Читать книгу Secrets and Seductions - Pamela Toth - Страница 13

E mma was still fuming over her appointment when she hurried to meet her friend Ivy Crosby for lunch at a little café near the computer company where Ivy worked. Even though her family owned Crosby Systems, Ivy never took for granted her position there, so Emma didn’t want to be late and hold her up.

She could see Ivy already seated at one of the small tables outside the café, her curly blond hair easy to spot, even in the middle of the lunch-hour crowd. She smiled and waved when she saw Emma coming down the sidewalk.

Despite her own foul mood, Emma waved back before she ducked inside and worked her way through the groups of people waiting to be seated.

“I’m joining my friend at an outside table,” she told the hostess.

Emma and Ivy had been roommates in college. Despite their polar-opposite personalities and wildly diverse backgrounds, they had made the effort to remain close.

When Emma got to the table, Ivy stood up and gave her a hug.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Ivy exclaimed. “I missed you.”

“You, too.” Emma returned her hug, blinking back tears. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Ivy’s perfume was a designer scent that cost more than Emma’s laptop, or her trendy outfit from an exclusive boutique. Beneath the affluent veneer, Ivy was the most genuine and loyal friend Emma had.

“How have you been?” Ivy asked after they had both sat down. “Fill me in.”

“Is there steam coming out of my ears?” Emma asked teasingly. Inwardly she was still fuming about her meeting.

Ivy’s blue eyes widened as she folded her hands on the menu. “Oh, dear,” she replied. “It sounds as if you’ve had a bad morning. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Emma was touched by her friend’s concern, but she knew how much Ivy hated being late back to work. She said it set a bad example for the other employees. “My problems will keep. Let’s order.” She glanced at her menu. “Then I want to hear about your trip. Where was it again that you went?”

“Lantanya.”

“I’ve never heard of it.” Emma wondered if she had imagined the momentary coolness in Ivy’s voice, even as the poetic name rolled off her tongue.

“No one has. It’s just a tiny principality located right on the Adriatic Sea.” She tossed her blond head. “Lunch is my treat. Don’t even bother to argue.”

Emma was embarrassed by Ivy’s generosity, but she was too broke to protest. After they had both ordered seafood salad and iced tea, she managed to smile at her friend.

“Did you meet a handsome prince while you were in Lantanya?” Emma asked teasingly.

To her surprise, Ivy’s expression froze. “I wasn’t there to play,” she said. “It was a business trip.”

“I was only kidding,” Emma replied, refusing to take offense. She was well aware of the stress Ivy felt when it came to her job. “So how was business?”

Ivy’s face relaxed again. “Crosby Industries is putting computer systems in the schools there. The children are so excited. It’s a heartwarming project.”

When it came to kids, Ivy was a cream puff. A few months ago, she had started volunteering at Portland General, working with the crack babies.

“That sounds great,” Emma replied. “Will you be going back?”

Again Ivy’s smile wavered and she glanced away. “I doubt it.”

“I suppose the country is pretty primitive,” Emma said. “Is it hot and barren?”

Before Ivy could reply, the waitress brought their salads and tall glasses of iced tea.

“Anything else?” the young girl asked. When both of them shook their heads, she left the check on the table and departed.

“Lantanya is a lovely country,” Ivy murmured, picking up her fork. “I’ve just had enough traveling for a while.”

Something wasn’t right here. In college the two girls had spent a lot of time talking about all the places they wanted to visit when they had an opportunity to travel. Before she left, Ivy had been eager to go on this trip.

Concerned, Emma leaned across the small table. “Honey, what’s wrong? Did something happen while you were gone?”

To her dismay, tears swam in Ivy’s eyes before she blinked them away. “I guess you could say that,” she whispered. “I met someone.”

Emma was probably the only person who knew just how inexperienced Ivy was when it came to men. “And?” she prompted.

“And we hit it off, and now it’s over.” Ivy’s eyes were downcast as she speared a bite of her salad.

“I’m sorry.” Emma was dying for more information, but it was obvious that Ivy wasn’t ready to talk about whatever had taken place in Lantanya. For a few moments the two of them ate in silence.

Finally Ivy lifted her head, her smile firmly back in place. “Okay, no more stalling. When you first arrived, you looked fit to be tied, as my nanny used to say.”

Ivy already knew about Emma’s medical condition, her divorce from Don and her layoff. Emma hadn’t yet mentioned her estrangement from the people who had raised her or the reason behind it.

As briefly as possible, Emma explained how finding out about her endometriosis had led to the news that she was adopted.

“I don’t know what to say,” Ivy murmured. “Are you sure it’s true?”

Emma speared a fat pink shrimp, even though she wasn’t at all hungry. The one good thing that had come out of the recent weeks was that she had lost a few pounds. “Mom admitted everything.”

Ivy sprinkled pepper on her hard-boiled egg. Her own childhood had been less than ideal. She had been raised by a series of housekeepers and nannies after her parents’ divorce, but at least Ivy knew who she was.

“I’m so sorry,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “What they did was wrong, but they’re good people at heart and they love you. I know you’ll work it out.”

“We’re not speaking,” Emma said bluntly as she poked at her salad. “I can’t forgive them for lying to me all these years.”

At the next table, a cell phone rang and the man sitting there launched into a loud, annoying conversation about a deal he was putting together.

Ivy rolled her eyes in reaction. “What exactly did your parents tell you?”

Emma arched her brows. “Do you mean the Wrights?” she asked, unable to resist.

After her divorce, she had taken back her maiden name. If she had known when she signed the papers what she knew now, she wouldn’t have bothered.

“They’re still your parents,” Ivy chided gently before taking a dainty bite of arugula.

Emma didn’t bother to argue. She couldn’t expect her friend to understand her sense of betrayal. Ivy was under constant pressure working at the family firm, but at least they were her family.

Someone dropped a tray inside the café with a loud crash that made Emma’s hand jerk. Iced tea sloshed over the rim of the glass.

“Did they tell you anything else about your background?” Ivy asked.

“Only that I was a newborn when they adopted me,” Emma explained as she wiped up the spill with her napkin. “It was handled by an agency here in Portland called Children’s Connection.”

Blotting her lips with her napkin, Ivy studied her thoughtfully. “I’ve seen their ads. The Logans are big patrons of their fertility clinic.”

Emma was aware that Ivy’s family and the wealthy Logans had a long, mutually antagonistic history, but she wasn’t sure why. Ivy had told her their companies were rivals, but the rift seemed far too bitter for that. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know they were involved.”

“No reason you should.” Ivy studied her thoughtfully. “It’s good to know the adoption was legitimate and not part of some backroom black-market baby ring.”

“I guess,” Emma acknowledged.

A sudden breeze stirred Ivy’s hair. Two men at a nearby table stopped talking to stare at her. Despite being so pretty, she had been raised in the shadow of her older siblings, which made her rather shy. She was oblivious to the men’s attention.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I found out something like that,” she told Emma. “Is that where you went this morning?”

Emma leaned closer and lowered her voice. Thankfully the hotshot at the next table had concluded his call and was eating his lunch. “I had an appointment with the director, because I wanted to learn everything I could about my biological parents.”

Ivy set aside her plate. “I guess I’d want to know the same thing. What did you find out?”

“Nothing!” Emma’s frustration bubbled out. Several patrons glanced over at her, so she quickly lowered her voice. “He refused to tell me anything. He claimed that my file is confidential.”

“Well, maybe it’s for the best,” Ivy said in a conciliatory tone. “I mean, are you sure you really want to know the reasons someone gave you up? What if they’re painful?”

“Like what?” Emma fired back at her. “You mean, if my mother was too young to take care of me, or if I was the result of some kind of assault or incest, or left in a Dumpster?” She had already spent a lot of time thinking about all the different possibilities.

Ivy shrugged. “I don’t know. Some people don’t want anyone to find out they had a child and gave it up. They’re ashamed, or they have a new family they never told. Or they just can’t face what they did.”

“I still have a right to know,” Emma disagreed. “It’s my personal history.” She could feel the frustration rising up again, but the last thing she wanted was to argue with Ivy.

“But you said they couldn’t tell you anything, so what else can you do?”

“I said they wouldn’t tell me,” Emma corrected. “The director, Morgan Davis, had my file with the names of my parents right on his desk. He admitted the information was all there, but it’s agency policy to keep it all a big, dark secret.”

She took a gulp of her iced tea, but the ice had melted and it tasted watery. “You’d think this was the nineteenth century, not the twenty-first,” she sputtered. “Adoption files have been open for decades!”

Ivy took out her wallet and put her credit card with the check. “Do you want to take a walk?” she offered. “I could use the exercise.”

A knot rose up in Emma’s throat at her friend’s suggestion. “Thanks for letting me vent, sweetie. I know you need to get back to work.” She glanced at her watch. “Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.”

“Any job leads?” Ivy asked after the waitress went off with her card.

Emma had to be careful not to say too much about that situation, because she knew Ivy would repeat her offer to find Emma something at Crosby Systems. Even though Ivy’s family owned the business and her older brother was the CEO, she wanted to be seen there as more than a pretty face. She had struggled hard for the recognition she had achieved and Emma was determined not to impose on their friendship.

“I’m looking into a couple of things for fall,” she said with a smile. “Meanwhile I’ve got my part-time job at the video store and my unemployment benefits, so I’m not concerned.”

She might have been able to squeak along for a while if Don hadn’t left her with more than her share of their bills. Contrary to what she had just told Ivy, she was starting to worry about how she was going to manage.

“Promise you’ll let me know if I can help,” Ivy said, touching Emma’s hand. “I’m serious. Give me your word.”

Crossing the fingers of her other hand beneath the table, Emma nodded. “I know one of my leads will pan out anyday.”

“And I’m so sorry about this other business,” Ivy said after she’d tucked her credit card back into her purse and they wound their way out of the café. “I’m sure not knowing is hard, but it sounds as if you have no choice but to let it go.”

The two of them stopped on the sidewalk to exchange a quick hug. “Call me whenever you feel like talking, okay?”

Once again Emma nodded. “Same goes, you know.”

Ivy’s cheeks turned pink, but she didn’t reply.

“Well, thanks for listening,” Emma told her, “and for lunch.” As soon as she landed a full-time job and got caught up on her bills, she was going to take Ivy to dinner at the nicest restaurant in Portland as thanks for her support.

“Anytime.” With a final wave, Ivy turned and walked quickly away.

Emma hesitated, not sure what to do next. The rest of the afternoon stretched in front of her like an empty road. After the way her morning had gone, she deserved a treat. Something more lasting than lunch.

One of her favorite places to go in downtown Portland was a bookstore named Powell’s. Housed in a big old building, it was known as the largest independent new and used bookstore in the world. Maybe a couple of hours spent perusing the shelves would take her mind off that jerk, Morgan Davis.

After a solitary lunch at his desk, a staff meeting and an appointment with an eager couple looking to adopt a baby, Morgan took time to double-check his vacation plans. Every summer, aided by grants and donations, he and a group of volunteers conducted a two-week summer camp in the mountains a couple of hours away from the city.

The camp session was for older children who were still waiting to be adopted. It was Morgan’s way of reminding them that people cared, of giving back to a system that had changed his life. The setting, on a lakeshore in the Deschutes National Forest, never failed to renew his spirit.

As usual, most of the office staff was already gone by the time he’d returned a list of phone calls and cleared off his desk. Even Cora had finally stuck her head in the doorway to see if there was anything he needed before she left to pick up her children from day care.

He walked to his reserved parking spot a few minutes later, carrying the briefcase that had been a birthday gift from his parents. In deference to the lingering heat, he had tossed the jacket of his suit over his shoulder and loosened his Italian silk tie.

He was aware that some of his staff members thought he overdressed for the job, but the responsibility of his position as the director weighed heavily on his shoulders. His goal was to present an image of reassurance and responsibility in order to gain people’s trust. He had helped to build Children’s Connection into a nationally known and respected agency. Every year they helped hundreds of people to attain their dream of having a family.

He was proud of the work they did. That was why cases like Emma Wright’s weighed heavily on his mind.

Meanwhile Morgan’s parents were visiting from California for a few days. As usual, they’d refused his offer of the guest room at his condo, preferring to stay at a nearby hotel instead.

“Packing it in, Mr. D?” asked the parking guard as Morgan unlocked the door to his sensible SUV.

“Figured it was time, Andy,” he replied. “How’s your wife’s foot? Is she feeling better?”

Andy had mentioned that she’d tripped over a grandchild’s toy truck a couple of days before.

“Getting better,” he said now. “Thanks for asking, though.” He ran his hand through his tightly curled gray hair. “Enjoy your evening.”

Morgan’s mother claimed they didn’t want to “upset his routine” by staying with him, but he suspected an ulterior motive. She made no secret of her desire for a passel of grandbabies to spoil. To that end, she wasn’t about to invade his privacy, just in case he had a girlfriend tucked away.

He would like nothing better than to enjoy a serious relationship with a woman he could picture spending his life with, but so far it hadn’t happened. Perhaps he was foolish to believe that he would somehow know when he met the one meant for him—that special woman—but he wasn’t willing to settle for less. Meanwhile, he was busy with the agency, the summer camp and the occasional date with a potential soul mate.

His town house was part of a fairly new complex located a few miles from the office. It had a great view of the Willamette River. Despite the heavy rush-hour traffic that streamed from downtown Portland to the suburbs, his commute took less than a half hour, giving him plenty of time to shower and change clothes before meeting his folks for dinner.

“You seem preoccupied,” Morgan’s mother said after the waiter left with their orders. “Did something happen at work today?”

He glanced at his father, a pediatrician he respected more than any man he’d ever known.

“Might as well tell her,” Dr. Davis suggested with a grin. “She’s like one of those California condors. She won’t rest until she’s picked you clean.”

Morgan’s mother, a teacher, swatted at him with her napkin. The love between the two of them never failed to strengthen his own determination to find that one special woman with whom he could form a similar bond.

“I met someone today.” He knew his mother would pounce on his comment like a duck on a bug.

Hazel eyes widening below her silver bangs, she leaned forward eagerly. “Really?”

“Don’t tease her, son,” his father said dryly.

A wave of remorse washed over Morgan. He was well aware that what she and his father wanted—all they had ever wanted—was his happiness.

And a few grandbabies to spoil, of course.

“It’s not what you think, Mom,” he cautioned as the waiter brought their drinks. “This woman recently found out she was adopted through Children’s Connection and she was looking for answers.”

His father frowned thoughtfully. “Were you able to help her?” he asked in the calm voice that had reassured thousands of young patients through the course of his medical career.

Morgan fiddled with the stem of his wine goblet as he pictured Emma’s face, her sooty eyes swimming with tears. He should have tried harder to soften her disappointment.

“Well, Emma did slam the door to my office pretty hard when she left,” he admitted wryly, sitting back in his chair when the waiter brought their salads. “I’d take that as a no.”

The waiter’s expression didn’t alter as he offered each of them fresh-ground pepper. He must overhear some interesting bits of conversation during a shift, Morgan thought.

“Was Emma pretty?” His mother’s gaze gleamed with interest.

“What did she want to know?” his father asked at the same time.

“She’s extremely pretty.” Morgan pictured her in his mind. “Her hair is brown and wavy. She’s got big gray eyes that a man could get lost in.”

Too late he realized he’d said too much, so he focused on his salad.

“Is that all?” his father asked.

“Is she single?” His mother’s expression was eager enough to make Morgan nervous.

“Legs that won’t quit and curves in all the right places,” he added for his father’s benefit. “Divorced,” he admitted to his mother.

As long as he didn’t divulge Emma’s full name, he wasn’t technically breaching confidentiality. Unless, of course, they started dating and she met his folks. Then he would have to tell her what he’d done, but what were the odds he would ever see her again?

“And?” his mother gestured with her fork.

“She’s just lost her job as a school counselor,” he blurted out.

“That sounds like a lot for a young woman to deal with.” His father’s voice was sympathetic.

“You find a woman with a problem more attractive than one wearing a thong bikini,” his mother commented.

Morgan’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

She peered at him through her glasses. “You’re a sucker for a woman who needs help.”

“Stella, let the boy eat,” his father said with a wink at Morgan. “We’re not going to marry him off tonight.”

“I was raised by a doctor and a teacher,” Morgan drawled. “I’d say that helping people runs in the family.”

For a few moments, conversation lagged as the three of them ate their salads. Silently Morgan reviewed in his mind everything Emma had told him. With a sigh of regret, he arrived at the same conclusion as before—that there was nothing else he could have done without compromising the agency’s rules and his own principles, as well as adding to the burden of heartbreak she already appeared to carry.

“What do you think of the Trailblazers’ prospects?” Dr. Davis asked. Portland boasted an NBA basketball team, but the closest thing to major league baseball was a Triple-A team named the Beavers.

“Too soon to tell,” Morgan replied. Even though he wasn’t really a Blazers fan, he was grateful for the change of subject.

His mother didn’t mention Emma again. After dinner he kissed his mother’s cheek and shook his father’s hand.

“Keep us posted on your progress,” she said with a wink.

“Don’t start knitting booties yet,” he replied before heading back to his condo.

In the solitude of his home office, he kicked off his shoes and thought again about getting a dog. It would be alone while he worked, of course, but the idea of some living being getting excited over his arrival had a certain appeal.

With the stereo playing softly, he reviewed a research report from a fertility clinic on the East Coast, read the files of two candidates for his summer camp program and frowned over a rate increase submitted by the agency’s Web site designer.

After he had loaded the paperwork back into his briefcase, he poured himself a glass of wine. He wasn’t an expert, but it was a pleasing vintage by an Oregon grower. He popped Placido Domingo’s latest CD into the player. Neither was he a real opera buff, but he’d been a fan of the Italian singer since accompanying a friend to a 3 Tenors concert in San Francisco.

As the notes from a haunting ballad filled the room, Morgan propped his stocking feet on the coffee table and tipped back his head, attempting to empty his mind. Placido might not have been pleased to know that it was Emma Wright’s voice that echoed through Morgan’s head as the twilight glowing through the windows dimmed, leaving the room in shadows. He contemplated switching on the brass lamp at his elbow, but the deepening gloom suited his mood.

During his years at Children’s Connection, he’d heard more hard luck stories than he could count. He’d seen infertility overcome, families formed and empty hearts—big and small—filled with love.

Of course, not everyone left happy. Some problems couldn’t be cured. Some people didn’t qualify for adoption, some children grew from cuddly to surly without being placed. Morgan ached for them all.

He swallowed the last of the Merlot in his glass and thought of Emma—not what he couldn’t do, but what he might do.

The answer was so simple that he nearly laughed aloud. From what she had told him, names were only one of the things she needed. Morgan could put a little money in her pocket without getting slapped for his trouble, while at the same time he solved a problem of his own.

A couple of days after her lunch with Ivy, Emma drove down to the office of a school district in the Willamette Valley near Eugene for an interview. After her talk with the superintendent, she suspected the trip to be a waste of her time and gas, her appointment a formality and the position already earmarked for a candidate within the district. The only thing she’d learned from the trip was that her car was going to need new struts in the very near future.

When Emma got back to her apartment complex, she parked in her assigned slot and retrieved the mail from her box in the central kiosk. As she walked back across the asphalt, she shuffled through the bills, junk mail and sale flyers. The hot afternoon sun seemed to soak right through her navy cotton dress. Without water, the surrounding lawn had dried until it looked like shredded wheat and the few spindly trees provided only a thimble’s worth of shade.

Ignoring the peeling paint on the front door of her unit, she let herself inside. The blinds were closed against the sunlight, so the temperature was slightly less than a warming oven. The message light on her answering machine was flashing, but she ignored it as she bent to pet her cat, a recent shelter survivor named Posy.

“Hi, baby,” Emma crooned as the fluffy Siamese-Himalayan mix kitten entwined itself around her ankles.

Posy’s response to being roused from her nap was a soulful plea for attention and fresh food, not necessarily in that order.

As Emma scratched beneath the kitty’s chin, she couldn’t help but wonder just how much longer she’d be able to afford this place, cheap though it was. Since the school district had let her go, she had been working in a nearby video store. The pay was abysmal, the blare of the soundtracks annoying, and the endless task of restocking the rentals mind numbing to the extreme.

The manager appeared young enough to be carded every time he ordered a drink. Just the other day he had told Emma that her hours would be cut at the end of August to make room for the returning college crew.

She would need to look for something else to supplement her dwindling funds until she lined up a fall job, she thought grimly as she filled Posy’s water dish. The two of them would end up on the streets before Emma would consider asking her adoptive parents for a loan.

She didn’t listen to the message on her machine until she got back from work with an old Mel Gibson movie under her arm. She had spent her evening unpacking and logging in the latest new DVDs—a gory-looking slasher film, an action sequel about a mutant and a romantic comedy with stars who appeared young enough to be shopping for back-to-school supplies. Listening to her co-worker gush about the male lead made Emma feel old.

The phone message was from her adoptive mother, Sally Wright. Her plaintive tone made Emma’s heart ache until she reminded herself that she was the innocent victim. The Wrights were more concerned with sweeping the entire issue beneath the carpet and pretending that none of it had ever happened than in trying to understand Emma’s desperate need to find her roots.

As Emma slid the tape into her aging VCR and sat down on the couch with her cat, she felt as though there was a yawning hole inside her where the knowledge of family used to be. Until she figured out how to fill it back up, she had no idea what to say if Sally called again. Emma’s feelings were still too raw. If the phone rang while Emma was home, there was always Caller ID.

“Are you sure you don’t have personal reasons for wanting to offer her the job?” asked Aaron Levy, Morgan’s neighbor, as the two of them pounded down the pathway along the riverbank.

Aaron was an attorney with a social conscience and a trust fund. He practiced out of a storefront law office in an older part of downtown Portland. He and Morgan made a point to run together before work whenever their schedules permitted.

Aaron was training for an upcoming marathon, and Morgan, who wasn’t a serious runner, had foolishly agreed to go the extra distance with him. Morgan was saved from finding the breath to reply as they crossed the common area surrounding their building.

They pulled up, Morgan gasping. “Like I told you,” he said, panting, his heart thudding like the drum in a marching band, “I feel sorry for her.”

Aaron didn’t appear to be breathing hard, but his laughter was still uneven.

“Be careful, my friend,” he warned, bending over. “That’s what I told myself about my ex.”

Morgan used his damp T-shirt to mop the perspiration from his face. “I didn’t know you’d been married.”

Straightening back up, Aaron shrugged. “It only lasted long enough for me to realize that pity isn’t a substitute for love.” He twisted his torso and stretched from the waist. He was a vegetarian and as whipcord lean as a greyhound.

“I don’t love Emma,” Morgan protested, alarmed by the attorney’s assumption. “I don’t even know her.”

He didn’t want to go into her whole story as he’d done with his parents, so all he had said was that he’d met her and she needed a boost.

“I like helping people,” he added, wincing at the defensiveness in his tone.

True to form, Aaron heard it, too. “Careful, man.” A grin broke on his long, homely face as he started backing away. “Your words say ‘no, no,’ but your eyes say ‘let’s get naked.’”

With a laugh, Morgan waved him off. “That’s your fantasy, not mine.”

“And a great fantasy it is,” Aaron called after him. “When you’re picking out the ring, just remember that I warned you, and don’t hit me up to be best man.”

Morgan ignored his last comment, but a few minutes later when he was standing under the hot blast of the shower, his mind veered to it. Was his brainstorm just a flimsy excuse to see her again?

As he toweled himself dry, he didn’t waste time analyzing his motives. His parents hadn’t raised him to put his own selfish needs first. Other people counted on him and he didn’t let them down.

Wrapping the towel around his waist, he walked into his bedroom. This morning he paid no attention to the soothing shades of pearl gray and charcoal as he finished dressing. He was in a sudden hurry to get to work.

Emma had stayed up late watching movies, and the next morning the phone woke her. As she rolled over to grab the receiver, not yet awake enough to think about screening the call, Posy protested from her nest behind the bend of Emma’s knees.

“Hold on for a minute, okay?” Emma told the cat. “Hello?”

Silence greeted her. The telemarketers must be starting early. The clock by her bed said it was barely past nine.

“Hello?” she said again, some of her surliness over being woken up leaking into her tone.

“Emma Wright?”

She didn’t immediately recognize the voice, but it sounded familiar. Maybe it was a callback about a job interview.

She sat up straighter, wishing she had some water as she consciously sweetened her tone. “This is Emma.” With her free hand, she patted Posy so the cat would be quiet.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” the man’s voice continued. “I, um, didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Damn, he could tell she was still in bed. Emma’s cheeks grew hot at the idea that he’d probably heard her comment to Posy and assumed Emma wasn’t alone.

“No, no, it’s okay,” she replied eagerly. “You didn’t bother me at all. How can I help you?” She still couldn’t place the voice, but if it turned out to be a salesman on the other end of the line, she was going to be really, really annoyed.

“This is Morgan Davis from Children’s Connection,” he said. “We met the other day.”

Emma nearly dropped the receiver and the muscles of her throat closed so tight that she could hardly croak out a reply.

“Did you change your mind?” she asked.

“About what?” He sounded puzzled.

“My parents’ identity,” she replied. “Why else would you call me?”

When she heard him sigh, her heart plummeted.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought I made it clear that your file is confidential and there’s nothing I can do.”

She pushed her hair back from her face, fully awake now. If this was a personal call, she was going to slap him with a harassment suit for getting her hopes up.

“What, you had to call in case I didn’t get that already?” she snapped. “You and I have nothing else to discuss!”

“Please don’t hang up,” he said quickly. “The reason I’m calling is to offer you a job.”