Family Found

Sobered by the reminder, Mitch lowered his mug. “Our methods may not be the same, but I know how serious the situation is. You don’t have to dog my steps to make sure the investigation’s being conducted the right way.”

“That’s not the point.”

He guessed it was, but let the comment pass.

“I can’t just stand by doing nothing.” Laura paced toward the window, yet she didn’t seem to notice anything beyond the shuttered panes of glass.

Mitch studied the fierce determination in the set of her shoulders, the earnestness in her eyes. And sighed in defeat. “If I let you help—”

“You’ll—”

“I said if, Miss Kelly. And let’s get one thing straight. I’m in charge of the investigation. I won’t put up with you second-guessing my methods.”

“What do we do first?” she asked, choosing to ignore his warning.

“First, we put on my shirt.” His gaze took another unhurried appraisal, enjoying the sudden jumpiness in her eyes. “Or do you want to be in charge of that?”

Instead of answering him, she turned her back and made a production out of clattering the mugs in the sink and yanking at the faucet, purposely adding the roar of the water to the manufactured noise.

“Oh, and, Laura—”

“Yes?”

“Next time you show up before breakfast and drag me out of bed—you’d better mean it.”

LAURA FELT MORE in control with the width of a sturdy oak library table between them. And it didn’t hurt that Mitch had donned a shirt. Papers and books surrounded them, but he didn’t seem to mind the clutter. He had selected the library for the morning’s work since it contained microfilm records he needed to probe.

“What is that you’re doing?” she asked, impatient to cut to the chase, to find the key they needed to unlock her past.

“Finishing your personal profile,” he replied. “We did the preliminaries before talking to your aunt. Now we need to dig deeper.”

She frowned. “Why?”

The librarian strolled by, hushing them, her wrinkled face looking like that of a pug dog’s—set in permanent lines of disapproval.

Laura lowered her voice. “So?”

“Right now, we have an equation of the unknown, and the only known factor in the formula is you. I have to learn everything about you, Laura. From top—” he paused as his eyes drifted over her slowly “—to bottom.”

Despite the fear gnawing at her, Laura felt an unexpected warmth curling in her belly. Resolutely, she straightened up in the rigid, narrow-backed chair. “And we had to come to the library to do this?”

“I need to dig through their old records. Of course, we could have stayed at my apartment to complete your profile.”

“No, the library’s good.” She tried to hide her discomfort. “I’ve told you I’ll do whatever it takes to help Alex.”

He had a way of blinking, a slow easy motion that seemed to mock and tantalize at the same time. “Then let’s start where we left off.”

And they did, including her memories of junior and senior high school. Patiently Laura recounted her past, balking only when they got to the choice of her senior prom escort.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Why do you want to know that?”

His answering smile was a lazy curl of his lips that seemed to reflect deep amusement. “Wondering if you hung out with the jocks, the geeks or the brains.”

“What possible relevance can that have to finding my birth mother?”

Again the librarian hushed them.

Mitch’s voice was low, but it reached her easily. “I didn’t say it was relevant. I just wondered.”

Exasperated, she was prepared to let him have it, albeit in a quiet tone.

But he was smiling fully. “That’s better. You were looking entirely too serious.”

“This is serious.”

“Right. You won’t be much help, though, if you burn out.”

Realizing she must appear entirely humorless, Laura eased off a bit. “We have been at it for hours. I guess we could both use a break.”

Surprise drew his brows upward. “You said it.” Rising, he swept the papers into his well-worn leather portfolio. “Why don’t we finish this over something to drink.”

Sighing, Laura realized she’d brought this one on herself. Give a playboy time to play and of course he would do just that.

However, as they strolled from the weathered brick building, Mitch steered her not toward the car but toward a grassy slope. Perhaps the bar was within walking distance, she reasoned. Likely the detective would have picked a library close to his creature comforts.

They climbed to the top of the gentle incline. To Laura’s surprise, a wooded park greeted them. Like many of the dichotomies of the cityscape, skyscrapers framed the outline of the trees. The park should seem like an encroachment. Instead the green sanctuary felt like a fitting oasis for the glass-and-concrete edifices.

Again Mitch took her elbow, then led her down the path to a coffee cart. “They’ve got everything from cappuccino to regular old sludge.”

Suddenly the heat and flavor of a latte sounded immensely appealing, and she placed her order.

As the vendor handed her the steaming, foamy cup, Mitch pulled out a bill. “Just my usual, Pat.”

The older man grinned. “None of that fancy stuff for you, eh, Tucker?”

“Simple man, simple tastes,” Mitch agreed, tipping the man generously.

Then he turned to Laura. “There’s a bench down by the water. Bound to be a few ducks doing a matinee.”

Laura smiled, caught by the whimsy in his words. “You think they only swim for show?”

“Keeps the bread crumbs coming. It’s steady work, not much chance for advancement, but no layoffs or forced retirement, either.”

Once more, Laura smiled. The detective might needle her, but he could also be amusing when it suited him.

The bench curved as the shoreline did, a scallop that placed Mitch and Laura together in the center of the weathered redwood structure.

Preposterously, the proximity made her nervous. Again Laura straightened her spine, but the gesture made her feel even more foolish. She wasn’t a blushing teenager out with a man for the first time. Not that they were out—still, she felt ridiculously prudish. Just because she had been badly burned by one man, it didn’t mean she couldn’t relate on a nonpersonal level with the entire sex.