Janice Maynard - A Wolff at Heart

The woman he had come to see stood, her hand extended. “Good afternoon, Mr. Avery. I’m Nicola Parrish. Pleased to meet you.”

He shook her hand, noting the firm grip, the slender fingers, the soft skin. “Thank you for fitting me in so quickly.”

“Your mother said it was urgent.”

Unexpected grief constricted his throat. “It is. And it’s not. In fact, I don’t really know why I’m here. Or what you can do...”

She waved an arm. “Have a seat. We’ll sort things out.”

Her ash-blond hair was cut in a chin-length bob. Though it swung as she moved her head, he could swear that not a single strand dared to dance out of place. She was slender, but not skinny, tall, but still a few inches shy of his height.

He scanned the wall behind her head. Harvard Law. A second degree in forensic science. Various awards and accolades. Combined with the fashionable black suit she wore, he got the message. This woman was smart, dedicated and professional. Whether or not she was good at ferreting out information and answers remained to be seen.

Suddenly, she stood. “Perhaps we might be more comfortable over here.” Not waiting to see if he would follow, she stepped from behind her desk and moved to a small sitting area. Now he could see that her legs were her best asset. They were the kind of legs that made teenage boys and grown men believe in a benevolent creator.

He sat down in an armchair that was more comfortable than it looked. The lawyer picked up a silver pot. “Coffee?”

“Please. Black. No sugar.”

She poured his drink and handed it to him, their fingers brushing momentarily. Neither of her hands boasted a ring of any kind. Pierce drank half the cup in one gulp, wincing when his tongue protested the temperature of the liquid. A shot of whiskey might have been more in order.

The lawyer’s eyes were kind, but watchful. She waited for him to speak, and when he didn’t, she sighed. “The clock is ticking, Mr. Avery. I only have forty-five minutes today.”

Pierce leaned forward, his head in his hands. “I don’t know where to start.” He felt defeated, helpless. Those emotions were so foreign to him that he was angry. Frustrated. Ready to snap.

“The only information I received from your mother was that you needed to investigate a possible case of hospital fraud from over three decades ago. I assume this has something to do with your birth?”

He sat back in his chair, his hands gripping the arms. His mother had contacted Nicola Parrish because one of his mom’s good friends had worked with the lawyer in an adoption situation and had highly recommended her work ethic, in addition to her investigative experience. “It does.”

“Are we talking about a situation where infants might have mistakenly gone home with the wrong parents?”

“It’s not that simple.” Perhaps he should have seen a shrink first. To sort out his chaotic feelings. Lawyers were trained to be observant, not to get into a guy’s head. Although in truth, he didn’t want anyone inside his head. Because if that happened, he would be unable to hide the dark river of confusion that swelled and crested in his veins.

“Mr. Avery?”

Inhaling sharply, he dug his fingernails into the thick, expensive upholstery. “My father is dying of kidney failure.”

The flicker of sympathy in her blue-gray eyes seemed genuine. “I’m sorry.”

“He needs a transplant. His time may run out while he’s on the waiting list. So I decided I should be the one to do it. We ran all the tests, and...” He stopped short as the lump in his throat made speech impossible.

“And what?”

Pierce jumped to his feet, pacing the small space. He noted the expensive Oriental rug in pastel shades of pink and green. The buffed hardwood floors visible elsewhere. The fireplace that had been functional once upon a time, but now framed a large arrangement of forsythia.

“I’m not his son.” He’d said those words in his head a hundred times in the last three days. Blurting them aloud made the truth no more palatable.

“You were adopted? And you didn’t know?”

“My mother says that’s not the case.”

“An affair, then?”

Pierce winced inwardly. “I don’t think that’s a possibility. My mother is a one-man/one-woman kind of female. She adores my dad. For a moment I thought she might be lying to me about the adoption thing. But I saw her face when the doctor told us. She was devastated. This news was as shocking to her as it was to me.”

“So then the only other explanation is that you were switched in the hospital nursery, right?”

“My mother’s aunt, my great-aunt, was the doctor on duty that night. I highly doubt that she would have allowed such a mistake.”

“So you need me to do what?”

He leaned his forearm on the mantel, staring at a painting of Thomas Jefferson hanging on the wall above the fireplace. The former president had fathered an undetermined number of children. People were debating his paternity even now.

Pierce had never once doubted his familial connections. He was as close to his parents as a son could be, though they’d had their differences during his adolescent years. The knowledge that he was not his father’s blood son had shaken him to the core. If he wasn’t Pierce Avery, then who was he?

“My mother is spending every waking minute at the hospital with my father. She hopes they will get him stabilized enough to go home. But even so, her focus is his well-being.”

“And you?”

“I’ve informed my assistant manager that I may need some personal time. He’s extremely competent. So I have no worries there. I’ll make myself available to you as much as possible, but we need you to spearhead this investigation. We’ve told my father I’m not a match, but he doesn’t know the whole truth. Clearly, this is very important to us. We need your help.”

* * *

Nikki had never seen a man less likely to need help from a woman. Pierce Avery was big. Broad-shouldered, well over six feet and muscular on top of that. He looked like he could take a mountain apart with his bare hands...or scale one in a blizzard.

He was also the kind of man who instinctively protected women. She could see it in his stance. His sheer masculinity made something flutter in her belly. She was educated, independent. Financially stable. So why did the prospect of being coddled and sheltered by a big, strong man make her go weak in the knees with silly feminine arousal?

Those pesky prehistoric pheromones.

“It seems to me that our first step will be to subpoena hospital records,” she said calmly. Pierce Avery wanted immediate action. That much was evident. So she would try to be accommodating.

Her would-be client grimaced. “The hospital was a private facility. In the mid-nineties, it was bought out by a corporate entity, absorbed and ultimately bulldozed.”

“Nevertheless, the records had to be preserved somewhere.”

“That’s what we’re hoping. How long will it take you to get them?”

Nikki frowned. “You seem to have the misguided notion that you are the only case I have to consider.” His single-mindedness was understandable, but unacceptable.

“We can pay.”

Nikki felt her hackles rise. “I don’t like it when rich people throw their money around and expect everyone else to jump.”

He glanced at her expensively framed diplomas. “Harvard isn’t exactly cheap, Ms. Parrish. I doubt you’ve ever clipped coupons.”

She willed her anger to subside, regulating her breathing until she could speak without inflection. “You’d be surprised.”

He stared at her. “I’ve never cared much for lawyers.”

One by one, he was pushing each of her buttons. Teeth clenched, she glared. “Are you always this obnoxious?” She stood, smoothing her skirt.