The Unknown Daughter

“Are we just going to sit here?” She unfastened her seat belt and stared out the window at the thoroughly captivating view of the almost-empty parking lot. Her door couldn’t be opened from the inside, or she’d already be out of the car.

“Fifteen,” a woman’s voice said over the radio. “The Wilmington lawyer’s here.”

“We just pulled up. I’ll meet with him in room one.” Eric took the keys out of the ignition.

He planned to meet with Oliver’s lawyer alone? Was Clifford Brimsley still working for her grandfather? “But—”

“Tony.” Eric’s eyes met hers in the mirror. “Show Ms. Wilmington to my office.”

“But, I want to—”

Ignoring her, Eric stepped out of the car and strode away. Despite the mantle of responsibility he wore with such ease now, Oakwood’s sheriff still sauntered like a rebellious James Dean. Too cool and confident to hurry, no matter who was looking. Exactly the way Maggie swaggered when it was important that everyone around her knew just how much she didn’t care what they thought.

“Ms. Wilmington?” Tony had opened her door and was watching her watch Eric.

Unfolding her legs and pushing herself off the seat, she stumbled.

“Careful.” Tony caught her with both hands as her knees buckled. “Maybe you should sit back down.”

“No. I’m fine.”

She had to be.

She straightened and gave him a reassuring smile she didn’t feel.

“Maybe I could find you some juice or something.” Tony hovered at her side as they walked, opening the door to the sprawling, single-story building so she could enter in front of him. “I’ll check the vending machine.”

“Thanks,” she replied, barely hearing a word. Looking for any sign of Eric, she let Tony lead her past the officer at the front desk and into the partitioned squad room.

Was Brimsley still the Wilmington family lawyer? Would he know about her reasons for leaving Oakwood seventeen years ago? Her stomach churned at the thought of what he could be telling Eric at that very moment.

The sound of typing tapped faintly from somewhere to her left. They passed a row of desks deserted for the night. When they’d reached another hallway, Tony ushered her to the right. At the same time, Eric’s voice rumbled from one of the closed rooms behind them. She turned toward the sound, jumping at Tony’s firm grasp on her elbow.

“The sheriff’s office is this way.” His expression left no room for discussion.

She did the math quickly. Tony was twenty-three now. A very mature twenty-three, and on his way to being as formidable as his big brother. They reached the end of the hall, and he released her arm beside a door with a sign that read simply, Sheriff.

“If you’ll promise to wait here, I’ll try to find you something to eat,” he offered.

Her stomach growled in encouragement. Skipping meals had become a bad habit since she’d flown out of New York.

“I’ll stay put.” She stepped into the office and sank into a chair opposite the cluttered mess that passed as Eric’s desk. She caught Tony’s dubious expression. “Really. I don’t have the energy to stray.”

Nodding, he turned to leave.

“Tony?”

He raised one eyebrow in a gesture so much like his brother, something inside her began to hurt.

“Thanks,” she said through the lump in her throat.

“You bet.” He winked and shut the door, leaving her alone.

In spite of the disaster the last hour had made of her plans, she smiled.

Life was just too weird. The kid who’d spat bubble gum into her hair the last time she’d baby-sat for him was all grown up now, and off to find her something to eat so she wouldn’t pass out. Meanwhile her grandfather’s attorney and her high-school-flame-turned sheriff were down the hall somewhere, chatting about her rookie crack at breaking and entering. It had been quite a night.

Her cell phone chirped. She fumbled it from her jeans pocket and recognized her daughter’s number on the display. She finally managed to flip it open.

“Maggie?”

“Mom!” Maggie sighed with relief. “Where have you been?”

Carrinne was out of the chair in an instant, glancing toward the still-closed door. “I need to call you back later, sweetheart.”

“You were supposed to call hours ago,” her daughter replied with the kind of I’m-the-mother-now attitude only a sixteen-year-old could pull off.

“This isn’t a good time. I’ll call you in the morning.” Carrinne walked to the farthest corner of the office. Chills shook her from the inside out, persisting despite the cloying humidity the station’s central air-conditioning couldn’t keep up with. She hugged her free arm across her chest, furious with her body’s betrayal.

“Mom, I…I went to the clinic today for the blood tests.”

“What?” Ringing filled Carrinne’s ears. She’d left Maggie in her best friend’s care, with specific instructions that her daughter was not to go anywhere near the hospital. “Put Kim on the phone.”

“It’s one-thirty in the morning, Mom. She’s asleep.”

“I don’t care. Put her on the phone.”

“She doesn’t know I went. I forged your signature on the consent form.” Emotion shook her daughter’s voice. Her beautiful, brave daughter. The only light in Carrinne’s life. “I had to go. I have to know.”

“No, you don’t.” She tried her best to sound understanding, not scared out of her mind. “Because it doesn’t matter. I’m not letting you have the procedure, regardless.”

“But if I’m a match—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m sixteen. It should be my choice to make. If we’re lucky enough that I can help you, I want to do it.”

Lucky. That’s what the doctors kept saying. Carrinne was very lucky.

They’d congratulated themselves on catching her rare form of liver disease early. She was at such an early stage, her symptoms were almost nonexistent. Her prognosis was a full recovery once she received a transplant, and they had a year, maybe two, to locate a donor. She was so lucky, it was possible the surgeons might be able to harvest half of her sixteen-year-old daughter’s healthy liver, if the tests showed Maggie was a match. The living donor procedure was delicate and brutally invasive, but luckily it was considered safe.

What mother, faced with the choice of risking her child’s health in order to save her own, wouldn’t feel lucky?

“No,” was all Carrinne could manage. She’d been the cause of her own mother’s death. Nothing on this earth could persuade her to risk her daughter’s life, too.

“They’re putting a rush on the tests,” Maggie pressed. “Because it’s Friday, they said we won’t hear anything until early next week. We may know something Monday—”

“No, Maggie. I told you. There have to be other options. I’m trying to find one right now.”

God, please let me find my mother’s last diary. There had to be something in it to lead her to the father her mother had never named. Please let him be a match and be willing to be a donor.

“Mom, I want to help.”

“I know you do, baby.” The hurt in Maggie’s voice sliced into Carrinne’s heart. “You do help me. By caring. By worrying when you should be in bed getting some rest. But you’ve got to let me go, so I can do what I have to here. It looks like I’ll need to stay a few more days. I’ll call tomorrow when I know something more. I promise.”

“You need to rest, too. You need help with whatever you’re doing there.” Maggie’s reply was watery, with a tinge of exasperation.

Carrinne hadn’t shared many details about this trip, and her daughter never liked being in the dark. Carrinne had told her they still had family in Oakwood, family she’d avoided like the plague for years. Beyond that, she’d only said she was tracking down a possible donor.

“I’m diving into bed,” she reassured Maggie. “Just as soon as I can. Tell Kim I’ll call tomorrow afternoon, okay?”

“Okay,” was her daughter’s less-than-enthusiastic reply.

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too.”

Carrinne stared at the phone long after the connection went dead. Then she flipped it closed and shoved it back into her pocket, hating that she wasn’t any closer to the answers she needed. She paced across the room and back, trying to focus past the panicked feeling that time was running out.

She couldn’t just wait here, doing nothing, wondering what Eric and that attorney were talking about. What if Eric found out about Maggie? What would she tell him?

Heading toward the back wall once more, she paused before the eight-by-ten plaque hanging behind the desk. Her vision blurred as she confronted yet another piece of the past she remembered as if it was yesterday.

Sheriff, 1965–1985, simple gold letters proclaimed beneath a picture of Gerald Rivers, Eric’s father. Killed in the line of duty, protecting his fellow officers.

She’d been at Eric’s house that awful night the call had come in. It had been just a few short weeks after his high school graduation. She’d rushed with him to the hospital, even though his father had already been declared dead on arrival. It was the one and only time she’d ever seen Eric cry. And after that night, everything between them had changed.

The sound of the door opening dragged her away from the memory. She wiped at her eyes, preparing to thank Tony again for finding her something to eat. Only, when she turned, it was Eric standing in the doorway.

“You’ve been lying to me from the start, haven’t you?” He pinned her with a look that made her instinctive denial shrivel in her throat.

CHAPTER TWO

ERIC’S GAZE skipped from Carrinne’s guilty expression to his father’s plaque behind her. It must be inconceivable to her that he’d turned out exactly the way his by-the-book father had wanted.

Responsible. Stable. Dependable.

Some days, Eric barely believed it himself.

Leaning against the door frame, he crossed his arms and marveled at the almost two decades that had passed since he’d last been alone with this woman.

“Eric, I…I can explain.” She brushed at her eyes. She’d been crying, and he’d bet a week’s salary that didn’t happen often.

“We already tried that, remember?” The impulse to reassure her almost got the best of him. Glancing once more at his father’s picture, he moved into the room. “It’s probably a good time for you to start doing some serious listening instead.”

He inched closer, and she skirted around the side of the desk. He stared as she inched a few more steps away.

“What’s the matter with you? You’re acting like I’m going to attack you or something.”

Her chin shot up. “Just say whatever it is you have to say. I’d like to settle things and get out of here.”

“Well, you see, that’s the problem.” He removed his sidearm and locked it in the top drawer of his desk. Settling into his beaten-up leather chair, he motioned for her to take a seat. She didn’t budge. “I’m afraid it won’t be that easy.”

She hugged her arms close, like someone who’d forgotten her jacket on a windy day. “Was it Brimsley you were talking to? What did he tell you?”

“What should he have told me?” The chair’s wooden frame creaked as he leaned back and stared.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. The shape of that mouth had him remembering things that would only make his job more difficult.

Focus, Rivers. You’re the only thing standing between her and a night in jail.

“You’ll have to talk eventually,” he continued. “Brimsley’s out for blood. He doesn’t know anything about you contacting Oliver for a visit, and he wants you booked for the break-in.”

“Oh.” Carrinne’s hands slipped to her side, her pinched expression relaxing. “Is that all?”

Eric blinked at her reaction. “I’ve tried to talk him out of pressing charges, but he won’t agree to anything until he’s met with you himself.”

She stumbled toward the guest chair and slid into it.

“What’s going on, Carrinne?”

The controlled way she straightened was a decent attempt at nonchalance. A knock jerked their attention to the open door.

Tony stepped in, juggling a can of juice and a handful of snacks.

“What?” Eric barked.

“I offered to get Ms. Wilmington something to eat. She still wasn’t feeling well when we got out of the car.”

Eric waited for Tony to lay his bounty on the table. “Go see if Wilmington’s lawyer needs anything,” he said. He’d left Clifford Brimsley cooling his heels down the hall.

Tony hovered at Carrinne’s shoulder, glancing between Eric and their suspect, who had already pounced on a packet of crackers as if she hadn’t eaten in days.

Putting all his impatience into a glare, Eric waited until Tony looked back his way.

“Um, right.” Tony backpedaled out of the room. “I’ll go check on Brimsley.”

The door shut, leaving them alone. Carrinne struggled to open the juice, her fingers shaking.

Resigned, Eric took the can, popped it, and returned it to the desk with a thump. “Let me know when you’re done with your picnic.”

Carrinne gave him a narrow look as she took a long sip. She polished off the last of the crackers in silence, color creeping into her cheeks with each bite. When she sat back and folded her hands in her lap, confidence swam in her expressive eyes. “What now?”

Any other time, any other place, any other woman, and he might enjoy puzzling out why she was challenging him at every turn. The possibilities were downright intriguing. Only with this woman, he’d be messing with dynamite.

The Carrinne of his youth had tunneled her way into his teenage heart, getting close enough for it to hurt like hell when he’d walked away. And he’d deserved the pain. He’d learned from an early age not to trust, but somehow he’d convinced himself he deserved to keep the soft-hearted angel Carrinne had been back then. He’d let himself believe she was a little piece of good in the world, created just for him.

But the tough package sitting across from him now was no longer the sheltered girl who’d begged him to show her how to live. Puzzling out anything about this woman would be an open invitation for disaster.

“Ready to face the music?” he asked both himself and Carrinne as he stood. “Brimsley’s waiting.”

“SO, YOU SEE? I meant no harm. I just wanted my mother’s diary.” Carrinne smiled at the scowling lawyer sitting on the other side of the interview room, forcing herself to ignore Eric hovering somewhere behind her.

Her game face firmly in place, she was playing the role of unconcerned innocent. The diary story was a convincing enough reason for what she’d done. She’d have to tell her grandfather more, but she could only deal with one unpleasant reality at a time.

“And breaking in was your solution to getting my client to cooperate with your needs?” Clifford Brimsley was just as creepy and unapproachable as ever.

His hair was cut short in the same style, complete now with a receding hairline. And as far as she could tell, he’d worn the exact same mortician-drab suit since the first day he’d started working for Oliver almost thirty years ago.

“Your client’s never stooped to cooperating with anyone, counselor.” She clenched her hands in her lap. She’d negotiated fees with uptown Manhattan businessmen who, one and all, thought choosing a small, private firm meant bargain-basement rates. She could handle one past-his-prime country attorney. “Let’s just say I preempted the inevitable argument and tried to save everyone a lot of time.”

“Let’s just say you were breaking and entering and trespassing, and move on to discussing whether or not you should be charged with a misdemeanor or a felony.”

“Now, Cliff,” Eric spoke up for the first time since leading her into the room. While she scrambled to think of a way to finesse felony into something less disturbing, he stepped away from his post at the door and relaxed into the vinyl chair beside hers. “There was minimal property damage. You’d be lucky to make a misdemeanor stick. Do you really think Oliver would want to waste his time and money taking this to court?”

“She knowingly and willingly broke the law, defacing Mr. Wilmington’s property in the process,” Brimsley argued.

“She was avoiding contact with an old man who we all know makes Frank Capra’s Mr. Potter look like Captain Kangaroo. At worst, she made a stupid choice.”

“Stupid!” A part of Carrinne knew she should let Eric handle this. Just not the part that itched to tell him exactly where he could shove his colorful observations.

“It’s a safe bet,” Eric continued as if she’d never spoken, “that any jury from Oakwood would be full of people who’ve been burned at one time or another by old man Wilmington. Either them or someone in their family. The only reason the town still does business with him is because he has more money and influence than God. You’ll be hard-pressed to find anyone willing to put his granddaughter in jail for breaking a windowsill so she could avoid confronting the old goat. This is a family matter between Carrinne and her grandfather.”

“I—” she began.

“My job is to protect my client’s best interests in this situation,” Brimsley said over her. “Don’t think just because she’s Mr. Wilmington’s granddaughter, or because you two had some kind of teenage fling, that you can talk me into dropping the charges.”

“I—” she tried again.

“Your client’s interests would be better served in this situation,” Eric cut in, “if we settled everything here tonight, instead of dragging things out.”

“I am not a situation,” Carrinne bit out. “And I’m right here, in case either of you is interested.”

Two stunned pairs of eyes swung in her direction.

“Ms. Wilmington.” Brimsley’s gaze shifted to Eric then back to her. “These are very serious charges. Before I’ll consider dropping them, I’ll need some assurances on my client’s behalf.”

“Such as?” She gave Eric a look to keep him quiet, which induced a bemused smile.

“Such as you paying to repair the damage to the solarium window. And you’ll have to agree to meet with your grandfather in the morning as soon as he’s able. He’ll be beside himself when he hears about this. Plus, I’ll need to know what you were really doing at the house.” He pointed an accusing finger. “I don’t believe for a second you’re back after all this time for some silly old journal.”

“Nothing about my mother or anything that belonged to her is silly, Mr. Brimsley. I’ll thank you to remember that.”

Dead silence choked the momentum out of whatever the man had been about to say next.

So much for her people skills.

“Spit it out, Cliff.” Eric’s voice sliced through the silence, efficient and calm in an unfair way. “You said you were willing to drop the charges. What else is it going to take to get us out of here? It’s after two in the morning, and we’ve all had a long night.”

“Well…I…” Brimsley made a production out of straightening his tie. “I’d settle for an explanation of why she wants this diary.”

“I’m looking for my father, all right?” Carrinne kept her voice level as she fed them one more detail she’d hoped to keep to herself. They’d know by morning anyway, once she’d met with Oliver. In a town as small as Oakwood, privacy had gone out the window with the arrival of the first telephone. “I came back to find my father, and I’m looking for my mother’s final diary, hoping there will be some clue to point me in the right direction.”

“Why the hell are you looking for your old man after all these years?” Eric’s stunned question gave Carrinne a jolt of satisfaction. She’d finally ruffled his composure. But when she turned, she found his control replaced with something worse—concern. Disbelief and concern.

“Because I need to find him. And the sooner I do—” horrified by the uneven break in her voice, she cleared her throat “—the sooner I can put this town and every memory I have of it behind me once and for all.”

“Cliff?” Eric continued to study Carrinne. His face was a mask of calm again, except for a muscle twitching along his jaw.

“Will she meet with her grandfather in the morning?” Brimsley asked.

“Yes.” Carrinne gave the lawyer her full attention. Looking at Eric made breathing hurt. He was every reason she’d never trust her heart to any man again.

“Then I have no problem with dropping the charges,” Brimsley said. “For now.”

“CAN I GET YOU anything, Ms. Wilmington?” Tony asked from the door of the interview room.

Carrinne was resting her head on her crossed arms. Pushing away from the table, she tried to stretch the kinks out of her neck. Eric had left with a disgruntled but marginally more cooperative Brimsley over half an hour ago.

“You used to call me Carrinne, Tony.” She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, realizing too late that she was smearing what was left of the mascara she’d applied almost twenty hours before. She wiped away the residue on her hands, then rubbed at what she knew must have collected beneath her eyes. “Is Ms. Wilmington your way of pointing out how much older I am now?”

“Oh, no, ma’am.” His laugh was pure good-ol’-boy charm. “I was just being polite.”

She stood, massaging muscles in her lower back that were threatening never to straighten again. “Well, I guess Ms. and ma’am just aren’t my style anymore.”

“No, ma’am.” Tony gave her body and her form-fitting city clothes an appreciative once-over. “I don’t suppose they are.”

“Am I intruding?” Eric appeared behind his brother.

“Just trying to make myself useful while you finished working over that crotchety old lawyer,” Tony replied with unabashed innocence.

“You’ve been useful enough for one night.” Eric jerked his head in the direction of the squad room. “Don’t you have some call reports to file?”

“Right.” Tony smiled, raising that eyebrow again. “It was nice to run into you, Carrinne. Enjoy your visit to Oakwood, and try to stay out of trouble.”

He’d disappeared around the corner before Eric spoke. “So, it’s Carrinne now?”

“That’s my name.” She ignored the urge to sink back into the uncomfortable chair. Lord, she was tired. “I don’t have much use for Southern formality these days.”

“I guess in a place like New York, manners might make you an easy target.”

“I’ve learned to take care of myself—” She stopped short. “How did you know I live in New York?”

“We ran the plates on your rental car. The leasing company faxed a copy of your agreement. It says you’re a corporate accountant. Must have been hard to get away from a high-pressure job like that.”

“I’ve set aside a few days of vacation.” Tiny hairs stood on end up and down her arms. A man in Eric’s position could get his hands on whatever information he wanted. “If the charges are dropped, I’d like to go.”

Eric’s respect for how far Carrinne had come grew as he watched her swallow her fear and stare him down. He liked this gutsy new version of the girl he’d known.

“You know—” he intentionally closed the distance between them “—you’d be rid of me a lot quicker if you just came right out and owned up to the truth, whatever it is. What are you doing back in Oakwood?”

She held her ground, her features a blank canvas of New York confidence. “I told you why I’m back.”

“You want to find your father.”

“Yes.”

“After all these years.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”

“Yes.” Her eyes narrowed. “It’s important to me.”

“Why would you care? You’ve clearly managed to build a good life for yourself.” He studied her outfit with the same thoroughness he’d seen Tony enjoy. Her jeans were no doubt from some high-end New York boutique. And he’d felt the softness of silk when his hands had brushed her top as he’d revived her at the Wilmington place. “Digging up old wounds after all this time, I’d think that would be the last thing you’d want. I know there’s nothing short of a bullet that would get me to hunt down my lousy excuse for a mother.”

And just that easily, a part of the past he never thought of anymore slipped into the present.