Family Found

“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.

CHAPTER THREE

MITCH’S OFFICE appeared even more disreputable-looking under the latest pile of materials. He knew that Laura Kelly wanted answers yesterday, but in truth, investigations rarely moved quickly. And they seldom held the excitement portrayed in television and the movies.

An image of Laura Kelly flashed in his mind. Then again—

The phone intruded. Snatching it up, Mitch was disappointed to learn that a fairly reliable lead had been a dead end. Despite what Laura appeared to think, he had placed dozens of phone calls, while building her personal profile and creating a comprehensive search file. It was the plan, his blueprint. And despite his casual approach to many things in life, he never undertook a case without a well thought-out plan.

The door flew open and Mitch didn’t need more than one guess to know who was behind it.

Laura’s dark hair was thrown back like a banner, and her eyes glistened like polished lapis. She seemed to bring in the rush of the city streets, the whirl of incoming breezes and a touch of captured sunshine. He’d never seen so much contained energy in any other person. But having it all directed at him was a tad unnerving.

“Galveston,” she began by way of greeting. “My parents never wanted to go there. Once, though, I remember coming in the house and overhearing them. They didn’t realize I was inside and I heard them mention Galveston. But as soon as they noticed me, they stopped talking. Do you think that means something?”

“And good morning to you, too, Laura Kelly.”

She waved away the greeting. “Do you?”

“It could be something.”

Her eyes brightened.

“And they could have been discussing a clandestine meeting when they hoped to ditch you so they could be alone.”

Deflated, she slumped into a nearby chair. “I suppose you’re right. I keep replaying reels of my life like some sort of out-of-whack movie theater in my mind that I can’t shut down. In the middle of the night, I’m sure I’ve come on some incredibly important memory and by morning I realize it’s worthless.” Easing back in her chair, she glanced around at the piles of books on the couch and coffee table.

“Phone books?” she questioned, flipping one open, then shoving it aside. “Isn’t that kind of low-tech?”

“Depends on your point of view,” he replied evenly. “Investigative tools range from low-end phone books to high-end computer databases. Don’t discount what you don’t know.”

“Point taken. So, what are we working on today?”

Mitch creased one hand over his forehead. She was using the royal “we” again. And she was becoming a royal pain. As quickly, he remembered the reason behind her insistence and realigned his attitude. He’d be insistent, too, if his son’s life hung in the balance. “I’m following up on some leads.”

She leaned forward anxiously. “Ones that have panned out?”

“Not yet.”

“Damn!” Laura rose in one hurried motion, frustration pouring from every gesture. “That’s not good enough!”

“What do you suggest? You want me to lean on your relatives? Maybe your aunt Rhoda?”

“Of course not! I…I…”

Mitch gentled his voice. “You’re paying for my expertise—trust it.”

She hesitated for a moment. “I suppose I do. I’m just so terribly worried.”

Mitch sighed inwardly, knowing she would feel no peace until they had some answers. And it wouldn’t hurt him to fill her in. “I’m requesting a copy of your original birth certificate. With the sealed records law in Texas, we’ll get a copy of your adopted certificate, but we need the paper trail proving our intent, showing we’ve taken all the steps. We’ll have to have that once we request a court order to unseal the original.”

A contemplative expression covered her face. “You mean I have two birth certificates?”

He nodded. “One filed with the information on your actual birth parents, another with your adopted parents listed.”

“Will that one say I’m adopted?”

“No. That’s part of the sealed records process. For all appearances, the second birth certificate looks like the real thing. Unless you know about the original information, you’d have no reason to suspect it’s been changed.”

“This is a whole new world,” Laura murmured. “I feel like I’m in some sort of strange limbo and I’ll wake up tomorrow and find out this has all been some sort of bad dream.”

“Including Alex’s illness?”

“Especially that,” Laura agreed, the pain in her eyes surfacing.

“I don’t suppose your ex-husband has been much help.”

“As you know, he was willing enough to get tested for a bone marrow match.” She shrugged, a forlorn movement. “But beyond that he acts as though Alex’s illness really isn’t his concern. It’s all I can think about. I eat, sleep and live wondering how we can beat this. But Kevin acts as if—” Laura brought clenched fingers to her mouth, unable to complete the words.

“Maybe he doesn’t know how to express his feelings,” Mitch suggested.

“That wouldn’t be a first,” Laura commented bitterly. “But to ignore his son, to act as though it doesn’t matter whether he survives—”

“It won’t help to torture yourself,” Mitch soothed.

“Why not? I’m the one who chose the worst possible father material as my husband. I’d have done better if I’d blindfolded myself, twirled in a circle until I was dizzy, then stabbed my finger in the direction of the first man I encountered.”

Mitch shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe he feels impelled to hide how worried he is.”

“He never wanted a baby,” she admitted, surprising him. For a moment even Laura seemed surprised that she had allowed the admission. “Alex wasn’t planned. In fact, I didn’t learn I was pregnant until after Kevin and I had agreed to divorce. Still, I always wanted my baby. I considered him a great gift, a wonderful blessing after so much hurt. But for Kevin it was different. He seems to have divorced his feelings for his son along with our marriage. He’s seen him only twice since he was born, and then only at my insistence. Kevin has made it clear he’d prefer to forget Alex altogether, to never see him again.” Bewildered, she raised widened eyes to meet his. “Do all men feel this way after a divorce?”

Staggered by the question, and far too aware of his past, Mitch hesitated. “I can’t answer for all men—and the truth is you could ask a dozen men and get a dozen different answers. I can only speak for myself, but if I ever had a son, I wouldn’t let anything come between us. People get divorced every day. That’s a fact of modern life. It’s not often people can stick a marriage out forever—that’s become kind of a myth. And people remarry, which is okay. But you have just one set of parents. You can’t take that away from a kid.”

If possible, her face blanched even further.

Then it struck him. “Hell, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean the adoption thing.”

She waved away his apology. “It’s all right.”

But Mitch felt an urgent need to make amends, his own experience a painful reminder. “No. I was talking about a father’s responsibility, not being adopted. A man ought to stand by his kid, no matter what. What sort of guy deserts his kid when he’s sick?”

“The kind I married,” she answered quietly.

Mitch realized he didn’t have a spare inch left to cram any more of his foot into his mouth. He’d gone from bad to worse, then worse again. “You know, I was just thinking this might be a good time to do some of the legwork. You want to tag along?”

“Tossing me a bone, Tucker?”

“You up for catching it?”

Her smile was sad but accepting. “I opened this can of worms.”

“And I poked the jagged edge of the tin into your feelings. So why don’t we put a bandage on the morning and get the hell out of here?”

“You’ve got a way with words, Tucker.”

“Does that mean yes?”

The sadness hadn’t left her eyes, but a sliver of light penetrated the darkness. “I suppose so. Good to see you finally admit it.”

He skirted the desk, crossed to the front door and opened it for Laura. “Admit what?”

Faint slyness edged the beginning of a smile. “That you need my help.”

LAURA WASN’T SURE what she had expected. But the musty corridors of a genealogical library were a surprise. Floor after floor of books and records held a wealth of secrets.

Mitch quickly decided he needed the help of a librarian, rather than dig through hundreds of rolls of microfilm on his own.

“We need to see the birth records for March 1970,” he was telling the woman.

“Harris County?” she asked.

“To start with.” He lowered his voice a bit. “And then Galveston County.”

Laura hid a triumphant smile as they followed the librarian to the section of the library with birth records. The helpful woman then explained how they were divided and how to find certain years.

“Are you tracing your family history?” the librarian asked.

“Actually, we’re—” Laura began.

“Yes, we’re working on our genealogy,” Mitch interrupted. “I appreciate your help. After we find my sister’s records, I’d hate to be searching all over the building for Grandma Tucker’s birth certificate.”

The graying librarian laughed. “That’s why we’re here. Let me know if you need anything else,” she added, before moving away.

“Why did you cut me off?” Laura demanded in a quiet voice.

“Because telling people you’re searching for your birth parents closes more doors than it opens. It’s safer to stick to the story that you’re researching family roots.”

Slightly deflated, Laura studied his face. “You mean people won’t want to help if they know the truth?”

“This isn’t a black-and-white issue, Laura. A lot of people believe that digging up the truth only opens buried pain and problems. They feel the birth parents have a right to their privacy.” He held up one hand, anticipating her protest. “Some are even sympathetic to the reasons for a search like yours, yet at the same time are hesitant to cross certain lines. And most of them have heard stories similar to yours that have turned out to be ruses, so they’re cynical. While some legislators advocate opening all the records, some are equally insistent they remain sealed.”

“But the librarian—”

“May or may not be influenced by the debate. Why send up an unnecessary flag, though? In investigative work, it’s always best to be low-key.”

“No shoot-outs unless absolutely necessary?” she questioned dryly.

“Right, Watson.”

She smiled. “As in your trusted assistant?”

He pointed in the direction of an oversize cabinet. “There’s March 1970. When you’re finished, we’ll talk.”

Laura felt her smile draining away. “You want me to dig through the entire cabinet?”

“You said you wanted to help.”

“I do, but—”

“Then start digging.”

MANY HOURS LATER, Mitch glanced at the interior of Laura’s home. It was a modest, middle-income home. And much like her it didn’t reveal a lot. It could be anyone’s home, in Anywhere, America. It was light and airy, but with no individuality. It was so lacking in the personal bits and pieces that revealed the owner’s personality that the living room could be one in a model house.

He had expected her to be tired of his company after a day spent digging through records and tracing old addresses. But she had insisted on bringing him to meet Alex.

An older woman appeared in the doorway. “Hello, Mr. Tucker. I’m Leona Plummer. I care for the baby.”

He rose, extending his hand. “Ma’am.”

She accepted his handshake, a faint light of approval entering her stern expression. “Mrs. Kelly would like you to come to the nursery to meet young Alex.”

He followed, wondering at the austere woman. She seemed an unlikely choice for a baby-sitter. But then, nothing about Laura Kelly had met his expectations.

Entering the nursery, Mitch was struck by the burst of colors. Beautifully hand-painted murals covered the walls. A herd of cuddly stuffed animals populated the room, along with colorful blocks and an impressive collection of children’s books. Unlike the bland living room, the nursery screamed with character.

Laura turned with the baby in her arms. Mitch had steeled himself for a sick child, expecting to see the ravages of disease.

He hadn’t expected bright blue eyes, ones that matched his mother’s. Or chubby arms and legs that waved in obvious delight.

Alex squealed just then. “’Lo!”

“That means hello,” Laura explained, smoothing the soft hair from the baby’s face, dropping a kiss on his forehead.

Surprised yet mesmerized by the transformation in Laura, Mitch stepped farther into the room.

“Hello, little guy,” Mitch greeted him awkwardly. Then he directed his attention to Laura. “He’s looking good.”

She studied Mitch, then responded matter-offactly. “You can’t see his illness yet.” Again Laura smoothed back the baby’s hair. “In time you will—if he doesn’t get the bone marrow transplant, but for now he looks like any other healthy baby.”

“Hey, that’s good, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so. But sometimes it’s hard to convince people how desperate the situation is. They see a healthy toddler and think I’m ringing premature alarms.”

“You don’t have to convince me,” Mitch replied quietly.

Laura met his eyes. “That’s not why I brought you here. I just thought it might make the search more personal. More important.”

“It was already important.” Mitch took the baby’s hand, smiling when Alex curled plump fingers around his. “But I don’t mind meeting the client behind the client.”

Laura finally smiled again, then glanced down at her son. “You haven’t been a client before, have you, punkin?”

Alex squealed in answer when Laura nuzzled his cheek.

“This room is great,” Mitch commented, still struck by the artwork. Characters from fables and ancient nursery tales coexisted with fantasy characters surely drawn from a very fertile imagination.

“Thanks, I had fun doing it.”

Mitch pulled his gaze from the brilliant walls. “You painted this?”

“I wanted it to be special for him.”