To “The Children” and their playground monitor:

       Kira Bazzel, Kim Kerr, Andrea Laurence, Marilyn Puett and Danniele Worsham.

      CONTENTS

      PROLOGUE

      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

      CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

      CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

      CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

      CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

      CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

      EPILOGUE

      PROLOGUE

      I SWEAR I’ LL FIND YOU .

      Lausanne Raney ran the tip of her index finger over the blurry photograph, her touch gentle, almost reverent. Ten years ago, she had snapped this picture through the glass window that shielded the hospital nursery from the outside world. A thin barrier between her and her newborn daughter.

      You have to know that I did what I thought was best for you. I was seventeen, with nobody who cared if I lived or died and not a cent to my name.

      If she had it to do over again, would she still give her baby up for adoption? Pressing the snapshot to her breast, Lausanne clenched her teeth. She didn’t cry anymore. She hadn’t cried in years. Tears were useless. Self pity served no purpose.

      Yes. The answer was yes. If circumstances were the same, then she’d still give away her child.

      She’d known then, as she knew now, that allowing some childless couple to adopt her daughter had given the baby her only chance for a decent life.

      Yeah, just look what a mess I’ve made of my life. If I’d kept you, I’d have screwed you up something awful. I couldn’t do that to you, sweet baby.

      Lausanne placed the photograph back in the small box that contained only two other items. A tiny gold cross attached to a necklace that had belonged to her mother and Lausanne’s GED certificate that she had earned while serving five years in the state penitentiary.

      But that was then. This is now. She had served her time, paid her debt to society. And God help her, she had learned her lesson. She couldn’t trust anybody, couldn’t depend on anyone but herself, didn’t dare risk falling in love again. Her track record with men sucked. Her first love had left her alone and pregnant. But that was nothing compared to lover number two. He’d robbed a convenience store while she waited in the car, oblivious to what he was doing. But in the eyes of the law, she had been his accomplice.

      Lausanne closed the lid on the small box, then crossed the bedroom of her two-room apartment in Chattanooga, stood on tiptoe and slid the box onto the top shelf in her tiny closet.

      She wasn’t going to live in a dump like this forever. One day, she’d have a nice place, a new car and pretty clothes. Someday. After she found out where her little girl was. While she’d been in the pen, she’d made herself two promises. One: When she got out, she’d work hard and build a good life for herself. Two: She’d find out where her daughter was and make sure she was well and happy and with a good family.

      Lausanne checked her appearance in the cracked full-length mirror attached to the front of the closet door with rusty metal hinges. The entire outfit had cost her sixty bucks, but on her, the clothes looked more expensive. She had a knack for mixing and matching, for coordinating, for copying the styles she saw in magazines but using off-the-rack items from discount stores.

      Today was step one in her plan to fulfill those promises to herself. Today she would begin a new job as a receptionist at Bedell, Inc. No more waitress jobs for her. And just as she’d been doing for the past six months when she’d been scratching by on minimum wage, part of each paycheck would go into a fund to hire a private agency to help her find her daughter.

      CHAPTER ONE

      SAWYER MC NAMARA , the CEO of the Dundee Private Security and Investigation Agency, handed the three agents congregated at the table in the conference room separate file folders. As he took his seat at the head of the table, he glanced at each person, his gaze lingering on Lucie Evans. As if sensing his intense scrutiny, Lucie looked up and glared at their boss.

      “What?” she asked, her tone combative.

      Sawyer shrugged. “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, Evans?”

      Bristling, Lucie frowned, then growled deep in her throat.

      Nothing new there, Dom Shea thought. Any conversation between Sawyer and Lucie started and ended as a battle of wills. The two mixed like oil and water. And the entire Dundee staff couldn’t figure out why Lucie was still a Dundee employee. Why hadn’t she quit long ago? Or better yet, why hadn’t Sawyer fired her? Who knew? Dom sure as hell didn’t want to get in the middle of anything. He’d actually dated Lucie a few times. They’d had fun, but from the get-go, it had been apparent that there weren’t any real sexual sparks between them, so they’d settled for being friends. Dom wasn’t friends with Sawyer. He respected his boss. Liked the guy. Even admired him. But Sawyer McNamara kept a definite distance between himself and his agents.

      “I’m sending y’all out on new assignments today,” Sawyer said. “Read over the files I’ve given you, and if you have any questions, now’s the time to ask. And if for any reason somebody wants to swap an assignment with another agent—think twice. I chose each of you specifically for the job I assigned to you.”

      They all understood that was Sawyer’s way of saying, if you don’t want the job I’ve assigned you, tough shit.

      Dom opened the file folder—a rather thick dossier that included numerous copies of newspaper photos and articles as well as snapshots. The words Bedell, Inc. jumped off the pages at him. In the Southeast, the name Bedell was synonymous with old money. Generations of multi-millionaires accumulating wealth had made the current head of the family a billionaire. The original Edward Bedell, who’d settled in Tennessee before the War Between the States, had made his fortune with the railroad and later diversified. The current Edward Bedell’s holdings covered a wide span of business interests worldwide—everything from real estate and construction to pharmaceutical sales and research. But the Bedell, Inc. headquarters was based in Chattanooga where the chairman of the board lived. Edward personally oversaw the day-to-day running of his family’s corporation.

      After flipping through the photos, Dom paused on a wedding picture from the Chattanooga Times Free Press dated six years ago. Audrey Bedell and Grayson Perkins. The golden couple. Studying the picture, Dom wasn’t sure who was the prettiest, Audrey or her groom. Perkins had model perfect good looks that proclaimed him too gorgeous to be a man.

      “You’re