Sandra Marton - Claiming His Love-Child

“I’m sure there is, but she wouldn’t discuss it. I tried to talk to her the first time I realized something was wrong. She flunked one of my exams.” Hutchins gave a sharp laugh. “Understand, she never so much as gave a wrong answer until then. Anyway, I called her in for a chat. I asked if she had a problem she wanted to discuss with me. She said she didn’t.”

“And?”

“And, because I was her advisor, I began hearing from her other instructors. The same thing was happening in their classes. She was failing tests, not turning in papers, not participating in discussions. They all asked if I knew the reason.”

“So, you spoke with Marissa again…”

“Of course. She told me she’d had to take on a heavier work schedule at some restaurant. The Chiliburger, I think she said, over on Telegraph. I offered to see about some additional scholarship money but she said no, she had expenses that would extend beyond the school year.” Hutchins frowned. “She looked awful, Cullen. Tired. Peaked, if you’ll pardon such an old-fashioned word. I asked her if she was sick. She said she wasn’t.” Hutchins shrugged. “Next thing I knew, she’d dropped out of school. I phoned her, got the same message I assume you got. I even went to her apartment, but she’d cleared out.”

“Did you go to this place where she works? The Chiliburger?”

“No. This is America,” Ian said with a little smile. “People are entitled to lead their lives as they wish. Marissa had made it clear she didn’t want to discuss her problems. I’m her advisor, not her father. There’s a certain line I don’t have the right to cross.”

Cullen could feel a muscle knotting and unknotting in his jaw. Hutchins was right. Marissa Perez was entitled to lead her life as she saw fit. If she wanted to sleep with a stranger and then ignore him, she could. If she wanted to drop out of law school and walk away from a future others would kill for, she could do that, too.

And he could do what he had to do. Find her, and find out what in hell was going on.

“You’re right,” Cullen said as the men walked slowly to the front door. “You did everything you could.”

“You’re going to talk with her? Assuming you can find her, that is?”

Cullen laughed. “I have a feeling finding her won’t be hard. Getting her to talk to me might be a different story.”

CULLEN knew exactly where to find the Chiliburger. It was, as burger joints went, an institution.

He had eaten countless fries and burgers within the confines of its greasy walls; he’d studied in its vinyl booths, at wooden tables scarred with the incised initials of at least four decades’ worth of students.

He drove to the restaurant, lucked out on a parking space and strolled inside. A blast of heavy-metal music made him wince. Even the stuff pouring from the jukebox was the same. So was the aroma of fried onions, chili and beer.

He scanned the room. It was crowded. No surprise there, either. Holiday or not, there were always some students who remained in town. It was coming up on supper time, and they’d gather at places like this for a cheap meal and some laughs.

He spotted a vacant booth way in the back, went to it and slid across the red imitation leather seat. The table was still littered with plates and glasses; he pushed them aside and reached for the stained menu propped between the ketchup bottle and the salt and pepper shakers.

As far as he could tell, only one waitress was working the tables, a heavyset blonde of indeterminate age.

No Marissa.

After a while, the blonde appeared at his elbow and shifted a wad of gum from one side of her mouth to the other.

“You know what you want or you need more time?”

“A Coke, please.”

“That’s it?”

Cullen smiled. What she meant was, You’re going to take up space at one of my tables and that’s all you’re going to spend?

“And a burger. The house special, medium-well.” He shoved the menu back into its hiding place, considered asking Blondie about Marissa and decided this wasn’t the right time. “No rush.”

“No rush is right. I got all these tables to handle by myself.”

“Nobody else on with you tonight?”

“Oh, there’s somebody on with me.” Blondie rolled her eyes. “She just isn’t here yet, is all.”

Cullen tried not to show his sudden interest. “She’s late?”

“She’s always late,” Blondie said. “Last couple months, anyway. You want guacamole or mayo on that burger?”

“You pick it. How come?”

“How come what?”

“How come the other waitress started showing up late?”

Blondie shrugged. “How would I know? Only thing I’m sure of is that it’s a pain in the butt, trying to cover for her so the boss doesn’t realize she’s not here.”

“Then why do it?”

The waitress’s expression softened and she leaned toward him. “’Cause she’s a nice kid. Always did her fair share until now.”

“And that changed?”

“It sure did. She says she’s just been feeling under the weather.” The blonde shifted her gum. “You ask me,” she said slyly, “the trouble with her is that she’s—”

“She’s what?”

Something in his tone must have given him away. Blondie drew back. “What’s with all these questions?”

“I’m just making conversation, that’s all.”

“Well, you got questions about Marissa Perez, ask her direct. She just came in. I’ll put your order in, but it’ll be her takes care of—Mister? Mister, what’s the problem?”

What was the problem? Cullen didn’t know where to begin. Marissa was coming from behind the counter that ran the length of one side of the room, but this wasn’t the Marissa he’d spent countless nights dreaming about.

Her face was devoid of color; there were rings under her eyes. Her hair, which he remembered as being as lustrous as a crow’s wing, was dull and lifeless.

Something was terribly wrong with her.

He shot to his feet.

She saw him as he did.

She paled—though how she could get paler than she already was, he thought grimly, was hard to comprehend. He saw her lips form his name as she took a step back.

“Marissa,” he said, but he knew she couldn’t hear him, not over the din of music and loud voices.

She stared at him. Her lips formed his name. For a second, he thought she was going to pass out. He mouthed an oath, took a step toward her, but she pasted a bloodless smile to her lips and started toward him.

“Cullen,” she said in a thin voice, “what a nice surprise.”

It didn’t take a genius to know that her smile was a lie. She was surprised, all right, but nice? No way. She was about as glad to see him as a lone gazelle would be to see a lion.

“Yeah,” he said coldly, “what a nice surprise.” His hand closed around her wrist. “You look terrible.”

“Are you always so free with compliments?”

“Cut the crap.” Why was he so angry? So what if she looked like death warmed over? It wasn’t his business, he told himself, even as his eyes narrowed and drilled into hers. “Is that why you didn’t call me? Have you been sick?”

“I didn’t call you because I didn’t want to call you. I know that must come as a shock, Cullen, but—”

“Is that the reason you left school?”

Her face colored. “Who told you that?”

“You were the best student Ian Hutchins had, and you quit. You moved out of your apartment, you’re working your tail off in a joint like this and you look like hell. I want to know why.”

“Just who do you think you are, Mr. O’Connell? I don’t owe any explanations to you or anybody. My life is my—”

“I’m making it my business. Last time we saw each other, you had the world by the tail. I want to know what happened.”