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The final person he spoke to, a woman, conceded that they did indeed keep such records. The circumstances were unusual…. Unprecedented was what she meant. The mother was deceased? They would require proof of her death, as well as his and the child’s identification before releasing the requested information. However, assuming he was the father, she didn’t see why they couldn’t then give confirmation.
Lucy answered that evening when he called. Sierra was at a friend’s, apparently. Jon tersely explained what Sierra would need to produce.
“Doesn’t a doctor or the medical examiner or somebody have to sign a certificate of death?” she asked.
“Yes. Sierra wouldn’t necessarily have that, but we could get it. I suspect a newspaper article would do as well, though.”
“She has clippings.” Lucy was quiet for a moment. He pictured her face with its soft, round chin and a mouth that had struck him as feminine rather than sultry. For some reason, he imagined her biting her lower lip. “She put them in her photo album after the last picture she has of her and her mother together.”
Well, damn. He didn’t like to think of the girl sitting alone in her bedroom—in a foster home, no less—flipping through that album. He wondered if she did often. Every night? Gazing at her mother’s face, desperate to be sure she never forgot it. Turning the last, stiff page to the black-and-white newspaper clippings. Had the paper printed a picture of Sierra’s mother?
“How did she die?” he asked.
“Drunk driver. Middle of the afternoon, not even nighttime. He pulled out to pass someone who was daring to go the speed limit and hit Sierra’s mom’s car head-on.”
“Hell.”
“He wasn’t even badly hurt.” Outrage was evident in her voice.
“Too often, drunk drivers aren’t.” He hesitated. “What was her name?”
“Rebecca Lind. She went by Becky.”
Jon vaguely recalled the accident. County deputies had responded and arrested the other driver. He was engulfed again by the stunning feeling of unreality. What if he’d known at the time that Becky Lind might be the mother of his child? A woman he’d never met. He shook his head. He’d made…what? Two hundred bucks over the course of his several donations? A pittance. Not worth it.
But then, Sierra wouldn’t exist if he hadn’t. Or she wouldn’t be Sierra—she’d be someone else, with a different father. And he suspected she was a remarkable girl. So maybe it wasn’t so bad, what he’d done. He felt weirdly…protective. As if he hadn’t liked the notion that he could have been responsible for her failing to be born. Jon heard himself make a sound that might have been a laugh, but came closer to the sharp exhalation of air a man made after a fist to the gut.
“Sierra has a birth certificate?” he said finally.
“Yes, of course. She had to produce it to get a driver’s permit.”
“She’s driving?” He didn’t know why that shocked him.
“With me. She didn’t get into driver’s ed last semester, so she’s taking it this fall. That’s the only reason she doesn’t have a license.”
“How’s she doing behind the wheel?”
Lucy’s chuckle tripped down his backbone like dancing fingers. It was closer to a giggle—young, yet just husky enough to remind him she was a woman. “Not well. She scares me to death. She’s, um, not as coordinated as she could be. She always looks down when she moves her foot to the brake or the gas. I can’t seem to break her of it.”
He grinned, even though he was wincing, too. “You’re a brave woman.”
“Not brave enough to let her out on the highway yet.” There was a tiny silence, and her laughter was gone. “Especially after what happened to her mom.”
After a moment he said, “She’s brave, too, to be willing to drive so soon after her mom was killed behind the wheel.”
“That’s probably part of the reason she’s so stiff driving. She wants the independence, but…”
But. He got that. Warring impulses. Sierra Lind, he thought, was indeed courageous. He was more than a little surprised to realize a part of him half hoped she was his child.
“Poor kid,” he said softly.
“Yes.” Stoutly Lucy said, “I can drive Sierra to Seattle tomorrow afternoon. She can show her ID and the newspaper clippings. It would be awkward if the two of you went together, especially if it turns out you’re not her father.”
He supposed it would, but found that he was a little disappointed. He would have liked to see both woman and girl again.
Jon frowned when it crossed his mind that Lucy might be married. But wouldn’t she or Sierra have referred to the husband if there was one? There wasn’t a live-in boyfriend, or she couldn’t have gotten licensed as a foster parent. Did she have other foster kids, or had she known Sierra and gotten licensed specifically to take her? He wanted to ask his questions, but knew the timing wasn’t right. If Sierra was his daughter, he’d be getting to know Lucy, too. If she wasn’t…
Determination firmed in him. He would find out whether Lucy was single, and if she was, he’d ask her out.
He was both thoughtful and irritatingly aroused when he said good-night and ended the call.
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN HIS CELL PHONE RANG, Jon was in the middle of a conference with two commanding officers of the SWAT team, who were requesting new-and-improved weaponry and body armor. After glancing at the screen on his phone, he said, “I need to take this,” and stood, walking to the window to answer the call. “Brenner.”
“This is Lucy Malone. I just wanted to let you know that Sierra and I have done our part.”
“Good,” he said. “Did you have to take the day off work?”
“I got someone to cover for me.”
He realized he didn’t know what she did for a living. If he hadn’t had two men waiting right behind him, he might have asked. “All right. I’ll be in touch.”
Ending the call, he walked to the table. “Let me look at the budget. I don’t know if I can okay your whole shopping list, but I’ll do what I can. Now I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me.”
Lieutenant Stevens looked faintly surprised at the abrupt dismissal, but said only “Good enough.”
Stevens, Jon thought, was an ambitious man, but also fair with his officers, smart and diplomatic. He was Jon’s choice to take over his own current position if he won the election. He was less sure he believed Sergeant Clem Hansen had what it took to be in charge of the team as Stevens’s replacement.
Jon was still mulling over the problem ten minutes later when he drove out of the multilevel county parking garage. SWAT members had to make tough decisions. He wanted someone with a cool head and a good sense of public perception to be leading them. The men respected Hansen, but he made Jon uneasy. For one thing, he seemed to enjoy being deliberately crude in front of female officers. Stevens had called him on it, and he’d excused himself by saying they should be treated the same as the men. If they weren’t tough enough, they didn’t belong on the job. Plainly, he didn’t think they did. There were no women on the team; the sheer physicality of the requirements had so far kept the few women who’d applied from qualifying. But if Hansen felt contempt for women in general, it would affect his decisions as commanding officer.
Thinking about Clem Hansen led Jon into consideration of some of the other personnel shifts he had in mind. He’d passed Boeing Field on I-5 before he let himself think about why he was taking a couple of hours in the middle of the day to drive into Seattle. His fingers flexed on the steering wheel and he realized he had a ball of tension lodged in his belly.
He was opening a can of worms here. Once he’d pried the lid off, they’d start wriggling out. Once he heard the words Sierra Lind is your daughter, he’d have to face the fact that the news would spread. He could ask Sierra to keep their relationship quiet for now—but if he did that she’d think he was ashamed of her.
It would help if she wasn’t into that Goth look. She’d present better to voters if he could get her to take out the eyebrow and nose piercings. Her hair…well, hell. His mouth curved in a reluctant smile. At least the color was cheerful.
And the truth was, she wasn’t really the problem. He was. Choices he’d made long before he had ever considered running for electoral office. Maybe that would make a good addition to high-school life-skills classes. Always keep in mind that your behavior now may disqualify you in future from public office. Do you want to close that door?
His campaign manager wasn’t going to be happy when he told her. Edie Cook wouldn’t appreciate being kept in the dark this long.
Tough. There was always the chance he’d learn today that, in fact, he was not Sierra Lind’s biological father. He’d be off the hook. He wouldn’t have to confess the sins of the past to anyone.
Jon drew a ragged breath that did nothing to ease his tension. He parked outside the modern building not far from the University of Washington campus and got out, locked and went in without letting himself dawdle.
The woman he’d spoken to on the phone was willing to see him immediately. Afraid he’d sue?
Miranda Foley was an attractive woman in her fifties, at a guess. She was pleasant and poised as she led him into her large, elegantly furnished office. He took a seat on the other side of her desk and handed over his driver’s license.
She scrutinized it for a moment, then gave it back. “This is an unfortunate situation. Are you quite certain you want an answer? You were guaranteed anonymity, and I’m very willing to be the bad guy here.”
Temptation showed its ugly face, but he didn’t let himself forget his mantra. Personal responsibility. Sierra deserved better of her father.
“I take it Sierra is my daughter,” he said quietly.
Miranda’s gaze dropped to the single piece of paper that lay squared in the center of her otherwise bare desktop. “Yes.”
He sat still for a moment, absorbing the news. The ball lodged in his gut didn’t unknot…but neither did whatever reaction he’d braced himself for happen. It seemed he’d already achieved acceptance.
“She explained how she found you,” Miranda said. “If word gets out, women’s access to donor sperm could be severely curtailed. I imagine there are a great many men who would live in fear that they’ll be tracked down as you’ve been.” She hesitated. “I’m a little surprised at how calmly you’re taking this.”
He was momentarily amused. If only she knew what was churning inside him.
“The circumstances are somewhat unusual,” he pointed out. “I doubt Sierra would have ever set out to find me if her mother hadn’t been killed, or even if she’d had other family who cared. It was finding herself completely alone that apparently inspired her…quest.”
“Yes, so I gathered.” She sighed. “You do intend to acknowledge her, then?”
“Yes.” He stood. “May I have a copy of that?” He nodded at the paper on her desk.
“This is for you.” She handed it to him.
He thanked her and walked out. He’d gone numb again, he realized. Or something. He found himself sitting in the driver’s seat of his car with no recollection of getting there, and he was a cop. He was always aware of his surroundings. Jon groaned and pressed the heels of his hands against his eye sockets. The pressure grounded him. He heard himself breathing hard. Maybe he wasn’t numb after all.
I’m a dad. Break out the cigars.
She’d be waiting to hear from him. She and Lucy. He hadn’t told them he was coming up to Seattle right away. He didn’t have to call this minute. He could wait until evening. Tomorrow, even.
But that would be cruel.
After a long sigh, Jon took out his cell phone. He went to Received Calls, found Lucy’s number and hit Send.
It rang only once. “Captain Brenner?” she said warily. So she’d either memorized his number or entered it in her phone.
“Yes,” he said. “Is Sierra with you?”
“Right here.” There was a murmur of voices. Then a different one, young and full of nerves, said, “This is Sierra.”
“They confirmed to me that I’m your biological father,” he said bluntly.
“Oh!” This was almost a squeal, followed by a more subdued “Oh,” probably after she’d taken in how stilted he sounded.
“I’d like to sit down with you this evening, if you’re free.” It was the first evening in nearly a week that he had been.
“Um, sure. Do you want to come to my…to Lucy’s house?”
He felt a pang that she couldn’t confidently claim ownership of her home. Kids needed to feel safe. Rooted.
“Yeah,” he said. “Can I talk to her for a minute?”
She came on, gave him her address, which he scribbled on the notepad he kept in his breast pocket, and they agreed on seven o’clock. All very matter-of-fact. He ended the call, but made no move to start his car. Instead, he kept staring blindly through the windshield at other parked cars and at the passing traffic on the cross street.
What was he going to say to his daughter tonight?
LUCY TRIED TO LEAVE THEM in privacy. She was eaten up with curiosity, of course, about what Jon was thinking, but he and Sierra were entitled to share things that would remain private.
But Sierra gripped her hand when Lucy tried to excuse herself shortly after letting him in the front door. “I—I’d like you to stay.” Her gaze darted to Jon. “If that’s okay.”
His eyes met Lucy’s. She told herself she was startled because she was used to seeing eyes that color in her foster daughter’s face, not in a man’s. But she knew better. It wasn’t just the stunningly clear, pale blue, it was what she saw in them. His eyes betrayed a rueful acknowledgment of his bemusement at being in this position. And—she thought—some attraction to her.
“It’s fine,” he said. “Lucy will be involved with any plans we make.”
Her knees weakened and she sank onto the sofa beside Sierra, still holding her hand. Plans. Oh, thank goodness. He wasn’t going to try to weasel out of any relationship with Sierra.
Lucy had already offered coffee or tea. He’d pleasantly declined. She had shown him into the tiny living room of her tiny house. He was simply too big for this room, she couldn’t help thinking. He chose the easy chair that was sized for him, but his knees bumped the coffee table. On the other side of it, she and Sierra were ridiculously close to him. Much closer than they’d been in his office. She could see every weary line on his face. His eyebrows and lashes were considerably darker than Sierra’s, making the clear blue of his eyes all the more surprising. There was the faintest hint of a cleft in his chin, and the shadow of a beard on his hard jaw and cheeks. His fingers drummed a staccato beat on the upholstered arm of the chair, but otherwise his composure was absolute.
“Sierra,” he said, “maybe you’d better tell me what you’re hoping for from me.”
A flush rose from the collar of the girl’s black T-shirt, blotchy by the time it reached her cheeks. Her fingers tightened on Lucy’s. “I don’t know.” Lucy could feel her struggle for dignity. “I guess… I thought…maybe you wouldn’t mind having a daughter. Not…not to live with you or anything, but, I don’t know—”
“To pay your college tuition?” he said mildly.
Despite the vivid color in her face, she swiftly lifted her chin and met his eyes. “I never expected money from you. I just wanted…” Her mouth worked. Her voice had gone so soft, he leaned forward, as if afraid he’d miss the rest of what she had to say. “Family,” she finally whispered.
His eyes closed for a moment. Some powerful emotion crossed his face. Lucy couldn’t be sure what it was. Finally he took a deep breath and looked at Sierra. “You have that now.” His voice was kind. He was even smiling faintly. “Not just me. You’ll meet your grandmother and an aunt and uncle and two first cousins, too.”
She stared. “Have you…told them about me?”
“Not yet, but I will. I feel confident they’ll welcome you, Sierra.”
The wonder on her face scared Lucy. It couldn’t possibly be this easy. She hated watching Sierra’s hopes rise like shimmering soap bubbles, all too fragile and certain to pop. Lucy didn’t believe that he was prepared to joyously embrace a teenage daughter’s arrival in his life. There had to be a catch. Probably a whole bunch of them, little traps she imagined closing, snap, snap, snap, until Sierra was dancing fearfully to miss them.
Her own voice was harsh when she said, “Do you intend to tell anyone else about Sierra?”
His dark eyebrows rose. “Do you mean, do I plan to go to the Dispatch or KOMO TV?”
His sardonic tone was probably meant to embarrass her. In her defense of Sierra, Lucy didn’t let it. “I’m asking if you’d rather her existence stay private.”
“Secrets are hard to keep, and this doesn’t have to be one.” The gaze that met hers now was hard. “Would I rather the press not catch wind of her right away? Yeah. I want my campaign to focus on my ability to do the job, not on the surprising appearance of a daughter I didn’t know I had. Is that unreasonable?”
Of course it wasn’t. She wasn’t entirely willing to back down, though. “I’m asking whether Sierra can tell her friends about you, or if you want her to keep quiet for now.”
He noticeably hesitated for a moment. Sierra couldn’t miss that any more than Lucy did. Then he grimaced. “She can tell her friends.” He sighed and met Sierra’s gaze again. “I won’t pretend I’m not concerned about the impact on the election. My opponent will probably try to make something of this if he learns about you. But we’re not going to sneak around, Sierra. You’re indisputably my daughter. I want to get to know you.”
She gave a tremulous smile that made her momentarily radiant. The sight seemed to transfix him. Watching their faces, Lucy felt the oddest lurch in her chest that almost—but not quite—hurt. It felt a little bit like envy.
Jon’s voice was huskier than usual when he said, “Perhaps I can take you both out to dinner Friday night.”
Wouldn’t he be recognized? She imagined him shaking hands with people who paused at the table. The speculative glances.
“Why don’t I cook instead?” she suggested. “Sierra can make dessert. She’s becoming quite a baker.”
If she hadn’t been looking so closely, she wouldn’t have seen how he relaxed. “That sounds good,” he said, smiling. “In the meantime, I’ll talk to my mother. We’ll figure out a time for you to meet her.”
“O-kay!” Sierra all but sang. “A grandmother.” She let go of Lucy and hugged herself, making no effort to hide her delight.
Lucy saw him watch Sierra, then unexpectedly turn his gaze to her. His eyes flickered, the color momentarily deepening. He’d recognized her worry, she suspected. She didn’t care.
“What do you do for a living?” he asked.
“I own a pet-supply store,” she told him. “Barks and Purrs.”
“Ah.” He glanced around. “No pets of your own?”
“Two cats. They disappear whenever we have visitors. You?”
He shook his head. “I work too much. I had a dog growing up. A mutt. Moby lived to be sixteen.” His mouth wasn’t exactly smiling, but his eyes were. “Is there a Mr. Malone? I’ve had the impression not.”
“No. It’s just Sierra and me.”
“No family?”
She didn’t like how perceptive his eyes were. “Only a mother,” she said. “We’re…not close.” She didn’t talk about her mother. Ever. She didn’t let herself think about how soon that would have to change. “Sierra hasn’t met her.” Yet. “I take it your father has passed away?”
“Massive stroke a couple of years ago.”
“He couldn’t have been very old.”
His look became quizzical. “Worrying about what kind of genetics Sierra carries?”
Flustered, Lucy began, “No, I—"
He grinned, the effect both wicked and astonishingly sensual considering how unrevealing and almost grim his face usually was. “It’s all right. Dad’s parents lived to be eighty-nine and ninety-one respectively. My father spent most of his life angry. I figure he worked himself up to the stroke.” He transferred the smile to Sierra, although it was softer for her benefit. “You wouldn’t have liked him. My mother is a nice lady, though.”
She smiled shyly back. “How old are my cousins?”
“Younger than you. Reese is ten and Patrick twelve. You’ll be the only girl.”
Still shyly, she asked, “You don’t have any other kids?”
His mouth quirked, and Lucy knew what he was thinking. He almost certainly did have other kids, ones he’d never know. She wondered if he felt regret now.
“I’ve never been married,” he said. “I was engaged years ago, but she was killed. It hasn’t happened since, despite my mother’s nagging.”
Killed. That made Lucy wonder, but she didn’t ask. They didn’t have that kind of relationship.
He made I-need-to-be-leaving noises, and Lucy stayed where she was so that Sierra could walk him out. They talked for a few more minutes on the porch, his quiet bass in counterpoint to Sierra’s soprano bursts. She heard the sound of his car starting, the slam of the screen door and then Sierra burst into the house.
“Lucy! Isn’t he amazing?” She went sur la pointe and spun. She was astonishingly graceful, although she’d given up dance lessons at age twelve when she grew so tall. “He wants to be my dad! I can’t believe it. Oh, Lucy.” Eyes drenched with tears, she flung herself onto the couch and into Lucy’s arms, where she wept quietly and happily against her shoulder.
Lucy said the right things, and she wanted to believe in Captain Jonathan Brenner, that he was as decent and kind as he seemed, but she knew that people rarely were. She loved Sierra too much to lower her guard.
What scared her most was knowing how little she could do to protect her foster daughter’s too-vulnerable heart.
EDIE COOK WAS NOT PLEASED. She paced the confines of his campaign office after staff and volunteers had gone home, her indignation making her steps choppy.
“We couldn’t have discussed this before you walked out on a limb?”
“No.” He half sat on a desk, his legs stretched out and his arms crossed. “This is personal. I had to do what was right. To hell with politics.”
She glowered at him. Edie was small and stocky, her graying hair cut severely short. She had the energy of a hyperactive kindergartner. She could be running campaigns of far more significance than his, but she had a daughter with multiple sclerosis, and she needed to stay close. He knew he was lucky to have her. Even so, he wasn’t going to let her shape him with her nudges and prods the way she’d like to. He wasn’t clay that could be molded into a pretty face. He was a cop. A man on a crusade begun to avenge Cassia.
Jon was honest about his own motivations. Along the way, it had all become more complex, but he’d gone into law enforcement out of anger. He had fallen in love with Cassia Winterbourne the minute he met her during his first year of grad school. They had been engaged and living together six months later when one night she closed the coffee shop where she worked part-time as barista, started for the bus stop and never made it. She was raped and murdered by a man released from prison the day before.
Rage and grief had consumed Jon, to the point where he’d scared himself. He’d almost dropped out of college. He’d taken incompletes on several courses and had to finish the work later, after the rage froze into a solid chunk of ice that lodged in his chest where his heart had once beaten. He had vowed never to let himself feel so intensely again. He’d never come close to falling in love since.
And when his mother came to Cassia’s funeral but his father, who’d never liked her, didn’t, Jon had severed the last bitter ties with him. He never spoke to his father again, and went to his funeral for his mother’s sake, not his.
Edie knew about the estrangement, in case it became an issue in the campaign. She knew about Cassia, too. She’d wanted him to use the tragedy as the lodestar of his campaign. He’d refused. His heart beat again, and the ice had receded, but the rage remained. He could tap into it too easily. That didn’t mean he would use the horror of her death or his feelings for her as something cheap to sway voters.