Kristin’s heart swelled in sympathy for Zane.

They were both searching for their family. In a way, she’d found a kindred spirit. “I’m sorry, Zane.”

“It’s all right. I’ve built a good business here in Montana, and searching for my brother is something I do when I have the time. I have even less information on him than you have on your mother so I always knew I might never find him.”

“So you’re back to square one now?”

“I have one much weaker lead out there, but I’m not expecting anything to come of it. Like I said, I may never find him.”

He watched her as if he was also looking for understanding. Her heart lurched. He was hurt, too. He was struggling to find a connection with his past. And like her, he might never find his family.

PROTECTING THE WITNESSES:

New identities, looming danger and forever love in the Witness Protection Program.

Fatal Secrets—Barbara Phinney, May 2010

BARBARA PHINNEY

was born in England and raised in Canada. She has traveled throughout her life, loving to explore the various countries and cultures of the world. After she retired from the Canadian Armed Forces, Barbara turned her hand to romance writing. The thrill of adventure and the love of happy endings, coupled with a too-active imagination, have merged to help her create this and other wonderful stories. Barbara spends her days writing, building her dream home with her husband and enjoying their fast-growing children.

Fatal Secrets
Barbara Phinney

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

With God we will gain the victory,

and he will trample down our enemies.

—Psalms 60:12

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

LETTER TO READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

PROLOGUE

MEMO: Top Secret

TO: FBI Organized Crime Division; U.S. Marshal’s Office

FROM: Jackson McGraw, Special Agent in Charge, Chicago Field Office, Federal Bureau of Investigation

DATE: May 10, 2010

RE: Operation Black Veil

Vincent Martino has escaped custody. We have received new information from our “Martino Mystery Witness.” Vincent Martino has discovered Eloise Hill’s daughter lives in Montana. He knows her first name only and he is now believed to be in Montana searching for both mother and daughter. Salvatore Martino is dying and the family is stepping up efforts to find both women.

All police services have been informed.

The Marshal’s Office is requested to ensure all women in the Witness Protection Program in Montana who fit Eloise’s description are protected. The investigation is continuing on all fronts, including previous deaths, and the daughter (location on a need-to-know basis only) will be informed and told to stay vigilant. Protective custody not required at this time.

Contact SAC McGraw with any information that could assist the FBI in its case against the Martino crime family.

ONE

Nothing is harder than leaving my precious baby girl.

For the past five months, Kristin Perry had hung on to the words her birth mother wrote to FBI agent Jackson McGraw all those years ago. Written just before she’d left.

Eloise Hill was out there somewhere, and in her note to Jackson, she’d said she loved Kristin enough to give her up to keep her safe, something in which Kristin should find comfort.

Comfort didn’t come easily, though, Kristin decided as she sat in the café and fought back the first sign of tears. Her new identity, as both orphan and adoptee, was still sinking in, displacing any comfort. She’d lost both her adopted parents five months ago, and the ache inside had yet to ease. Only after discovering the contents of her father’s safe did she learn of her adopted status. She’d found her real birth certificate, and a note from her birth mother.

But visiting Jackson McGraw, the man to whom her mother had written, had done nothing to solve the mystery of where the woman might be. His last contact with her had been the note Kristin had since memorized.

Dear Jackson:

Nothing I’ve done, from testifying against a Mafia kingpin, to starting over in the Witness Protection Program, is harder than leaving my precious baby girl. Kristin almost died because of the path I’ve needed to take. I love her too much to risk her life. For her safety, I must give her up, though it breaks my heart. Please see to it she’s placed in a loving, Christian home.

Yours,

Eloise.

Kristin lingered over and over such parts as “nothing is harder” and “breaks my heart.” And each time, the ache increased. She needed to find her mother. Her only family now. Or did she now have brothers, sisters?

The mere thought of a big family gripped Kristin. She’d been an only child, with grandparents that were now just a faint memory to her. When her aging parents, Anna and Barton Perry, had died in that terrible car crash last January, she felt so alone.

Not so much now, though. She had a mother somewhere, and while sitting in this downtown coffee shop near her Westbrook, Montana, university campus, watching one particular man enter, Kristin knew she was that much closer to finding her.

Was that Zane Black, the man she’d asked to meet her this Monday morning? With a demeanor that spoke of control, the man threw open the door and strode into the café. He really didn’t look as if he belonged in her small town, despite the jeans and sheepskin jacket. Maybe a big city or even Kalispell just south of here, but not in little Westbrook.

Was this the private investigator she’d called? Kristin was about to stand when her cell phone rang, the soft version of “Ein Kleine Nachtmusik” barely heard in the busy café. Turning away from the man, she answered it.

On the other end was an unexpected caller, Jackson McGraw. “I—I was just thinking of you,” she said to him shyly.

“Really? Kristin, I have something that needs your attention.”

Hope flared in her. “You’ve found my mother?”

A distinct pause followed. “No. I’m sorry. I’ve told you all I know. I haven’t learned anything new since that day I last saw your mother. She left that night.”

Sagging, Kristin raked her fingers through her hair, then quickly smoothed the right side down carefully, as she always did. Beneath the straight brown hair that was cut in such a way to conceal it, lay a thick scar, long and white, devoid of hair. Jackson had told her how she acquired the scar, but for now, she set that thought aside.

“I wish I had better news for you.”

Disappointment bit at her, and she blinked back the subsequent tears. “Then why are you calling? I got the impression that we wouldn’t contact each other again because Witness Protection made everything too dangerous.”

“It does, Kristin. I personally have no access to the program. It belongs to the Department of Justice and the U.S. Marshal’s Office. Organized crime investigation comes under my jurisdiction. But I’ve received some new information that you need to know.”

“What is it?” She had nothing to do with organized crime. And her biological mother had been hidden for years, after testifying against one Mafia member.

“It seems that the Martino family has learned you live in Montana. We believe that they are searching for you.” His words sounded guarded, as if he weighed each one carefully to ensure a balance of gentleness and warning.

“You mean that man my mother testified against?”

“I mean the whole crime family. As a tribute to Salvatore Martino, the rest of the Martino family and their associates want to get to your mother, but we believe that they want you, too. Or they want you to lead them to your mother. Or both.”

She gasped, hunkered over the phone further and set her forehead into her left palm. “I don’t understand. Why would they be after me?”

“Hurt you, hurt your mother. They’re looking to honor Salvatore Martino, not to make any sense. What we need you to do is stop your search for your mother. We believe it may have sparked some interest in you.”

Tears welled up again, causing a knot to tighten around her throat. She couldn’t look for her mother? It didn’t seem fair. “How do they know I’m in Montana?”

“We’re not sure yet. They’ve learned that your mother gave you up for adoption and that you live in Montana. They know your first name was Kristin years ago, but that’s all they know.”

Her heart tripped slightly. “Do you think they’d break in to your office and steal my address?”

“No, they won’t,” he answered tersely. “Even if they could break in, they wouldn’t find it because last night I shredded all the info I had on you.”

So he must have committed her phone number to memory. So much to do for just her, she thought. Why?

“But if they’ve discovered you’re in Montana,” he continued, “they could find out more.”

She gasped. “Then they could find my mother, too!”

“Not if I can help it.” The grit in his words abraded through her cell phone. He’d do anything, she realized. Odd to have such determination, but since Jackson was the only FBI agent she’d ever met, maybe they were all that dogged. He just seemed so…concerned for her and her mother.

She lifted her head and straightened. “So what should I do? I want to find my mother. I need to find her. I have no one,” she said, her voice cracking. The wounds of her parents’ deaths were still too raw. It had only been four and a half months. “And I…just don’t want to go through my life with no one. Do you understand?”

Jackson McGraw didn’t speak right away. But when his answer came, his voice had softened. “I do understand. But for now, I need you to trust me, Kristin. Someone is after you, too, and if that person or persons find you, they may wait until you’ve located your mother. Or they may not wait and hope your death draws out your mother.”

There was static on the line. “I’m stuck in Chicago right now and can’t get out to see you in person, nor do I want to just yet, for your own safety. I’m asking you to suspend your search. Information is being leaked out to the Martino family, so I wouldn’t trust anyone at this point. I mean no one.”

“But no one here knows I’m adopted, not even the man who opened the safe for me. There are a few older people in Billings, but that’s it. Really, only you and your brother know.”

She paused, her thoughts skittering from Jackson to Micah McGraw, his younger brother who she’d first contacted because he was a U.S. Marshal in Billings. He’d introduced her to Jackson. Then her thoughts moved to the private investigator she’d hired. All she’d said to Zane Black was she was looking for a woman. She’d planned to explain everything when she met him today. But now, considering what Jackson had said…should she even say anything at all?

“I’m working as fast as I can to locate your mother, Kristin,” Jackson continued, “but in the meantime, please be very vigilant and don’t say a word to anyone, not even the police. Not just for your own sake, but your mother’s, too.”

His tone changed with that last sentence, sounding the same as when he’d told her about that night in the safe house twenty years ago. The night when Eloise had fled.

It had been the middle of the night and as a baby, Kristin had cried out, awakening Jackson. When her complaints went unanswered, he rose, and found her alone in her crib, a note shoved onto the mobile dangling high above her. He scooped her into his arms, and she stopped crying. When he read the note, the one he eventually gave to her adoptive parents, the one Kristin found in her father’s safe after her parents died, Jackson knew Eloise believed her life was no longer safe. She’d left because the Mob had found her, even at that safe house—

“Kristin?”

She started, coming back to the moment. “Yes?”

“Don’t tell anyone about this conversation, and say nothing about your mother. We’ll find her, rest assured of that, but we don’t want you to lead the Martino family to her first. You’ll both end up dead.”

Kristin wet her lips. Dead? She swallowed. “I—I’ll be very careful.”

She disconnected, and with a shaky sigh, set her phone down on the table. Not find her mother? Give up her search? That was easy for Jackson McGraw to say. He wasn’t dealing with the loss she had right now. He didn’t hurt inside the way she hurt.

She should call Jackson back and tell him he had no right to order her not to find her mother.

Toying with her small phone, she squared her shoulders and flipped it open.

Then, she jumped.

That tall man who had strode in a few moments ago, the one she’d believed to be the P.I. she’d hired, now towered over her tiny table. She ran her gaze up his tall length, until she found piercing blue eyes drilling into her.

“Kristin Perry, I assume?”

Zane Black knew Kristin immediately. On Friday, she’d called him, her soft, lilting voice giving him a clear impression of what she looked like, clearer than he’d ever had before with a client. Some people looked the opposite of how they sounded, but not Kristin Perry.

Wide, green eyes blinked at him. Eyes soaked in fear, he thought. Around them, the bustle of the café softened as if waiting for her answer. But all she did was flip closed her phone and set it back on the table, with a slight shake.

“You are Kristin Perry, aren’t you?” he asked. Even to his own ears, he sounded gruff.

She nodded jerkily, as if gathering wild thoughts together. Finally, with one more blink and a swallow, she spoke. “Yes. And you are…?”

“Zane Black.” She knew who he was, surely? She’d asked him to meet her here. She’d noticed his arrival.

Something was off and he didn’t like it when his suspicions were roused. That usually meant trouble was coming.

No, this wasn’t quite the woman he’d spoken to on the phone, the calm, quiet woman who sounded shy, but determined. This woman was scared, confused. “May I join you?” he asked.

“Yes, of course. Please, sit down.” When he did, she glanced around and then leaned forward. “Um, call me Kristin. Ms. Perry sounds so formal.”

Zane had made it his job to read body language and could quite accurately guess what people were thinking.

And this pretty young woman was already regretting her decision to ask him to come.

Zane sat back, wondering if he would get the brush-off. When the waiter appeared, he ordered an iced tea. Unsweetened. Then he turned his attention to her. “You mentioned on the phone you’re trying to locate a woman. Do you have her name?”

Kristin bit her lip. Zane watched the motion intently, finding the little habit oddly attractive.

“I have very little information, I’m afraid. I know what the woman’s name was years ago, and her approximate age, but that’s pretty much it. I know she was living in Montana about twenty-one years ago.”

“Is she a relative?”

Again, she bit her lip. “I’d rather not say at this point. I need you to be very discreet.”

“I’m always discreet.”

“No.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping as her expression steeled. “I need you to find this woman without anyone ever knowing you’re looking for her.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “I can do that, too.”

She paused, as if wanting to add more, but not convinced that she should. Impatient, he pulled out his notepad and pen, and set it on the table between them to write. His iced tea arrived and he shoved the cold glass to one side.

“No!”

He looked up, meeting her wide, green eyes and noting the straight brown hair that threatened to fall into them. Her look could easily be interpreted as benign, innocent, had he not just seen a cool determination behind it. “No, what?” he asked.

“I don’t want you to take notes. I need you to remember everything I say. I can’t risk your notebook being stolen.”

His pen hovered over his pad, irritation tempting him to write anyway. But when her eyes filled with pleading, Zane’s hand froze.

He battled his capitulation. He didn’t like giving in. “You want me to remember everything you say to me? Don’t you think that’s a bit unreasonable? I can assure you that no one gets my notebook, Kristin. No one.”

“Just humor me, okay? For a little while?” Her voice developed a velvet tone to it. With her wide, innocent eyes and perfect cream complexion, this young woman could probably get whatever she wanted from any man in town.

Yet, if he was reading her right, he bet she’d never asked a soul for anything, never manipulated a man before. Until now. He was tempted to test her determination, to see if there really was silk over steel where her will was concerned.

But a battle of wills was pointless and he had no taste for such foolishness. He’d had his fill of that nonsense years ago.

And besides, he found himself not wanting to argue with the beautiful Kristin Perry.

Slowly, he put away his pad and pen.

“Thank you.”

Zane barely heard the words over the other conversations around them. But the gratitude rang clearly. “So, tell me about the woman you want me to find.”

“She’s around forty years old, has brown hair and green eyes, slim-boned and with a scar on her right cheek near her lips. It’s in the shape of a rose petal.”

He watched her hand drift up to her temple to smooth her hair. As if noticing his keen interest, she dropped her arm immediately.

“A rose petal?” he echoed. What on earth was the shape of a rose petal?

“Yes, you know. Rounded, with a slight point at one end.”

“Okay,” he began. “What’s this woman’s name?”

“Eloise.”

“What’s her relationship to you?”

A pause. “Like I said before, I can’t say. I mean, I don’t think it’s something we need to discuss.”

Zane pulled in a deep breath, then eased it out slowly to smooth over his growing impatience. Was this woman using him? Had he pegged her wrong when he’d thought she’d never manipulated men before?

This was fast becoming a big waste of time. He didn’t need any more evasive people in his life, not after dealing that last time with his own parents. “Look, Kristin, I can’t find a person with such vague information.”

“What I’ve told you isn’t vague, Mr. Black.”

“Call me Zane.”

“Fine. I told you her name, as I know it, and a basic description. She’s somewhere in Montana.”

“Which is a big state. How do you know she’s here?”

“An acquaintance told me.”

The person she’d spoken to a moment ago, the one who’d seemed to have dropped a bombshell? “And this person couldn’t tell you anything more than that?”

“No.”

“Have you begun to search for her by yourself?”

Color seeped into her cheeks, and her neck turned an attractive pink. “I asked around a few places.”

He leaned forward, trying a stern look to stem the pull of her perfect features. Pretty girls were a dime a dozen in a college town, more so in this small town of Westbrook, he thought. He refused to be lured by her innocent eyes and classic good looks. “Kristin, you need to be more forthcoming here. I don’t want to waste your money by doing things you’ve already done. So tell me. Where have you been?”

“I thought she’d gone south, to a bigger urban area like Missoula, so I went down there. But I could only go for the day. I’ve, um, been busy lately.”

Busy doing what? he wondered. “More than half the state of Montana is south of Missoula. You need to be specific about where you think she went.”

“I can’t be. I asked at the city hall in Missoula and the public records, and at the tech colleges and such, in case she’d taken some courses. But I found nothing.”

“Why those places?”

She shrugged. “I had to start somewhere. Getting an education is important. But I realized that I needed help. I’d lost a bit of my schooling this past spring because of personal issues, and I need to make it up this summer. The university offers summer courses. I can’t spend my time doing both things.”

Still a bit evasive, she was. He made a mental note to find out what kind of personal issues she’d dealt with this past spring. “Any other places?”

She paused, pursed her lips and then wet them. After swallowing, she answered him. “I found out that Eloise lived for a while at a foster home in Chicago. I talked to the woman who ran it. She’s supposed to, er, send me some info.”

She didn’t want to tell him, that, he noticed. Why? Was the idea of a foster home difficult? Or had the woman asked for anonymity? Surely she would know that she shouldn’t be offering information about the children in her care, even the ones who had probably aged out long ago.

Abruptly, Kristin leaned forward. “Please, Zane, I need your help. A friend recommended you, and I really need to find this woman. But it has to be done very discreetly.”

If his gut was telling him correctly, the woman was her mother.

A mom. Supposedly the one person in a child’s life who should love unconditionally. Yeah, like that happened.

Still, didn’t he already love unconditionally the brother he’d come to Westbrook to find? Without even knowing him?

He did. Zane noticed Kristin’s hand slip from her lap up onto the table between them, to rest there like a shy, stray animal in search of food or affection.

Did he really need this case? No, not for the money. He was sensible enough to have saved so that he could spend his summer searching exclusively for his lost brother, though he had yet to start. He didn’t need to follow weak clues from an evasive woman. He’d only agreed to meet her because he’d been intrigued by that smooth, velvet voice.

He stood. “I’m sorry, Kristin, but I’m going to need more than just the few things you’ve told me. If you’re not willing to say more, then you can’t expect anyone to find your mom.”

She gasped. “How did you know she was my mother?”

“I’m good at my job. I know how to read people.” He’d learned that the hard way, the way any battered kid learns to watch a parent for those subtle signs that a beating was imminent. “I see.”

He watched as her eyes welled up. Great. Feeling he was being a bit too hard on her, he planted his hands on the table, one on each side of hers. Her body tensed as she eased her hand closer to her body.

“Kristin, you need to trust the person you hire to find her, and obviously you’re not ready to do that. When you are, call me back.”

“It’s not a matter of trust here.”

“Then you’re being too stubborn for some reason. I need cooperation and trust before I can go any further with this.”

“But I need to find her. It’s a matter of—” She cut off her words.

“Of life and death?” He threw her a dubious look. “Then go to the police.”

“I can’t. And I can’t explain why.”

“Then I can’t help you.” He straightened. The café around him came into sharp focus. Being a typical college-town café, it had atmosphere aplenty, right down to the poster styled mirror mounted on the wall behind Kristin. In that brief instance, he caught his reflection.

Did his brother look like him? For the past two years, since his mother had finally told him the truth, he’d searched for the man, a full brother two years younger. Would he ever meet him?

He looked down at Kristin. “You’ve got my number. Call when you’re ready.” His heel drilled into the battered pine floor as he pivoted. He could feel her gaze glued to his back as he walked out the door.

The sun had already warmed the day, more than expected, he thought. He’d been in northwest Montana for two years and had noticed that springtime here could mean anything weather-wise.

Today, the sun beat down on him and he pulled from his jacket pocket a pair of sunglasses. He strode across the street, noticing the traffic had increased with a small town’s version of morning rush hour.

“Zane!”

He turned. Kristin stood in the café’s entrance, holding the door with one hand, her purse with the other. Once she’d caught his attention, she released the handle and trotted across the sidewalk, cutting through the increasing flow of pedestrians. The favorable weather was luring people outside in droves. Older people and students who’d chosen to stay the summer to get extra credits, a popular thing to do here, all seemed to be walking to work or school today.

For the first time, he could fully see what she was wearing. Dark jeans, a thin university hoodie and, over it, a light vest. Typical college-student wear around here.

She’s changed her mind, he thought, having decided that vagueness wasn’t going to locate her mother. Smart girl, but frankly, he wasn’t interested. His own family, his mom especially, had been secretive enough. Sure, she had her own trouble with his father, but she hadn’t once stood up for her adopted son, the boy she’d promised to care for. Instead, she’d kept secrets from him, even lying to save her own skin sometimes. Leaving his skin to be blistered from beatings.

He’d had a lifetime’s worth of secretive garbage, and he didn’t feel like dragging the same stuff from another reluctant woman.

At the outer edge of his vision, a truck accelerated, grinding first gear into second as it approached. Kristin stopped between the cars parked on an angle, her glance down the busy street telling Zane she also saw the truck coming. He waited. Should he take her on as a client?

Depends on what she says, he decided.

He glanced again at the midsize delivery truck, old and battered, with a grizzled, bearded driver. As the power train jerked into third gear, the vehicle lurched closer.

A scream sliced through the air, and Zane snapped his head back over.

Her arms flaying out wildly, Kristin was falling directly into the truck’s path.

TWO

Zane leaped forward, only to be blocked by the truck. The driver laid on the horn, adding to the sound of screeching brakes as the huge vehicle careened to a lumbering stop.

Zane slammed into its left side and after he spun once, he raced around the back.

Kristin was sprawled facedown by the right front tire, her purse beside her. Zane sliced through the growing crowd as she began to roll over.

“Don’t move,” he told her. “Stay still for a minute. You may be hurt.”

The truck driver hurried around the front bumper. “Is she all right? I didn’t see her until she jumped out at me!”

Kristin sat up. “I didn’t jump. I was pushed.”

The driver stepped back in shock. Zane took the opportunity to move in front of him. As he did, Kristin threw back her hair. “Someone shoved me!”

Immediately, Zane glanced around, stretching his vision from one end of the street to the other. Apart from the crowd that had gathered, he saw no one hurrying away. Murmurs threaded through the onlookers at her accusation, each person checking out their neighbor. He watched each surprised face. No one looked guilty.

Zane stooped to take her arm. “I told you not to move.”

She grabbed him and pulled herself to her feet. “I’m fine. A little scraped up, that’s all.” Then, with a shocked gaze, she looked around. “Didn’t you see him? The man who pushed me?”

The driver shook his head. “I laid on the horn when I first saw you,” he cried out. “It looked like you’d stumbled!”

She threw off Zane’s helping hand. “I didn’t stumble. I was pushed. I distinctly felt two hands on my back.” She looked at Zane. “You didn’t see him, either?”

“No.” Inwardly, he cringed at his short word. It wasn’t as though he suspected her of lying, but with the blank looks from the crowd gathering around them, he wondered briefly if she’d staged this to get his attention.

Was this a ploy to avoid telling her precious secret, all the while gaining sympathy and an agreement to take her case?

Zane gritted his teeth. His mother had done something similar when he’d begun to ask questions. She’d faked an illness to avoid the truth.

Kristin straightened. “Well, someone pushed me.” With a hand that was definitely shaking, she smoothed her straight brown hair. For one brief moment, he caught sight of a long white scar just above her temple. Then, as quickly as it was exposed, it slipped back into hiding beneath the straight cloak of shiny brown tresses.

And as if realizing she was creating a scene, Kristin grabbed her purse and brushed off her jeans. “I know what I felt. I was pushed, but managed to roll away from the truck in the nick of time.”

Zane moved her away from the crowd. It wasn’t such a good idea to attract this much attention. Kristin had been evasive for a reason, and while he hated secrecy, he knew she shouldn’t be standing in the middle of the street if she needed some privacy or protection. And as a private investigator, he preferred to keep a low profile, as well. Playing hero for all to see wasn’t what his profession was about. He was trained to blend into the crowd, notice things without being noticed.

To that end, he steered her around the truck and toward his car, to get away from local curiosity.

“Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“To the truck stop out by the highway. We’ll talk there.”

She followed him to his car, hesitantly, stopping short of climbing in. “I don’t get into strangers’ cars.”

“Good advice for anyone.” Then, pulling out his car keys, he handed them to her. “You can drive if it makes you feel safer. Do you know the truck stop I’m talking about?”

“Of course. I was bor— I mean I grew up here.”

He caught her correction, but decided to ignore it for now.

“But driving your car isn’t going to make it safer for me,” she reasoned.

“Let me show you my ID. But frankly, you should have asked for it as soon as I sat down in the café.”

“You’re the first private investigator I’ve ever hired. And you come highly recommended.” After checking out his ID, she took the keys and clicked the unlock button before tossing her purse into the back. With a short hesitation, she climbed in behind the wheel. Automatically, she moved the seat up to accommodate her shorter stature.

She started the car. “Does this mean you’ll take my case?”

“Maybe. Who recommended me?”

“Jake Downs. His sister and I are in the same chemistry class. He’s the locksmith who helped me open my father’s safe a few months ago. We made a mess of the wall at home because Jake had to take the safe to his shop and drill through the side of it just to open it. You know, look at the lock from the inside? When I asked if he knew any private investigators, he recommended you.” She shrugged. “And he also recommended a good drywaller to fix the wall in my father’s office.”

Zane knew Jake Downs. A good locksmith, accredited and bonded, with a cocky charm that seemed in total contradiction with the man’s strong personal faith. He was a Christian, and had even invited him to church once.

Zane had declined. For work reasons, he’d said. Truth was, the cost of believing was just a bit too high for him.

Still, he nodded. “I know Jake, but I didn’t know he had a sister.”

“Maggie. She’s the funniest person ever, so we don’t get much chem work done.” She paused a few seconds as she pulled into traffic. “She works at the lab at the university.”

She glanced at him as she signaled to merge onto the highway. It took her a moment to ask, “Have you decided to take my case?”

He paused. “Have you decided to trust me?”

By now, they’d reached the truck stop, it being only a short drive down the highway. After parking, she turned to him. “Zane, I need to find my biological mother. I don’t know much about her, but I know she’s in danger.”

Hmm. Was this her idea of trust? A few mysterious words? “In danger of what?”

“Of being murdered.”

The words hung between them in the car, as Zane watched Kristin’s eyes grow wide with some instant realization and she sucked in a sharp breath.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Besides the obvious fact you think your biological mother is in danger.”

Her expression turned hollow as she stared out the windshield. “They’re after me,” she whispered. “Jackson was right!” She bit her lip before adding, “I should never have gone to that guy’s trial! But that couldn’t have been how…”

What on earth was she talking about? “Look at me, Kristin. What’s going on?”

She turned toward him, her eyes like a Japanese cartoon. “I went to Vincent Martino’s trial,” she breathed out. “That must have been where they saw me, but he didn’t say it was.”

He shook his head and frowned. “Whose trial?” He itched to reach for his notebook, but stopped himself, instead committing the name to memory. “Did you have to testify?”

“No. It’s a long story.”

“Where was it?”

“Chicago.” She blinked. “While I was there, I met up with Jackson McGraw again. He’s an FBI agent there. I’d met him some months ago when I started the search for my mother. During a recess at the trial—”

“Wait!” he interrupted. “Are you talking about the mobster Vincent Martino? Wasn’t he convicted, but escaped custody?” He stared intently at her. “What was so important about going to his trial? That courtroom was probably the most dangerous place to be in all of the country.”

“It was also said to be the safest place in the country.”

Zane sat back, trying to recall the details that had flooded the news last month. With the tightest security since the president was sworn in, the judge would only allow those closely associated with the trial to be in the courtroom. How did this woman get in?

More to the point, why did she think Vincent Martino was now after her? What was going on?

“Drive. Start the engine and drive,” he told her.

“Where are we going?”

“To the police station. You need to report what happened to you.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but shut it again.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

“I should make a phone call first. It won’t take long.” She twisted around for her purse.

“And in the meantime your assailant’s trail goes cold. The police can help you, but you can’t be calling a girlfriend first.”

Their gazes locked. He could easily see the irritated indecision in hers. “The police can only help you if you’re timely, Kristin.”

“It wasn’t to call a girlfriend.” She looked exasperated. “It’s a long story.”

He’d hurt her feelings, he noted. Still, she needed to see the police. “The police should know about it, Kristin.”

Finally, she nodded. After starting the engine, she carefully eased from her parking spot and out onto the highway.

He wanted to ask her a thousand questions, mostly sparked by his own curiosity, but common sense told him to report the incident in front of the café.

And then walk away.

Yes, Zane. Walk far away. You don’t need this hassle.

And yet, he argued silently with himself, there was something earnest about her, a deep hurting quality that tugged at his protective instincts.

The police station came into view, an ordinary brick-and-mortar building on the other side of the town. But after parking in the visitor spot, Kristin made no effort to climb out. Zane sat there patiently, staring out at the line of snow-topped mountains that trimmed the horizon behind the station. In front of them, the flag jerked about in the increasing wind.

“You have to report what happened to you, Kristin.”

“I don’t know. Jackson said—”

This Jackson guy must have a title in the FBI, but he’d find that out later. “Never mind what he said. You think someone tried to kill you, so you need to talk to the police. If it has anything to do with the Martino family, you need to let them know even more.”

She snapped her head over. “How do you know what I need? Or what I think, or anything?”

“You have the face of an angel, Kristin. Every thought that runs through your head is displayed loud and clear to those who know how to read people. And I’ve made it my business to read people. You think what’s happened to you is related to the Martino family. And we both know you’re not telling me everything, but you will tell the police.”

“Maybe.”

“No maybes about it. You obviously don’t trust me, but surely, you’ll trust the local police force.”

She sat ramrod still, not answering him for a few minutes. He had the time to wait her out, but when he looked up at her face, a tear rolled down her perfectly clear cheek. It dropped to her jeans.

He groaned inwardly. “What’s wrong?”

She hastily brushed the tear away. “The last time I was here was to pick up my adoptive parents’ things. The police had come to my door and taken me to the hospital.” She looked at him with hollow eyes. “Did you know that they have a morgue in the basement there? I had to identify my mother and father. They’d been in a car crash south of here. The police were actually willing to take me to where they died, but I… It was the worst thing to ever happen to me. I couldn’t do it.”

She swallowed, obviously fighting back difficult emotions. “Then a policewoman took me home and spent the night with me, until one of the ladies from the church could come and stay. A couple of days later, I was asked to come here to collect my parents’ things. They handed me a box and two bags of stuff that was broken and splattered with—” She inhaled shakily. “Then the police were done with me. I haven’t been back since.”

Zane slumped. He remembered a crash about five months ago. The roads were clear, but still the car had plunged over a short embankment into Lindbergh Lake. Both the husband and wife had died. The autopsies and even tearing apart the car couldn’t reveal any reason for the accident. The story fell off the radar shortly after their funeral.

They were her parents?

Abruptly, Kristin threw open the door and climbed out.

“Kristin!” Zane scrambled out. “I had no idea. You should have said something.”

She colored as she pulled her short vest closer around her neck. Outside the center of town, the wind was stronger and cooler. “I should be able to come to the police station without tears, right? I’m a big girl. Regardless of Jackson’s warning, I need to report what happened to me. I mean, he’d insist I tell the police if he knew I’d been pushed into traffic, right? They’d be able to investigate it better than he could.”

She straightened her shoulders, obviously trying to look taller than she really was. As a petite, slender woman, she couldn’t really pull it off.

Why wouldn’t this Jackson guy trust the police? Why even say that? Zane thought. Unless it had something to do with that phone call she’d received back in the café. The one he now figured came from Jackson.

He was from the FBI, Kristin had said. He wouldn’t fool around with her life.

Several government cars pulled into the parking lot. Kristin moved to one side to allow them to park. The wind raised a few strands of her hair, flicking them over to one side. His hand itched to set them back in place and cover that scar she hid so well. “You don’t have to go in there.”

“I should. I should remember what my pastor told me. My parents are together with Jesus now. And the Lord wouldn’t give me any situation I can’t handle. I handled their deaths.” She looked over at the station, as if steeling herself. “I can do this.”

Zane shifted uncomfortably. Another one like Jake Downs that believed God is good, even when He dumped on you. That was because they didn’t have the childhood Zane had.

“Nonetheless, you don’t have to go in.”

She wavered a bit, he could see. Then she shook her head. “I should. Someone pushed me in front of that truck and I wouldn’t be here right now if I hadn’t managed to roll away quickly. God was looking out for me.”

“If God was looking out for you, He wouldn’t have put that truck on the road or that idiot on the sidewalk.”

“He gave me the agility I needed.” A frown marked her forehead. “This isn’t the time to debate the merits of my faith. I need to go into this station sooner or later. I’m going in, now.” She lifted her chin. “And maybe I can show you that I’m sincere in doing this, so that you’ll help me find my biological mother.”

He hated her intuition, not to mention the guilt she was dumping on him. But before he could say anything, she added with a soft, sweet smile, “I appreciate all you’ve done so far.”

“I haven’t done anything,” he growled.

“You were there for me at the café.”

He took her arm and steered her toward the front door. He hadn’t done a single thing for her yet, nor had he promised to do anything. And yet she was thanking him.

He should help her.

But still, a voice within him whispered, she hasn’t told you much. All you’ve heard is a sad, little story.

He glanced down at her as she tugged free of his grip and moved forward. He watched her straighten up and stiffen her spine.

Across the back of her vest were two faint smears of something dark and iridescent. Some kind of grease? From the hands of the man who pushed her?

Before he could say anything, she strode toward the front door. With a frown, he took the few long steps needed to catch up with her.

Inside the station, a police officer recognized Kristin, and led them down to a small office. She hesitated in the doorway before pushing inside. They sat down and Kristin began to speak.

She told her story, haltingly, he thought.

And leaving out, he noticed, the part of why she had asked to meet Zane.

And the part about Martino’s trial. Zane kept his mouth shut, deciding he would say something only if it became necessary. Maybe she was rethinking that just because she’d attended a trial did not necessarily mean the convicted felon would go after her.

The officer recorded it all, getting the statement written up quickly for her to sign.

“You should take her vest,” Zane suggested to the man when all was done.

The officer frowned. “Why?”

Zane answered by asking Kristin to remove the vest. With a small frown, she peeled it off, and Zane spread it out on the table between him and the officer. The dark smudges he’d seen earlier stood out starkly in the cool fluorescent lights. They shimmered like some kind of special automotive grease. The two marks were shaped like fingerprints.

“Whoever pushed her left those marks. They may reveal fingerprints.”

The officer retrieved a large paper bag and set the vest in it, then wrote out a receipt for her. “I’ll have a look at it later, but you must remember that this is a college town, and students do stupid things, even early in the morning. Someone could have just jostled you, Ms. Perry, and then slipped back into the crowd so he wouldn’t be accused of anything.”

“I distinctly felt two hands on my back.”

“This is a thick vest. Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” She stiffened her shoulders. “Why would I lie?”

The officer shook his head. “I’m not saying you’re lying. You may be mistaken. We often get reports of students jumping the gun on things that later prove to be just an accident, or not real at all.”

She glared. “I know what I felt.”

“You just lost both parents, Ms. Perry,” the officer continued calmly. “It can have a devastating effect on people.”

Zane’s hand shot out to stop Kristin before she did or said something stupid. He could feel her muscles tighten under his fingers. “Can you just check the vest?”

“Sure.” The officer looked doubtful, but then shrugged. “We’ll see what we can find, but don’t expect too much.”

“I understand.” Rising, she shoved out her hand. “Thank you. I hope you can find something useful on that vest. And I hope you find who did this to me.”

“You said no one saw anything. It may be hard to do.”

“Surely if you ask around, someone will remember something. People aren’t going to accuse others right in public, but they may be willing to talk in private.” Kristin looked hopefully at the man.

The officer shrugged before shaking her hand and then Zane’s. They left the office, passing several plainclothes officers who watched Kristin closely. Was she known to them because of her adoptive parents’ untimely deaths? Minutes later, she and Zane were outside again.

She sighed. “That felt like a waste of my time.”

Zane stopped her as she walked toward his car. “Why didn’t you say anything about the trial?”

“Because of the way Jackson was talking. Like I shouldn’t trust anyone. Plus, it may not have been related.”

“You thought it was a few minutes ago.”

“I know.” She looked uncertain. “I had second thoughts. I wanted to go in there. I wanted to tell him, but I thought of my parents, and Jackson, and even my mother, then when that officer first looked at me, remembering me from the crash, I just lost all…strength. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’ve been through some rough times.”

She blinked. “Have you ever lost someone you love?”

He thought of his parents, and the beatings, the way his mother wouldn’t look at him for days on end. When he was young, he thought she was mad at him. Later, he realized she was saving her own skin. He didn’t miss them when they died, and he hated that truth.

“I need to call Jackson back before I say anything more to the police,” she said when he didn’t answer her.

“How do you know you can trust him?”

“He works for the FBI. I was even in his office, and that building is like a fortress.” She paused, tossing her hand out. “Okay, I trust him, that’s all. He seems to be very careful dealing with me. It’s almost as though he treats me like a princess or something really delicate.” Her hands flew up in defense. “I know that sounds egotistical, but it’s not. I think he genuinely wants what’s best for me, and is determined to find my mother. But he’s afraid my mother and I will both be killed.”

Pausing, she shook her head. “I don’t even know if I’m remembering his words correctly. I’ll call him back to make sure. He sounded as though he thought Vincent Martino was planning to come after me. That guy might already know where I am because of the trial.” She started walking again. “I realize that I’m not making any sense, but it’s hard to explain.”

Zane stopped them. Holding out his hand, he said, “Give me the car keys. I need to do something.”

Kristin handed him his keys. “Like what?”

He looked at her. She stopped halfway to the car, holding herself close and rubbing her arms. The cold wind, now coming down from Canada, defiantly tossed around her hair. The flag nearby fluttered even more noisily. “I have to get you home so you can get a coat to wear. You do own a decent jacket, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. But the vest was cute and I wasn’t cold this morning. And I certainly didn’t expect to surrender it to the police today.”

Zane peeled off his sheepskin jacket and handed it to her. She was about to decline it, he could tell, but caught his stern look and changed her mind.

“Now you’ll get cold,” she said as she slipped into it. The ends of the sleeves dangled beyond her fingers until she hugged herself.

“I’ll be okay. This won’t take long. I’m going to collect my own forensic samples.”

“But you already made me surrender my vest.”

“You leaned back onto my car seat,” he answered. “There should be some residue there.”

“Can you do that?”

“I’m trained to collect evidence and have it still be legally admissible in court.” He unlocked the doors and dug a small kit from the backseat. He then took a photograph of the mess she’d smeared on the back of the driver’s seat. Once he examined it again, he lifted the smear and then swabbed what was left.

Over his shoulder, Kristin peered at his handiwork. “Do you think you’ll find fingerprints in that?”

Zane shook his head. “They probably didn’t transfer, especially considering how much it’s smeared. But I might find some trace DNA.”

“Do you have your own lab? How long will it take?”

He laughed, and then straightened out of the car. “I’m guessing you watch too many crime shows on TV.”

She reddened. “I’m a full-time student trying to major in business and minor in science. I don’t have time to watch much TV.”

“Sorry,” he answered her berate. “Anyway, to answer your question, no, I don’t have my own lab. I’ll use that independent lab you mentioned before.”

“Good. I’ve never been in it. I wasn’t a chem minor until this past year. I did art history until I realized that I couldn’t tell a Vermeer from a Van Gogh, even if the artists were telling me which was which. But with Maggie working there, we may be able to get it done quickly.”

“Excellent. We’ll go over just as soon as you pick up your jacket. Try to get a warmer one than your vest.”

She glanced up at the sky. “The day was supposed to be warm.”

“I’ve only been here two years, but I’ve already noticed how unpredictable spring can be.”

“You’ve only been here two years? Why did you come here?”

He packed away his collection kit and draped a car blanket over the driver’s seat before answering. “I came here to find my brother. I was adopted and when I learned I had a full brother who might be in Montana, I decided to move here and look for him. I just didn’t think I’d still be looking for him two years later.”

She looked crestfallen. “Two years! I was hoping to find my mother within a few weeks.”

“I hope you do, too.” He felt the urge to draw her into his arms, but checked it quickly. He hadn’t even decided to accept her case yet, so getting mixed up with her too much would not only be a waste of time, but highly unprofessional, as well. “Let’s get your jacket.”

With Kristin directing him, Zane drove to her house. The small, well-kept bungalow was slightly outside of town on a quiet street that intersected a tertiary highway.

Zane glanced around. There was no other traffic at the moment, he saw. But for a place this quiet, the feeling of being watched lingered heavily on him.

Way too heavily.

THREE

Zane watched Kristin slip into the modest bungalow, only to exit a few seconds later with a faux suede tailored jacket in a dark blue color. She’d also chosen a long, thin scarf to ward off the cool breeze. She’d wrapped it once around her neck.

He let out a long breath as he shook his head. She obviously did not know how to protect herself. If someone wanted to harm her, a long scarf would be a perfect weapon.

She’d been pushed into traffic; he believed that, not only because of the smudges, but also because to trip right at that moment was simply too coincidental.

And he didn’t believe in coincidences. Nor did he believe in wearing things that an attacker could use against a person.

Patience, he told himself. She’s not as cynical as you are. She probably hadn’t seen her father try to strangle her mother.

“I’ve got to teach you how to dress,” he muttered as she climbed in his car again.

“I beg your pardon!”

He had to smile at her shocked but polite words. She had excellent diction, though her accent was definitely northwestern. “I mean that you need to choose clothes that can’t be used as weapons.”

She looked down at herself. “Like what?”

“Your scarf. If someone is after you, then you must not give them anything they can use against you.” He paused, then added, “And you need to not act so…” He fought for the right words, then knowing they’d never come, he said, “regally.”

She tightened her jaw. “I’m not a princess.” She eased off on the outraged expression, looking more hurt than anything else. “My adoptive mother, Anna, was an English teacher, born of British parents. My father was a lawyer here in town and, before that, in Billings. He was good at his job. Projecting an air of confidence was important to him.”

“Your mother was a teacher?”

Looking sad, she said, “Well, yes, until I was—came along. She retired to stay home with me. She loved being a mother.”

He softened. He knew he’d hurt her, but she needed to hear what he’d said for her own safety. And suddenly, her safety meant a lot to him. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I don’t want you hurt, that’s all.”

Kristin seemed to be considering his warning. “I’ll try to do better. And you’re right. When I first started at the university, I attended a seminar on campus safety. I think they did mention scarves and long ponytails being things that an attacker could grab. I’m sorry. I just didn’t figure I would ever be a target for someone.”

“Which means we need to figure out why, not to mention how you’ve become a target.” He threw her a sidelong glance.

“Of course.” She looked uncomfortable as she peeled off the scarf, pausing a moment as if she wanted to say more. “So, are we going to take your samples to the lab?”

“Yes. I want to catch them before they close for lunch.” He started his car, and within minutes, they had returned to the center of Westbrook. He knew the lab, having used it a few times since he moved here. And maybe with Kristin’s connections, they’d get some answers quickly.

Because he had a nagging feeling that they’d need those answers soon.

As they entered the lab, Maggie, Kristin’s chem partner approached with a broad smile and Kristin found herself answering with her own smile. Zane briefly told Maggie what he needed to have done. She nodded as he passed her the sample he’d taken from his car.

Maggie studied the smear Zane handed her. “I don’t think you’ll get any fingerprints, but we’ll see what this stuff is. I can test it for human DNA, too, but it’ll have to go out to the lab in Helena for a full analysis. That could take three weeks or more, depending on how much you’re willing to pay.” She brightened. “In the meantime, we should have the results on what this is in a couple of days.”

“That’s fine.” Once the paperwork was completed, Zane turned toward the door.

Immediately, Maggie flashed a brilliant smile and a thumbs-up for approval. Kristin felt herself blanch. Was Maggie thinking that Zane was a boyfriend and she was merely following him around today for lack of anything better to do?

Zane turned back and peered at Maggie, who dropped the smile like the cheeky girl she was. With a frown, he said goodbye and held the door for Kristin.

Outside, Kristin trotted down the short flight of stone steps toward the parking lot, glad to be away from the embarrassing situation in the lab. Zane, a boyfriend? Sure, he was handsome, with some kind of indefinable strength, but still…

But still what? Suddenly, she felt as if she had no argument against Zane. Quite the opposite, really.

Kristin felt herself redden further. The brick buildings around them had cut the wind considerably, and she was glad she didn’t have to smooth her hair constantly in order to hide her scar. She didn’t need to add that to her embarrassment.

At the bottom step, her scalp near her scar tingling, Kristin stopped, remembering words from the note her birth mother had written Jackson.

Kristin almost died because of the path I’ve needed to take.

Years ago, her adoptive parents had told her that the scar was something she’d been born with. And to forget about it.

Like a dutiful daughter, she’d dropped the questions. She had her answer, now, from Jackson, and it was as shocking as finding out she’d been adopted out of state, not born here as her other birth certificate claimed.

She really had come close to dying and today the truth was sinking in even more deeply.

But it being a frightful souvenir and not a birth defect she’d always tried to hide still didn’t make her want it exposed, and certainly not to Zane. He was altogether too perceptive and with all that had happened, she felt exposed enough.

Zane took her arm and hurried her to his car. “That’s all we can do for now.”

She set aside her turbulent thoughts. “Does this mean you’ll take my case?” Honestly, she was beginning to hate that mantra, but couldn’t help ask again.

He paused. “I’ve been considering taking the summer off, but—” A short ring rippled through the air. Zane pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open. “Just a second. It’s a text from a friend.”

Stepping away from her, he stared at the small screen. His mouth fell open and his shoulders drooped. As she watched, the air around them felt as if it dropped in temperature.

Bad news.

Punching out numbers, Zane stepped farther from Kristen. She folded her arms against the sudden chill, staring at his back as he listened intently to the person on the other end. When he finally hung up, he turned. His jaw looked tight enough to snap.

Oh, yes, something was definitely wrong. She hurried over to him. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Let’s go. I’d like to talk to the waiter at the café again.”

She struggled to keep up with his long stride. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it? Is it about me?”

“No, it’s not about you at all.” He unlocked his car and held the door open for her. “Just get in.”

Biting her lip, she obeyed. When Zane sat down behind the wheel, she touched his arm. “If it’s not about me, then, is there anything I can do?”

“No. Just a lead in another case I’d been following. It’s a dead end, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry. Is it about your brother? Maybe I can help you. I’ve lived here all my life. Well, almost all my life, so I know a lot of people. My father had a thriving law practice here, and Mom knew everyone.”

His eyes widened. Though the bad news had marred the blue of his eyes like soft cirrus clouds wash out a clear sky, she could see shock easily in them. “You’re not going to dig into your father’s private files, are you?”

She shook her head. “Oh, no! His files went to his law partner. I’d never do that! I was just thinking if you were looking for someone, maybe I could help. Do you think he was a local?”

“I’d been hoping he was local. But I was wrong.”

“Who? I might know the name.”

Zane’s mouth thinned. “I only know his last name is Kendall.” He spelled it.

She sat back in the seat and shook her head. “Kendall. Hmm. I’m not sure. How old is he?”

“Two years younger than me.”

She stopped in mid-thought. His brother. Zane had moved here to find him, and now that one lead has dissolved. What was next for him? Would he move on?

She watched Zane’s clean profile, his straight nose and strong chin. His dark hair fell into his eyes slightly, and his brooding good looks and casual clothes seemed to fit well on the campus around them. The hurt in his expression, however, did not.

Suddenly, she didn’t want him to move out of the area to continue his search somewhere else. But she had to ask, “What’s next in your search?”

He slid his gaze sideways across the car’s front seats to her. “I don’t know. That guy on the phone was following my strongest lead, but it didn’t pan out.”

Her heart swelled in sympathy. They were both searching. In a way, she’d found a kindred spirit. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. I’ve built a good business here, and searching for my brother is something I do when I have the time. I have even less information on him than you have on your mother so I always knew I may never find him.”

“So you’re back to square one now?”

“I have one much weaker lead out there, but am not expecting anything to come of it.”

He watched her, as if, she wondered, he was also looking for understanding. Her heart lurched. He was hurting, too. He was struggling to find a connection with his past. And like her, he may never find his family.

“Let’s get some lunch. My treat,” she suggested to break the melancholy settling over them. “There’s a new restaurant downtown that has great Mexican food. If you like, you can tell me what you know about your brother. I’m no expert, but maybe you just need a fresh eye?”

He frowned at her and she tried a small, hopeful smile. She didn’t feel like smiling, and yet, sticking with Zane brought a strange measure of comfort that made smiling that much easier. Besides, after that push into traffic, she didn’t feel like being alone.

“Why don’t we talk about you instead, Kristin?” he answered. “My search for my brother can wait, but yours can’t. No one wants to kill me for it, but you are definitely in danger because of your search.”

“Do you really think it’s related to my mother?”

“I don’t believe in coincidences, and they’re piling up here. Your mother is in hiding, and right after you attend a related trial, you’re in danger, as well?”

“I don’t know anything, so there’s no reason to kill me.”

“I’m not saying you do know anything, but someone could be mistaking you for your mother. Do you look like her?”

She bit her lip. “I don’t know. I’ve only ever seen one photo of her and I don’t have it. It’s hard to see a resemblance to yourself, I think.”

Of course, she knew of another photo on its way to her. Zane may be able to confirm a resemblance.

Zane glanced around the parking lot, before zeroing in on her. “You want me to take on your case, but it’s obvious that you’re holding some things back. And the look on your face after you received that phone call this morning told me you didn’t know what to do. Were you warned about me?”

“No! Well, not exactly.” Boy, he was good. He was able to read her like a book. Should she tell him anything? Jackson had warned her of a leak. Anyone, including Zane, could use what they’d learn from her to find her mother, or inform the Mob, she wagered. How could she know for sure that he wouldn’t tell the Martino family?

But what could Zane learn from her? She didn’t have anything but a name, an old address from a foster home her mother had lived in, where that other photo had been taken, and very little else. She doubted her mother would use her real name and she certainly wouldn’t contact her old foster home again. Kristin only wanted the photo because it was of her mother and had been offered to her.

Zane tilted his head. “I can help you find your mother. So why won’t you tell me anything?”

If she found her mother, she reasoned to herself, she could warn her about the Martinos, about what Jackson had said. They could hide together, taking that time to get to know each other again. It would be so wonderful, and everything she’d dreamed of since her friend Jake had opened her father’s safe and she’d found the adoption papers.

She swallowed. “I’ve been told to be very careful.”

“Because of the Martino family? Why did you go to the trial then?”

“I had to see the man whose father had caused my mother to hide. But no one recognized me. I lightened my hair, and wore tinted glasses. And due to the security, those allowed into the courtroom were escorted in and out through a side door, and protected from the public.”

“But afterward, you came straight back here?”

“No.” She shook her head, understanding what he meant. “Jackson McGraw advised against that. After the trial, I wanted to thank one of the witnesses for the prosecution. He took me to the FBI building in the city. I talked to her there.”

“Who was she?”

“Olivia Jarrod. She was the star witness in that trial.”

“What did she say?”

“To me? Not much. I just thanked her for doing her best to get rid of the Martino family. Then I told her that I’d been separated from my mother for about twenty-one years and she said she hoped I would find my mother someday. The conversation didn’t last long. She didn’t want to stick around, and I didn’t, either.”

“So then you came straight home?”

She shook her head. “Jackson and I decided that I should take a flight to Maine to spend some time with a college friend. So I did. We climbed Mount Katahdin. Then we toured the East Coast for a week. After that, I returned here.”

Her tone changed as she drilled a stare into him. They were sitting in his car. Around them, the campus had gone quiet. “Please, Zane, I can’t tell you much, because I don’t know much.”

Zane’s look darkened, as if he disagreed with her. But thankfully, he said nothing. She continued, faster than before. “But I need to find my mother. Let’s have some lunch. We’ll talk there.”

She hadn’t really expected Zane to agree, but he did, asking for the name of the restaurant. A swell of accomplishment filled her. He was willing to talk to her, perhaps to engender trust, or perhaps because he needed to talk, maybe about his own fruitless search. She didn’t care about the reason. Suddenly, being with him warmed her, gave her a sense of connection.

At the restaurant, they found a booth in the back and ordered the daily special of quesadillas. After scribbling out their order, the waitress plunked down a large bowl of nacho chips and salsa. Kristin dug in. Catching Zane’s eye, she shrugged. “I’m hungry. And when I’m stressed, I eat. I’m not one to starve myself, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t apologize. I think it’s normal.” He grimaced. “You may be a bit naïve, but at least you’re not the thin, high-strung sort.”

She lifted her eyebrows, wondering who was like that in his life that brought such a derisive comment. “There’s a compliment in there, I’m sure. I just can’t see it right now.”

She picked up another chip and munched on it. At least he was talking. The stress of the call he’d made seemed to be wearing him down, loosening the cool grit that held him tightly together.

“It is a compliment. And you’re honest about it.” He tightened his jaw. “Believe me, I appreciate honesty.”

Why shouldn’t he? She stemmed her curiosity by changing the subject. “My church loves to eat. We’ll use any excuse for a potluck lunch. No thin, high-strung ladies there.” She pointed a corn chip at him. “You should come. There’ll be snacks after the service this week.”

Her offer slipped out automatically. She’d asked many of her college friends to church. Some had come, most had declined. Sleeping in on Sundays was too important to them.

He looked away, his jaw tight. “Once upon a time, I believed in God and all that. But the price was too high. You have to be perfect, and that’s not me. In fact, if I have to be as good as my father thought he was, I’d rather not be a Christian at all.”

She stopped chewing. The bitterness in his words bounced around their booth. She’d never heard such cold condemnation. What would her parents say to this?

Suddenly, the ache of grief weighed down her heart. Her parents would have known the right answer. They were wonderfully compassionate. They’d taken her in twenty-one years ago, finding themselves with a small child after many years alone. It must have been hard for them to keep up with a busy little toddler.

But enough of that. What could she say to Zane? He seemed so disappointed with God. How could she take that away?

She couldn’t. Nor was it any of her business, no matter how sad it made her feel. With a sip of water, she swallowed the corn chip and hastened to change the subject. “You said you have a brother. Where are your parents?”

“Dead. Both my birth parents and my adoptive ones. I was adopted shortly after I was born,” he told her tersely.

“So what clues led you here?”

“While I was living in upstate New York, I did a data search for the last name Kendall.” He spelled the name. “My adoptive mother only ever told me the last name and only after a good deal of pressure. She was afraid of my adoptive father.”

His jaw had tightened again, she noticed.

As if catching her curiosity, he cleared his throat and took a chip. “Anyway, I got a break once with some online photos from Westbrook University. So I decided to move here and set up my business.”

He dipped a chip into the salsa. “The lead today turned out to be no good.”

Their meals arrived and when the server left them, Kristin stared at her food.

She snapped her attention back him, remembering why the name sounded familiar. “What did this Kendall guy study?”

“Art, specializing in oils, I’m told. I don’t even know if he is my brother. He’s already left the area.”

Kristin set down her glass of water. “There’s a painting in one of the lecture rooms that’s signed ‘Bobby Kendall’ with that same spelling. It could be his. It’s of Lindbergh Lake, about eighty miles from here. It’s this multiseasonal three-sectioned painting, so the artist would have needed to go there frequently to plan his work. Maybe he’s there now.”

“I’ve checked everywhere.”

“But there’s the Bob Marshall Wilderness Area nearby. People spend months in The Bob all alone.”

“I’ll consider it after we’ve settled your case. Do you think your lecturer would talk about the artist?”

“I’m sure he would. He bored me silly for a whole semester about other artists and they’re dead.”

Abruptly, Zane laughed. “Ouch! That’s awfully critical, isn’t it?”

“You’re right.” She smiled back.

She liked being around Zane.

His gaze drifted over her shoulder toward the front entrance. Suddenly, he stiffened. “Kristin, listen to me carefully,” he whispered. “Take your purse and walk toward the washroom, but don’t go in. Do it now!”

She opened her mouth, but his icy glare froze any questions. Lifting her purse, she slid out of the booth.

“Hurry, but don’t run,” he said quietly, taking a fake sip of water. “And don’t look around.”

A minute later, she found herself down the dim hall near the washrooms, her heart pounding. From the front of the restaurant, the sound of a loud crash bounced down to her.

She jumped. What was going on?

Suddenly, a dark blur raced toward her and propelled her into the restaurant’s busy kitchen. Inside the steamy room, a young cook’s eyes widened in shock.

Then someone slapped a hand over her mouth.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.