Synopsis | Reviews | Excerpt
Best Mom ever.
When
a checkup reveals that 5-year-old Skye is not Brooke Evan’s daughter, a heartbroken
Brooke hunts down the biological parents. It’s the right thing to do . . . for
Skye.
Inventor.
Business man. Dad?
But when Brooke shows up on Max
Braddack’s doorstep, he suspects she has ulterior motives. It’s hard for the
laid-back, billionaire Max to believe that Brooke is simply doing what’s best
for her daughter.
A child to love.
Yet,
the more time Max spends with Brooke and Skye, the more he comprehends that
other forces besides his growing feelings are in play. The little girl who was
born in secret is in terrible danger . . . and she needs Max and Skye to
protect her.
Coming soon!
Chapter One
THE PEDIATRICIAN returned to the
examining room with an anguished look in his usually composed eyes. "Brooke, I
need to speak with you in my office.”
Not like to, but need to speak with you.
At the doctor’s soft words, a cool
shiver slid down her spine. Something was wrong. Never before had Skye’s
pediatrician suggested they speak in private.
What could be so terrible that Dr.
O’Brian couldn’t speak in front of Skye? The thought of losing another family
member had panic pounding behind her eyes and at the base of her skull. After
Brooke’s sister died six years ago, love for Skye had drawn her out of her
grief. Now her precious little girl was the last remaining link with family.
Any family.
Brooke took a deep breath and glanced at
her daughter. In five years, Skye had rarely been sick. The child glowed with
health.
The doctor opened the door wider. "Skye
can stay with my receptionist while we talk.”
Her daughter gazed at Brooke, her
cherubic face shining with curiosity. "I want to stay here. With you.”
Brooke stooped until she was at eye
level with the little girl and forced casual words through a mouth dry with
tension. "It’s okay, sweetie.”
"Don’t let the doctor change your mind,”
Skye said. Always perceptive, her daughter had clued in on Brooke’s anxiety.
"You promised I’m going to camp like a big kid. I’m old enough. I’ll be
starting school soon.”
"I’m just going to talk to the doctor
about your paperwork,” Brooke reassured her.
Skye threw her arms around her neck for
a quick hug, and as Brooke scooped her daughter into her arms and carried her
from the examining room, she breathed in the scent of shampoo and chocolate
chip cookies. She wanted to hang on tight and never let go. Skye was really too
old to be carried, but she couldn’t resist one all-too-short embrace before
setting Skye on her feet. Brooke handed her a book from her purse and steered
her daughter toward the receptionist. "Be a good girl. I’ll be back in a few
minutes.”
While Skye settled happily in the front
office, Brooke followed Dr. O’Brian down the hall. The minute his office door
shut behind her, she spun around on shaky legs. "What’s wrong? Is Skye sick?”
"She’s a healthy little girl. I’m sorry
to have alarmed you, but during my examination, something else came up.”
The knotting in her stomach eased, but
her eyes must have mirrored her confusion. "I don’t under—”
"Please, let’s sit where we can be more
comfortable.” Creases of compassion and puzzlement deepened in his
weather-lined face.
Brooke had never been in his office with
its dark paneling and lush emerald carpet. Instead of seating himself behind
his mahogany desk, he led her to a leather sofa.
Her words came out in a rush before she
sat. "What is it?”
"Until you brought Skye here for her
summer camp physical, I’ve never typed her blood.”
Brooke crossed one leg over the other.
She leaned forward, her bouncing foot betraying her nervousness. "And?”
"We triple checked the blood test.”
"And?”
"There’s no mistake.”
"Tell me,” she demanded.
"Skye isn’t your daughter.”
THE SETTING Louisiana sun cast shadows
through the overhead branches along the dusty road as if taunting Brooke’s
resolve. The decision she’d made during this past week to search for Skye’s
biological family hadn’t been an easy one. Wrestling with her conscience had
taken its toll in restless nights and a tension that had grabbed her stomach
and wouldn’t let go.
Now that she was close to her
destination, Brooke hesitated. Despite the closed windows of her
air-conditioned car, a film of dust that tasted of ashes and shattered dreams
coated her mouth, stifled her breathing. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come to the
marina. She could still hang a U-turn, go home to her daughter, mind her own
business and forget what she’d learned from her investigations.
Any sensible woman would do just that.
But she had to think of Skye’s future
first—no matter how much pain it might cause Brooke. Stepping on the gas, she
turned down the dilapidated lane overhung with century-old oaks draped with
Spanish moss. Doing her best to avoid potholes around a bend, she cornered too
fast. The rear tires slid. She braked hard. The car skidded to a halt,
launching clouds of dust so thick she was tempted to turn on her windshield
wipers.
Instead she waited for the grime to
settle in the sultry air, chagrined to discover her clumsy entrance into the
boatyard had drawn attention. Standing on a step-ladder behind a cigarette
boat, a man wearing stained mechanic’s coveralls worked on an engine, his arms
covered in oil up to his elbows.
The mechanic squinted at her through a
haze of swirling dirt. Head up, dark eyes staring arrogantly and broad
shoulders squared, he scowled. Her gaze wandered to the broad chest peeking
through the open vee of his uniform. Grabbing a rag, he descended the ladder in
one graceful leap and approached her car, wiping oil from his hands as he
advanced.
Sweat mixed with dust trickled down the
sculpted planes of his cheekbones in grimy rivulets. Sapphire eyes framed by
jet lashes locked with hers. Hard eyes that saw everything and gave away
nothing.
He walked closer, and his inscrutable
expression made her think twice about unlocking the car door. Good shoulders,
flat stomach, long legs—altogether a chiseled body, albeit ten degrees too
dirty for her taste. A five o’clock shadow outlined a broad jaw. As he made a
futile attempt to clean his hands, the corded muscles of his tanned neck
tensed.
She should have waited until Saturday.
The marina would have been busier then. The place was deserted, except for
several seagulls cawing overhead. A glance toward the docks showed them as
empty of humanity as the patch of dirt used for a parking lot.
She hadn’t cut the engine. She could
still drive away. But since she’d been unable to reach Ford Braddack, the man
she’d learned might be Skye’s father, Brooke would settle for speaking to
another family member. While Ford and the oldest brother Craig were currently
unreachable, she’d lucked out when she’d found Max Braddack’s address in the
phone book. After leaving Skye with a babysitter, she’d driven here determined
to discover the truth. If she chickened out now, she might not find the courage
to come back again. As her sister Nicole used to say, it was too late for
should-haves and could-haves.
Still, if it weren’t for the challenging
smile curling the man’s bottom lip, she couldn’t have found the nerve to
silence the engine and exit the car. Then he was close, too close. She craned
her head back to look him in the eye.
Her breath caught in her throat. She
couldn’t stop her stare. The resemblance hit her with the force of a tornado.
This man’s coloring, tanned to a deeper hue, mirrored her daughter’s. The shape
of his eyes, the angle of the brows and the thickness of his lashes were Skye’s
features staring back at her. Even the way he tilted his head in amusement
reminded her of Skye. The only difference was in the color of the eyes, his a
deep blue, her daughter’s a few shades lighter.
"Sorry about the dust,” she said
breezily in an effort to hide her nervousness. "I’m looking for Max Braddack.”
One oily finger pushed the car door
shut, keeping out the dirt but also preventing a quick escape. "Lady—”
"The name’s Brooke Evans.”
"You just clogged my carburetor with
dust, not to mention what you’ve done to me, and all you can say is ‘sorry’?”
Her stomach danced a quick jig. But
sensing no violence in the stranger’s Southern drawl and guessing that he
simply wanted to toy with her, she raked her gaze from dark, slicked-back hair
to the tips of his dingy sneakers. "It’s not like you didn’t need a shower anyway.”
He grinned at her gibe, radiating a
confident but easygoing vitality under the last rays of the setting sun. "I
clean up just fine, thank you. However, I’ll be flushing the dust from that
open engine for—”
"You’re Max Braddack, aren’t you?”
"Why do you want to know?” His smile,
which made him look five years younger than her original estimate of
thirty-five, took the sting out of his evasive answer.
Her eyes narrowed. "You’re Max Braddack?
Brother of Ford Braddack—‘Wonder Boy of Wall Street’? Can you help me find your
brother?”
He folded his arms across his chest and
cocked his head at a wry angle. "I should have guessed you didn’t drive out
here for a boat mechanic. You know my brother?”
"I’ve been trying to reach him. His
private number’s unlisted. His secretary keeps putting me off—she won’t even
convey a message unless I tell her why I’m calling.”
One cavalier brow arched. "So tell her.”
"It’s personal.”
He studied her thoughtfully for a
moment. "How personal?”
Very personal. And coming from his lips,
"personal” took on the most intimate of meanings. The last thing she wanted was
to explain her predicament to this all-too-perceptive man. But he wasn’t giving
her much choice.
At her first remark about his identical
twin, all traces of his amusement had vanished. Was he being protective of his
brother? Or perhaps this was a case of sibling rivalry. After all, Ford was
wealthy, famous, respected. Craig was not so famous but almost as successful.
Max didn’t seem any of the above. Yet she didn’t sense jealousy from Max but
wariness, like a just-fed tiger, not hungry but ever ready to strike. With
pulse-skittering certainty, she knew he wouldn’t send her to his twin until
she’d satisfied his curiosity.
At least he was part of the Braddack
family. She took a deep breath, held his gaze and blurted the pent-up secret
she’d kept all week.
"I think your brother Ford’s the father
of my daughter.” He went absolutely still. His sapphire eyes glazed over as if
shielded by a protective screen.
She’d just told him he was an uncle, and
she’d prepared for denial, laughter, questions. She got nothing but piercing
silence. For a moment in the fading sun she thought his swarthy skin had paled,
but it must have simply been a trick of the light.
She waited for him to say something.
Anything.
But he loomed silent and still in the
marina parking lot. Yet if the throbbing vein at his neck was any indication,
beneath the cool exterior, he seethed. With rage or disbelief—she couldn’t say,
didn’t know him well enough to guess.
She only knew she had the overwhelming
urge to talk fast, explain, spit out the story and her suspicions.
That would be a mistake. Now that she’d
shaken him out of his amusement and had his full attention, she intended to
keep it. At least until he told her what she wanted to know.
As coolly as she could manage, she
stared back at him, determined to outwait him. A flag flapped in the breeze.
Boat riggings clanged as their hulls rocked. The air between them crackled. Her
feet itched to take a step back in the Louisiana dirt, but she didn’t retreat.
Grudging respect flickered across Max’s
face and disappeared in a heartbeat. "I’ll finish and clean up, and then we’ll
talk.”
With an economy of motion, he climbed
back to his engine and used an air hose to blow away the dust. He looked so
much like her daughter that she wanted to cry. But this past week, alone in her
room as she’d thought of losing Skye, she’d cried so many tears, she had none
left.
Quick, efficient actions of his hands
and the easy grace of his motions as he folded the ladder and stored it with
his tools in a shed, drew her from her thoughts. He reappeared from the
building with a clean towel, a bar of soap, and a bottle of shampoo. Obviously
he intended to bathe—perhaps in the Gulf?
After tossing a towel over a waist-high
fence, he pulled his arms out of his coveralls to reveal a broad, tanned chest
slick with sweat. As if sensing her gaze on him, he gestured past the shed.
Next to the dilapidated building and beside the towel he’d tossed over the fence
was a shower, really little more than a hose hooked to a spigot.
"I’m too filthy to rinse at home.” He
spoke easily as if unaware of her interest in him.
When he peeled the coveralls past his
waist, she turned and looked out to sea. He might not give a fig about modesty.
"Don’t worry.” His words carried to her,
threaded with laughter. "I’m wearing running shorts.”
At his reassurance that he’d maintained
his decency, she turned back to catch him striding into the shower behind the
waist-high fence. Although the fence hid him from waist to knees, when he
kicked off the running shorts, she swallowed hard. As water sluiced down, she
studied his calves—muscular, lean, and powerful but in familiar proportions.
"If you see something you like”—his tone
mocked her—"you’re welcome to share the water.”
Heat rose to her face. She hadbeen staring. "Sorry.” Why did she always seem to be apologizing to this man?
"You reminded me of Skye.”
Determined to regroup from confronting
an adult, male version of her daughter, Brooke strolled to the docks and
watched the splendid colors wash across the sky. The sun had set, leaving a
trail of lavender and pink clouds hovering under darker thunderheads in the
distance.
Had she done the right thing in coming
here? The decision had been a difficult one—the most pain-racking of her life.
After Dr. O’Brian dropped his bombshell, she had to find out what had happened.
She’d tried to talk to Ford Braddack to
find out what he knew. When she couldn’t reach him, she’d come here to speak to
his brother. She had to be insane, risking the loss of her child to strangers.
Yet if Ford and Rhonda Braddack were Skye’s genetic parents, and this man
Skye’s uncle, her daughter had a right to meet them. Didn’t she?
With Ford unreachable and Max clearly
suspicious, Brooke was glad she’d left Skye with a babysitter. Until she was
sure of her daughter’s welcome, Brooke wouldn’t disturb Skye’s happy world.
Even now, doubts troubled her. Perhaps
Skye would be better off not knowing. But suppose something happened to Brooke?
Skye would be totally alone and could find herself in the same foster care
system that Brooke and her sister had hated. Fiercely, Brooke strengthened her
resolve. Hiding from the truth was not a solution. Besides, Brooke had known
the loss of growing up without any family except one sister, and she couldn’t
deprive her daughter of relatives.
Brooke took a seat on a wooden bench,
pulled her feet up and hugged her knees. She’d gone over the same thoughts a
thousand times. Each time she came to the same conclusion: Skye had a right to
the truth. The right to an extended family.
Once Brooke had made her decision, she
hadn’t expected contacting Ford Braddack would prove so difficult. Apparently,
the man had almost star status. If to get to Ford she had to go through every
member of the family, she’d do so. Ford’s parents were next on her list. And
she'd fly to California to find Craig if necessary. But she’d prefer to explain
the difficult situation only once.
Convincing Max wouldn’t be easy. On
first acquaintance, Ford’s brother had appeared playful, prideful, and imbued
with stubborn confidence. So why hadn’t he bombarded her with questions?
His seeming disinterest had thrown her
off balance, and her thoughts raced. She hadn’t expected Ford Braddack’s twin
to be a mechanic—not that she’d thought much about it beforehand.
Footsteps interrupted her musings. Max
joined her on the dock, smelling of soap and shampoo. His dark hair glistened,
and his lashes were spiked with water droplets. He wore ratty but clean jeans
and a sweatshirt with the sleeves cut out. Max hadn’t only taken time to clean
up and change, his previously casual demeanor had turned more serious. She
sensed a tautness in him that hadn’t been there before. He offered her a
beer—as what, a peace offering? More likely a way to get her to let down her
guard.
"No, thanks. I’m driving.”
"Suit yourself. After that shower of
dust, I’m thirsty.”
Leaving plenty of room to avoid rubbing
elbows, Max sat next to her, stretched out his long legs and tipped his beer to
his mouth. His unreadable eyes stared across the lake. Sensing he wasn’t going
to start a conversation but would leave that to her, she braced herself for a
difficult discussion. "Will you help me talk to Ford?”
"That depends.”
"On what?”
"Your story.”
Damn, he could be frustrating—just like
Skye. Maybe stubbornness ran in the family. She’d learned from newspaper
articles that Max and Ford were identical twins, sharing the same genetic
makeup. It was likely Skye had inherited those genes. When her daughter made up
her mind, it was set in concrete. Orders, cajoling, even outright bribery,
failed to change her opinion. Only one thing could do that—a logical argument
that had no loopholes.
Resigned to telling him the entire
story, Brooke’s hands shook with the fresh attack of nerves scrambling through
her. She made herself lift her chin. "Skye needed a physical to start summer
camp. Last week her pediatrician did a blood test.”
"So?”
"She can’t be mine.” Brooke choked over
the words. Held back tears. She would not break down in front of him.
"It’s usually the fathers who don’t know
when a kid is theirs,” he said dryly.
"My sister Nicole couldn’t have kids, so
I donated an egg.”
Max stiffened. "Donated an egg?”
"The Kine Fertility Clinic specializes
in helping women get pregnant. My egg should have been fertilized in a test
tube with my brother-in-law’s sperm, then implanted in my sister. At least,
that’s the way it was supposed to happen.”
An odd look crossed Max’s face, but then
he swigged some beer and hid his thoughts behind downcast lids. When he didn’t
comment, she forced words past a throat dry as sand. "Two months after my
sister bore Skye, Nicole and her husband John died in a drowning accident. At
the time, I was babysitting Skye.”
"You kept the baby, thinking she was
yours?” His face was unreadable, and she had no idea what he was thinking.
"I would have kept Skye whether she was
Nicole’s or mine. She’s the only family I have left.”
"Now you think Skye is my niece. Why?”
His drawl softened to an ominous murmur, a direct contrast to the nonchalance
of a moment before.
His lightning mood change confused her,
but she tried to ignore it. "After I spoke to Skye’s pediatrician, I thought
maybe Skye could have been mixed up with another child at City Hospital. But
while she wasn’t the only delivery that morning, she was the only girl. My
sister went home the day after Skye was born.”
"Go on.”
"Once I learned a hospital mix-up was
unlikely, I went back to the Kine Clinic. If I’m not Skye’s biological mother,
I need to find out who her parents are. I’d also like to learn what the clinic
did with the egg I donated.”
"You didn’t find any answers, did you?”
She flinched at the skepticism in his
tone. In the nightmare she’d been living every day since she’d heard Dr.
O’Brian’s news, she’d expected to face wariness. But she hadn’t thought
explaining could be so difficult. He was staring at her intently, and she
shifted her gaze back to the water. "Dr. Clifford Arnold, my sister’s doctor,
wasn’t available. His secretary refused to give me any information.”
Out of the comer of her eye, she saw him
lean back and sip the last of his beer, a thoughtful expression on his face.
"Not surprising. The legal implications could force them into bankruptcy. But
there is a lot more at stake here than legal ramifications.”
Brooke’s throat tightened. She could
lose Skye, and she would never have another child, but she had to speak past
the lump in her throat. She owed it to the daughter she loved to find her
family.
"A researcher...” She
paused, unsure how to tell him the rest. Discovering that Skye wasn’t her child
had scared her to the bone. She still hadn’t recovered from the shock of
learning that Skye’s father might be an international businessman who
could—besides offering a two- parent family—give Skye advantages she couldn’t.
Max perused her face, a hint of
impatience in his eyes. "What?”
Just say it. She had to tell him. Obviously he
wouldn’t believe her unless she did. She spoke in a rush. "Karen Forester keeps
track of equipment and supplies at the Kine Clinic. She told me about six years
ago she had overheard that your brother and sister-in-law’s embryo was
implanted in my sister.”
"What else did she tell you?” He balled
his fingers into a fist, belying his casual words. "Did she offer proof? Who
was responsible? Did she think the mix-up was an accident or deliberate?”
She should have known he’d leave no
statement unchallenged. Brooke sighed. "Karen wouldn’t say more. I have an
appointment to meet her tomorrow. But whether or not she has proof doesn’t
matter except to find out how and why the mistake happened.”
"And just why are you so sure Skye is
Ford’s daughter?”
"Because she looks just like you. And
you and your brother are identical twins.”
She took out her cell phone and flashed
him a picture of Skye. He stiffened, stared. Stared some more.
Finally he looked away. "Looks can be
deceiving. My brother won’t believe he’s a father unless the researcher
provides us with more information. I hate to get his hopes up. Ford and Rhonda
have wanted a child for a long time.”
She struggled to keep her tone even. "A
genetic test will prove the truth.”
"If you’re right, then what?” His tone
was soft but woven with steel. "Will you give your daughter to my brother?”
"No!” Anger layered over her fear, and
she stiffened, barely containing her fury. "I have no intention of giving my
daughter away. But if Ford and Rhonda are her parents, they have a right to
know. So does Skye.”
He lowered his voice to a menacing
whisper. "You want money, don’t you?”
Her hand itched to slap his arrogant
face. Instead she reiterated her reason in as calm a tone as she could manage.
"Skye should know her parents.”
All his intensity focused on her. "The
thought of the Braddack millions never crossed your mind?” Although it was
likely some people were after Ford for his money, she resented Max’s assumption
that she was no different. She fought to hold steady under his scowl.
"Something very wrong happened at the most prestigious fertility clinic in the
country. I want to find out what happened and why. The idea that Skye isn’t my
daughter is tearing me apart, and I have her best interests in my heart. Why
else would I be searching for her genetic parents?”
"For Ford’s money.”
"Wrong.”
Clearly, he didn’t believe her. An icy
knot coiled in her stomach. How dare he accuse her of ulterior motives when all
she cared about was Skye’s welfare?
She twisted on the bench to face him,
her eyes burning with pride. "I’m here for Skye.”
"Sure, lady.”
Cut deep by his sarcasm, she refused to
bleed in front of him. Taking a quick, sharp breath, she stood, back straight,
refusing to crumple at his condemnation. "If your brother knew about his
daughter, surely he would want the best for her, wouldn’t he?”
BROOKE HAD A point. One Max didn’t wish
to concede until he decided if the indignation in her tone and the fury in her
shimmering eyes were due to his insults, or because he’d seen through her plan
so quickly.
She was bold, this schemer. Usually
women sank their hooks into him before making demands. Especially the pretty
ones. Like her. He’d always been a sucker for redheads with attitude, and
Brooke Evans had it in spades. From the sassy tilt of her head, he read her
ambition while her soft, pouty lips suggested greed.
Of course Brooke was the first
attractive woman who hadn’t thrown herself at him in a coon’s age. But then
he’d been too busy to notice women much lately. With readying the Sea Mist for
the race, his socializing had suffered. Now that he’d finally come up for air,
she’d stolen the wind right out of his mainsail.
Why did she have to be slender yet curvy
in all the right places? Her incredibly long legs encased in blue jeans
distracted him as did the ribbed T-shirt that molded her breasts. Round breasts
of the variety a man could worship, and right now, they heaved with each
furious breath she drew.
As much as she appealed to him on a
physical level, Brooke Evans wasn’t for him. Even without the complications of
her daughter and his brother and wife, there was so much more at stake here
than she knew.
He debated his next step, wishing he
could dump Brooke Evans in Ford’s lap. But even if Ford and Rhonda weren’t out
of the country on vacation, Max wouldn’t go to Ford with Brooke’s story without
substantiating facts. Ford and Rhonda had wanted a child for too long for him
not to consider the ramifications of carelessly divulging such information.
Rhonda had suffered through numerous
miscarriages and disappointments. His brother adored his wife, and he wouldn’t
appreciate Max raising Rhonda’s hopes that Skye might be their daughter, only
later to possibly find out otherwise. Before Max informed Ford of the
situation, he needed to check out Brooke’s story.
Yet he didn’t want to spend too much
time in her company. Max had a habit of picking the wrong type of woman—a habit
he was determined to break. So as the clouds moved in over the marina, casting
shadows across the lake’s curling crests, he resisted his attraction to the
leggy redhead.
"Ford and Rhonda have wanted a child for
a very long time,” he admitted.
Her eyes flashed. "Then I think it’s
time you put me in touch with them.”
"Not just yet.”
The air, charged with the electricity of
a storm about to break, was temperate compared to the bottled pressures inside
the woman in front of him. She stood, the wind whipping her T-shirt and hair,
her chin angled defiantly. Seemingly too young to be a mother, too scared to be
scheming, she revealed a vulnerability that appealed to him on a level he
didn’t care to acknowledge. Damn!
He had one thing in his favor. She
didn’t want him, didn’t like him. He should be safe from any flirtation on her
part. Now if only he could curb his own desires and concentrate on the child.
A Braddack granddaughter. His mother
would be ecstatic. She’d gladly cancel all her social engagements to spend time
with a grandchild. Dad would enjoy sitting a kid on his lap as he drove his
golf cart over the green. Craig might even come out of mourning and make a trip
home... But first Max had to make sure
little-miss-ambitious-for-her- daughter’s-sake wasn’t fabricating her story.
"What will you do if my brother decides
to take Skye from you?”
"He won’t.”
Pain laced her words, and yet he
couldn’t stop himself from wounding her further. "Do you have the kind of money
it would take to fight him?”
She swallowed hard. "Not on a
secretary’s salary.” He suspected she was close to tears, but she stood proudly
on the dock, as if courage and determination made her invincible.
Fear wouldn’t make her back down, and he
didn’t understand why. Surely she knew the forces his brother could bring to
bear on her, his influence in the judicial system, the clout of the best
attorneys. She couldn’t be so ignorant that she thought to fight and win.
Was it possible to share a child?
Turning off his roiling emotions in what he saw as a painful situation for
everyone, Max finally asked the question he couldn’t hold back, unsure he
wanted to hear her answer. "Suppose you lose your daughter?”
She squared her shoulders, meeting his
gaze straight-on and without flinching. "I hope your brother and his wife won’t
be so heartless. I’m doing what is right. I can’t give her two parents. I owe
it to her to find out the truth.”
"On a mere hope, about people you’ve
never met, you risked your future?”
"Skye’s future,” she insisted, "is what
is most important. To keep father and mother and daughter apart is wrong.”
No one could possibly be that selfless.
Rhonda was a wonderful, giving woman, and Ford worshiped her, but Brooke had no
way of knowing that no matter how badly Rhonda wanted a child, she was not the
kind of person who would take Skye away from the only mother the child had ever
known.
Max looked at Brooke, really looked at
her, past the pretty facade to the pouty lips trembling with stress, to the
ruler-straight back held so stiffly she seemed ready to snap. And he
reconsidered. Her spirited eyes flashed with an iron will she appeared to
impose over welling panic.
Perhaps she was telling the truth.
The thought startled him into testing
her resolve. "Go. Leave here. What my brother doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
We’ll forget this conversation happened.”
While he had no intention of forgetting
what she’d told him, he saw no reason he couldn’t do a little investigating on
his own. He’d keep his inquiry quiet.
But when every curve in her body blazed
defiance, he got the distinct impression she wasn’t about to drop her mission.
She snapped her fingers. "Just like that you make the decision for your
brother, his wife, and my daughter. Just who the hell do you think you are,
mister?”
A pushover—with a tendency to allow
redheads to wrap him around their little fingers—that’s who. A habit he’d hoped
he’d broken.
If she was telling the truth, she hadn’t
deserved what he’d put her through. Guilt pricked at him. On the other hand, he
couldn’t allow himself to announce the possibility of a Braddack grandchild
just yet—not until he was certain.
He eased to his feet and towered over
her. "I think it’s time I met Skye.”
Chapter Two
BROOKE’S EYES widened in outrage. "Why?
Why do you want to see her?”
Max took her arm and led her toward her
car. The sun had set, and as they walked through the dusty boatyard amid the
chirps of crickets and croaks of tree frogs, mosquitoes buzzed around their
heads. But Brooke’s reaction to his suggestion was sharper than any mosquito
bite.
In spite of the fact she had no reason
to trust him, that he’d deliberately goaded her, he’d foolishly hoped she
wouldn’t hold his skepticism against him. But clearly she didn’t want him anywhere
near her daughter.
Too damned bad.
"My brother will want to know what Skye
looks like—”
"I showed you her picture.”
"It could have been Photoshopped.”
"Really?”
"He'll want to know where she lives, how
she’s been treated—” Brooke yanked her arm from his grasp, and her eyes flared
with anger. "Skye’s been treated just fine. She’s a healthy and happy
five-year-old child. I won’t let you upset her just to satisfy your curiosity.”
When he spoke, he kept his voice flat.
"You’re the one who wants to bring her to my family. But if it will put your
mind at ease, I have no intention of discussing her parentage with her.”
Brooke looked deep into his eyes,
swallowed hard and nodded, acceding to his request.
As he followed Brooke in his pickup
truck southward from Lake Pontchartrain and its massive levees, Max debated
what he would say to the child. He was no closer to an answer as he passed
through the Vieux Carre, the old French Quarter with its street-front Creole
houses, iron balconies and sizzling nightlife. When he finally left the city
and drove past the Superdome, he was glad she lived in the suburbs. He imagined
it was a better atmosphere in which to raise a child. Not that he was any
expert.
He’d always liked children and had
planned to spoil Ford and Rhonda’s kids rotten. Unfortunately, the couple had
had difficulty conceiving, and not even the renowned Kine Fertility Clinic had
helped.
Panic gnawed his stomach. He supposed
people gradually became used to babies and learned how to talk to them as they
grew. The idea of meeting the five-year-old while Brooke watched curiously had
him almost squirming in his pickup seat.
Much too soon for his liking, she pulled
off the broad avenue into a parking lot. They passed a swimming pool and a
playground in a brick apartment complex before he’d begun to set his edgy
thoughts in order. He rolled his shoulders to loosen them and, resigned, wiped
his sweaty palms on his jeans before exiting his truck.
Get a grip. Skye’s just a kid.
But she wasn’t just any kid. Would
Skye’s eyes light up with curiosity like his mother, Eva? Would she possess his
father, Red’s, calm determination? Or would she have Rhonda’s easy personality?
When he joined Brooke on the sidewalk,
she already had keys in her hand. A slight jiggle of the metal revealed he
wasn’t the only nervous person here. A need to get this over with suddenly
overwhelmed him.
As if sensing his unease, she shot him a
warning look from eyes clouded with worry. "Remember, Skye knows nothing about
this. Don’t scare her. Right now I’m the only family she has.”
He had the strangest urge to take her
into his arms and kiss her—not a passionate kiss, but a gentle show of
affection on the forehead to reassure her. The front door flung open,
interrupting his thoughts. A little girl in pink overalls flew over the
threshold and made a beeline for Brooke.
"Mommy, Mommy. Look what I made.”
Max barely glanced at the pot holder in
the child’s hand or the babysitter following close behind. The parking lot
lights revealed a dark-haired child with glossy curls framing her rounded face.
She looked up at Brooke with deep-set blue eyes the exact same shape as his and
Ford’s.
Skye was a miniature—an almost exact
feminine version—of him and Ford.
Stunned, he rocked back on his heels and
stared in marvelous fascination. Her pixie lips split into a wide grin,
revealing gleaming white teeth beneath a button nose. She spoke in animated
torrents, her sunny face bursting with pride. "I’ll already know how to weave
pot holders when I go to camp.”
At the sight of her daughter, Brooke’s
face brightened. "Max, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Skye. Skye, this is
Max, a friend of mine.”
Skye glanced at him, seeming not the
least bit shy. "Hi. Do you know how to make pot holders?”
She certainly was a friendly kid, and he
was grateful she’d given him an opening. "Think you could teach me?”
Skye looked to her mother. "Can I teach
him? Can I?”
Brooke nodded at her daughter, then
nailed him with an I-told-you-she-was-a-Braddack expression in her eyes. "Sure,
sweetie. Take him inside.”
Brooke paid the babysitter while Skye
took his hand. "Come on. We can make a red and white design. You do like red,
don’t you? It’s my favorite color. Mom says I can take my red sleeping bag and
pajamas when I go to camp. Course I won’t be sleeping over until the special
weekend.”
Max grinned at Skye’s contagious
enthusiasm. He could see he needn’t have worried about what to say. Skye could
chatter on like a magpie, and he wondered who she got that from. Her hand felt
tiny in his and surprisingly strong.
As she tugged him into the apartment,
she looked up at him with those big blue eyes that branded his heart. It wasn’t
fair that Ford and Rhonda and his parents had missed watching her grow up. He’d
bet she’d been a beautiful baby. While Brooke had taken care of her, the
Braddacks had all missed Skye’s first tooth, her first word, her first steps.
Now more than ever he understood the sacrifice it had taken for Brooke to
contact him.
He glanced around the apartment.
Although not large, the place was clean and comfortable, consisting of a
combination kitchen and den with the bedrooms down a short hall. Evidence of
Skye was everywhere. Her crayoned pictures stuck to the refrigerator with
cartoon magnets. A child-sized red tent with a matching sleeping bag unrolled
inside stood beside the coffee table scattered with children’s books, and the
couch had a doll propped in a comer.
Skye led him to the kitchen table where
a plastic frame with colorful cloth loops awaited. Instead of letting go of
him, she turned over his hand and examined it. "Your fingers may be too big for
the frame. This may be hard for you. But my mom says we can do hard things if
we try.”
"Your mom is a smart lady.”
He sat next to Skye who busily explained
pot holder making as Brooke entered the apartment and puttered around the
kitchen. Over the phone hung a framed black-and-white photo of two girls with
their arms around one another. In the background was an old Victorian farmhouse
with peeling paint on dilapidated shutters.
Brooke must have picked up on his
interest as she wiped down the kitchen counter. "That’s Nicole and me in front
of the foster home where we grew up.”
"In New Orleans?”
Brooke shook her head. "We were
originally from Baton Rouge, but when the oil business went flat, the family
ended up in Bayou Goula. The people who ran the foster home said our parents
were there looking for work when they both succumbed to swamp fever.”
"Nobody dies of the swamp sickness
anymore,” Skye piped in. "They have medicine now.”
"So how did you end up in New Orleans?”
Max asked, steering the subject away from losing one’s parents.
Brooke dried her hands on a towel.
"Nicole fell in love with John when she met him at Tulane University. Nicole
was the only family I had—”
"Till me,” Skye interrupted.
"Yes, till you, sweetie.” Brooke ruffled
her hair. "And now it’s time for bed.”
"But, Mom. I haven’t finished showing
Max how to make the pot holder. You always say I should finish what I start.”
Brooke shook her head with a grin.
"Nothing like having your own words used against you. You can finish tomorrow.
It’s bedtime. Say goodnight to Max and don’t forget to wash your hands and face
and brush your teeth. I’ll leave the pot holder right here. It’ll be waiting
for you in the morning.”
"But I want Max to have one.”
"I could stop by tomorrow,” he offered,
the words out of his mouth before he stopped to think. The homey atmosphere was
more enticing than he’d expected. He liked the easy mother-daughter
relationship between Brooke and Skye, the way Brooke valued family— a trait he
found in so few people. They clearly cared for one another the same way his
family did. When Brooke’s head jerked at his suggestion, he wheedled an
invitation. "Your mother has an appointment tomorrow. I thought I’d go with her.”
"Goodie.” Skye slipped off the chair and
hugged Brooke. She turned to him next and with an impish grin, blew him a kiss
and skipped off down the hall. "Night-night.”
"Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” he
responded with a sheepish grin, drawing on childhood memories long buried.
"You did well with her.” Brooke
complimented him, clearly aware of his previous nervousness. "Thanks. She made
it easy.”
Brooke placed the last plates in the
dishwasher, poured soap and set the timer. "After I tuck her in, I’ll be right back.”
"What time are you leaving for your
meeting with Karen Forester?” he asked as she followed Skye down the hall.
"Nine o’clock,” she told him over her
shoulder. "I’ll see you tomorrow then.” He slipped out the door, acknowledging
the cowardly action for what it was. She watched him leave, her eyes narrowed
in frustration. Tomorrow she’d probably give him hell for his rude behavior.
But he couldn’t face talking with her about Skye—not until he settled his
feelings.
Ah, Skye. The child had captivated him
the moment he’d seen her. Her dark, curly hair framed a round face, but it was
the shape of her eyes beneath arched brows that made a genetic test
superfluous. The girl was pure Braddack, tempered with his sister-in-law’s
sweetness but with a practicality that had to come from Brooke.
He couldn’t deny Brooke had done a
terrific job raising Skye. And as a single parent, struggling to make a living,
raising a child couldn’t be easy.
Skye’s presence had spun him for a loop.
He drove back to the marina knowing one thing for sure. Skye was going to be
welcomed into his family. Skye's photo had rocked him. But he hadn’t really
believed Brooke until he’d seen Skye in person. Now he felt as if he’d been
flattened by a ten-ton truck. He should have been happy, yet heartache awaited
both families. To take Skye from Brooke would be cruel. She loved the child and
had taken great pride in raising her. His brother and his wife would face
unimaginable pain. They could never regain the years they might have had with
Skye. And what kind of relationship with their daughter could they hope for in
the future?
Back at the garage apartment over the
marina’s shop, he glanced at his cell phone. He should probably call Ford, but
his brother would want to know who was behind the mix-up at the Kine Clinic and
how it could have happened. And Max wouldn’t have more information until
tomorrow, after he spoke with Karen Forester.
Tomorrow he’d see Brooke and Skye again.
As he lay in bed, for the first time in a long time, he was eager for a new
day.
BROOKE DIDN’T sleep well. She’d tossed
and turned after Max’s abrupt departure. She’d finally fallen asleep only to
have the alarm blast her awake. A few hours of sleep hadn’t relieved her
anxiety from the night before. Why hadn’t Max waited to leave until after she’d
put Skye to bed and they’d had a chance to talk? He’d raced out the door as if
the apartment had been on fire.
She’d kept glancing at Max and Skye as
she’d straightened the kitchen, but she hadn’t been able to read him. Had he
recognized his own features in Skye? Or had he refused to see the evidence
right before his eyes?
The pressure had her on edge, and she
hoped he would put her in touch with his brother today. Waiting was
nerve-racking. Even if Ford and Rhonda agreed to the genetic test that could
prove Skye was their biological daughter, it would take two weeks for the
results to come in.
But Brooke didn’t need scientific proof.
In her heart she knew. Skye was Rhonda and Ford’s child, and her throat
tightened.
For once, oblivious to Brooke’s
feelings, Skye ate quickly so she could work on her pot holder. The sitter and
Max arrived at the same time, and, again, Brooke had to wait until she got him
alone.
He showed up in a faded shirt and frayed
jeans and sauntered through the front door whistling "Dixie.” Freshly shaven
and with his hair still damp, he had an appealing bright-eyed quality that made
her notice him more than she would have liked. "Morning. You ladies ready?”
Skye looked up from the table, saw the
babysitter, and turned to her mother. "I want to go, too.”
"Not this time.”
Skye’s lower lip trembled. "But you said
you would take me on an adventure today.”
"How about when we get back, we’ll take
you on a streetcar ride?” Max suggested.
Brooke didn’t appreciate him offering a
treat without first clearing the idea privately with her. If she said no, she’d
be the bad guy. But she supposed Max didn’t know better, so she forgave him.
Besides, it was difficult to stay angry at a man who was trying to make her
daughter happy.
At Max’s suggestion, Skye immediately
brightened. "Can we go? Please, Mom.”
"As long as it doesn’t rain. Now give me
a kiss and a hug.”
While Brooke issued instructions to the
babysitter, Skye insisted Max help her brush her teeth. He pretended horror
Skye brushed after every meal, and she giggled in amusement at his silliness.
Finally Brooke and Max were ready to
leave. As he opened the door for her and she stepped outside into the crisp
morning air, she hoped it would stay sunny. The radio had predicted rain later,
but she wouldn’t mind a trolley ride herself.
"I’m sorry,” Max said as he headed for
his truck. "I should have cleared the outing with you first. It won’t happen
again.”
"Thanks.”
Damn, he could be charming and intuitive
when he wanted, and he looked even better than she remembered. The dark hair
framing his piercing blue eyes both unnerved and interested her. But then how
could she not find him appealing when she’d fallen in love with his features,
Skye’s features, years ago?
Still, she wasn’t about to allow him to
charm her out of her annoyance with his disappearing act last night. She let
him open his truck door for her, then she fastened her seat belt and waited for
him to pull out of the parking lot before she asked the questions that burned
in her mind.
"Did you call Ford?”
"Not until we talk to Karen. Do you have
directions?”
"Karen lives in an apartment in the Old
Quarter.” She shifted so she could watch him. His body language clearly said he
was loose, eager and ready to go. He kept his gaze on the road, checking the
rearview mirror every thirty seconds or so. At first appearance he seemed
relaxed, but then she noted how he avoided her gaze, and reconsidered. Perhaps he
wasn’t finding this as easy as she’d thought.
She tempered the sharpness in her tone.
"What do you think of Skye?”
"She’s inquisitive, intelligent and
damned cute.”
"And?” she pressed.
He raised a brow. "And she looks just
like me. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
No, she wanted to scream at him. That’s
not what she wanted to hear. She wanted Skye to be hers in every way. But she
tried to remain calm and keep her voice even. "Then there’s no reason to avoid
calling Ford and Rhonda.”
"Fine. We’ll call after this meeting.”
At his sudden capitulation, relief
flooded her, but as his words sank in, wariness overtook her once more. "Can’t
I talk to them in person?”
"Ford and Rhonda are skiing in
Switzerland. A phone call will have to do for now.”
While she absorbed the surprise that the
Braddacks were out of the country, Ford switched on the radio and jazz engulfed
them. Fifteen minutes later he parked in front of a three-story building that
borrowed from both French and Spanish designs. They walked on uneven pavement
through wrought-iron gates into a courtyard with dogwoods, magnolias and
azaleas.
"That’s Karen’s apartment.” Brooke
pointed. "Number twelve.”
Max rapped on the door. A curtain in the
window moved. The door opened about three inches, and the Kine Clinic
researcher, Karen Forester, peeked through the opening left by a latched chain.
"I’m sorry, I can’t talk to you.”
She closed the door in their faces. The
latch snicked shut.
Puzzled and frustrated, Brooke spun to
look at Max. He furrowed his forehead and shrugged.
Unwilling to give up, she knocked on the
door again. "Karen. Karen, it’s Brooke. Brooke Evans. We met yesterday. We have
an appointment.”
The door remained closed. The curtain
didn’t move. Karen had been willing to talk to her yesterday. What had happened
since then to change her mind?
When no one answered, Brooke’s shoulders
slumped. Without verbal confirmation, Max might not call his brother. She’d be
right back where she’d started.
"Let’s get out of here.” Max took her
elbow and ushered her away. "She’s not going to talk to us.”
"I don’t understand. Do you think she
has a guest?” Brooke asked as they walked back to the truck, disappointed with
Karen’s refusal and all too aware of Max’s fingers on her elbow.
"It’s possible. But I think someone got
to her.”
"What do you mean?”
"This smells like a cover-up.”
"I don’t understand.”
"Someone scared her into keeping her
mouth shut.”
She jerked up her head. "But how? Why?”
"How is the easy part.” Max started the
truck and headed to Brooke’s place. "She could have been told that if she
talked to us, she’d lose her job.”
"But no one knew I spoke with her.”
"They didn’t have to see you. You were
at the clinic asking a lot of questions. Word must have got around.”
Max stopped in the traffic as the cars
waited for an old mule-drawn carriage to clip-clop by. Brooke shook her head at
the mule decked in ribbons, flowers and a hat, glad she didn’t have to drive.
Her head pounded, and the sunshine hurt her eyes. "Why would someone threaten
Karen with losing her job for talking to us? Isn’t that illegal? She could just
go to the police.”
"Not necessarily. Medical records are
confidential. Someone in authority at the clinic would be within their rights
to tell her if she talked out of turn, she’d be fired or sued.”
"But why did she tell me anything in the
first place?”
"Look, the best-case scenario is someone
accidentally screwed up in the clinic when Skye was implanted in your sister.
The clinic could be sued for millions. If a doctor is found negligent, he could
lose his livelihood—not only be sued and fired, he could lose his medical
license.”
She sighed. "We need to talk to Dr.
Arnold, but he won’t return my calls.”
Max weaved through the heavy traffic
with expertise. "Ford is on the board of directors of the Kine Clinic. His name
ought to get us in to see the chief administrator.”
"Ford’s on the board of directors? I
didn’t know. You’d have thought he’d have gotten VIP treatment.”
Max frowned. "Yeah. You’d think so,
wouldn’t you?”
Max used his cell phone to make an
appointment with the administrator, turned his pickup around and headed into
the city. Driving straight to the Kine Clinic, they had parked and entered the
building in less than fifteen minutes. An elevator whisked them to an upper
floor of the facility. A strawberry-blond secretary escorted Brooke and Max
around a saltwater aquarium into a corner office with a magnificent view. Glass
windows provided a panorama of an elbow of the muddy Mississippi and the
Greater New Orleans Bridge.
Dr. Edward Henschel, a short, balding
man with a baby-smooth face sat behind a massive desk covered with papers.
"Max. It’s good to see you again. What can I do for you?” He stood and held out
his hand. "Is Ford enjoying his vacation?”
Max introduced Brooke and gestured for
her to take the chair beside him. "I haven’t heard from Ford. That probably
means he’s having a great time.”
Brooke stared at the framed diplomas
over the desk, unable to read specifics from her position. Before she’d always
taken for granted the integrity of a physician. Now she realized doctors were
people, and, just like in any other profession, they sometimes made mistakes.
To find out if an honest mistake or an
accident had caused the mix-up would be tricky. When faced with trouble,
doctors usually closed ranks, but Karen’s whispered words about overhearing a
conversation and naming Ford Braddack as Skye’s father, indicated that someone
might be hiding beneath the Kine Clinic’s spotless reputation.
Brooke would have preferred to speak
with Dr. Arnold, the physician who had culled her egg for Nicole. He’d always
seemed pleasant and professional. She had no wish to malign Dr. Arnold and
wondered why he hadn’t returned her calls. That he hadn’t responded sent
suspicion prickling at her nape.
Dr. Henschel moved a few papers out of
the way, adding them to a stack, and then placed his forearms on the desk. "How
can I help you?”
Brooke fidgeted in her seat. "I—we were
hoping to speak with Dr. Arnold.”
"I’m afraid that’s going to be
difficult.”
"Why?” Max asked. "He still works here,
doesn’t he?”
Dr. Henschel sighed. "He’s on his
sailboat for a few weeks. He prefers to take vacation time in late spring.”
Max leaned back in his chair and peered
at the doctor. "Does he have a cell phone?”
"Oh, yes. But don’t get your hopes up.
He never turns it on. Arnold says if we could reach him, he’d never have any
time off. And he’s right. There’s always some kind of medical crisis in a
facility the size of this one.”
Upset that Dr. Arnold was unreachable,
Brooke’s thoughts raced. Arnold had been in charge of the fertilization and
implantation stages, but there must be records on file.
"Could we look at my sister’s file?”
Dr. Henschel focused a genial smile on
Max. "Patient files are confidential.”
She glanced at Max, sprawled in his
chair, hands clasped behind his head. He tilted his chair onto its rear legs
with an unruffled poise and confidence that surprised her. He seemed as
comfortable in this fancy office as he did with boat engines.
She turned to the doctor. "Six years
ago, through the efforts of the Kine Clinic my sister had a baby girl, Skye. I
donated the egg. Last week after a blood test, her pediatrician told me the
child cannot be mine—nor was she Nicole’s.”
Dr. Henschel removed his glasses and
pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dr. Arnold works directly with patients. My
talents run toward administration. I’m afraid I can’t be much help. Is the
child healthy?”
"The point is that Skye’s blood proves
she couldn’t be my daughter or my sister’s.”
Dr. Henschel replaced his glasses. "Dr.
O’Brian, your pediatrician, called me last week.”
While Henschel spoke, Max leaned forward
and reached down to tie his shoe. Out of the comer of her eye, she watched him
pick up a piece of paper that had missed the trash can. When he straightened,
he thrust the paper into his pocket.
Dr. Henschel didn’t seem to notice. He
continued to speak nonstop. "But with everyone working extra shifts to cover my
colleague’s patients, I didn’t take the call. Since your sister wasn’t my
patient, I’m unfamiliar with the particulars of her case. I’ll check our
records, talk to our attorney. Why don’t you stop by tonight around seven, and
I’ll see if I can give you some answers?”
Max nodded appreciatively. "That would
be very helpful.”
"But why consult an attorney?” Brooke
asked impatiently. "Right now, all we want is evidence the mistake was made. My
sister is no longer alive. I assure you, I’m only here to learn the truth.” It
seemed such a simple thing for Dr. Henschel to check the files and give them
the information they sought. She had no plans to sue, or even to expose the
mistake because of the publicity it would bring on Skye. Max didn’t look any
more pleased by the delay than she did, yet he seemed to be taking the news
more in stride.
"It’s our policy—uh...
Ford’s and the board of directors’—to have our attorney deal with these
matters.” Henschel’s tone indicated he disagreed with this practice, but what
was a poor doctor to do except follow the rules?
Max stood. "We understand. Thank you for
your help and your time, Doctor. I’ll see you this evening.” When Brooke and
Max left Dr. Henschel’s office, the secretary was nowhere to be found.
Frustrated by Dr. Henschel’s delay, Brooke gazed with longing at the unattended
file cabinets behind the reception desk. They might hold some answers, but with
the door still open to Henschel’s office, she dared not attempt to peek in his
files.
They strode past Dr. Arnold’s office.
Max looked up and down the empty hall. Then his hand snaked to the doorknob
while her heart leapt into her throat. What would happen if someone caught them
trying to get into Arnold’s office?
Max shook his head. "It’s locked.”
As he held the elevator door open for
her, she didn’t know whether she was disappointed or relieved they hadn’t
stolen inside. The doors swished shut, and simultaneously they pushed the
elevator buttons. Max for the lab, Brooke for the ground floor.
"Let’s find Arnold’s lab assistant and
ask a few questions,” he suggested, his stance relaxed, but she didn’t miss
the hint of determination in his eyes.
He was obviously smart. But how did he
stay so calm and composed? Perhaps she’d been mistaken about the seething
emotion she sensed deep beneath his surface. Her perception might be way off,
especially when she was so worried about the possibility of losing Skye.
"What did you take from Henschel’s
office?” she asked curiously.
Max smoothed the crumpled paper while
the elevator descended. "It’s a note from the company accountant. He says he
needs to talk to Dr. Henschel about overbilling.”
"That could mean the clinic is being
overcharged. Perhaps someone is taking kickbacks,” she suggested.
"Or it could mean the clinic is
overcharging for its services.”
For all of Max’s laid-back ways, she
couldn’t criticize his resourcefulness. She took in the strength of his
shoulders and followed the clean lines of his shirt down to his hard flanks.
She couldn’t help but admire his persistence in looking at every
possibility—and the way his clothes fit. Stop it.
Annoyed by her lapse, she redirected her
thoughts from the sensual strut of his walk to the cunning, patience and
intelligence he’d displayed during their quest for information. She needed to
follow his example and keep her mind on business.
Max stuck the paper into his back
pocket. "I’ll ask Ford about this when I call him.”
They exited the elevator and approached
the brightly lit entrance to the lab. From the locked metal doors barring their
entrance, she guessed they had new problems to solve.
A security guard stood in front of the
laboratory, his arms crossed over his chest. "This area is off-limits.”
"We just want to speak to Dr. Arnold’s
assistant.” Brooke smiled, hoping the man would allow them by. He didn’t.
"Sorry. Without permission from Dr.
Henschel, no one goes in there.”
Max’s hand squeezed her elbow, a silent
signal to let him try. "Could you ask Dr. Arnold’s lab assistant to come out
here?”
"Sorry. I’m forbidden to go inside.”
Max gestured to the intercom on the
wall. "What about calling?”
"Sorry. That’s only for emergencies.”
With each refusal, Brooke’s annoyance
grew. Her blood pressure skyrocketed. As they returned to the elevator, she
barely contained her temper.
Once the doors closed, Max chuckled. "Do
you think he begins every sentence with ‘sorry’?”
His laughter aggravated her
exasperation. "This isn’t funny. This place is locked up tighter than the
Pentagon.”
Max faced her and his serene blue eyes
drilled her with innocence. "Hey, I’m on your side.”
"Then act like it.”
"What do you want from me? Would putting
my fist through that guard’s face have made you feel better?”
"How perceptive of you to notice my
annoyance,” she snapped, realizing she did indeed wish to goad him into a
reaction, although not one so violent.
His forehead creased. "Why are you so
angry?”
"When you don’t show the same
frustration I’m feeling, it seems as if you don’t care.”
He raked a hand through his hair.
"Nothing could be further from the truth. Would you feel better if I cursed,
started a fight, got myself arrested?”
She almost smiled at the image.
Yesterday, in the boatyard, she’d have believed him capable of violence, but
now she was thankful for his self-control.
Still, she refused to allow his
statement to go unchallenged. "There’s detachment in your calmness.”
"It works for me,” he admitted. "If I
acted otherwise to make you happy, I’d be living a lie.” The doors opened, and
he switched topics. "Why don’t we try the research department?”
"I shouldn’t have taken out my
frustration on you, but we’ve wasted half the morning and haven’t found anything
useful. I want to know how this happened. And I want to know what became of the
egg I donated to my sister.”
Max winked. "Patience.”
She wanted to choke him. "Something
obviously went wrong in this clinic.”
"Agreed.” He shoved his hands into his
pockets. "And somehow I don’t see the clinic’s attorney giving us information.
Whatever happened took place six years ago. There’s been plenty of time for
someone to cover their tracks. All documentation would have been destroyed long
ago.”
Brooke moved past him and through a door
into a fifth-floor windowless office. A brass plate on the door told them the
researcher’s name. Grant Donovan had the build of an NFL linebacker, and his
huge frame looked ridiculous cramped behind a desk. His meaty fingers lumbered
over the keyboard, his face fixed in concentration.
"Excuse us,” Brooke interrupted. "We
thought you might help us solve a problem.”
"Problem-solving isn’t exactly my
department.” He’d stopped typing and looked up, his lips twisted in a parody of
a smile.
"Look, all we want to know is how the
Kine Clinic mistakenly placed his brother’s embryo,” she pointed to Max, "in my
sister. We know from the blood tests someone in the clinic made a mistake. We
want to see the records.”
Grant shrugged and returned to his
typing. "Sorry, lady, I can’t help you.”
"I want to know what happened to my
egg,” Brooke insisted, hoping a different tack might sway the man.
Grant cracked his knuckles. "Look, I’d
like to help you, but I could lose my job.”
Brooke didn’t blame the man. Still her
thoughts whirled in frustration as she and Max exited the office and, finally,
the facility. "We aren’t getting anywhere,” Brooke complained as they made
their way to the pickup. "Surely there must be a record of Rhonda and Ford’s
blood type somewhere?”
"Since we’re identical twins, Ford’s
blood is exactly the same as mine.”
"Then there’s no need to return to the
lab. If you’ll consent to a tissue scraping of the inside of your cheek, a
genetic test will prove within a week or two whether Skye is Ford’s daughter.”
"After seeing Skye, I’m convinced she’s
a Braddack,” he said, opening her door. "Do you think the mix-up could have
been deliberate?”
The idea worried her. "I can’t help
wondering how a distinguished institution, renowned for ethical and
compassionate treatment of fertility problems, could treat us as if they are a
fly-by-night facility.”
"We should consider all the
possibilities. What would be the motive? Tonight if we get a chance to look
around, maybe we’ll pick up a few clues. If there are records to be found, no
lawyer worth his pay will let us within a hundred miles of them.”
Her stomach lurched. The idea of
skulking around in the dark had her nerves jumping. "But suppose we’re caught?”
He winked at her. "We’ll tell them Ford
gave us permission.”
