Bonnie K. Winn - Family Found

“Then stop taking all their calls!”

“It’s not that easy. I’d like to know my job’s still there when—” she paused, her hold tightening on Alex “—I’m ready to get back to work.”

“You’ve got your inheritance,” Mrs. Plummer reminded her. “And D’Beti’s isn’t the only restaurant in the city.”

Laura sometimes wondered about the wisdom of confiding all the intimate details of her life to her baby-sitter, but Mrs. Plummer had been determined not to accept any pay while Laura was on her leave of absence. Unable to allow such a sacrifice, Laura had disclosed the source of her funds.

“So, has the hotshot detective found out anything?”

Grinning, Laura shook her head. It was a good description of the man. “Not yet. He wants me to be patient.”

Worry settled over Mrs. Plummer’s features. “But we don’t have time to be patient.”

Laura patted the older woman’s arm, knowing Alex couldn’t have asked for a more devoted surrogate grandmother. “That’s what I told him.”

Mrs. Plummer sniffed suspiciously, then ducked her face for a moment, no doubt hiding a trace of tears. “Good for you.” Then as abruptly, she headed out of the nursery. “I’d better check the chicken, or it’ll be spitting dry.”

Laura took advantage of the quiet to settle into the well-worn rocker. The gentle creak of the wood against thick carpet soothed. Alex was content to snuggle in her arms, his fingers latching onto hers. Laura smoothed back the baby-fine hair on his forehead, feeling her heart clutch. What if she couldn’t save him? Couldn’t unlock the secrets to her birth?

He kicked chubby legs and she stroked his soft skin. “Somehow I’ll find out, Alex.” Briefly, she closed her eyes. “I don’t care how it affects me.” And Laura knew it was true. Mitch Tucker could learn she was the child of criminals and she wouldn’t care—as long as it brought her closer to a cure for Alex.

HER EYES WERE definitely blue, Mitch concluded. An intense blue, one that evoked thoughts of a stormy Irish sky. Emphasis on stormy, he acknowledged. Laura Kelly was a woman possessed. And it was getting on his nerves.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, pushing still sleep-rumpled hair from his forehead. “It can’t be much later than six.”

“Seven-fifteen, Tucker. We don’t have time to waste.”

“I never consider sleeping a waste of time,” he retorted, seeing the bluish haze of dawn on the Houston skyline through the living room windows. He shook his head in continued disbelief, wishing he hadn’t provided her with his home address and phone number. “And if we’re going to talk while I’m still in my boxers, you might as well call me Mitch.”

Her face flushed, not two petite, delicate spots of color but a tidal wave of embarrassment. “Don’t you own a robe?”

“Tell you what, Laura. Next time I show up at your house before breakfast, I’ll be sure to call the fashion police, too.”

Laura’s gaze collided with his bare legs, then darted away. She lifted her chin. “I think we have more important things to worry about than your wardrobe.”

“You brought up the issue,” he replied easily, enjoying the way she emotionally scrunched herself up into a tight knot. He guessed there was a lot of inhibition trapped inside, just waiting to bust loose. Then again, she could be one of those eternally rigid fusspots.

She ignored the rebuke, her single-mindedness vaulting back to her initial purpose. “We need to go over what you’ve learned.” As she spoke, Laura trailed behind him through the apartment.

At the door of his bedroom, Mitch turned around, leaning one hip idly against the doorjamb. “It’s not that I mind sharing my shower, but I draw the line at discussing business at the same time.”

If possible, Laura flushed even darker.

Unable to resist needling her, Mitch let one hand drift toward his waistband. “I’ll leave the choice up to you.”

Laura whirled around and retreated into his living room.

Chuckling, Mitch padded into the bathroom and turned the shower on full blast. He suspected he would need the bracing wake-up to face the morning.

Ten minutes later he was sure of it. Strolling into his kitchen, he found that Laura had commandeered the space. Blissfully, he inhaled the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. He grabbed a mug and filled it to the brim. After sipping the strong brew, he tipped the mug toward her in a mock salute. “I’ll give you this—you know how to make a decent cup of coffee.”

But her eyes were doing some sort of strange dance that didn’t seem to have anything to do with the coffee. “Don’t you get completely dressed before noon?”

He glanced down at his jeans. “Didn’t know we were going formal today.”

She waved in the direction of his bare chest. “I don’t think anywhere we go today will be that informal.”

“We?” He lowered his mug. “Look, you hired me to do a job. I work solo.”

“But I can help you. There must be some grunt work I can do that will free you up for the more difficult things.”

“So, you’re going to be my gofer?” he questioned skeptically. She didn’t seem like the sort to take orders well.

Laura met his eyes evenly. “I would clean sewers bare-handed if it would help my son.”

Sobered by the reminder, Mitch lowered his mug. “Our methods may not be the same, but I know how serious the situation is. You don’t have to dog my steps to make sure the investigation’s being conducted the right way.”

“That’s not the point.”

He guessed it was, but let the comment pass.

“I can’t just stand by doing nothing.” Laura paced toward the window, yet she didn’t seem to notice anything beyond the shuttered panes of glass.

Mitch studied the fierce determination in the set of her shoulders, the earnestness in her eyes. And sighed in defeat. “If I let you help—”

“You’ll—”

“I said if, Miss Kelly. And let’s get one thing straight. I’m in charge of the investigation. I won’t put up with you second-guessing my methods.”

“What do we do first?” she asked, choosing to ignore his warning.

“First, we put on my shirt.” His gaze took another unhurried appraisal, enjoying the sudden jumpiness in her eyes. “Or do you want to be in charge of that?”

Instead of answering him, she turned her back and made a production out of clattering the mugs in the sink and yanking at the faucet, purposely adding the roar of the water to the manufactured noise.

“Oh, and, Laura—”

“Yes?”

“Next time you show up before breakfast and drag me out of bed—you’d better mean it.”

LAURA FELT MORE in control with the width of a sturdy oak library table between them. And it didn’t hurt that Mitch had donned a shirt. Papers and books surrounded them, but he didn’t seem to mind the clutter. He had selected the library for the morning’s work since it contained microfilm records he needed to probe.

“What is that you’re doing?” she asked, impatient to cut to the chase, to find the key they needed to unlock her past.

“Finishing your personal profile,” he replied. “We did the preliminaries before talking to your aunt. Now we need to dig deeper.”

She frowned. “Why?”

The librarian strolled by, hushing them, her wrinkled face looking like that of a pug dog’s—set in permanent lines of disapproval.

Laura lowered her voice. “So?”

“Right now, we have an equation of the unknown, and the only known factor in the formula is you. I have to learn everything about you, Laura. From top—” he paused as his eyes drifted over her slowly “—to bottom.”

Despite the fear gnawing at her, Laura felt an unexpected warmth curling in her belly. Resolutely, she straightened up in the rigid, narrow-backed chair. “And we had to come to the library to do this?”