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A KILLER IN AMISH COUNTRY

Down a deserted hospital corridor, nurse Abby Miller witnesses a patient’s shocking murder. When the masked killer spots her, she’s overpowered—and left for dead. Handsome doctor Blake Jamison vows to keep her safe while investigating the mysterious patient’s death. But when he and Abby uncover a connection between the murder and the long-held secret of his adoption and possible Amish birth, the killer begins targeting them both. Amish-born Abby slowly learns to trust Blake with her life. But it may be too late to protect her heart from the high-society doctor who is sure to leave her behind.

“Is something wrong?” Blake asked.

He parked in Abby’s semicircle driveway, leaving his headlights to shine over the front porch.

“I don’t think so.” She forced a smile and searched in her bag for the house key. But a feeling of dread passed through her. Something was wrong.

Likely it was nothing more than nerves—hardly surprising after the day she’d had. “I guess the sensors on my porch lights are broken. Those lights usually come on when it gets dark.”

“Let me come up to the door with you, just to be safe. You weren’t too steady on your feet earlier, and shouldn’t be stumbling around in the dark.” He turned off the engine, but left his headlights on to shine over the front porch.

Blake stood back as she went in and reached for the lights. Nothing happened as she flicked the light switch.

“Looks like the power is out.”

Blake’s hand came down on her shoulder, giving her a chill.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “There’s someone else in the house.”

KIT WILKINSON

is a former Ph.D. student who once wrote discussions on the medieval feminine voice. She now prefers weaving stories of romance and redemption. Her first inspirational manuscript won the prestigious RWA Golden Heart. You can visit Kit at www.kitwilkinson.com or write to her at write@kitwilkinson.com.

Lancaster County Target

Kit Wilkinson


www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might.

—Ecclesiastes 9:10

To my lovely student, Emily Dingman, what a pleasure to watch you mature into such a fine young lady over the past three years.

Tu rends le monde si mieux—You make the world better. Always remember you make a difference.

Contents

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

DEAR READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

EXTRACT

ONE

What is that doctor doing in here?

Abigail Miller’s heart beat fast and hard as she stood, frozen, in the dark hospital corridor, watching a surgeon empty a large syringe of clear liquid into a patient’s IV drip.

Why? What is he doing here? Alone with a patient in a closed-off part of the hospital?

Abby shook her head. It didn’t make any sense.

Dressed in full scrubs with no ID badge that she could spot, the doctor’s figure towered over the male patient who lay lifeless on the gurney. As large as the surgeon looked in the narrow corridor, the male patient looked small even on the hospital gurney—his olive skin pale, his head round and bald. He seemed so still.

Abby sucked in a quick breath and decided to backtrack without disturbing the doctor and patient. She wasn’t comfortable confronting the tall, imposing surgeon herself, but something about the scene just didn’t seem right. Perhaps she could find a security guard... She stepped backward and her shoe squeaked as it turned on the tiled floor.

“How did you get in here? This part of the hospital is closed.” The doctor spun toward her, his voice booming through the empty hallway. His cold, gray eyes flashed in the dim emergency lighting and chilled her like an arctic blast. The rest of him was hidden beneath a complete workup of surgical scrubs, including face mask, gloves and hat.

“I was just cutting through here. I do it almost every day.” Abby forced her lips to move while her eyes stayed fixed on the surgeon. “I was on my way to Maternity. I hope that’s not a problem.”

“I don’t understand how you got into this area.” He advanced toward her, forcing her to take several steps back. “The entrances are supposed to be locked. This patient is highly contagious. This area is under restrictions. You shouldn’t be here.”

Contagious? Abby hadn’t heard about any restrictions. Surely there would have been signs, announcements. The sense of something wrong grew stronger. Pulse rising, she skirted to the side of the large man and looked down at the patient’s chart attached to the end of the gurney.


N. K. Hancock—TRANSFER.


In the dim lighting, that was all she could read, but she could see that the papers were solid white. If the patient were contagious, the chart would be marked with a prominent red stripe. Abby swallowed hard. Her heart drummed against her ribs. This doctor was lying—if he even was a doctor. She needed to find a security guard, stat. But first, she had to get away. She composed herself just enough to keep from sinking under the doctor’s menacing glare and looming figure.

“I’m sorry, Dr....” Abby waited but he did not supply a name. With each syllable, she inched herself away from the man and his patient. “I didn’t know we couldn’t pass through. Again, I’m sorry to disturb you, Doctor. I’ll just be on my way.” She turned and headed for the stairwell.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” He was behind her in seconds. Over her. Around her like a giant spider. He grabbed the top of her arm and squeezed her flesh like a vise. His cold eyes flickered in the dim lighting.

She trembled and fought against him, but her struggles were in vain as the grip of his stubby, sausagelike fingertips dug deeper and deeper into her skin. He pulled her tight against his stout belly. She had no hope of breaking free.

Was this her just deserts after finally deciding she would not join the Amish church, defying the wishes of her father?

She’d gone to school to become a nurse, but she hadn’t made her final decision about living the Plain life until recently. It had been time to put away one or the other and stop living on the fence. So last week, she’d laid aside her prayer Kapp and her frocks for good. She’d devote her life to nursing, delivering babies and helping others to stay healthy. But the choice had not come without a lot of pain, especially to her father, the Ordnung bishop.

Her father’s words still rang through her head—a verse from the Psalms. “If you stand in the counsel of the wicked, you will become wicked.”

Had she made the worst decision of her life? Right now, it certainly seemed that way. Tears filled Abby’s eyes. Crazy, desperate thoughts swirled around in her mind. She continued to try to break free of the doctor’s grip, but she could not come close to matching his strength. Her breathing came in short gasps. She would have yelled but there was no one to hear her.

“You’ve been exposed.” The doctor’s tone mocked her as he dragged her across the hallway. “I’ll have to give you an injection, too.”

“What?” Is he mad? “Please, stop. You’re hurting me. Let me go.”

With his free hand, he produced another full syringe from the pocket of his scrubs. The needle shook as it came at her. His fingers closed in tighter around her arm as he yanked her sleeve high, exposing the skin above his grip. The hot prick of the needle stabbed her and the drug burned like fire as it entered her bloodstream. “What? What did you just give me?”

The doctor yanked her to the end of the corridor and through the door to the stairwell, not seeming to care that he crashed the door frame’s metal edge into Abby’s forehead. The blow radiated across her skull. Nausea waved through her gut as the drug made her head light—too light. Her body began to collapse. She could feel her blood pressure fall...

Please, Lord, help me.

Finally, she felt his fingers release her. She slumped to the cold, tiled floor.

The empty stairwell spun around her. The strange doctor had vanished. With all her might, she tried to reach for her cell phone. It was in her back pocket. But the drug was hitting her full force now. Her hand shook uncontrollably and the device dropped from her fingers. Her eyelids closed as she groped the floor desperately for the phone. But it was no use. She was going under and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Please, Lord...help...

Abby closed her eyes and the darkness overtook her.

* * *

“Code Blue. Code Blue. Paging Dr. Jamison. Room 307. Code Blue. Dr. Blake Jamison.”

The announcement blared through the overhead speakers. Everyone in the operatory stopped what they were doing and looked at Blake.

Code Blue? How could there be a Code Blue? It signaled that one of his patients needed resuscitation, but that couldn’t be true. He had taken on exactly three patients since transferring to Fairview Hospital. They’d been recovering well, awake, alert and resting as of two hours ago. This had to be a mistake.

“And clip.” He opened his gloved hand and waited for the nurse to place the suturing instrument in his palm. With a delicate touch, he closed up the tiny incision, returned the instrument to the nurse and removed himself from the operating area. The surgical staff would have to finish the cleanup after his first surgery at Fairfield Hospital of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. Apparently, he had an emergency to look into.

“This way, Doctor.” One of the nurses tugged at his sleeve, guiding him toward the doors. “Take the service elevator. It’s faster. I’ll show you.”

A minute later, Blake entered a patient-recovery room where a crash team had assembled with a defibrillator. An unresponsive male patient, mid-to-late fifties, lay on the hospital bed. He was not one of the three patients Blake had seen earlier. Blake turned to the young nurse working near the monitors. “I’m Dr. Jamison. I was paged for a Code Blue, but this man is not my patient.”

“Cardiac arrest,” she said. “Started about fifteen minutes ago. Heart stopped soon after.”

“But he’s not my patient. I can’t treat him. Hospital policy. It could lead to a lawsuit and an insurance nightmare.”

She glanced back at the chart and pointed. “Your name is the only one on the chart.”

“That’s not possible.”

She stared back at him with a go-ahead-and-look face.

Blake picked up the chart and thumbed through the pages. Unfortunately, the nurse was correct. His name was there. And what certainly looked like his signature. “I’m telling you this is a mistake. I’ve never seen this chart before. I’ve never seen this patient before. What kind of operation do you run here at Fairview?”

“This is no joke, Doctor. This man is in cardiac arrest and that chart says you’re his doctor. I’m just the floor nurse. I have nothing to do with doctor assignments.”

Blake stepped up to the bedside, opposite the working crash team, and put aside the chart. The nurse was right. He was wasting his breath getting upset with her. He’d have to speak to the appropriate people at the appropriate time—after he had done everything he could to treat the patient. “What’s the history in a nutshell?”

“A nutshell is all we have,” the nurse continued. “We have no idea. He came in this morning. A transfer patient from New York City. Some sort of insurance issue? Apparently, he’s recovering from laparoscopic cholecystectomy.”

New York City? The place Blake had just escaped? Or tried to, at least.

He shook the spiraling thoughts of his parents’ devastating plane crash out of his head. Today another man’s life was on the line. He was a doctor. For the moment, that was all that really mattered. Forget insurance headaches. Forget his own personal grief and struggles to sort out his life.

“You’re saying this man had gallstone surgery somewhere else, was brought here and is now in cardiac arrest?”

She nodded.

“What medication has he been given? Does he have any known allergies?”

“I don’t know. As you saw for yourself, there’s not much in the chart and he only arrived an hour ago,” the nurse said. “We can’t seem to revive him. Hospital policy is to give it fifteen minutes. Should we call?”

“Not yet. Draw blood,” Blake said. “I want a basic workup. And while we are waiting, continue efforts. I want to know more about what’s going on.”

The nurse took blood samples and scampered out of the room. The crash team continued to work.

“Stand by,” one of the crew said. The other member prepared the electric plates to try to restart the patient’s heart. “Three, two, one.”

The man’s body popped from the voltage. The monitor beeped once before the flatline signal returned. Wait and repeat. Blake glanced through the chart. He was still certain he’d never seen this paperwork before or the patient who went with it—Nicolas Hancock. The name was not familiar. But on the last page, there it was—Dr. Blake Jamison. With a likeness of his signature.

Clearly, someone had made a very big mistake and Blake intended to find out who was responsible.

After a few minutes, the nurse returned with the basic blood screen. She handed the report to him almost breathless.

He read over the graphs and figures. Adrenaline levels were off the charts. That would certainly cause someone to go into cardiac arrest. “Any idea why his adrenaline would be so high?”

“No, sir.”

Blake looked up at the IV drip. “Did you attach this?”

“No, sir. He arrived with the IV in place. But I did replace the fluids.”

Blake tried to think of a scenario where a patient would have so much adrenaline in his body. The only explanation that came to mind was that he’d received a dose of epinephrine—a drug which could not be tested for, since the body already made it naturally. But a dose large enough to cause this sort of reaction was anything but natural.

This man’s cardiac arrest was looking as if it had been induced. Blake shook his head. Something very strange was going on here, but there was one thing that was certain—Mr. Nicolas Hancock was dead.

“It’s time to call,” he said. “Time of death is twelve-oh-seven.”

The nurse wrote down the hour.

“Is there a next of kin?” Blake would hardly know what to say to them.

“No, sir,” the nurse answered, her tone softening a touch. “His file says to contact his lawyer in case of an emergency. I’ll be glad to do that for you.”

“Thank you.” Blake rubbed his chin, deep in thought. This was not what he’d signed up for. He’d come to Lancaster County hoping for some peace to get past the loss of his parents, and to figure out what to do with the sudden discovery that he’d been adopted as a baby.

But he could hardly think with all this unorthodox nonsense at the hospital. If this had been an accident of some sort, then someone had really fouled up, medically speaking, with this patient. Blake wanted to know who and why. “I’m not signing a death certificate until I get some more information on this patient. This situation is—” Blake could not keep the strain of emotion from his voice “—unacceptable—medically, ethically and professionally unacceptable. Get the hospital administrator down here. Someone needs to look into this.”

The nurse began to shut down the machines. “I’ll inform Dr. Dodd.”

Blake headed toward the door. He felt a dark cloud over him. The same one he’d had over him in NYC. He stopped in the doorway and turned back to the nurse. “So you changed the drip bag. But did you change the IV tubing?”

She shook her head. “No. The tubing was securely in place. I didn’t see any reason to insert another IV needle into the patient.”

“Then save the entire IV, tubing and all, in a hermetically sealed container. It’s possible medications or a mixture of medications were administered prior to his arrival that caused the cardiac arrest. We have to cover ourselves legally in this day and time. Also, I’d like a copy of that chart. I want to find out how my name became associated with this patient.”

“Of course, Doctor. Naturally.”

Naturally? There was nothing natural about any of this. This was the twenty-first century. You didn’t lose patients to gallstone surgery.

“Dr. Blake Jamison. Dr. Blake Jamison, please report to the E.R. as soon as possible. Please report to the E.R.”

No way. This is not happening. Blake let out a deep sigh as he stepped back into the elevator. At least it’s not a Code Blue.

“This way, Doctor. Follow me.” Janice, a nurse assigned to assist him in the E.R. just the day before, held a grim expression. She led him to bay ten, where she stopped and flipped back a flimsy blue curtain.

“She’s one of our nurses...Abigail Miller.” Janice pulled him inside.

“I don’t know her.” Blake shook his head. A face that beautiful he definitely would have remembered. He drew closer. She was early twenties, pale with a long, golden braid flung across her shoulder. Her forehead had a nasty contusion. Her left arm sported a rough and fresh abrasion. “What happened to her?”

Janice shrugged. “The custodian found her like this in the stairwell off the third floor. Out cold. She hasn’t even blinked.”

“Pulse?”

“Rapid. BP low. This was found next to her.” She handed him a large syringe.

Epinephrine, he read on the side label. Blake handed the syringe back to the nurse. With his other hand, he felt the woman’s racing pulse at her neck. Her breathing was labored. Traumatic stress? “Get her on a monitor. Are you sure she was injected?”

Janice shook her head. “It was beside her. That’s all I know.”

“Is she known to have any severe allergies?”

Janice shook her head again. “No. She’s never sick. Healthiest person I’ve ever met.”

“You’re sure nothing’s broken? You moved her?”

This time Janice nodded. “Yes, Doctor. I’m sure the orderlies were very careful. No one would want to hurt Abigail.”

Blake touched her cold cheek. “Miss Miller? Miss Miller? Wake up. I need you to tell me what happened.”

On the outside, she lay there like Sleeping Beauty. On the inside, Blake knew that her body was fighting for its life. Janice rolled up the mobile heart monitor and began to put the sensors in place. As the cold nodes stuck to her skin, Abigail awoke with a start. She sat up, gasped for air and tried to reach for Janice. “It hurts. My chest. It hurts. I can’t bre—”

The heart monitor sensors reacted with an alert.

Blake kept a firm hand on the woman’s shoulder, pushing her back down to the bed. “Prep me a dose of Inderal, stat,” he said. “She’s going into cardiac arrest.”

Just like Nicolas Hancock.

TWO

Streams of blinding white light seeped under Abigail’s heavy eyelids. Beeps and buzzes echoed in her ears. Everything around her whirled in a blurred circle. Fatigue. Nausea. Pain. Everywhere pain. Especially her head.

“Ugh.” She lifted a sore arm only to touch a nice hard knot on the front of her head. Ouch. What in the world? Where am I?

She glanced around the small space. Heart monitor. Oxygen supply. Blood-pressure gauge. Blue hospital curtain wrapped around the small bed she lay in. I’m in the Emergency Room!

“Hello.” A tall, sandy-haired man peered around the curtain at her, then stepped inside. He wore a white lab coat over a pressed blue oxford. His stethoscope and Fairview ID badge hung loosely around his opened collar.

“How are you feeling, Abigail?”

“I’m feeling a little confused.” She looked down at her limp body in the hospital bed. “I don’t remember how I got here.... I don’t know you, Doctor, do I?”

“Nope. I’m new. Jamison. Blake Jamison.”

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Jamison.” Her mouth was dry and it hurt to try to sit up.

“Call me Blake. Please.” He smiled. “And take it easy. You’ve had a pretty rough day. Don’t worry if you aren’t remembering everything just yet. You will.”

Her head was foggy and thick, but she tried to focus. An IV drip fed into her left hand. The doctor—Blake—sat on a stool to her right. She was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was a handsome man, with a nice build and a kind face.

“So, why am I here?”

“I was sort of hoping you could tell me that. Maybe once your head clears up.” He took her wrist in his hand. He studied her face as he counted her pulse. A strange and awkward sensation passed over Abby as his fingertips pressed her skin. She was unaccustomed to the touch of a man and especially that of a fancy Englischer.

“I didn’t know Fairview was getting a new E.R. doctor. When did you start?”

“Well...I’m just here temporarily. I’m filling in for Dr. Finley.”

“Oh, right. I remember now reading something about him teaching a course in one of the hospital newsletters. I didn’t realize he would be away from the hospital for that. Do you often fill in for doctors on leave?”

“This is my first time. I have a private practice in New York. I’m just here for a change of scenery. Eight weeks. Then I’ll go back.” He released her arm. His lips pursed, as if he was thinking about something far away. “Seventy-two. Much better. You had me pretty scared there. Never a dull moment at this place.”

He used his stethoscope and listened to her breathing and her heart. Then he whipped the instrument out from his ears and again rested it like an adornment around his neck. The light scent of musky cologne wafted over her.

“Did you say never a dull moment?” She tilted her head and glanced at him sideways. “I am still at Fairview Hospital, right?”

He chuckled and started to respond when an electronic device at his waist began to vibrate. “See what I mean?”

He took the phone into his hands, silenced it, read the message and returned it to his waist. “Not important. So, how’s the head?”

“It’s a little tender.”

“I’ll have Janice bring you some Tylenol. Drink lots of fluids. Get some more rest. I’ll check back in another hour.”

“Wait. I have questions. You can’t leave yet.” She wanted more information than that. “How did I get here? Where did this bruising come from? Why am I hooked up to a heart monitor? How long was I unconscious? And why?”

His phone began to buzz again. He clenched his jaw as he looked at the screen and silenced it. “Sorry. Friends back in New York who think I’m available 24/7. Not important. Again. And that’s a lot of questions. I thought the doctor always asked the questions.”

“You can’t expect me to just lie here and not know what happened.” She met his steady gaze.

“I might if I think that’s what’s best for you.”

What? Who did this doctor think he was? Was he really not going to tell her anything? “At least tell me what day it is.”

“It’s Thursday,” he said, following it up with the date.

“Thursday,” she repeated. She leaned back into her pillow with a frown. It seemed that her memory was only missing most of one day. The damage could have been much worse...and yet it was troubling to think of those lost hours, especially given the injuries she’d sustained.

“You look upset.” He stepped back inside the curtained area. “Worrying about your memory may only block it longer. Try to relax. Think about the things you did early this morning.”

Abby shook her head. “Nothing. I don’t remember a thing. Please, isn’t there anything you can tell me about what happened? At least explain the heart monitor.”

“Well, we aren’t completely certain, but apparently, you took a hefty dose of epinephrine.” His words were slow. His tone kind and compassionate. “Fortunately, you’re strong and your body quickly absorbed much of the excess. We gave you something to calm your heart. It worked just the way it was supposed to—the monitor is just here as a precaution. You’re going to be fine. There will be no long-term effects.”

“Epinephrine?”

“Yes, it almost threw you into cardiac arrest.”

“How? Why would I take epinephrine? That’s crazy. Are you sure?” In a blink, Abby had a flash image of a shaking hand raising a needle to her arm. It was dark, like nighttime.

“You were found with an empty syringe, which we are pretty certain contained a killer amount of epinephrine before having a meeting with your arm.”

“Wait a minute, what else? I—I...” She looked down at her bruised arm. Her pulse started to rise. Someone had held her. So tight. She remembered her arm had felt as if it might break. She also remembered a man so close she could feel his breath on her neck. Abby shivered. “Someone gave me a shot. He was holding me around the arm. But where was I? And how did I get here?”

Blake’s lips pressed together as he seemed to consider how much to tell her. He frowned. “The custodian found you on the third floor. He said you were out cold in the stairwell by that big hall that’s being renovated. He’s the one who brought you down. He saved your life. Now, look, you’re getting too worked up. Try to rest. We can continue this conversation in a bit. You’re very weak.”

The third floor. Cold gray eyes. Abby could feel the tension rising in her, and it wasn’t because of her condition. She locked eyes with the doctor. More images shot through her mind. Gurney. Syringe. Eyes. Icy, fiery eyes. She flung the sheet off her lap and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I need to go back upstairs. Someone’s in trouble. I wasn’t the only one who was injected.”

Blake placed a hand on her shoulder that gently but firmly kept her from moving. “Slow down, Abby. You could still be under the effects of the drugs.”

“No. Really, I’m fine.” She slipped from his reach and stood. Her legs felt like cooked spaghetti. Blake caught her as she leaned back for support.

“It will have to wait, Abby. You need to rest.”

“I’ll rest later.” She pushed the doctor and his restraining arms away.

She didn’t remember all the details of her attack, but she knew someone else had been in danger. She couldn’t wait a minute longer—she might already be too late.

* * *

Blake could hardly believe the beautiful but provoking patient had talked him into letting her out of bed. Of course, when she’d plucked the IV from the back of her hand with a single yank, it was clear she was going to get up to the third floor with or without his approval. Since his shift had ended, he thought it best to accompany her. At least that way he could confine her to a wheelchair and keep an eye on her.

“Janice told me that you were raised Amish,” Blake commented as he wheeled her into the elevator.

She nodded. “It’s true.”

“So why did you decide to stop being Amish? If you don’t mind me asking?”

She laughed. “I don’t mind you asking at all. But I wouldn’t say that I stopped being Amish. I may not wear the clothes, but in here—” she touched her chest where her heart would be “—I will always be Amish. I didn’t take vows to commit myself to the church because I wanted to continue nursing.”

The elevator stopped at the third floor and Blake turned them toward the renovation area, taking in her words, which were more personal to him than she knew. “At the risk of sounding ignorant, I’m going to ask. Nursing isn’t allowed?”

“No, it’s not. It’s Hochmut.” Abby smiled and waved hellos to the few staff members they passed. “The Amish can have shops, build furniture or buildings, and farm. Professions that require higher degrees are not pursued.”

“Hochmut?”

“Ja. Hochmut,” she repeated with a teasing look, correcting his pronunciation.

“I don’t speak Pennsylvania Dutch.” Blake felt himself blush—her unfamiliar words were just another reminder of how little he knew of this place where he had come to find answers about himself.

“It means ‘arrogance.’ It’s what comes with letting the world in, with studying and learning more than needed. By going to school and becoming a nurse, I’ve become too much a part of the world. In many ways, I’m not worthy to take vows. But I have vowed in my own way to take care of people. My people. They need health care that they are comfortable with and I can provide that. I think I made the right decision. One day my family will understand. Some of them already do.”

Blake tried to wrap his head around the Amish culture. After the letter his mother had left him, he’d researched anything and everything Amish. But now that he was there in Lancaster, he realized there was still so much to learn. And there was already one strike against him. Would his biological family think less of him for his medical profession?

“How about you?” She looked back at him with her bright blue eyes. “Why did you leave New York? And how did you pick Fairview Hospital of all places?”

Blake had a stock answer for that question. It was the one he’d given to everyone else who’d asked him, even his closest friends. No one knew the real reason he’d come to Lancaster. He’d told no one that he had recently found out that he’d been adopted, that he’d been born in Lancaster, not in New York City as he’d thought his entire life. He could hardly process the news himself, much less deliver it to others and expect them to understand. It was best to sort it out first. By himself. Yet he found himself on the verge of telling Abby the truth.

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Yaş sınırı:
0+
Hacim:
221 s. 2 illüstrasyon
ISBN:
9781472073433
Telif hakkı:
HarperCollins

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