Searching for Cate

Who was this woman to her? The question echoed in his head. He knew his asking would only contribute to Joan’s agitation. He wanted her calm.

Reaching over to the nightstand, Christian picked up the small box of tissues tucked behind the telephone. He held it out to her.

Instead of taking one tissue, Joan took the whole box and held it against her chest, as if having it there somehow comforted her. She looked up at him, the same silent plea in her eyes.

“No, she’s not coming back,” he told her. Christian crossed to the door. “I’ll send in a nurse in a couple of minutes with a tranquilizer for you. You need to calm down.”

He saw gratitude enter her face as she silently nodded her thanks.

Once outside the room, Christian looked up and down the hall. The blonde was just disappearing around the corner. Hurrying to catch up to the source of his patient’s agitation, he passed Joan’s nurse and gave her his instructions on the fly.

“Hold on a minute,” he called after the blonde.

Cate didn’t hear him. Or if his voice registered at all in the recesses of her mind, she didn’t realize that he was talking to her.

That certainly went well, she upbraided herself. If she’d interviewed suspects the way she had her birth mother, the bureau would have had her mowing lawns instead of where she was.

She did her best to calm down. Part of that entailed focusing on a plan. Now that she had located her birth mother, she was going to have to try talking to her again. Later, after both she and Joan had an opportunity to collect themselves.

As she approached the elevators it occurred to Cate that she still didn’t know what the woman was doing in the hospital. She needed to get a look at Joan’s medical records.

Christian lengthened his stride. He had considerable more leg than the woman did, but she moved quickly. He managed to finally catch up to her just as she pressed for the elevator. Rather than call out to her again, he simply got in front of her. She looked surprised, and almost as agitated as his patient.

“Excuse me.”

She could feel herself growing defensive. Was he about to lecture her on behalf of his patient? Right now, she was in no mood to have to listen. If he wasn’t careful, this good-looking doctor was going to find he had bitten off more than he had bargained for. “Yes?”

There were a great many diplomatic ways to begin. Since Alma’s death, he’d lost the ability to be diplomatic and patient. Christian went straight to the heart. “Who are you?”

Blunt. She admired blunt. Sometimes.

“Ah, the million-dollar question,” the woman he’d just chased down said sarcastically. Christian saw the same tears he’d just witnessed in Joan Cunningham’s eyes now making an appearance in the blonde’s. It struck him that they had the same light green color. “I wish to God I knew,” she whispered. It sounded as if she’d said the words more to herself than to him.

Chapter 10

Because it seemed as if tears were about to spill out of her eyes, Christian took out his handkerchief and held it out to her.

“Is that some philosophical statement,” he asked, commenting on her statement, “or do you have amnesia? Don’t worry—” he nodded toward his handkerchief which she still hadn’t taken “—it’s clean.”

Instead of accepting it, she passed an index finger under each eye, wiping away the excess moisture that had managed to leak out despite her best efforts to will her tears back.

Cate had never liked crying in front of people, certainly not in front of strangers. She liked losing control over herself even less. And she had done both just now, one the result of the other.

She sniffed, then blew out a breath, collecting herself.

God, but she wished she was ten again. Ten years old and sitting in the family room, watching reruns of some old western series her father had discovered on one of the cable channels. She remembered fondly that her dad always gave a running commentary on what was going on in case she didn’t understand. She’d understood far more than he thought, but she loved listening to the sound of his voice. It made her feel so protected, so safe from everything.

And now she wasn’t safe from anything.

“Neither.” The retort to his question sounded a little sharp to her ear. She dug deeper for control.

He wondered if perhaps he should have summoned Security. The woman wasn’t making any sense. “Then what…?”

The elevator car arrived, and Cate ignored it. “Joan Cunningham is my birth mother.”

The moment she told him, she upbraided herself. She had no idea why she’d just shared that. No one else down here knew the mission she’d set out on. She hadn’t even mentioned it to her partner. Her acquaintances would think she’d simply just wanted a change of venue after her mother died. It went against her natural grain to share anything but the most trivial of information. Even Jeremy had had to prod her repeatedly before she had told him what she was really looking for.

Christian looked at her very skeptically. Granted, Joan Cunningham hadn’t been his patient long, just for the past two years, but she seemed like a fairly open woman. By her second visit, he knew the names of her three children. The Christmas card he’d received from her last December had carried their likenesses. None of them had been this woman. Joan had never mentioned having a fourth child.

“Are you sure?”

Damn it, she was going to cry again. What was the matter with her? She’d thought that she’d used up the last of her tears at her mother’s funeral. There shouldn’t have been any moisture left inside her, not after all the tears she’d shed over her mother and over Gabe. Where was all this water coming from?

Cate sighed, jabbing her index finger at the elevator keypad again. “Right now, I’m not even sure if the sky is blue.”

The woman before him looked pale and shaken. His main concern in Joan’s room had been getting her away from his patient. Now that he had, he should just let her go on her way. But there was something about the look on her face, especially in her eyes, that kept him from murmuring some trivial phrase and walking away. He saw pain there. It held him fast.

Christian glanced at his watch. He had a little time before his first patient was due. With his office located on the hospital premises, he didn’t have far to go. He made up his mind.

“Why don’t you come this way with me?” Without waiting for her to answer, he took hold of her arm, about to lead her over to the nurses’ lounge.

Cate interpreted his actions in her own way. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to cause any trouble.” Moving her arm out of his hold, she began to dig through her purse. A minute later, she produced her wallet and opened it to her ID. She held it out to him. “I’m a special agent with the FBI.”

Just like Lydia, he thought, although he refrained from saying so. Small world. “Then this was bureau business?”

“No, it’s private, like I said.” She looked down at his hand. He’d taken hold of her again. Was he afraid she was going to go running off to Joan’s room? “You’re holding my arm again, Doctor. I told you, I’m not about to cause any trouble.”

His expression didn’t change. She didn’t like the fact that she couldn’t read it. “Then you’ll come this way.” He began walking.

There were a hundred different ways to separate herself from him. For the moment, she employed none of them. Curiosity had gotten the better of her. “Which will lead me where?”

He brought her to a door and indicated the sign. “To the nurses’ lounge.”

As far as she knew, only nurses were allowed in the nurses’ lounge. She’d had a friend at one of the local hospitals in San Francisco who’d been very territorial about the small room that bore a similar sign.

“I’m not about to change professions,” she quipped.

The half smile that came to his lips intrigued her. She wondered what he looked like when he actually allowed his mouth to curve. Some people had smiles that were better left unused, others had the kind that lit up a room. She had a hunch that he leaned toward the latter.

“They have coffee there,” he told her as he pushed open the door.

“And you’re prescribing a cup?”

“That—” he continued to hold the door for her, waiting “—and maybe a slight change of attitude.”

She looked at him sharply as they crossed the threshold into the lounge. The room was small, no bigger than nine by twelve, and for the moment, empty. A few chairs were scattered around with no apparent pattern in mind.

The doctor walked over to the small table where a pot of coffee sat on a burner. The pot was half full.