“Aren’t you attracted to me?” Emma asked innocently.

Morgan didn’t consider himself someone who got easily tongue-tied, but Emma’s question caught him by surprise.

“My feelings don’t matter,” he finally croaked. “Acting on them would be inappropriate, under the circumstances.”

His answer must have pleased her, because her full lips curved into a smile. In response, his own awareness ratcheted up a couple hundred notches. Just what he needed while they were alone in the wilderness.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she drawled, giving him a wink.

While he was still trying to come up with a neutral comment to defuse the shimmering attraction between them, she slipped off her pack.

“Relax, Morgan,” she said teasingly as she strutted away, hips swinging. “I’m not going to jump you.”

PAMELA TOTH

USA TODAY bestselling author PAMELA TOTH was born in Wisconsin, but grew up in Seattle, where she attended the University of Washington and majored in art. Now living on the Puget Sound area’s east side, she has two daughters, Erika and Melody, and two Siamese cats.

Recently she took a lead from one of her romances and married her high school sweetheart, Frank. They live in a town house within walking distance of a bookstore and an ice cream shop—two of life’s necessities—and with a fabulous view of Mount Rainier.

When she’s not writing, she enjoys traveling with her husband, reading, playing FreeCell on the computer, doing counted cross-stitch and researching new story ideas. She’s been an active member of Romance Writers of America since 1982.

Her books have won several awards and they claim regular spots on the Waldenbooks bestselling romance list. She loves hearing from readers and can be reached at P.O. Box 5845, Bellevue, WA 98006. For a personal reply, a stamped, self-addressed envelope is appreciated.

USA Today Bestselling Author

Secrets & Seductions
Pamela Toth

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Be a part of

Because birthright has its privileges and family ties run deep.

The Children’s Connection brought them together…but would her quest for the truth drive them apart?

Morgan Davis: Morgan didn’t trust himself around women, but there was something different about Emma. She was soft, loving, sexy—and the attraction between them was unquestionable. But did she care for him, or was she using him to find the secrets of her past?

Emma Wright: Emma turned to The Children’s Connection for answers, but when handsome Morgan Davis offered her a job, she found much more. Morgan fulfilled her every desire, but she knew he was hiding something—a secret that could change her life forever….

But behind the scenes…

Who was the mysterious mastermind behind the trouble occurring at Portland General?

Because birthright has its privileges and family ties run deep.

AVAILABLE JUNE 2010

1.) To Love and Protect by Susan Mallery

2.) Secrets & Seductions by Pamela Toth

3.) Royal Affair by Laurie Paige

4.) For Love and Family by Victoria Pade

AVAILABLE JULY 2010

5.) The Bachelor by Marie Ferrarella

6.) A Precious Gift by Karen Rose Smith

7.) Child of Her Heart by Cheryl St. John

8.) Intimate Surrender by RaeAnne Thayne

AVAILABLE AUGUST 2010

9.) The Secret Heir by Gina Wilkins

10.) The Newlyweds by Elizabeth Bevarly

11.) Right by Her Side by Christie Ridgway

12.) The Homecoming by Anne Marie Winston

AVAILABLE SEPTEMBER 2010

13.) The Greatest Risk by Cara Colter

14.) What a Man Needs by Patricia Thayer

15.) Undercover Passion by Raye Morgan

16.) Royal Seduction by Donna Clayton

Dedicated to parents everywhere who make room in their hearts and their homes for children in need of both.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Prologue

H ands clenched tightly in her lap, school counselor Emma Wright tried to hide her apprehension behind a confident smile as she faced the Human Resources director. According to the local newspaper, a third of the maintenance staff and half the teachers’ aides in the small Oregon school district where Emma worked had already been laid off because of budget cuts.

Emma’s stomach had been in a knot ever since Sandra had asked her to come into the office. As the director flipped open the folder containing Emma’s records, Emma hoped desperately that the reason for the summons had been to find out whether she could increase her workload, divide her time among more schools.

“I’m sure you’re aware of the cuts we’re facing for the new school year,” Sandra said with a rueful expression as her gaze finally met Emma’s.

Emma lifted her chin, forcing it not to wobble. “Of course.” She gripped her hands together even more tightly, worried that the time she had missed after her miscarriage would be counted against her. “It’s always a disappointment when education’s not a priority, isn’t it? I’m ready to do everything I can to help.”

What she wanted desperately was to argue her case and to point out how badly the younger children in the district needed her. The other counselor, an older man, had an intimidating manner that seemed to scare them.

“I’m so glad you understand,” Sandra said, her smile giving Emma a boost of reassurance. “Your evaluations have been excellent, so I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding something else.”

For a moment Emma was stunned. “What are you telling me?” she asked through lips that suddenly felt like rubber. A rush of noise, like the sound of a jet engine, filled her head.

“Klaus has been here longer, so the district really has no choice.” Sandra spread her hands wide. “I know you’ve experienced some personal trouble, but perhaps this will give you a chance to start fresh. I’m so sorry, but we won’t be renewing your contract for the new school year.”

Emma slumped back in her chair, feeling as though she’d been shot. “I see,” she croaked.

Since her divorce, work had been her lifeline. She loved this job. Worse yet, with all the bills she’d been stuck with, her paycheck was a necessity.

Sandra slid back her chair, a signal that the interview was over. Her husband was an attorney in nearby Portland, so she probably didn’t even need to work. “Be sure to let me know if there is anything I can do.”

“Thank you.” Emma’s reply was automatic as she got to her feet on legs that trembled.

Sandra’s bright smile was firmly in place when she circled the desk and opened the door. “Good luck.”

Emma didn’t have another “thank you” left in her, so she merely nodded before she walked back through the outer office. At least it was empty, so she didn’t have to put on a happy face for the next clueless employee.

How much bad news was one person expected to handle without screaming, she wondered silently as she walked through the summer sunshine to her car? Two miscarriages, a divorce and now this.

When Don walked out, leaving her with a broken heart and a stack of bills, she’d been grateful for supportive parents and a job she enjoyed. In less than a week, she had lost both.

One

“M r. Davis asked me to convey his apologies for running late. He’ll see you just as soon as he finishes his call.” The assistant adjusted her headset and smiled at Emma Wright, who was seated in the small waiting area.

The brass nameplate resting on the corner of the desk next to a potted plant with purple leaves read Cora Hanson. Behind her blond head, the tall windows framed a summer sky that was the same intense blue as the most precious turquoise jewelry.

“Is there anything I could get you?” Cora asked. “Coffee? Some water?”

Emma shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

Actually she had been anything but fine since first learning about Children’s Connection, an adoption agency associated with Portland General Hospital. Coffee would only make her more jittery. As for water, well, she didn’t want any interruptions once she got in to see Morgan Davis, the agency director.

Scarcely able to contain her impatience after waiting a week for her appointment, Emma had arrived early at the sprawling medical complex. She was meeting a friend for lunch afterward and hoped to have some startling news to share.

After parking her car in the garage, she’d followed the signs directing her past lawns that were still green despite the dry July weather and well-tended flower beds exploding with color.

Now she flipped through the pages of a travel magazine without the slightest idea of what she saw there. Her hands shook with a combination of nerves and anticipation, her palms damp and her heart thudding.

She hadn’t seen it coming, the bomb her parents dropped that shattered Emma’s life as she’d known it. She hadn’t suspected a thing, not until she looked into her mother’s eyes and saw the lie. In just a few minutes, though, she would finally have what she needed to begin piecing the scattered bits of her life back together.

“Ms. Wright?” The assistant had sneaked up without Emma’s notice to hover expectantly. “If you’d come with me, Mr. Davis will see you now.”

Emma shot to her feet so fast that she actually felt dizzy. Refusing to give in to the momentary weakness, she clutched her purse tightly as she followed the other woman down a short hallway. Ahead of her was an imposing set of double doors. One of them stood open.

Cora stepped aside and motioned for Emma to go on in.

A handsome black-haired man in a gray suit stood in front of a massive, heavily carved desk. The formality of his appearance made Emma feel slightly self-conscious about her own casual summer top and tan skirt.

“Ms. Wright? I’m Morgan Davis.” He extended his hand, his grip warm and firm. “Won’t you come in and have a seat?”

He nodded to his assistant, who shut the door quietly behind her. Emma took one of the purple tub chairs in front of the desk and the tall windows. Willing herself to be calm, she drew in a deep, slow breath.

Instead of returning to his black leather throne, the director surprised her by sitting in the chair next to hers. He was startlingly attractive, with deep blue eyes and cheekbones that would make a photographer weep. His dark tan was emphasized by his white shirt and maroon tie.

Ignoring the awareness dancing across her nerves, Emma stayed focused on her mission. She glanced over at the folder lying open on the desktop behind him. Did it contain the information she had come here to find?

He turned his head for a moment. His profile should have been on a stamp. His jaw was strong, his nose straight and his black eyelashes were as thick as the bristles of a paintbrush. Before she reeled herself back in, Emma wondered if the honey-gold tan of his face and hands extended to the rest of him.

“How can I help you?” he asked, lifting his brows. As he rested his hands on his thighs, a gold ring glinted on one finger.

Thank God he couldn’t read her mind.

Emma crossed her legs, trying not to fidget, and moistened her suddenly dry lips. She’d planned so carefully what she wanted to say, but now her mind threatened to go blank.

“I just found out that your agency handled my adoption,” she finally blurted out, lacing her fingers together tightly. “Is that my file on your desk?”

“That’s right,” he replied without turning his head. “As you can imagine, our records go back many years.” He folded his arms loosely across his chest. His smile flashed even white teeth. “I hope there isn’t a problem.”

Sitting rigidly, she lifted her chin. The sense of injustice and pain still raged inside her. “The problem is that I wasn’t told about it until a very short time ago.”

He frowned, clearly puzzled. “About this agency?”

“About being adopted,” she clarified. “I had no idea until now.”

His expression softened as he leaned forward. “I’m so sorry.” His voice was husky. “After all this time, the news must have come as quite a shock. I expect it’s been difficult for you.”

“Yes, very.” She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. Her voice wobbled. “That’s why I’m here, to find out what I can.”

His frown returned. “I’ll help in any way that I can, of course,” he replied, “but I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

“I need the names of my biological parents,” she said firmly. The Wrights had claimed not to have that information, but her faith in their honesty had taken a major hit and she wasn’t sure that she believed them.

“If you don’t mind my asking, how did this all come about?” He spread his hands wide. “After keeping your adoption a secret for all this time, what made them suddenly decide to tell you, do you know?”

His sympathetic smile and his show of interest threatened to shatter Emma’s composure. Afraid she might break down and start sobbing, she clenched her teeth and stared down at her toes, painted red to match her shirt.

No one else except her parents—her adoptive parents, she reminded herself—knew the situation. Since she was no longer speaking to them, she’d had no one to confide in. She hadn’t even told her close friend, Ivy Crosby, who’d been out of the country on business.

Ivy had been supportive throughout every bad thing that had happened to Emma, who was beginning to feel like a drama queen. Maybe she’d bring Ivy up to speed on her latest disaster over lunch.

Deliberately Emma stiffened her spine. “I found out just recently that I have a medical condition which is usually considered to be hereditary,” she began.

His eyes narrowed with concern. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”

“Well, I’m not dying or anything like that,” she said quickly.

He made a noncommittal murmur of relief.

There was no point in telling him about her endometriosis, a condition in which cells similar to those found in the uterus formed lesions in other areas of the body. It was a condition that sometimes caused a woman to miscarry.

“It’s just that when I talked to my mother—” Emma shook her head and corrected herself “—my adoptive mother, it became obvious that I didn’t inherit it from her.”

Emma swallowed hard as she recalled her feeling of relief that Sally Wright hadn’t had to suffer even the minor discomfort associated with the condition. Her reluctance to discuss it and her uncharacteristic nervousness hadn’t raised Emma’s suspicions until later, when she went back over everything she could remember about their conversation.

“I assumed then that I must have gotten the problem from the paternal side of the family,” she continued, “but I was wrong.”

“You discussed it with your adoptive father?” he asked.

“With my grandmother the next time I visited her. It was obvious from what she said that she never experienced any of the symptoms.”

Emma swallowed the bitter taste of regret. “Sometimes I wish that I had let the subject drop, but I can’t go back, can I?” she asked the man seated across from her.

“If that were possible, I’m sure there are things in all our lives that we would change.”

Was that sadness she heard in his deep voice, or merely empathy? With his looks and his position of authority here, plus whatever else he had going, did he still have regrets?

“What did you do after that?” he prompted her gently.

“I did some research on the Web,” she admitted grimly, “and then I hotfooted it back to the Wrights’ house with a couple of real burning questions.”

“The Internet may not be the best place to get medical information,” he reminded her. “There can be many different ways to interpret whatever you might find there.”

“Oh, I know.” Emma had been bluffing when she brought the subject up again. “I tried not to jump to any conclusions, but there was a look that passed between my parents—”

This time she didn’t bother to correct herself as she bowed her head. The habit of more than a quarter of a century wasn’t going to be changed in a matter of weeks, no matter the sense of betrayal burning in her heart.

“Anyway,” she continued, blinking hard, “a red flag went up and I just knew.” She looked back at him. “At first they denied everything, but I kept pushing. Finally the whole sordid story came out.”

Since he’d read Emma’s file, he knew more about her right now than she did. “Are you sure that it’s sordid?” he asked.

“That’s what I’m here to find out.”

His expression changed, becoming more wary. “What do you mean?” He touched the knot of his tie, as though it had suddenly gotten too tight. The flash of gold she had noticed on his hand earlier looked like a college ring.

Emma rolled her eyes. “After the big confession, they actually expected me to accept their apology, let the subject drop, to go on as though nothing was any different.” She waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal. “But of course I can’t do that.”

It had been painfully clear to her that her adoptive parents had never intended to tell her the truth at all. Thank God the subject was no longer shrouded in secrecy.

“So that’s why I’ve come to you.” Emma gave him what she hoped to be a beguiling smile. “I’m here to find out about my real parents.”

When he remained silent, a sudden feeling of panic gripped her and she couldn’t resist glancing over at that open folder on his desk. What if it was incomplete? What if part of her file had been somehow lost, or destroyed in a fire or a flood?

“You do know who they are, don’t you, the people who gave me up?” she demanded, her heart thudding in her chest.

“Whenever possible, we do like to have the records of both parents.” The frown was back, causing a crease between his brows. If he kept it up, he’d be looking at Botox injections someday. “If you need another copy of your medical history, we’ll be happy to provide one. My assistant can give you a form to fill out.”

Suddenly breathless with anticipation, Emma pressed her palm to her heart. “I guess I didn’t really take the time to make myself clear,” she said. “It’s not just the medical information that I’m after, it’s everything.”

His expression shifted, his frown lines deepening, and he seemed to lean away from her in his chair. “What exactly do you mean by everything?”

Emma balled her hands together in her lap. She wasn’t going to give up now. “I need to know the names of my biological parents so I can find out if they’re still alive.” Her voice rose. “I might have siblings out there, family I never knew existed.”

Contacting them would be a huge first step in taking back control of her life.

He had already started to shake his head before she finished speaking. “I’m sorry, but what you’re asking is impossible. This agency can’t help you.”

Emma’s mouth fell open as she stared at him, stunned into momentary silence.

“What do you mean?” she finally croaked as his refusal sank into her consciousness. “You just admitted that you have their names.”

He spread his hands, palms up, in a helpless gesture. “That’s true,” he agreed, “but your file is confidential.”

“Okay, I understand.” Quickly Emma unzipped her purse. “I’ve got picture ID.”

Before she could open her wallet, he surprised her again, this time by resting his hand lightly on hers. His touch was warm, but something about his gesture made her shiver as an icy chill slid down her spine.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again as he let her go. “It’s not just your confidentiality that our agency is sworn to protect.”

His gaze held hers. “This was not an open adoption, so the only thing I’m allowed to share with you is your medical history.”

Emma stared at him blankly. “But they’re my parents. They’d want me to know who they are!”

Intellectually she knew that wasn’t always true, but her emotions wouldn’t let her believe it could apply to her. She wasn’t going to be stonewalled! Panic shot through her. If she lunged across his desk and grabbed the folder, would she be able to read its contents before he got it away from her?

“Emma,” he said quietly, startling her with his use of her first name, “I’ve read your entire file very carefully. There were no provisions made to give you contact information if you were ever to ask. Quite the contrary, there is a statement insisting on absolute privacy. I’m sorry.”

She wasn’t willing to give up, but she could tell by the set of his jaw that threats or pressure wouldn’t change his mind. He appeared to be giving her time to absorb her disappointment.

“I see,” she said, trying to sound reasonable.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Would you like some water?”

“Yes, please.” Think, she commanded herself while he went over to a sideboard and poured a glass for her. Frantically trying to come up with something to change his mind, she stared with fascination at the large blown-glass vase sitting proudly on a side table.

Talk about ugly!

When he came back and handed her the water, she took an obligatory sip before setting it down. “Thank you.”

He was watching her closely, as though he expected her to do something crazy. Was there a secret alarm that he’d activated, calling for security? Somehow she doubted it. With his height and athletic build, he appeared more than capable of handling whatever she could dish out.

“Is there anything else I can do?” he asked when the silence began to lengthen between them.

Anything else?

“Surely there’s another channel I can explore,” she said. “Some person I can talk to, an appeal process, something, in order to find out what I need?”

“I’m sorry. I’m afraid the buck stops with me.”

Suddenly she had an idea. “You can contact them for me. They have a right to know that I’m looking for them, so they can give you permission to show me my file.”

She was babbling, but she didn’t care. “I’ll swear on the Bible that I won’t bother them if they don’t want me to,” she promised. “But society has changed a lot in the last twenty-seven years. Maybe they meant to revoke the ‘no contact’ order, but they forgot all about it. You could ask them.”

“That’s not possible.” He looked genuinely regretful. “I’m sorry.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” she demanded, her frustration bubbling over.

“I know it sounds trite, but you have to accept the things you can’t change,” he said, spreading his hands wide. “I wish I could offer something more, but I can’t.”

“Accept?” Her voice rose like a hot-air balloon. “You want me to accept what I can’t change?” She leaped to her feet, barely noticing that her purse had dropped to the floor, and leaned over Morgan Davis to look right into his killer blue eyes.

They widened slightly.

“Let me tell you what I’ve had to accept lately.” She stuck her hand under his nose, fingers spread, and began ticking off items.

“I couldn’t change my miscarriages or the divorce that followed.” She tapped two fingers. “How about the layoff from my job as a school counselor? How was I supposed to change that?” There went another finger. “Unfortunately, none of the other districts around here are hiring, either, and I have bills to pay.”

She hesitated, then decided that deserved a finger, too. “Maybe my creditors will have to accept not getting any money from me until I find another job, huh?”

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off ruthlessly. “If all that wasn’t enough, I found out that I’m not even who I thought I was.”

She waggled her splayed hand at him. “How can you tell me that not knowing my parents’ names is just one more thing I have to accept?”

For just an instant he looked genuinely horrified before he quickly masked his expression. When he got to his feet, he was a head taller than Emma, who was forced to retreat.

“I wish there was something I could do,” he said with apparently limitless patience.

“But you’re the director,” she cried. “I know you could make an exception if you really wanted to.”

“No, I can’t.”

Stubborn ox! She had failed at so many things lately, being a wife, a mother, a successful counselor. How could she go away from here empty-handed?

Normally she hated whiners, but she was running out of options. “No one else would have to find out,” she wheedled softly. “I’d never let on where I got the information, I swear, please.”

“Ms. Wright,” he said.

Back to formality, she noticed.

“You may not believe me,” he continued, “but I truly can understand your disappointment. However, this agency has entered into a contract with the people who entrusted you to us for placement in the first place. It’s a binding legal document that I am not willing or able to violate.”

Emma began to steam. Why had he told her the information was only a few feet away—to taunt her? How sadistic was that?

How could this petty bureaucrat in his fancy suit, sitting in his corner office like some potentate in his ivory tower, claim to know what she was feeling?

She had to try one last time, just in case he was beginning to weaken. “Are you sure there’s nothing you can do?”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks and rocked back on the heels of what were no doubt very expensive shoes. “If you want to send me your résumé, I could ask around,” he suggested with obvious reluctance. “Have you checked with the employment agencies here in Portland?”

“No!” Emma exclaimed, her frustration finally breaking through as she threw up her hands. “That’s not the help I meant, and you know it!”

He shook his head. “Eventually you’ll adjust to the idea that you were adopted by two people who wanted a baby very much,” he insisted. “They should have told you a lot sooner, but they didn’t. There it is and you can’t change it.”

If he said it was time to move on, she was going to slug him. Instead he shrugged.

“I’ve been doing this for a long while,” he continued, apparently encouraged by her silence. “The adoption process isn’t something that people go through unless they’re desperate for a child. It’s expensive and time-consuming. Their privacy is shredded, their lives picked apart.”

He paused for breath while she gave him her iciest glare. “It sounds as though you’ve had a heck of a bumpy ride lately,” he said, “but you look like a capable woman. Give yourself time to accept once again the identity that you’ve grown up with and the parents who raised you.”

Emma’s fuse, which had often been regrettably short, finally blew at the platitudes he was trying to heap on her poor head.

She picked up her purse. “You may think, just because you run this agency, that you’re so wise and all-knowing about how it feels to be adopted, Mr. Davis.” She grabbed the knob and yanked open the door, too angry to thank him for his time.

“As for your advice, your platitudes and your pseudo sympathy,” she continued loudly, pointing at the big vase, “you can stick them right into that cheap, tacky glass monstrosity you seem to be so proud of.”

Head held high, she sailed out the door and slammed it shut behind her.

Morgan stood in the suddenly silent office with his hands braced on his hips. He understood the reasons behind the agency’s confidentiality regulations; he agreed with them one hundred percent.

In this case, Emma would never know that he was protecting her as well as her biological parents. She had been through enough without having to deal with a father who would never acknowledge her because the personal cost to him and his career might be more than he was willing to pay.

Between the shouting and door slamming, Emma Wright’s exit had been a noisy one. At any moment he expected his assistant to burst into his office in order to reassure herself that he was still in one piece.

Absently he looked around, his glance landing on the large blown-glass vase that Emma had disparaged on her way out the door.

“It’s not tacky,” he muttered defensively as he studied the blue and purple sculpture. Created in the manner of Dale Chihuly, a prominent Northwest artist, the twisting, fluid shape resembled either a man-eating flower or a floppy hat, depending on the angle from which it was viewed.

“And it sure as hell wasn’t cheap.” Morgan winced as he recalled his winning bid at the recent charity auction. Even so, he would have willingly given up the vase in exchange for a magical elixir to remove that wounded, lost look from Emma Wright’s sad gray eyes before she got angry and they turned to fire.

He had plenty of experience reading people, and the most satisfying part of his job was being able to help them. Emma’s case was an unusual one, but she didn’t know that and he couldn’t tell her. It was part of the reason she stayed in his mind.

It had nothing to do with the fact that she was hot.

Portland was full of hot women wearing vividly colored cropped tops, tight miniskirts and miles of bare skin that replaced winter’s long, dark raincoats and high boots. Quite a few of them worked right here in the hospital complex, but he’d gotten good at ignoring them.

His mother was always nagging him about giving her grandchildren, but he had rules about mixing business and pleasure. His rules hadn’t protected him from Emma. Her red knit top hadn’t been especially snug, nor did her short khaki skirt expose an unusual amount of her long, attractive legs. It was those big gray eyes that grabbed him first, eyes a man could dive into and get lost. Wavy brown hair he wanted to plunge his fingers into and muss all up.

Full lips…

His appreciation of Emma Wright as a woman wasn’t what she needed, so he forced himself to ignore the rush of heat as several rapid knocks sounded on his closed door.

“Enter,” he called out as he turned away from the window.

Just as he had expected, it was Cora who poked her head inside. “Everything okay?” she asked.

As much as he was tempted to ask her opinion, he didn’t have that luxury.

“Everything’s fine,” Morgan replied with a reassuring smile.

She studied him for another moment with a concerned expression, like a soccer mom checking for injuries, before she finally returned his smile with one of her own.

“Okay, good,” she said. “Since you don’t have any wounds in need of binding up, I’m going to lunch.”

Around the corner from the assistant’s station, Everett Baker had pressed himself against the wall so that he wouldn’t be discovered. He’d been on his way back to the accounting department where he worked when he heard the woman shouting at the director. Yelling and anger always made Everett’s stomach knot up. Absently he had rubbed slow circles on his midsection as he watched the pretty woman in the red shirt rush past Cora’s desk.

Why did women always start shouting when they got upset? If they would only ask nicely, they might get whatever it was that they wanted.

No one ever seemed to notice Everett, so he was able to watch the other employees whenever he had a break from his work. Sometimes he was able to listen to their conversations, if they talked loud enough. It helped him to figure out why some people had so many friends and others, like him, didn’t.

On a really good day, he would see Leslie Logan. She came often to Children’s Connection, looking like a modern-day queen. Everett had a special reason for watching her, but it wasn’t what anyone else might think. Leslie was old enough to be his mother.

Everett glanced at his watch and saw that it was time for him to get back to his desk before someone asked where he’d been. Nervously he pushed back his hair as he looked around to make sure that no one was watching him. The hall was empty and the pretty woman in red was gone. He was in the clear.

Two

E mma was still fuming over her appointment when she hurried to meet her friend Ivy Crosby for lunch at a little café near the computer company where Ivy worked. Even though her family owned Crosby Systems, Ivy never took for granted her position there, so Emma didn’t want to be late and hold her up.

She could see Ivy already seated at one of the small tables outside the café, her curly blond hair easy to spot, even in the middle of the lunch-hour crowd. She smiled and waved when she saw Emma coming down the sidewalk.

Despite her own foul mood, Emma waved back before she ducked inside and worked her way through the groups of people waiting to be seated.

“I’m joining my friend at an outside table,” she told the hostess.

Emma and Ivy had been roommates in college. Despite their polar-opposite personalities and wildly diverse backgrounds, they had made the effort to remain close.

When Emma got to the table, Ivy stood up and gave her a hug.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Ivy exclaimed. “I missed you.”

“You, too.” Emma returned her hug, blinking back tears. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Ivy’s perfume was a designer scent that cost more than Emma’s laptop, or her trendy outfit from an exclusive boutique. Beneath the affluent veneer, Ivy was the most genuine and loyal friend Emma had.

“How have you been?” Ivy asked after they had both sat down. “Fill me in.”

“Is there steam coming out of my ears?” Emma asked teasingly. Inwardly she was still fuming about her meeting.

Ivy’s blue eyes widened as she folded her hands on the menu. “Oh, dear,” she replied. “It sounds as if you’ve had a bad morning. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Emma was touched by her friend’s concern, but she knew how much Ivy hated being late back to work. She said it set a bad example for the other employees. “My problems will keep. Let’s order.” She glanced at her menu. “Then I want to hear about your trip. Where was it again that you went?”

“Lantanya.”

“I’ve never heard of it.” Emma wondered if she had imagined the momentary coolness in Ivy’s voice, even as the poetic name rolled off her tongue.

“No one has. It’s just a tiny principality located right on the Adriatic Sea.” She tossed her blond head. “Lunch is my treat. Don’t even bother to argue.”

Emma was embarrassed by Ivy’s generosity, but she was too broke to protest. After they had both ordered seafood salad and iced tea, she managed to smile at her friend.

“Did you meet a handsome prince while you were in Lantanya?” Emma asked teasingly.

To her surprise, Ivy’s expression froze. “I wasn’t there to play,” she said. “It was a business trip.”

“I was only kidding,” Emma replied, refusing to take offense. She was well aware of the stress Ivy felt when it came to her job. “So how was business?”

Ivy’s face relaxed again. “Crosby Industries is putting computer systems in the schools there. The children are so excited. It’s a heartwarming project.”

When it came to kids, Ivy was a cream puff. A few months ago, she had started volunteering at Portland General, working with the crack babies.

“That sounds great,” Emma replied. “Will you be going back?”

Again Ivy’s smile wavered and she glanced away. “I doubt it.”

“I suppose the country is pretty primitive,” Emma said. “Is it hot and barren?”

Before Ivy could reply, the waitress brought their salads and tall glasses of iced tea.

“Anything else?” the young girl asked. When both of them shook their heads, she left the check on the table and departed.

“Lantanya is a lovely country,” Ivy murmured, picking up her fork. “I’ve just had enough traveling for a while.”

Something wasn’t right here. In college the two girls had spent a lot of time talking about all the places they wanted to visit when they had an opportunity to travel. Before she left, Ivy had been eager to go on this trip.

Concerned, Emma leaned across the small table. “Honey, what’s wrong? Did something happen while you were gone?”

To her dismay, tears swam in Ivy’s eyes before she blinked them away. “I guess you could say that,” she whispered. “I met someone.”

Emma was probably the only person who knew just how inexperienced Ivy was when it came to men. “And?” she prompted.

“And we hit it off, and now it’s over.” Ivy’s eyes were downcast as she speared a bite of her salad.

“I’m sorry.” Emma was dying for more information, but it was obvious that Ivy wasn’t ready to talk about whatever had taken place in Lantanya. For a few moments the two of them ate in silence.

Finally Ivy lifted her head, her smile firmly back in place. “Okay, no more stalling. When you first arrived, you looked fit to be tied, as my nanny used to say.”

Ivy already knew about Emma’s medical condition, her divorce from Don and her layoff. Emma hadn’t yet mentioned her estrangement from the people who had raised her or the reason behind it.

As briefly as possible, Emma explained how finding out about her endometriosis had led to the news that she was adopted.

“I don’t know what to say,” Ivy murmured. “Are you sure it’s true?”

Emma speared a fat pink shrimp, even though she wasn’t at all hungry. The one good thing that had come out of the recent weeks was that she had lost a few pounds. “Mom admitted everything.”

Ivy sprinkled pepper on her hard-boiled egg. Her own childhood had been less than ideal. She had been raised by a series of housekeepers and nannies after her parents’ divorce, but at least Ivy knew who she was.

“I’m so sorry,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “What they did was wrong, but they’re good people at heart and they love you. I know you’ll work it out.”

“We’re not speaking,” Emma said bluntly as she poked at her salad. “I can’t forgive them for lying to me all these years.”

At the next table, a cell phone rang and the man sitting there launched into a loud, annoying conversation about a deal he was putting together.

Ivy rolled her eyes in reaction. “What exactly did your parents tell you?”

Emma arched her brows. “Do you mean the Wrights?” she asked, unable to resist.

After her divorce, she had taken back her maiden name. If she had known when she signed the papers what she knew now, she wouldn’t have bothered.

“They’re still your parents,” Ivy chided gently before taking a dainty bite of arugula.

Emma didn’t bother to argue. She couldn’t expect her friend to understand her sense of betrayal. Ivy was under constant pressure working at the family firm, but at least they were her family.

Someone dropped a tray inside the café with a loud crash that made Emma’s hand jerk. Iced tea sloshed over the rim of the glass.

“Did they tell you anything else about your background?” Ivy asked.

“Only that I was a newborn when they adopted me,” Emma explained as she wiped up the spill with her napkin. “It was handled by an agency here in Portland called Children’s Connection.”

Blotting her lips with her napkin, Ivy studied her thoughtfully. “I’ve seen their ads. The Logans are big patrons of their fertility clinic.”

Emma was aware that Ivy’s family and the wealthy Logans had a long, mutually antagonistic history, but she wasn’t sure why. Ivy had told her their companies were rivals, but the rift seemed far too bitter for that. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know they were involved.”

“No reason you should.” Ivy studied her thoughtfully. “It’s good to know the adoption was legitimate and not part of some backroom black-market baby ring.”

“I guess,” Emma acknowledged.

A sudden breeze stirred Ivy’s hair. Two men at a nearby table stopped talking to stare at her. Despite being so pretty, she had been raised in the shadow of her older siblings, which made her rather shy. She was oblivious to the men’s attention.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I found out something like that,” she told Emma. “Is that where you went this morning?”

Emma leaned closer and lowered her voice. Thankfully the hotshot at the next table had concluded his call and was eating his lunch. “I had an appointment with the director, because I wanted to learn everything I could about my biological parents.”

Ivy set aside her plate. “I guess I’d want to know the same thing. What did you find out?”

“Nothing!” Emma’s frustration bubbled out. Several patrons glanced over at her, so she quickly lowered her voice. “He refused to tell me anything. He claimed that my file is confidential.”

“Well, maybe it’s for the best,” Ivy said in a conciliatory tone. “I mean, are you sure you really want to know the reasons someone gave you up? What if they’re painful?”

“Like what?” Emma fired back at her. “You mean, if my mother was too young to take care of me, or if I was the result of some kind of assault or incest, or left in a Dumpster?” She had already spent a lot of time thinking about all the different possibilities.

Ivy shrugged. “I don’t know. Some people don’t want anyone to find out they had a child and gave it up. They’re ashamed, or they have a new family they never told. Or they just can’t face what they did.”

“I still have a right to know,” Emma disagreed. “It’s my personal history.” She could feel the frustration rising up again, but the last thing she wanted was to argue with Ivy.

“But you said they couldn’t tell you anything, so what else can you do?”

“I said they wouldn’t tell me,” Emma corrected. “The director, Morgan Davis, had my file with the names of my parents right on his desk. He admitted the information was all there, but it’s agency policy to keep it all a big, dark secret.”

She took a gulp of her iced tea, but the ice had melted and it tasted watery. “You’d think this was the nineteenth century, not the twenty-first,” she sputtered. “Adoption files have been open for decades!”

Ivy took out her wallet and put her credit card with the check. “Do you want to take a walk?” she offered. “I could use the exercise.”

A knot rose up in Emma’s throat at her friend’s suggestion. “Thanks for letting me vent, sweetie. I know you need to get back to work.” She glanced at her watch. “Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.”

“Any job leads?” Ivy asked after the waitress went off with her card.

Emma had to be careful not to say too much about that situation, because she knew Ivy would repeat her offer to find Emma something at Crosby Systems. Even though Ivy’s family owned the business and her older brother was the CEO, she wanted to be seen there as more than a pretty face. She had struggled hard for the recognition she had achieved and Emma was determined not to impose on their friendship.

“I’m looking into a couple of things for fall,” she said with a smile. “Meanwhile I’ve got my part-time job at the video store and my unemployment benefits, so I’m not concerned.”

She might have been able to squeak along for a while if Don hadn’t left her with more than her share of their bills. Contrary to what she had just told Ivy, she was starting to worry about how she was going to manage.

“Promise you’ll let me know if I can help,” Ivy said, touching Emma’s hand. “I’m serious. Give me your word.”

Crossing the fingers of her other hand beneath the table, Emma nodded. “I know one of my leads will pan out anyday.”

“And I’m so sorry about this other business,” Ivy said after she’d tucked her credit card back into her purse and they wound their way out of the café. “I’m sure not knowing is hard, but it sounds as if you have no choice but to let it go.”

The two of them stopped on the sidewalk to exchange a quick hug. “Call me whenever you feel like talking, okay?”

Once again Emma nodded. “Same goes, you know.”

Ivy’s cheeks turned pink, but she didn’t reply.

“Well, thanks for listening,” Emma told her, “and for lunch.” As soon as she landed a full-time job and got caught up on her bills, she was going to take Ivy to dinner at the nicest restaurant in Portland as thanks for her support.

“Anytime.” With a final wave, Ivy turned and walked quickly away.

Emma hesitated, not sure what to do next. The rest of the afternoon stretched in front of her like an empty road. After the way her morning had gone, she deserved a treat. Something more lasting than lunch.

One of her favorite places to go in downtown Portland was a bookstore named Powell’s. Housed in a big old building, it was known as the largest independent new and used bookstore in the world. Maybe a couple of hours spent perusing the shelves would take her mind off that jerk, Morgan Davis.

After a solitary lunch at his desk, a staff meeting and an appointment with an eager couple looking to adopt a baby, Morgan took time to double-check his vacation plans. Every summer, aided by grants and donations, he and a group of volunteers conducted a two-week summer camp in the mountains a couple of hours away from the city.

The camp session was for older children who were still waiting to be adopted. It was Morgan’s way of reminding them that people cared, of giving back to a system that had changed his life. The setting, on a lakeshore in the Deschutes National Forest, never failed to renew his spirit.

As usual, most of the office staff was already gone by the time he’d returned a list of phone calls and cleared off his desk. Even Cora had finally stuck her head in the doorway to see if there was anything he needed before she left to pick up her children from day care.

He walked to his reserved parking spot a few minutes later, carrying the briefcase that had been a birthday gift from his parents. In deference to the lingering heat, he had tossed the jacket of his suit over his shoulder and loosened his Italian silk tie.

He was aware that some of his staff members thought he overdressed for the job, but the responsibility of his position as the director weighed heavily on his shoulders. His goal was to present an image of reassurance and responsibility in order to gain people’s trust. He had helped to build Children’s Connection into a nationally known and respected agency. Every year they helped hundreds of people to attain their dream of having a family.

He was proud of the work they did. That was why cases like Emma Wright’s weighed heavily on his mind.

Meanwhile Morgan’s parents were visiting from California for a few days. As usual, they’d refused his offer of the guest room at his condo, preferring to stay at a nearby hotel instead.

“Packing it in, Mr. D?” asked the parking guard as Morgan unlocked the door to his sensible SUV.

“Figured it was time, Andy,” he replied. “How’s your wife’s foot? Is she feeling better?”

Andy had mentioned that she’d tripped over a grandchild’s toy truck a couple of days before.

“Getting better,” he said now. “Thanks for asking, though.” He ran his hand through his tightly curled gray hair. “Enjoy your evening.”

Morgan’s mother claimed they didn’t want to “upset his routine” by staying with him, but he suspected an ulterior motive. She made no secret of her desire for a passel of grandbabies to spoil. To that end, she wasn’t about to invade his privacy, just in case he had a girlfriend tucked away.

He would like nothing better than to enjoy a serious relationship with a woman he could picture spending his life with, but so far it hadn’t happened. Perhaps he was foolish to believe that he would somehow know when he met the one meant for him—that special woman—but he wasn’t willing to settle for less. Meanwhile, he was busy with the agency, the summer camp and the occasional date with a potential soul mate.

His town house was part of a fairly new complex located a few miles from the office. It had a great view of the Willamette River. Despite the heavy rush-hour traffic that streamed from downtown Portland to the suburbs, his commute took less than a half hour, giving him plenty of time to shower and change clothes before meeting his folks for dinner.

“You seem preoccupied,” Morgan’s mother said after the waiter left with their orders. “Did something happen at work today?”

He glanced at his father, a pediatrician he respected more than any man he’d ever known.

“Might as well tell her,” Dr. Davis suggested with a grin. “She’s like one of those California condors. She won’t rest until she’s picked you clean.”

Morgan’s mother, a teacher, swatted at him with her napkin. The love between the two of them never failed to strengthen his own determination to find that one special woman with whom he could form a similar bond.

“I met someone today.” He knew his mother would pounce on his comment like a duck on a bug.

Hazel eyes widening below her silver bangs, she leaned forward eagerly. “Really?”

“Don’t tease her, son,” his father said dryly.

A wave of remorse washed over Morgan. He was well aware that what she and his father wanted—all they had ever wanted—was his happiness.

And a few grandbabies to spoil, of course.

“It’s not what you think, Mom,” he cautioned as the waiter brought their drinks. “This woman recently found out she was adopted through Children’s Connection and she was looking for answers.”

His father frowned thoughtfully. “Were you able to help her?” he asked in the calm voice that had reassured thousands of young patients through the course of his medical career.

Morgan fiddled with the stem of his wine goblet as he pictured Emma’s face, her sooty eyes swimming with tears. He should have tried harder to soften her disappointment.

“Well, Emma did slam the door to my office pretty hard when she left,” he admitted wryly, sitting back in his chair when the waiter brought their salads. “I’d take that as a no.”

The waiter’s expression didn’t alter as he offered each of them fresh-ground pepper. He must overhear some interesting bits of conversation during a shift, Morgan thought.

“Was Emma pretty?” His mother’s gaze gleamed with interest.

“What did she want to know?” his father asked at the same time.

“She’s extremely pretty.” Morgan pictured her in his mind. “Her hair is brown and wavy. She’s got big gray eyes that a man could get lost in.”

Too late he realized he’d said too much, so he focused on his salad.

“Is that all?” his father asked.

“Is she single?” His mother’s expression was eager enough to make Morgan nervous.

“Legs that won’t quit and curves in all the right places,” he added for his father’s benefit. “Divorced,” he admitted to his mother.

As long as he didn’t divulge Emma’s full name, he wasn’t technically breaching confidentiality. Unless, of course, they started dating and she met his folks. Then he would have to tell her what he’d done, but what were the odds he would ever see her again?

“And?” his mother gestured with her fork.

“She’s just lost her job as a school counselor,” he blurted out.

“That sounds like a lot for a young woman to deal with.” His father’s voice was sympathetic.

“You find a woman with a problem more attractive than one wearing a thong bikini,” his mother commented.

Morgan’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

She peered at him through her glasses. “You’re a sucker for a woman who needs help.”

“Stella, let the boy eat,” his father said with a wink at Morgan. “We’re not going to marry him off tonight.”

“I was raised by a doctor and a teacher,” Morgan drawled. “I’d say that helping people runs in the family.”

For a few moments, conversation lagged as the three of them ate their salads. Silently Morgan reviewed in his mind everything Emma had told him. With a sigh of regret, he arrived at the same conclusion as before—that there was nothing else he could have done without compromising the agency’s rules and his own principles, as well as adding to the burden of heartbreak she already appeared to carry.

“What do you think of the Trailblazers’ prospects?” Dr. Davis asked. Portland boasted an NBA basketball team, but the closest thing to major league baseball was a Triple-A team named the Beavers.

“Too soon to tell,” Morgan replied. Even though he wasn’t really a Blazers fan, he was grateful for the change of subject.

His mother didn’t mention Emma again. After dinner he kissed his mother’s cheek and shook his father’s hand.

“Keep us posted on your progress,” she said with a wink.

“Don’t start knitting booties yet,” he replied before heading back to his condo.

In the solitude of his home office, he kicked off his shoes and thought again about getting a dog. It would be alone while he worked, of course, but the idea of some living being getting excited over his arrival had a certain appeal.

With the stereo playing softly, he reviewed a research report from a fertility clinic on the East Coast, read the files of two candidates for his summer camp program and frowned over a rate increase submitted by the agency’s Web site designer.

After he had loaded the paperwork back into his briefcase, he poured himself a glass of wine. He wasn’t an expert, but it was a pleasing vintage by an Oregon grower. He popped Placido Domingo’s latest CD into the player. Neither was he a real opera buff, but he’d been a fan of the Italian singer since accompanying a friend to a 3 Tenors concert in San Francisco.

As the notes from a haunting ballad filled the room, Morgan propped his stocking feet on the coffee table and tipped back his head, attempting to empty his mind. Placido might not have been pleased to know that it was Emma Wright’s voice that echoed through Morgan’s head as the twilight glowing through the windows dimmed, leaving the room in shadows. He contemplated switching on the brass lamp at his elbow, but the deepening gloom suited his mood.

During his years at Children’s Connection, he’d heard more hard luck stories than he could count. He’d seen infertility overcome, families formed and empty hearts—big and small—filled with love.

Of course, not everyone left happy. Some problems couldn’t be cured. Some people didn’t qualify for adoption, some children grew from cuddly to surly without being placed. Morgan ached for them all.

He swallowed the last of the Merlot in his glass and thought of Emma—not what he couldn’t do, but what he might do.

The answer was so simple that he nearly laughed aloud. From what she had told him, names were only one of the things she needed. Morgan could put a little money in her pocket without getting slapped for his trouble, while at the same time he solved a problem of his own.

A couple of days after her lunch with Ivy, Emma drove down to the office of a school district in the Willamette Valley near Eugene for an interview. After her talk with the superintendent, she suspected the trip to be a waste of her time and gas, her appointment a formality and the position already earmarked for a candidate within the district. The only thing she’d learned from the trip was that her car was going to need new struts in the very near future.

When Emma got back to her apartment complex, she parked in her assigned slot and retrieved the mail from her box in the central kiosk. As she walked back across the asphalt, she shuffled through the bills, junk mail and sale flyers. The hot afternoon sun seemed to soak right through her navy cotton dress. Without water, the surrounding lawn had dried until it looked like shredded wheat and the few spindly trees provided only a thimble’s worth of shade.

Ignoring the peeling paint on the front door of her unit, she let herself inside. The blinds were closed against the sunlight, so the temperature was slightly less than a warming oven. The message light on her answering machine was flashing, but she ignored it as she bent to pet her cat, a recent shelter survivor named Posy.

“Hi, baby,” Emma crooned as the fluffy Siamese-Himalayan mix kitten entwined itself around her ankles.

Posy’s response to being roused from her nap was a soulful plea for attention and fresh food, not necessarily in that order.

As Emma scratched beneath the kitty’s chin, she couldn’t help but wonder just how much longer she’d be able to afford this place, cheap though it was. Since the school district had let her go, she had been working in a nearby video store. The pay was abysmal, the blare of the soundtracks annoying, and the endless task of restocking the rentals mind numbing to the extreme.

The manager appeared young enough to be carded every time he ordered a drink. Just the other day he had told Emma that her hours would be cut at the end of August to make room for the returning college crew.

She would need to look for something else to supplement her dwindling funds until she lined up a fall job, she thought grimly as she filled Posy’s water dish. The two of them would end up on the streets before Emma would consider asking her adoptive parents for a loan.

She didn’t listen to the message on her machine until she got back from work with an old Mel Gibson movie under her arm. She had spent her evening unpacking and logging in the latest new DVDs—a gory-looking slasher film, an action sequel about a mutant and a romantic comedy with stars who appeared young enough to be shopping for back-to-school supplies. Listening to her co-worker gush about the male lead made Emma feel old.

The phone message was from her adoptive mother, Sally Wright. Her plaintive tone made Emma’s heart ache until she reminded herself that she was the innocent victim. The Wrights were more concerned with sweeping the entire issue beneath the carpet and pretending that none of it had ever happened than in trying to understand Emma’s desperate need to find her roots.

As Emma slid the tape into her aging VCR and sat down on the couch with her cat, she felt as though there was a yawning hole inside her where the knowledge of family used to be. Until she figured out how to fill it back up, she had no idea what to say if Sally called again. Emma’s feelings were still too raw. If the phone rang while Emma was home, there was always Caller ID.

“Are you sure you don’t have personal reasons for wanting to offer her the job?” asked Aaron Levy, Morgan’s neighbor, as the two of them pounded down the pathway along the riverbank.

Aaron was an attorney with a social conscience and a trust fund. He practiced out of a storefront law office in an older part of downtown Portland. He and Morgan made a point to run together before work whenever their schedules permitted.

Aaron was training for an upcoming marathon, and Morgan, who wasn’t a serious runner, had foolishly agreed to go the extra distance with him. Morgan was saved from finding the breath to reply as they crossed the common area surrounding their building.

They pulled up, Morgan gasping. “Like I told you,” he said, panting, his heart thudding like the drum in a marching band, “I feel sorry for her.”

Aaron didn’t appear to be breathing hard, but his laughter was still uneven.

“Be careful, my friend,” he warned, bending over. “That’s what I told myself about my ex.”

Morgan used his damp T-shirt to mop the perspiration from his face. “I didn’t know you’d been married.”

Straightening back up, Aaron shrugged. “It only lasted long enough for me to realize that pity isn’t a substitute for love.” He twisted his torso and stretched from the waist. He was a vegetarian and as whipcord lean as a greyhound.

“I don’t love Emma,” Morgan protested, alarmed by the attorney’s assumption. “I don’t even know her.”

He didn’t want to go into her whole story as he’d done with his parents, so all he had said was that he’d met her and she needed a boost.

“I like helping people,” he added, wincing at the defensiveness in his tone.

True to form, Aaron heard it, too. “Careful, man.” A grin broke on his long, homely face as he started backing away. “Your words say ‘no, no,’ but your eyes say ‘let’s get naked.’”

With a laugh, Morgan waved him off. “That’s your fantasy, not mine.”

“And a great fantasy it is,” Aaron called after him. “When you’re picking out the ring, just remember that I warned you, and don’t hit me up to be best man.”

Morgan ignored his last comment, but a few minutes later when he was standing under the hot blast of the shower, his mind veered to it. Was his brainstorm just a flimsy excuse to see her again?

As he toweled himself dry, he didn’t waste time analyzing his motives. His parents hadn’t raised him to put his own selfish needs first. Other people counted on him and he didn’t let them down.

Wrapping the towel around his waist, he walked into his bedroom. This morning he paid no attention to the soothing shades of pearl gray and charcoal as he finished dressing. He was in a sudden hurry to get to work.

Emma had stayed up late watching movies, and the next morning the phone woke her. As she rolled over to grab the receiver, not yet awake enough to think about screening the call, Posy protested from her nest behind the bend of Emma’s knees.

“Hold on for a minute, okay?” Emma told the cat. “Hello?”

Silence greeted her. The telemarketers must be starting early. The clock by her bed said it was barely past nine.

“Hello?” she said again, some of her surliness over being woken up leaking into her tone.

“Emma Wright?”

She didn’t immediately recognize the voice, but it sounded familiar. Maybe it was a callback about a job interview.

She sat up straighter, wishing she had some water as she consciously sweetened her tone. “This is Emma.” With her free hand, she patted Posy so the cat would be quiet.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” the man’s voice continued. “I, um, didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Damn, he could tell she was still in bed. Emma’s cheeks grew hot at the idea that he’d probably heard her comment to Posy and assumed Emma wasn’t alone.

“No, no, it’s okay,” she replied eagerly. “You didn’t bother me at all. How can I help you?” She still couldn’t place the voice, but if it turned out to be a salesman on the other end of the line, she was going to be really, really annoyed.

“This is Morgan Davis from Children’s Connection,” he said. “We met the other day.”

Emma nearly dropped the receiver and the muscles of her throat closed so tight that she could hardly croak out a reply.

“Did you change your mind?” she asked.

“About what?” He sounded puzzled.

“My parents’ identity,” she replied. “Why else would you call me?”

When she heard him sigh, her heart plummeted.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought I made it clear that your file is confidential and there’s nothing I can do.”

She pushed her hair back from her face, fully awake now. If this was a personal call, she was going to slap him with a harassment suit for getting her hopes up.

“What, you had to call in case I didn’t get that already?” she snapped. “You and I have nothing else to discuss!”

“Please don’t hang up,” he said quickly. “The reason I’m calling is to offer you a job.”

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