger always made Everett’s stomach knot up. Absently he had rubbed slow circles on his midsection as he watched the pretty woman in the red shirt rush past Cora’s desk.

Why did women always start shouting when they got upset? If they would only ask nicely, they might get whatever it was that they wanted.

No one ever seemed to notice Everett, so he was able to watch the other employees whenever he had a break from his work. Sometimes he was able to listen to their conversations, if they talked loud enough. It helped him to figure out why some people had so many friends and others, like him, didn’t.

On a really good day, he would see Leslie Logan. She came often to Children’s Connection, looking like a modern-day queen. Everett had a special reason for watching her, but it wasn’t what anyone else might think. Leslie was old enough to be his mother.

Everett glanced at his watch and saw that it was time for him to get back to his desk before someone asked where he’d been. Nervously he pushed back his hair as he looked around to make sure that no one was watching him. The hall was empty and the pretty woman in red was gone. He was in the clear.