The Unknown Daughter

He’d tried and failed over the years to forget their time together. How he’d thrown away what he never should have let himself want in the first place. But the look of betrayal on her face that last night had made a regular appearance in his dreams, never letting him completely forget.

She clearly didn’t want him anywhere near her now. Unfortunately, for both of them, she didn’t have a choice. His instincts told him Carrinne Wilmington had more trouble on her hands than she knew what to do with.

NO PROBLEM, Carrinne told herself as she rode to the sheriff’s department in the back of Eric’s squad car. No sweat. She’d tackle the lawyer first, then her grandfather. She was a pro at talking her way out of tough situations. She’d built her small New York accounting firm from the ground up. Whatever it took to get the job done, that’s what she did.

Getting what she needed without Oliver’s help was no longer an option. She’d come up empty-handed at the house, and she needed more time in the attic to look for her mother’s things. But would her grandfather be willing to help? That was a question she hadn’t let herself worry about until now, because she was afraid she already knew the answer.

At the age of ten, she’d found the stash of diaries in her mother’s closet and had read cover-to-cover each precious link to the woman she’d never known. There’d been a diary for every year after her mother turned seven, except the last. Angelica Wilmington’s sixteenth year. The year she’d become pregnant with Carrinne.

Finding the missing book had become Carrinne’s obsession. But each time she’d hunted for it, Oliver had demanded she stop digging up the past. She’d told him about her nanny Matilda’s stories. About how her mother had kept her diary with her always, up until the day she died delivering Carrinne. But he’d refused to listen. Discussing his daughter or anything about their lives before Carrinne’s birth was an unpardonable sin in the Wilmington house.

Finally, he’d ordered all her mother’s things packed into an enormous trunk and sent to the attic. He’d decreed her mother’s memory off-limits, and by God that’s the way things were going to be. And, because she’d longed for her grandfather’s approval back then, even more than she’d wanted to read her mother’s final hopes and dreams for her unborn baby, Carrinne had forced herself to stop looking. Eventually, she’d forgotten about that last diary all together.

Until now, when finding it had become a matter of life and death.

She cleared her throat against a cough, not quite succeeding in stopping it.

“You okay?” Eric asked from behind the wheel as he parked.

Her gaze collided with concerned brown eyes reflecting back from the rearview mirror, eyes the exact same shade of chocolate as their daughter’s. When he glanced over his shoulder, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from staring. Seventeen years hadn’t made the least bit of difference. Seventy years wouldn’t.

His thick brown hair, now sprinkled with slivers of distinguished gray, made a woman want to tame it with her fingers. The angles and planes of his face were just as strong as she remembered, arranged as if by a force of nature into cheekbones and lips that looked as though they were carved from granite. At least until he smiled. Eric’s smile had melted straight through her heart the first time she’d coaxed it out of him. He didn’t appear to smile any more now than he had when they were kids.

“Carrinne?” he prompted.

She cleared her throat and her mind at the same time. “I’m fine.”

He shot her a look of disbelief.

“Are we just going to sit here?” She unfastened her seat belt and stared out the window at the thoroughly captivating view of the almost-empty parking lot. Her door couldn’t be opened from the inside, or she’d already be out of the car.

“Fifteen,” a woman’s voice said over the radio. “The Wilmington lawyer’s here.”

“We just pulled up. I’ll meet with him in room one.” Eric took the keys out of the ignition.

He planned to meet with Oliver’s lawyer alone? Was Clifford Brimsley still working for her grandfather? “But—”

“Tony.” Eric’s eyes met hers in the mirror. “Show Ms. Wilmington to my office.”

“But, I want to—”

Ignoring her, Eric stepped out of the car and strode away. Despite the mantle of responsibility he wore with such ease now, Oakwood’s sheriff still sauntered like a rebellious James Dean. Too cool and confident to hurry, no matter who was looking. Exactly the way Maggie swaggered when it was important that everyone around her knew just how much she didn’t care what they thought.

“Ms. Wilmington?” Tony had opened her door and was watching her watch Eric.

Unfolding her legs and pushing herself off the seat, she stumbled.

“Careful.” Tony caught her with both hands as her knees buckled. “Maybe you should sit back down.”

“No. I’m fine.”

She had to be.

She straightened and gave him a reassuring smile she didn’t feel.

“Maybe I could find you some juice or something.” Tony hovered at her side as they walked, opening the door to the sprawling, single-story building so she could enter in front of him. “I’ll check the vending machine.”

“Thanks,” she replied, barely hearing a word. Looking for any sign of Eric, she let Tony lead her past the officer at the front desk and into the partitioned squad room.

Was Brimsley still the Wilmington family lawyer? Would he know about her reasons for leaving Oakwood seventeen years ago? Her stomach churned at the thought of what he could be telling Eric at that very moment.

The sound of typing tapped faintly from somewhere to her left. They passed a row of desks deserted for the night. When they’d reached another hallway, Tony ushered her to the right. At the same time, Eric’s voice rumbled from one of the closed rooms behind them. She turned toward the sound, jumping at Tony’s firm grasp on her elbow.

“The sheriff’s office is this way.” His expression left no room for discussion.

She did the math quickly. Tony was twenty-three now. A very mature twenty-three, and on his way to being as formidable as his big brother. They reached the end of the hall, and he released her arm beside a door with a sign that read simply, Sheriff.

“If you’ll promise to wait here, I’ll try to find you something to eat,” he offered.

Her stomach growled in encouragement. Skipping meals had become a bad habit since she’d flown out of New York.

“I’ll stay put.” She stepped into the office and sank into a chair opposite the cluttered mess that passed as Eric’s desk. She caught Tony’s dubious expression. “Really. I don’t have the energy to stray.”

Nodding, he turned to leave.

“Tony?”

He raised one eyebrow in a gesture so much like his brother, something inside her began to hurt.

“Thanks,” she said through the lump in her throat.

“You bet.” He winked and shut the door, leaving her alone.

In spite of the disaster the last hour had made of her plans, she smiled.

Life was just too weird. The kid who’d spat bubble gum into her hair the last time she’d baby-sat for him was all grown up now, and off to find her something to eat so she wouldn’t pass out. Meanwhile her grandfather’s attorney and her high-school-flame-turned sheriff were down the hall somewhere, chatting about her rookie crack at breaking and entering. It had been quite a night.

Her cell phone chirped. She fumbled it from her jeans pocket and recognized her daughter’s number on the display. She finally managed to flip it open.

“Maggie?”

“Mom!” Maggie sighed with relief. “Where have you been?”

Carrinne was out of the chair in an instant, glancing toward the still-closed door. “I need to call you back later, sweetheart.”

“You were supposed to call hours ago,” her daughter replied with the kind of I’m-the-mother-now attitude only a sixteen-year-old could pull off.

“This isn’t a good time. I’ll call you in the morning.” Carrinne walked to the farthest corner of the office. Chills shook her from the inside out, persisting despite the cloying humidity the station’s central air-conditioning couldn’t keep up with. She hugged her free arm across her chest, furious with her body’s betrayal.