The Hunt For Hawke's Daughter

She looked around for a chair for him. All of them were too dainty. She chose what was most likely to accommodate him, a gilded French fauteuil, and he settled on it. His hard, long-limbed body was too big for it, but he didn’t complain. She seated herself at the side of the desk facing him.

There was a moment of strained silence while those disturbing blue eyes of his captured her gaze and held it. She caught her breath and fought the memory of the incredible six weeks they had once shared.

He leaned toward her suddenly, his expression rigid. “I’m not going to waste words, Karen. This isn’t a social call. I’m here on business. Serious business.”

Here it comes, she thought, tensing to face the blow he was about to deliver.

He surprised her when he reached inside the breast pocket of his suit jacket and withdrew a photograph, which he placed on the corner of the desk with a brusque, “Will you identify this man for me, please?”

She stared at Devlin. This wasn’t the accusation she’d been expecting. What on earth—

“The photograph,” he reminded her.

She turned her head and lowered her gaze, her bewilderment deepening as she looked at the photograph. It was an informal shot of her husband, Michael Ramey. Not a very good one because the camera must have caught him when he was unaware of it. Like many people, Michael objected to having his picture taken, though he had no reason to mind. His features were good ones, if unremarkable, and he kept his body in trim condition.

“It’s your husband, Michael Ramey, isn’t it?” Devlin prompted her.

Then he already knew about her marriage to Michael. How had he learned of it? More importantly, why? “I think so,” she said cautiously.

“You’re not certain?”

Actually she was, though afraid to admit it. There was something wrong here, something she sensed she didn’t want to hear. “I’ve never seen this photograph before. If it is Michael, it was taken several years ago before I met him. He’s different here, a little more weight maybe and wearing the mustache. Where did you get this picture?”

“From my client, a woman back in Denver who hired me to find the guy you’re looking at. The man who calls himself your husband.”

She lifted startled eyes to Devlin’s face. “He is my husband.”

“Yeah, I know. I wasn’t idle while I waited for you to get back from wherever it is you went. I checked the records here in the city and learned Karen Howard married Michael Ramey two and a half years ago. It wasn’t what I wanted to discover.”

“I have to tell you,” she said slowly, “that you are beginning to scare me.”

“I wish I didn’t have to do this to you, Karen, believe me. But there’s no way around it. Michael Ramey, who was known as Kenneth Daniels back in Denver, was married to my client. Trouble is, he never bothered to divorce her when he walked out on her and disappeared three years ago.”

Jolted, Karen resisted his shocking allegation. “This is preposterous! You’ve got the wrong man! A—a look-alike!”

“Do you have a recent photo of Michael Ramey in your wallet, Karen? We could compare pictures.”

She shook her head. No, she had no pictures of Michael. The several that had existed, mostly from their wedding, had been destroyed. It happened when Michael cleaned out the closet in his study. By mistake, along with the other rubbish, he had carted the box of their photos stored there out to the trash. Karen had the uneasy feeling now that this accident, about which Michael had been so contrite at the time, might not have been an accident at all.

“But we really don’t need to compare photographs, do we, Karen?” Devlin pressed her solemnly. “Because there is no mistake. Kenneth Daniels and Michael Ramey are the same man.”

“Do you know what you’re telling me?” she whispered.

“Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry about it. But there’s no avoiding it. The man you thought you were legally married to is guilty of bigamy.”

Karen felt as if the floor under her chair was no longer solid, as if it had been rocked off its foundations. Bigamy was the kind of thing you saw in tabloid headlines. It always involved strangers in other places, never anyone you knew. So how could it be happening to her?

“Why?” she appealed to Devlin. “Why would Michael do such a thing?”

He shook his head. “I have no idea.”

She hadn’t really expected him to know, any more than she understood it herself. Michael Ramey, the man to whom she had been a loyal wife for two and a half years, was suddenly a complete stranger.

But she needed to understand what was happening to her. Questions swarmed into her mind. “This woman back in Denver, this—this other wife, has she been looking for him all this time?”

“No, it was only last week that she hired me to find him. Actually, she’d been granted a divorce from him almost two years ago on the grounds of desertion. But it still makes him a bigamist, since he married you before that divorce.”

“Then why is she trying to—”

“She has a successful fitness center in Denver, and she’s in the process of selling it. It’s her business, but Daniels, Ramey—whoever he is—was somehow involved in it. Her lawyer has advised her that, to avoid possible litigation, she needs him to sign away any claim.”

“Only last week,” Karen murmured, struggling to sort it out, “and already you’ve located him.”

“Sometimes you get lucky, and sometimes you have the right mother. She’s wicked when it comes to computers. Handles a lot of that end of the business for all of us. I sent her a copy of this photograph, and she did the rest.”

Karen remembered Devlin once telling her how his parents, who had founded the Hawke Detective Agency, managed the home office in Chicago, networking with all of the other nationwide branches of the firm operated by Devlin’s brothers and sisters.

“Ma posted the photograph, along with an inquiry, on the Internet,” he went on to explain. “We didn’t have to wait long for results.”

“Another agency responded?”

“Uh-uh. It was a teenager, one of your neighbors down the block. Kids like him live on the Internet. He recognized our man and contacted us. I flew into Minneapolis and spoke with the kid and his parents first thing this morning. I didn’t know then you were involved, Karen. I didn’t guess until the kid mentioned Michael Ramey had a wife of almost three years named Karen and that she was an interior designer. And after he’d described you…well, there didn’t seem to be much doubt, though I had to make sure of your marriage in the records.”

“So you came to Dream Makers. Why here, Devlin? It’s Michael you want. Why didn’t you go straight to Michael?”

“I tried. He wasn’t at your house or his office.”

“He’s away from the office a lot. He handles commercial real estate, which you probably learned, and that means showing properties to clients. His assistant, Bonnie, should have told you as much.”

“She wasn’t there either. Place was locked up.”

“Then she’s probably with Michael. Sometimes, when the deal is a complicated one, she goes with him. Why, Devlin?” she persisted. “Why come to me at all, when there’s the risk I’ll let him know you’re looking for him? When you could lose him before you’re able to reach him?”

Their eyes locked while she waited for his answer. For a breathless moment Karen felt the memories she had tried to resist flow between them like warm honey. Far too many of those memories were sensual ones. They might not have been a problem, had they remained just memories. Instead, they triggered an awareness of his potent presence. She could almost feel the heat of his solid body as he leaned toward her earnestly, could detect his clean masculine scent.

That she was capable of acknowledging an attraction that still existed, that she could recognize its potential sizzle, shocked her. How could she be experiencing such wildly dangerous emotions at this, of all times?

His voice was deep, almost gruff, when he finally answered her. “Learning it was you and not some stranger…well, it would have been pretty rotten of me not to warn you. I owed you that much.”

“Thank you.”

She watched him as he reclaimed the photograph and returned it to his inside breast pocket. His business suit was trim and dark blue. It gave him a dynamic image, but it seemed strange to see him clad so formally. The Devlin she had known had never dressed in anything but jeans and ski outfits. When he had worn anything at all, that is, but that was another memory she had to bury.

Perhaps Devlin, too, had memories he needed to tame, because he was all business again as he got to his feet. “I don’t have the right to ask you not to confront Ramey with everything I’ve just told you before I get the chance to see him,” he said, his voice almost curt, as if he didn’t trust himself to be sympathetic again. “I hope you won’t, but if you feel you don’t have a choice, then please make sure he understands I’m not a cop. I’m not here to arrest him, and I’m not interested in making any charges. All my client cares about is having him sign her papers I’ve brought with me.”

“And if he decides instead to disappear?”

“Then I’ll find him again,” he promised, and she knew he meant it.

Karen stood, and there was another precarious moment when the forceful blue eyes under the heavy black eyebrows sought hers. All out of nowhere the thought struck her that she need no longer consider herself a married woman. It was a treacherous idea. It even felt like an immoral one, and she quickly smothered it. She was suddenly anxious for Devlin to leave. But, maddeningly, he lingered.

“Did your assistant give you my business card?”

“Yes.”

“My cell phone number is listed on it. Use it if you need me.”

“Yes.” Why didn’t he just go? She wanted to be alone so she could try to deal with this monstrous thing.

“It may be necessary for you to sign a deposition. You’ll have to consult your lawyer about just what your situation is legally.”

“Yes.”

There was another uncomfortable pause. What was he waiting for now?

“If we had to go and meet again, Karen,” he finally said, his voice raspy with emotion, “I would have wished for it to be anything but this.”

HE WAS FINALLY GONE. She was mercifully alone again. Too dazed to go on standing, she sank back into her desk chair. She sat there, struggling to accept what she had just learned. Devlin was too careful an investigator to have brought her anything but the truth. She could no longer question it.

Bigamy! Michael was guilty of bigamy, and she was his victim!

Whatever had vanished from their relationship, it was a cruel blow to learn that her marriage to him had been nothing but a lie. Which meant everything he had shared with her about his past—and she realized now it wasn’t all that much—must also be a lie. Then exactly who was Michael Ramey, and what other secrets might he be guarding?

Whatever the explanation, she would no longer need to seek a divorce since it seemed she had never been legally married to him in the first place. It occurred to her there was a terrible irony in that.

All of this was too agonizing. She didn’t want to think about it anymore. Livie. She wanted to be with Livie, to hold her securely in her arms. She longed for someone she could trust and who trusted her, someone who belonged to her without question in a world that suddenly seemed shadowed with uncertainties. Only her daughter could satisfy her need.

Maud and Robyn must have thought her a little crazed when she rushed away from Dream Makers a few minutes later after the most inadequate of explanations. But they didn’t try to delay her with questions she was in no mood to answer. Claiming her blue Camry from the parking garage across the street, Karen drove across the Mississippi River into St. Paul.

The tree-shaded house was located near one of the colleges and not far from a park. It had a soothing quality about it. There was an old-fashioned glider on the front porch and a fenced yard in the back with a sandbox and a playhouse.

Parents were grateful for Mildred Gustafsson. A retired kindergarten teacher, she provided their children with superior care. One of her toddlers, an inquisitive boy named Joey, peered around her leg when she answered Karen’s ring.

“Mrs. Ramey!” The lanky woman, who seemed far younger than her mature years, was a little startled to find Karen standing on her porch.

“I know this is way ahead of the usual hour we pick Livie up. But I got back from Atlanta earlier than scheduled, so I thought I’d collect her now. She’s not still napping, is she?”

Mildred Gustafsson looked bewildered. “But Livie isn’t here.”

Karen felt her stomach lurch sickeningly. “What do you mean she’s not here? She has to be here.”

“I thought you knew. I thought he must have told you. Mrs. Ramey, your husband came for Livie yesterday morning. She’s with her father.”

Chapter Two

Devlin had been far too busy to think of food. It wasn’t until he came away from Dream Makers that he realized he hadn’t eaten anything since the plane that had brought him from Denver. Locating a fast-food joint, he ordered a burger and fries and carried them out to his rental car.

It was midafternoon by the time he polished off his belated lunch, and the sun was hot. Even though he had removed his suit coat and tie and rolled up his sleeves, it was much too warm to go on sitting here in an unshaded parking lot. But that’s exactly what he did.

He had an unconscious habit of whistling a slow tune whenever he was considering all the angles of a difficult case. Or when he was dealing with an emotional situation he didn’t like. And since that was exactly what he was experiencing now, he began to whistle so softly that the result was almost inaudible. But the action enabled him to concentrate.

He’d made a mistake, a serious one, in going to see Karen. Even though it would have been an insensitive way to give her the brutal truth about the man she’d married, he should have handled it by phone or even left a letter for her with her assistant. But he hadn’t expected after almost four years to find himself aching in the gut at the sight of the woman. Never mind how that sweet mouth and lithe body affected another area of his anatomy, stirring unwanted memories of the fantastic nights they had shared in that Colorado chalet. He could still see the snow drifting through the evergreens on the mountain outside the window while a fire blazed on the bedroom’s stone hearth. Not that they had needed its warmth. They had created their own heat.

What was he doing? This was stupid. Getting all nostalgic about something that had ended badly. Because if he was going to start examining memories, then he’d better focus on the only one that had any reality. She’d abruptly left him and flown back to Minneapolis, making it clear that her goodbye was a permanent one. No real explanation, just as though she’d offered him some blithe: Been fun, babe, but gotta go.

Funny. Devlin would have sworn that, unlike the women who usually appealed to him, Karen Howard’s values were traditional ones. That, because of the intenseness of their relationship, she might have been interested in exploring a more lasting connection. But, as intimate as the two of them had been, he hadn’t really known her, even though they had been together for many weeks.

He’d told himself he was lucky, that a commitment was the last thing he wanted, anyway. The truth was, she had hurt him when she walked away without a backward glance. Hurt him for a long time, though eventually he’d managed to forget all about her. Or so he had believed. But now…

Damn, this was no good. Even if, technically, she wasn’t a married woman, he needed to stay away from her. He’d learned this afternoon that he couldn’t trust himself anywhere near her, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be wounded again. For all he knew, she was madly in love with the bastard who had deceived her, would forgive him and go on loving him.

Checking his watch, Devlin decided it was time to head back to Michael Ramey’s office, which was located near the Metrodome. If Ramey still wasn’t there, he was prepared to wait for him. This was the part of his work that he hated, spending long hours in a parked car watching a building and hoping your objective turned up before your backside went totally numb.

He’d hoped surveillance wouldn’t be necessary, that Karen could have told him exactly where to find Ramey. Actually, it had been his major reason for seeing her. Yeah, sure it was.

Starting the car, he left the parking lot and edged out into the traffic. He knew that, if Ramey didn’t show by closing time, he had no other choice. Despite his promise to avoid Karen, he would need to go to their home.

He was still whistling softly as he neared the Metrodome. Still trying to understand why she had turned her back on him four years ago.

KAREN FOUGHT for self-control as she faced Mildred Gustafsson on her front porch. She tried to quiet the panic that gripped her.

“What you’re telling me—I don’t understand it. Why did he take Livie?”

The woman was concerned, but she also looked uncomfortable with a situation that had suddenly become awkward. “There’s nothing to be worried about, is there, Mrs. Ramey? I mean, he is Livie’s father. He had every right to—”

“What did he tell you?”

“That, since you were going to be gone for a few days, he’d decided to spend some quality time with his daughter. I understood that he was going to forget work and that they were going to enjoy a little holiday together until your return. Livie was all excited about it when he told her, though I’m not sure she actually understood—”

“Where? Where were they going?”

“Now that he didn’t say. I suppose he could have meant just a holiday at home with outings around the city, like the zoo and that new kiddie park. But, of course, if you’ve been to your house already—”

“I haven’t—not yet.”

“Well, there you go. When you get home you’ll either find them there or an explanation of where they’ve gone.”

Karen shook her head. “He should have told me what he was planning. I should have known about it beforehand.”

The apprehension must have been all too evident on her face. The woman placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “I had the impression it was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing but that he would let you know. There’s probably been a mix-up. He could very well have left a message at your hotel in Atlanta, and they neglected to get it to you.”

Karen knew that Mildred Gustafsson didn’t share her fear. Why should she when Michael Ramey had always been a responsible, devoted father? The woman was convinced it was nothing but a misunderstanding.

The little boy, Joey, had followed Mildred out to the porch and was now pulling at her slacks, demanding attention. Karen had no further reason to keep her, and she didn’t think anything could be gained by telling her about Michael’s bigamy. In any case, she was anxious to get home.

Back in her Camry, making every effort to hurry through the frustrating traffic, she tried to tell herself that her alarm was needless. That her recent discovery about Michael could in no way be connected with this, that he wouldn’t have taken Livie and just disappeared. Nothing to be scared about. Michael would never hurt Livie. Just as Mildred Gustafsson insisted, it was all a mix-up. An innocent mix-up.

But why hadn’t Michael made certain she knew about this holiday of his? Knew about it and approved of it. She had a bad feeling driven by a powerful maternal instinct, and she couldn’t shake it. She wanted Livie with her, and she wanted her now.

Her heart was racing with anticipation, and a prayer for delivery from her growing anguish, as she came in sight of their home on Summit Avenue. The house behind a cast-iron fence was a shingled Victorian with a mansard roof and dormers. It was in no way as large and imposing as its red sandstone neighbors along St. Anthony’s Hill, but it had always given Karen pleasure. Now it was nothing more to her than a property that was too expensive because Michael wanted luxuries and could afford them.

One of those luxuries was the tan BMW that he drove, which she hoped to find parked in the drive. It wasn’t there. When she let herself into the house, there was no familiar squeal of her daughter galloping to meet her at the door on a pair of chubby legs. There was no sound at all. The place wore the silence of desertion.

Karen went from room to room searching for a note that Michael might have left for her, checking the answering machine for a possible message from him. Nothing. She was trembling with terror when she went upstairs to look into his closet. Suppose it was empty, all of his things gone? She kept thinking about that other wife in Denver and how Michael had left her without an explanation and how she had never heard from him again. But this was different. This time he had Livie with him.

Her relief, when she went into his closet and found his suits still hanging there, lasted only a moment. Looking further, she discovered that some of his more casual clothing was missing, along with a pair of their suitcases. And several items of Livie’s clothes had been taken from her bedroom as well.

They weren’t spending a holiday at home. They had left the city, and she had no knowledge of their destination.

Trying to remain calm, Karen went to the phone. She rang Michael’s office. No one picked up. Then she tried to reach his assistant, Bonnie, at her apartment. Again no answer. She began to phone friends and neighbors. But Michael had confided in none of them. No one had seen him leave. No one knew where he had gone.

She was frantic by now, unable to convince herself he had merely taken Livie on a short vacation somewhere. Something was wrong. Very wrong. She knew it.

No longer hesitating, she called the police. While she waited for a patrol car to arrive, she made an effort to contact her lawyer. Aggravating. With the long Fourth of July weekend coming up, people were already out of town. He was among them.

Minutes later, she was seated in her kitchen with a uniformed officer who listened to her politely. Even before she finished expressing her deepening anxiety, she knew he wasn’t going to help her. She could see it in his narrow face. And she could hear it in the way he cleared his voice when he finally responded.

“Ma’am, I don’t see that we can do anything for you. This doesn’t qualify as a child abduction or a denial of custodial rights. If your husband legally adopted the little girl, he’s entitled to have her with him.”

“But they’re gone!”

“On vacation for a few days while you were supposed to be out of town. That’s what you say your sitter told you, and there’s no reason to think otherwise, even if he did neglect to inform you of his intention. Ma’am, he hasn’t broken any law.”

She wanted to shout that Michael Ramey had violated the law, that he was guilty of bigamy. That he might not even be Michael Ramey. But she didn’t think it was wise to bring a charge like this before she talked to her lawyer.

Instead, Karen made the mistake of pleading, “But you don’t understand! Livie is vulnerable!”

He frowned. “How do you mean, ma’am?”

“She suffers from asthma! She hasn’t had a severe attack in some time, but that’s because I’m careful! Now she’s out there somewhere with him, and anything could happen!”

She couldn’t manage to keep the note of hysteria out of her voice, couldn’t stop herself from sounding like an overprotective mother whose imagination had run away with her. And, infuriatingly, that’s just how he judged her. He offered soothing reassurances, telling her that her husband would surely keep Livie safe, telling her that she had nothing to worry about. Like Mildred Gustafsson, he recognized no threat.

I should have told him about the bigamy, Karen thought after the officer left. It might have made all the difference. But somehow, at this point, she didn’t really think so. He would have regarded it as a separate issue. And although he would have promised her a police investigation around the accusation, it would have meant a delay. No immediate action where Livie was concerned, which was all that she cared about at this point.