Kitabı oku: «Family Found», sayfa 2
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.
Frustrated with herself, she took a large sip of her latte, forgetting until it was too late that the liquid was still very hot.
“Getting burned?” Mitch asked.
“What?” Had he read her mind? Realizing she had advanced beyond ridiculous, Laura settled the lid back on her drink. “No, not really. It’s just so good I got impatient.”
“And a good thing shouldn’t be rushed.”
Laura glanced at him skeptically. “Really?”
“Yep.” His gaze sidled over her face. But he didn’t add anything else.
And judging from the reaction in her twisting insides, he didn’t need to.
CHAPTER THREE
MITCH’S OFFICE appeared even more disreputable-looking under the latest pile of materials. He knew that Laura Kelly wanted answers yesterday, but in truth, investigations rarely moved quickly. And they seldom held the excitement portrayed in television and the movies.
An image of Laura Kelly flashed in his mind. Then again—
The phone intruded. Snatching it up, Mitch was disappointed to learn that a fairly reliable lead had been a dead end. Despite what Laura appeared to think, he had placed dozens of phone calls, while building her personal profile and creating a comprehensive search file. It was the plan, his blueprint. And despite his casual approach to many things in life, he never undertook a case without a well thought-out plan.
The door flew open and Mitch didn’t need more than one guess to know who was behind it.
Laura’s dark hair was thrown back like a banner, and her eyes glistened like polished lapis. She seemed to bring in the rush of the city streets, the whirl of incoming breezes and a touch of captured sunshine. He’d never seen so much contained energy in any other person. But having it all directed at him was a tad unnerving.
“Galveston,” she began by way of greeting. “My parents never wanted to go there. Once, though, I remember coming in the house and overhearing them. They didn’t realize I was inside and I heard them mention Galveston. But as soon as they noticed me, they stopped talking. Do you think that means something?”
“And good morning to you, too, Laura Kelly.”
She waved away the greeting. “Do you?”
“It could be something.”
Her eyes brightened.
“And they could have been discussing a clandestine meeting when they hoped to ditch you so they could be alone.”
Deflated, she slumped into a nearby chair. “I suppose you’re right. I keep replaying reels of my life like some sort of out-of-whack movie theater in my mind that I can’t shut down. In the middle of the night, I’m sure I’ve come on some incredibly important memory and by morning I realize it’s worthless.” Easing back in her chair, she glanced around at the piles of books on the couch and coffee table.
“Phone books?” she questioned, flipping one open, then shoving it aside. “Isn’t that kind of low-tech?”
“Depends on your point of view,” he replied evenly. “Investigative tools range from low-end phone books to high-end computer databases. Don’t discount what you don’t know.”
“Point taken. So, what are we working on today?”
Mitch creased one hand over his forehead. She was using the royal “we” again. And she was becoming a royal pain. As quickly, he remembered the reason behind her insistence and realigned his attitude. He’d be insistent, too, if his son’s life hung in the balance. “I’m following up on some leads.”
She leaned forward anxiously. “Ones that have panned out?”
“Not yet.”
“Damn!” Laura rose in one hurried motion, frustration pouring from every gesture. “That’s not good enough!”
“What do you suggest? You want me to lean on your relatives? Maybe your aunt Rhoda?”
“Of course not! I…I…”
Mitch gentled his voice. “You’re paying for my expertise—trust it.”
She hesitated for a moment. “I suppose I do. I’m just so terribly worried.”
Mitch sighed inwardly, knowing she would feel no peace until they had some answers. And it wouldn’t hurt him to fill her in. “I’m requesting a copy of your original birth certificate. With the sealed records law in Texas, we’ll get a copy of your adopted certificate, but we need the paper trail proving our intent, showing we’ve taken all the steps. We’ll have to have that once we request a court order to unseal the original.”
A contemplative expression covered her face. “You mean I have two birth certificates?”
He nodded. “One filed with the information on your actual birth parents, another with your adopted parents listed.”
“Will that one say I’m adopted?”
“No. That’s part of the sealed records process. For all appearances, the second birth certificate looks like the real thing. Unless you know about the original information, you’d have no reason to suspect it’s been changed.”
“This is a whole new world,” Laura murmured. “I feel like I’m in some sort of strange limbo and I’ll wake up tomorrow and find out this has all been some sort of bad dream.”
“Including Alex’s illness?”
“Especially that,” Laura agreed, the pain in her eyes surfacing.
“I don’t suppose your ex-husband has been much help.”
“As you know, he was willing enough to get tested for a bone marrow match.” She shrugged, a forlorn movement. “But beyond that he acts as though Alex’s illness really isn’t his concern. It’s all I can think about. I eat, sleep and live wondering how we can beat this. But Kevin acts as if—” Laura brought clenched fingers to her mouth, unable to complete the words.
“Maybe he doesn’t know how to express his feelings,” Mitch suggested.
“That wouldn’t be a first,” Laura commented bitterly. “But to ignore his son, to act as though it doesn’t matter whether he survives—”
“It won’t help to torture yourself,” Mitch soothed.
“Why not? I’m the one who chose the worst possible father material as my husband. I’d have done better if I’d blindfolded myself, twirled in a circle until I was dizzy, then stabbed my finger in the direction of the first man I encountered.”
Mitch shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe he feels impelled to hide how worried he is.”
“He never wanted a baby,” she admitted, surprising him. For a moment even Laura seemed surprised that she had allowed the admission. “Alex wasn’t planned. In fact, I didn’t learn I was pregnant until after Kevin and I had agreed to divorce. Still, I always wanted my baby. I considered him a great gift, a wonderful blessing after so much hurt. But for Kevin it was different. He seems to have divorced his feelings for his son along with our marriage. He’s seen him only twice since he was born, and then only at my insistence. Kevin has made it clear he’d prefer to forget Alex altogether, to never see him again.” Bewildered, she raised widened eyes to meet his. “Do all men feel this way after a divorce?”
Staggered by the question, and far too aware of his past, Mitch hesitated. “I can’t answer for all men—and the truth is you could ask a dozen men and get a dozen different answers. I can only speak for myself, but if I ever had a son, I wouldn’t let anything come between us. People get divorced every day. That’s a fact of modern life. It’s not often people can stick a marriage out forever—that’s become kind of a myth. And people remarry, which is okay. But you have just one set of parents. You can’t take that away from a kid.”
If possible, her face blanched even further.
Then it struck him. “Hell, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean the adoption thing.”
She waved away his apology. “It’s all right.”
But Mitch felt an urgent need to make amends, his own experience a painful reminder. “No. I was talking about a father’s responsibility, not being adopted. A man ought to stand by his kid, no matter what. What sort of guy deserts his kid when he’s sick?”
“The kind I married,” she answered quietly.
Mitch realized he didn’t have a spare inch left to cram any more of his foot into his mouth. He’d gone from bad to worse, then worse again. “You know, I was just thinking this might be a good time to do some of the legwork. You want to tag along?”
“Tossing me a bone, Tucker?”
“You up for catching it?”
Her smile was sad but accepting. “I opened this can of worms.”
“And I poked the jagged edge of the tin into your feelings. So why don’t we put a bandage on the morning and get the hell out of here?”
“You’ve got a way with words, Tucker.”
“Does that mean yes?”
The sadness hadn’t left her eyes, but a sliver of light penetrated the darkness. “I suppose so. Good to see you finally admit it.”
He skirted the desk, crossed to the front door and opened it for Laura. “Admit what?”
Faint slyness edged the beginning of a smile. “That you need my help.”
LAURA WASN’T SURE what she had expected. But the musty corridors of a genealogical library were a surprise. Floor after floor of books and records held a wealth of secrets.
Mitch quickly decided he needed the help of a librarian, rather than dig through hundreds of rolls of microfilm on his own.
“We need to see the birth records for March 1970,” he was telling the woman.
“Harris County?” she asked.
“To start with.” He lowered his voice a bit. “And then Galveston County.”
Laura hid a triumphant smile as they followed the librarian to the section of the library with birth records. The helpful woman then explained how they were divided and how to find certain years.
“Are you tracing your family history?” the librarian asked.
“Actually, we’re—” Laura began.
“Yes, we’re working on our genealogy,” Mitch interrupted. “I appreciate your help. After we find my sister’s records, I’d hate to be searching all over the building for Grandma Tucker’s birth certificate.”
The graying librarian laughed. “That’s why we’re here. Let me know if you need anything else,” she added, before moving away.
“Why did you cut me off?” Laura demanded in a quiet voice.
“Because telling people you’re searching for your birth parents closes more doors than it opens. It’s safer to stick to the story that you’re researching family roots.”
Slightly deflated, Laura studied his face. “You mean people won’t want to help if they know the truth?”
“This isn’t a black-and-white issue, Laura. A lot of people believe that digging up the truth only opens buried pain and problems. They feel the birth parents have a right to their privacy.” He held up one hand, anticipating her protest. “Some are even sympathetic to the reasons for a search like yours, yet at the same time are hesitant to cross certain lines. And most of them have heard stories similar to yours that have turned out to be ruses, so they’re cynical. While some legislators advocate opening all the records, some are equally insistent they remain sealed.”
“But the librarian—”
“May or may not be influenced by the debate. Why send up an unnecessary flag, though? In investigative work, it’s always best to be low-key.”
“No shoot-outs unless absolutely necessary?” she questioned dryly.
“Right, Watson.”
She smiled. “As in your trusted assistant?”
He pointed in the direction of an oversize cabinet. “There’s March 1970. When you’re finished, we’ll talk.”
Laura felt her smile draining away. “You want me to dig through the entire cabinet?”
“You said you wanted to help.”
“I do, but—”
“Then start digging.”
MANY HOURS LATER, Mitch glanced at the interior of Laura’s home. It was a modest, middle-income home. And much like her it didn’t reveal a lot. It could be anyone’s home, in Anywhere, America. It was light and airy, but with no individuality. It was so lacking in the personal bits and pieces that revealed the owner’s personality that the living room could be one in a model house.
He had expected her to be tired of his company after a day spent digging through records and tracing old addresses. But she had insisted on bringing him to meet Alex.
An older woman appeared in the doorway. “Hello, Mr. Tucker. I’m Leona Plummer. I care for the baby.”
He rose, extending his hand. “Ma’am.”
She accepted his handshake, a faint light of approval entering her stern expression. “Mrs. Kelly would like you to come to the nursery to meet young Alex.”
He followed, wondering at the austere woman. She seemed an unlikely choice for a baby-sitter. But then, nothing about Laura Kelly had met his expectations.
Entering the nursery, Mitch was struck by the burst of colors. Beautifully hand-painted murals covered the walls. A herd of cuddly stuffed animals populated the room, along with colorful blocks and an impressive collection of children’s books. Unlike the bland living room, the nursery screamed with character.
Laura turned with the baby in her arms. Mitch had steeled himself for a sick child, expecting to see the ravages of disease.
He hadn’t expected bright blue eyes, ones that matched his mother’s. Or chubby arms and legs that waved in obvious delight.
Alex squealed just then. “’Lo!”
“That means hello,” Laura explained, smoothing the soft hair from the baby’s face, dropping a kiss on his forehead.
Surprised yet mesmerized by the transformation in Laura, Mitch stepped farther into the room.
“Hello, little guy,” Mitch greeted him awkwardly. Then he directed his attention to Laura. “He’s looking good.”
She studied Mitch, then responded matter-offactly. “You can’t see his illness yet.” Again Laura smoothed back the baby’s hair. “In time you will—if he doesn’t get the bone marrow transplant, but for now he looks like any other healthy baby.”
“Hey, that’s good, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so. But sometimes it’s hard to convince people how desperate the situation is. They see a healthy toddler and think I’m ringing premature alarms.”
“You don’t have to convince me,” Mitch replied quietly.
Laura met his eyes. “That’s not why I brought you here. I just thought it might make the search more personal. More important.”
“It was already important.” Mitch took the baby’s hand, smiling when Alex curled plump fingers around his. “But I don’t mind meeting the client behind the client.”
Laura finally smiled again, then glanced down at her son. “You haven’t been a client before, have you, punkin?”
Alex squealed in answer when Laura nuzzled his cheek.
“This room is great,” Mitch commented, still struck by the artwork. Characters from fables and ancient nursery tales coexisted with fantasy characters surely drawn from a very fertile imagination.
“Thanks, I had fun doing it.”
Mitch pulled his gaze from the brilliant walls. “You painted this?”
“I wanted it to be special for him.”
“It’s that and more.” Struck again by the variance between the nondescript living room and this dazzling nursery, Mitch whistled. “You must enjoy decorating.”
“I used to.”
“But this—”
Her laugh was a self-deprecatory sound. “This is the only room in the house I’ve decorated.”
That explained it.
“When Kevin and I divorced, I left our house and everything in it.”
“That’s a rather unusual move, isn’t it?”
“For the woman you mean?” Laura concluded accurately. “It’s true. Usually men are the ones most willing to leave everything behind, to step away from any reminders of their past. But I didn’t want anything from what we’d shared.” Her grip tightened on Alex. “Except this one, of course.”
Mitch grinned. “It’s clear you got the best part of the deal.”
Surprise and something else he couldn’t quite decipher entered her softening eyes. “Absolutely.”
Alex squirmed just then, craning his head in Mitch’s direction. It almost looked like the kid was reaching toward him.
“Seems he wants you,” Laura said in surprise.
“I don’t—”
But before he could protest, Laura was handing him the toddler. Warmth, the fresh aroma of talc and softness assailed him. Awkwardly, Mitch held the baby, not certain what to do with him. His experience with children was a total zero. He turned Alex toward him, positioning him so that he could hand the child back to his mother. Just then Alex smiled. Not one of those vacant, meaningless smiles. Their eyes connected, Alex’s toothy grin one of delight.
And something warm crawled through Mitch’s insides. Something that scared the life out of him.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE WEATHERMAN HAD predicted a thunderstorm, but it hadn’t struck the city yet. The sky was graying and the air had cooled enough that the storm wasn’t an empty threat. The wind picked up errant leaves and showered them over the streets like chocolate-colored raindrops. Even though Laura liked nothing better than a stormy, windswept day, she scarcely noticed the changing atmosphere. Her mind was too full.
Had she taken the right course in hiring this cowboy detective? Or should she have taken a more conservative approach? Filled with worry, she leaned a bit longer on the doorbell than she’d intended.
The door was yanked open suddenly and Rhoda stared at her. “Is the house on fire?”
Laura managed a wan smile. “Sorry. I guess my mind was on other things.”
Rhoda studied her. “That’s understandable with all the strain you’re under. Come in, child. I’m brewing some chamomile tea.”
Tea. Her aunt Rhoda’s solution for everything. Yet there was comfort in the familiar. Laura recognized that the routine was as soothing as the actual liquid.
Trailing her aunt, she entered the kitchen, a large high-tech room. However, despite a recent, costly remodeling the room was no longer warm and inviting. While the kitchen typically represented the heart of a home, this one needed just that. It had no heart. Before renovation, Rhoda’s house had seemed cozy; now it looked as though it belonged on the slick pages of a glossy magazine. But Laura knew the house was a point of pride for her aunt. She had struggled for many years and only recently had been able to afford to improve her lifestyle.
Rhoda placed thin, fragile bone china cups on the oak table. Laura recognized them as the antique cups that had once belonged to her grandmother, cups that had been in her family for generations. That same familiar spurt of disbelief struck her. How was it that she wasn’t the product of this family? It seemed the same blood must run in her veins. Otherwise, how could the connection be so intense, so real?
“Any news?” Rhoda asked her as she filled the creamer.
“No. Actually, that’s why I’m here.”
The crash and shattering china distracted them both. Laura jumped to her feet, then knelt beside the broken pieces. “Oh, Rhoda. The creamer that came by wagon train.” Carefully, she retrieved the largest fragments. “I’ve heard about specialists who can repair broken china so that it scarcely shows a trace of the break.” Gently she handed the pieces to her aunt. “I guess we’re all feeling the strain.”
“Uh, yes, of course. Don’t worry about the creamer, Laura. It’s just china.”
Laura eyed her aunt in concern. Family heirlooms rated near the top in importance for Rhoda. Apparently, her aunt was so worried by the seriousness of Alex’s condition that the heirlooms had lost some of their importance. “Still, let’s save them.”
“All right.” Rhoda rattled around the cupboard, before settling on a small silver creamer. “I guess I can use that tea almost as much as you.”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
Rhoda stilled her movements. “What was that?”
“About how I should hire an attorney rather than a hotshot detective.”
Slow and deliberate, Rhoda crossed the room. “Isn’t he accomplishing what you expected?”
Laura shrugged. “I want him to have the answers yesterday and I know that’s not possible, but I just want to make sure I did the right thing in hiring him.”
Frowning, Rhoda studied her tea, adding a bit of sugar. For a few moments only the clink of the silver spoon punctuated the silence. “I realize I suggested a lawyer, but if you’re satisfied with your young man’s methods, then you should stick to your decision.”
“He’s hardly my ‘young man,’ Rhoda.”
Thin eyebrows arched in inquiry. “You could do worse.”
“And have,” Laura admitted. “But that’s not the point.”
“I wasn’t sure what I thought about him at first.” Blunt by nature, Rhoda seldom minced words. “He seemed awfully sure of himself. But I remember once liking that in a man. Mitch Tucker could be a keeper.”
Laura rolled her eyes. “I’m worried about saving Alex, not snagging a man.”
“I’m not suggesting anything less, dear. But you don’t have to blind yourself to the obvious.”
“Dare I ask what that might be?”
“A handsome, confident man who knows his own mind.”
“Right now I need to be sure of my own mind first. What if I’ve done the wrong thing in hiring him? Suppose I’m wasting time? Time we don’t have to waste. Maybe I should meet with the attorney, at least talk to him—”
“Laura.” Rhoda placed one hand atop hers. “You can’t go off scatterbrained in a dozen different directions.”
“But—”
“I know you want to do everything within your power, but going crazy won’t help Alex. You’ll be dividing your energies in so many ways, you’ll exhaust yourself. Laura, trust your instincts. And allow yourself enough time to see if this will work.”
“But we don’t have time!” Laura reiterated. She heard the despair in her voice and lowered her head.
“Laura, don’t give up on Alex.”
“I’m not!”
“You have to trust that he can hang in there as long as it takes.”
For a brief moment Laura considered her own denial and the quiet understanding in her aunt’s expression. “You’re right. I guess I just sort of panicked. I keep thinking that Alex’s fate rests in my hands. If I don’t make the right choices, he’s the one who’ll suffer.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Laura. His fate is in larger hands than yours. You’ll just have to trust in that.”
“I do. But I’ve always felt I had to be the strong one, in charge, sure of what I was doing.”
“It doesn’t hurt to lean. You just haven’t had anyone strong enough to lean on. Maybe that will change.”
Shocked, Laura drew back. “Surely you don’t mean Mitch Tucker.”
“It may be premature, but I’d like you to drop your defensive shields and be open to possibilities.”
“That hasn’t worked too well for me in the past.”
“And this is today, Laura.” Rhoda shrugged, but her hands moved nervously as her gaze appeared to settle on something far beyond Laura. “It’s wise to learn from your mistakes, not to wallow in them.”
Laura winced. “That was candid—and I appreciate the concern. But I can’t allow myself to become involved with another ladies’ man.”
“Isn’t that a rather quick conclusion?”
Laura’s smile was tinged with wise regret. “I guess experience makes me a quick learner. But right now I don’t need to worry about romance. I need answers.”
“Then believe in yourself. The rest will follow.”
Laura wanted to accept her aunt’s words, yet she couldn’t miss the betraying nervousness of Rhoda’s manner, the subtle but skittish movements she tried to disguise. It seemed neither of them was all that assured. And that sent the fear spiraling.
MITCH INHALED the ripe smell of incoming rain. It would be another drencher. Houston didn’t bother with gentle rain. Instead the skies opened, dumping water over the landscape, much like upturned buckets. The uninitiated were often shocked by the deluges. But the natives took it in stride. And Mitch was native to the skin.
Crossing the parking lot, he heard the squeal of an approaching car. Briefly closing his eyes, he emitted a groan. He could guarantee without looking who was driving the car. And it was too late for a clean getaway.
“Tucker!” Laura called out as she pivoted sharply into an adjoining parking stall. In seconds, she scrambled from the vehicle, then slammed the door and headed toward him.
Mitch had dealt with difficult clients in the past, but he’d never had one who had become glue. He wouldn’t be surprised if she welded the bumper of her car to his so she wouldn’t miss a move.
“Tucker!” she repeated as she reached him. “I almost missed you!”
“And that would be a tragedy,” he replied, pulling keys from his pocket.
“What?”
He sighed. “Nothing. I’m on my way out, so if you don’t need anything urgent—”
“Good! I was afraid I wouldn’t catch you.” She pulled open the passenger door of his car. “Where are we going?”
He withheld an additional sigh. It would be easier to rid himself of his own skin. “To hospitals.”
She frowned. “What are we hoping to find?”
“First, how many females were born in each one on the same day you were. Once we learn that, we find out which doctors and nurses were on duty the same day.”
“Ones who might know something about my birth mother?” Laura questioned. But her voice began to cloud. “How can they possibly remember something that happened so long ago?”
“We won’t know until we try. And we need to explore the possibilities until we receive your birth certificate.”
“What if we can’t get my actual certificate, only the adopted one?”
“Even more reason to do this now. Because our next stop will be contacting each of your relatives to see what he or she might know.”
She slumped in her seat. “The more I learn about this, the more overwhelming it seems.”
Seeing her pain, Mitch ignored his usual reserve and covered her hand. “That’s why I suggested you let me do this on my own. I realize you want to do everything in your power to speed things up, but for someone who’s not familiar with the search process, it can be pretty overwhelming, especially when it’s this personal.”
He could see her struggle, then her face softened subtly. “I suppose so.” She turned in the seat, leaning toward him, her body, face and voice all earnest. “But I can’t just sit by. Can you understand that?”
“Too well. But you’ll have to trust me to direct the investigation.”
“Funny.”
Starting the car, he glanced over at her. “What is?”
“That’s the second time today someone told me to trust.”
“Then maybe it’s time to listen.”
“Mmm.”
But he could feel she wasn’t convinced. Good thing that wasn’t his job. It was one assignment he didn’t think he wanted to tackle. Convincing Laura Kelly of anything other than what she wanted to believe would be a mammoth challenge. And one he didn’t need.
HOSPITAL RECORDS departments all appeared similar to Laura. Dry, boring places with seemingly endless supplies of paper. To think that buried within those reams of paper might be the solitary document they needed frightened her. The task of finding it felt nearly hopeless. But that didn’t deter Mitch Tucker. Efficient and capable, he didn’t appear intimidated by the sheer volume of information or the red tape it took to wade through it.
Still, Laura couldn’t ignore the ticking of her internal alarm system, one that was counting down the time they had left to learn the truth. Yet they managed to visit three hospitals.
Leaving St. Mark’s Hospital, Mitch drew in a deep breath of the humid air. “Can’t abide the smell of antiseptic. Don’t know how people can work in it all day.”
