Deceived (Private Justice Book #3): A Novel (16 page)

He pulled out the answer he always gave when questions about the adoption came up. “I’ve heard that too, and I never liked
it. We used a lawyer who hooked people up with women who wanted to do private adoptions. Part of our agreement was that there would never be any contact and both parties would remain anonymous. I thought that would be less confusing for the child.”

She shrugged. “So much for that theory.”

“I appreciate you helping me think through this, though.” Taking a chance, he reached over and covered her hand with his. She gave him a surprised look—but didn’t pull away. “More than that, I appreciate having you in my life. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. I’m also grateful for your patience while I work through this recent stuff with Todd.”

Her gaze flicked down to their joined hands, and she drew an unsteady breath. “I don’t like being left in the dark, Greg. Or being manipulated. That’s how I’ve felt for the past couple of weeks with you.”

“I’m sorry for that. The last thing in the world I want to do is hurt you or make you feel used. You’ve had enough of that kind of treatment to last the rest of your life.”

Even before he finished saying the words, guilt rippled through him. He hadn’t used her yet, but he was getting ready to—and there was no way around it. She was the only one who could get him the answers he needed.

On the other hand, he wasn’t using her in a bad sense. He did care about her, and he’d tell her his story if he could. Since that wasn’t possible, he’d have to solve this problem fast so he could get on with his life—a life he hoped would include Diane as part of a brand-new family unit. She wouldn’t mind being used if she knew that was his goal, that he wanted them to be together.

Would she?

She searched his eyes, and he hoped she saw the caring, not the conflict.

Her demeanor softened, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“If I have the opportunity to ask a few discreet questions at my next appointment with Kate, do you want me to see what I can find out? I won’t mention you or Todd.”

The very request he’d been planning to make.

“If you could, that would be great. And yeah, until we see what she has to say, I think it would be smart if you didn’t say anything about Todd or me. When are you going back?”

“I left without setting up an appointment, but I don’t think I’ll have a problem getting in by Tuesday or Wednesday. From what I’ve heard, Kate finds time for clients who need to see her, even if she has to stay late.”

“Hey, Diane! You came!” Todd skidded to a stop beside the table, Kyle beside him.

“I never miss a birthday party if I can help it.”

“Can we eat now, Dad? We’re getting hungry.”

“Sure. How does pizza sound?”

“Awesome!”

“Sorry I can’t offer you more gourmet fare.” He smiled his apology at Diane.

Her return smile seemed genuine. “Pizza’s fine.”

Greg placed the order, and there was no more problem with awkward silences during the meal. The two boys chattered nonstop, and Diane joined in.

As they finished off the pizza and he dispensed the last of the tokens, she picked up her purse.

A wave of disappointment crashed over him. In her presence, the loneliness that plagued him always retreated. Once she left, it would come roaring back, despite the boisterous crowd. “Are you leaving?”

“Yes. I have a few errands to do.” She rose.

He had no choice but to stand as well. “I’ll walk you out. Boys, I’ll be back in five minutes. Meet me here after you’ve used up all those tokens.”

“Okay.” Todd dashed off, his friend in tow.

He followed her toward the entrance, wishing he could convince her to stay a few minutes longer. Not that he blamed her for making a fast exit from noise city, but . . .

“Diane! Nice to see you.”

A tall, gray-haired man with kindly eyes held out his hand, and Diane stopped to take it.

“Reverend Howard—what a surprise.”

“I’m playing grandpa today.” He gestured to the two young girls holding hands beside him. “These are Carol’s daughter’s children. They’re in town for a few days.” He leaned around Diane and offered his hand. “Bill Howard.”

Greg returned the man’s firm clasp and introduced himself.

“Sorry for my lack of manners.” A faint pink stain crept over Diane’s cheeks. “I was just taken aback to see you here. Greg is . . . a friend of mine.”

At her slight hesitation, the minister’s expression grew speculative, and Greg shifted under his scrutiny. Although the man’s smile never wavered, his intent eyes suggested he could see things Greg had taken great pains to hide. His minister in Cleveland had been like that too. Another reason he’d stopped going to church.

“Well, in that case, let me issue a personal invitation to join us some Sunday for services. You’d be very welcome—and we serve great donuts.”

“Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

The little girls tugged on the man’s pants leg, and he gave Diane a sheepish shrug. “It appears my charges are growing impatient. Will I see you at church tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

“Excellent. I’ll be preaching on Ephesians 4:31–32. A great passage that offers excellent advice.” The man’s comment encompassed him, and Greg looked down and fiddled with the phone on his belt.

“I’ll look forward to it. Your sermons are always wonderful.”

“Thank you, my dear. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

As the little girls pulled him farther into the cavernous facility, Diane continued in silence toward the exit. Greg followed.

At the front door, she paused. “I’m glad you got to meet my pastor. I think you’d enjoy his services—and as I’ve learned over the past few months, they mean even more when life is challenging. I know Todd would like the Sunday school, and attending might give you some comfort.”

He doubted it. God wouldn’t want the likes of him darkening the door of his house.

“Maybe someday, Diane.” At the flicker of disappointment in her eyes, he threw in a caveat. “He seems like a nice man, though.”

“Very.” She glanced back in the direction he’d disappeared. “He’s had a lot of his own problems to overcome, but things worked out. Getting to play grandfather is a blessing he never thought he’d enjoy.”

“Why is that?”

“His first wife ran off many years ago and took their toddler daughter. Fell off the face of the earth, apparently. Reverend Howard searched everywhere—hired a PI too, from what I’ve been able to gather—but no one ever found a trace of either of them.” Diane shook her head. “Can you imagine how devastated he must have been to lose not only his wife but the daughter he loved? Even if she wanted out of the marriage, why would a woman deprive a man of his child?”

Greg shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and fisted them. “Hard to say. So who are the kids with him today?”

“He remarried a few years ago, to a widow with two older children who’ve since supplied him with grandkids to love.” She pulled out her keys. “I have to run. No need to walk me to my car. I found a space near the door.” She gestured toward the
lot, and he spotted her car a few spaces down the row directly in front. “I’ll call you after my next appointment with Kate and let you know if I was able to find out anything helpful.”

She started to turn away, and he touched her arm. “Thanks for doing this.”

For a long moment, she searched his face. “No problem. Enjoy the rest of Todd’s birthday.”

He pushed the door open for her, and as she slipped out, the heat smacked him in the face. Taking a quick step back, he let the door shut. Within seconds, cool air enveloped him.

If only he could as easily escape the heat bearing down on him thanks to that photo in Kate Marshall’s possession.

But he’d find a way to solve the problem. To remove any impediments to his security. He’d taken an enormous risk to build a new life with Todd, and nothing was going to jeopardize it.

Nothing.

He would protect what was his—no matter what the cost.

Because losing another son was not an option.

D
avid Sanders was dead.

Connor stared at the death notice he’d stumbled across after two hours of fruitless searching the Net for a photo of the boy.

A photo he no longer needed.

He noted the date on the write-up from the
Cleveland Plain Dealer
—three and a half years ago—then read the short piece. David was identified as the beloved son of Greg and the late Jennifer Sanders. Services had been held at Community Christian Church. Burial had been private. No cause of death was provided.

But he now had confirmation that the boy in the mall wasn’t Sanders’s son.

Things were starting to get very interesting.

It was time to burrow into both Sanders’s and John Marshall’s background. To turn over every stone and delve into every crevice in search of the link Dev had referenced during their basketball game this morning. If the boy in the mall was Kate’s son, the connection would be there—somewhere.

Positioning his fingers over the keys, he started with Marshall.

Two hours later, when his cell began to vibrate, he rotated the kinks out of his neck and pulled it off his belt. Dev.

“So did you find a picture of Sanders’s son?”

Connor took a swig of warm soda that had lost its fizz while he’d been engrossed in his search. Grimacing, he set the can aside on his kitchen table. “You must be really bored if you’re still thinking about my case.”

“Nope. Looking for an excuse to take a break from vacuuming.”

Connor’s eyebrows rose. “You’re cleaning your apartment? What’s the occasion? A presidential visit?”

“Very funny.”

“I’m not kidding. There has to be some compelling reason for your sudden interest in tidiness.”

“You make it sound like I’m a slob.”

“If the shoes fits . . .”

“Ha-ha. Okay, fine. Laura’s coming over for dinner. I’m barbecuing. Satisfied?”

Connor grinned. “Yep.”

“So did you come up with anything?”

“Not on the picture—but as it turns out, I don’t need one. His son died three and a half years ago.”

A beat ticked by. “What happened to him?”

“I haven’t found out yet. But I’ve read a whole lot more about Kate’s husband and his work.”

“Say . . .” Dev’s tone grew speculative. “Wasn’t he some kind of pediatric specialist?”

Nice to know their minds were again tracking in the same direction.

“Yes. He treated and studied childhood neural disorders.”

“I wonder if that’s your link? Except Sanders lived in Cleveland and your client’s husband practiced in Rochester.”

“Top-tier specialists often consult with patients in other parts
of the country. And her husband was definitely big-league in his field, with a list of research papers and awards a mile long.”

“Good point. Could Kate find out whether her husband ever saw Sanders’s son?”

“I don’t know.” Connor leaned back and looked out the window at the pot of toasted geraniums on his porch railing. The gift from a grateful client had succumbed to the heat sometime over the past two weeks. Of course, it would have helped if he’d remembered to water it. Somehow that chore—along with a lot of others—had slipped his mind since Kate had slipped into his life. “HIPAA laws are tough . . . but I was getting ready to discuss it with her when you called.”

“Then I won’t keep you. Could be you’re finally on to something.”

Connor scrubbed a hand down his face and shifted his attention back to his computer screen. “Maybe. I’ll be more certain of that once I get a cause of death for Sanders’s son and can establish if he was a patient of Kate’s husband.”

“The latter might be tricky, but you lucked out on the first one, since Ohio has open access to birth and death records.”

“There might be faster ways to get that info.”

“Are you thinking pretext?”

“A strong possibility. But I’ll initiate the query with Vital Statistics as a backup.”

“Let me know if I can help.”

“Considering how your apartment looked on my last visit, I think you’d better make cleaning your top priority unless you want Laura to back out of that engagement you talked her into.”

“Yeah.” A sigh came over the line. “The vacuum is giving me the evil eye as we speak. Talk to you later.”

As the line went dead, Connor scrolled down to Kate’s cell number and pressed autodial. She answered with a breathless hello.

“It’s Connor. Sounds like I caught you on the run.”

“I was heading out the door, but your timing is great. I’d forgotten my cell was in the charger and would have left without it. Do you have some news?”

“I’m working on trying to establish a link between Sanders and your husband.”

“What kind of link?” Her tone was puzzled.

“To be determined. But if the boy in the mall is your son, and if your husband didn’t willingly remove his life jacket, Sanders is in the hot seat. He was either involved in the so-called accident, or he has some serious explaining to do about how he came to have your son. I’ve been doing a lot of research today, and I’d like to talk to you more about your husband’s background.”

“Can we do that tomorrow? I’m supposed to be at church to help bake desserts for our meals-on-wheels program in twenty minutes.”

“How long will you be there?”

“Until six or seven.”

She’d be exhausted after a full afternoon of standing on her feet. Not the best time for the discussion he wanted to have.

“How’s your schedule tomorrow?”

“Not much better. Services in the morning, then I’ll be delivering meals until about two.”

And he was coaching in the afternoon.

As the silence lengthened, she spoke again. “Could we do this by phone?”

Yeah, they could.

But he wanted to see her.

Besides, he preferred to deliver the news about Sanders’s son in person.

“Face-to-face is always better.” That was a stretch—although it was true in her case. “Why don’t I tag along while you deliver your meals? We could talk during the ride.”

“Are you sure? I only have three deliveries tomorrow, but they’re kind of far-flung.”

Extra legit time in her company.

Perfect.

“My morning and early afternoon are wide open.”

“That would be great.” She paused, and he heard her take a deep breath. “Look . . . as long as you’re meeting me at my church, would you like to join me for the service? That way we could load up and leave as soon as it’s over. You wouldn’t have to stand around waiting for me if our minister gets long-winded.” The invitation came out in a rush—as did the justification. Suggesting she wasn’t at all certain the offer was wise.

Neither was he—but it was too tempting to pass up. “That works for me. My pastor won’t miss me for one Sunday, and I like to try new churches on occasion. Shall I pick you up?”

“No. I’ll meet you there.” No hesitation now. “Why don’t I wait for you in the foyer a few minutes before eleven?”

“That works. Give me the address.” He jotted it down as she relayed it. “Got it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As they signed off, he rose and stretched. The energy from the sausage-and-cheese biscuit he’d nuked before the basketball game had been expended long ago, thanks to his early morning exercise binge. A turkey sandwich sounded appealing about now. Not as appealing as a lunch shared with Kate—but at least he’d see her tomorrow.

And if all went well, their little drive would give him the lead he needed to help establish a link between an esteemed doctor and an enigmatic construction worker.

Hands were holding him down.

The water was closing
over him.

He was going to drown!

No!

Lungs aching
, Greg fought against the pressure, thrashing as he stared up
at the wavering image above the surface. Although the face
of the person hovering over him, pressing him down, wasn
’t clear, he knew who it was. The blonde hair
was a dead giveaway.

Kate Marshall.

But why was she
here? The doctor’s wife wasn’t part of his
plan for this day. He harbored no ill will against
her. She bore no blame for her husband’s guilt
, even if she had to suffer because of it.

There
could only be one explanation.

She’d discovered his plan
and was trying to save her husband. To take Todd
away from him.

But wait . . .

Her husband was already dead
. . . wasn’t he?

Greg’s lungs screamed as the last
wisps of air leaked out, as he fought against her
, as he struggled to make sense of the tableau.

If
he was still near the boats, he didn’t have
Todd yet . . . did he?

What was going on?

Summoning up
every ounce of his strength, he kicked. Hard. Trying to
free himself from the woman’s hold. A hold far
too powerful for someone who looked so fragile.

A sudden
whimper told him he’d succeeded. That one of his
punches or kicks had connected. That he’d broken free
of the smothering water and could finally breathe.

He sucked
in a lungful of air and—

“Dad?”

As the faint, frightened word infiltrated his subconscious, he stopped thrashing.

Was that David calling him?

No. David wasn’t on the boat.

David was dead . . . wasn’t he?

Opening his eyes, he wiped a hand down his face and tried to orient himself.

He was in bed, not in the water. The room was dark, but a small, cowering figure beside him was silhouetted in the dim light shining in from the hall.

“David?” He reached out a hand as he tried to shake the fogginess from his brain.

The figure shrank back. “It’s me, Dad. Todd.”

Todd.

Of course.

David was dead.

The past few minutes had just been a dream.

As the irony slammed into him, he wadded the sheet in his fingers. A few days ago, his son’s nightmare had awakened
him
. Tonight his own demons had reversed that scenario.

Greg sucked in another breath, trying to calm the staccato beat of his heart. Then he pushed himself into a sitting position, leaned toward the nightstand, and turned on the light. Two-twenty-seven, according to the digital display on his clock.

Somehow he managed a smile. “Did I wake you up, champ?”

“Yeah.” A shudder rippled through Todd, and when he spoke, his voice was tentative. Scared. “I heard you yelling. I thought someone had broken in or something.”

“Nope. Just a bad dream. Want to sit by me?” He scooted over and patted the bed.

In silence, Todd climbed in beside him. As their arms brushed, his son recoiled. “How come you’re wet?”

Was he? Greg pulled the damp fabric of the cotton T-shirt away from his body. Yeah. Almost as wet as if he
had
been underwater.

“The air conditioner must still be having problems.” He swung his legs out of bed on the other side. Lame excuse. The
repaired unit was working fine, judging by the shiver that rippled through him as the cool air hit his damp clothes. “Sit tight and I’ll change my shirt.”

As he exchanged the clammy shirt for a dry one, Todd spoke from behind him.

“Dad . . . who’s Kate?”

Greg froze and squeezed his eyes shut, his pulse once again lurching into overdrive. He’d said the Marshall woman’s name?

And here he’d been worried about
Todd’s
nightmares triggering memories best left buried.

He yanked the shirt over his head and turned toward his son, stalling as he tried to figure out how to respond. “Why?”

Todd pulled up the blanket Greg had tossed aside earlier and huddled underneath. “You said that name. And you sounded mad.”

He padded back to the bed and climbed in beside his son, thinking fast as he pulled the boy close. “Dreams are kind of weird. I might have had a fight once in high school with a girl named Kate. Who knows? When we dream, times and places and people can get all mixed up.”

“Kind of like the one I had about the escalator with the water at the bottom?”

“Yeah. Usually they don’t make any sense.”

“But sometimes I kind of get a feeling they do. Have I ever known anybody named Kate?”

Keep breathing.

“There might have been a girl at daycare with that name.”

“No.”

“Well, you could have heard the name on a TV show.”

“Maybe.” He snuggled closer, sounding small and subdued when he continued. “How come you called me David?”

Jaw tight, Greg gave him a reassuring squeeze. At least Todd already knew he’d had another son. “I guess he was in
my dream too. You never forget people you love, even if they go away.”

Todd looked up at him, his expression earnest. “I’d never forget you.”