The Hunt For Hawke's Daughter. Jean Barrett
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center in Denver, and she’s in the process of selling it. It’s her business, but Daniels, Ramey—whoever he is—was somehow involved in it. Her lawyer has advised her that, to avoid possible litigation, she needs him to sign away any claim.”
“Only last week,” Karen murmured, struggling to sort it out, “and already you’ve located him.”
“Sometimes you get lucky, and sometimes you have the right mother. She’s wicked when it comes to computers. Handles a lot of that end of the business for all of us. I sent her a copy of this photograph, and she did the rest.”
Karen remembered Devlin once telling her how his parents, who had founded the Hawke Detective Agency, managed the home office in Chicago, networking with all of the other nationwide branches of the firm operated by Devlin’s brothers and sisters.
“Ma posted the photograph, along with an inquiry, on the Internet,” he went on to explain. “We didn’t have to wait long for results.”
“Another agency responded?”
“Uh-uh. It was a teenager, one of your neighbors down the block. Kids like him live on the Internet. He recognized our man and contacted us. I flew into Minneapolis and spoke with the kid and his parents first thing this morning. I didn’t know then you were involved, Karen. I didn’t guess until the kid mentioned Michael Ramey had a wife of almost three years named Karen and that she was an interior designer. And after he’d described you…well, there didn’t seem to be much doubt, though I had to make sure of your marriage in the records.”
“So you came to Dream Makers. Why here, Devlin? It’s Michael you want. Why didn’t you go straight to Michael?”
“I tried. He wasn’t at your house or his office.”
“He’s away from the office a lot. He handles commercial real estate, which you probably learned, and that means showing properties to clients. His assistant, Bonnie, should have told you as much.”
“She wasn’t there either. Place was locked up.”
“Then she’s probably with Michael. Sometimes, when the deal is a complicated one, she goes with him. Why, Devlin?” she persisted. “Why come to me at all, when there’s the risk I’ll let him know you’re looking for him? When you could lose him before you’re able to reach him?”
Their eyes locked while she waited for his answer. For a breathless moment Karen felt the memories she had tried to resist flow between them like warm honey. Far too many of those memories were sensual ones. They might not have been a problem, had they remained just memories. Instead, they triggered an awareness of his potent presence. She could almost feel the heat of his solid body as he leaned toward her earnestly, could detect his clean masculine scent.
That she was capable of acknowledging an attraction that still existed, that she could recognize its potential sizzle, shocked her. How could she be experiencing such wildly dangerous emotions at this, of all times?
His voice was deep, almost gruff, when he finally answered her. “Learning it was you and not some stranger…well, it would have been pretty rotten of me not to warn you. I owed you that much.”
“Thank you.”
She watched him as he reclaimed the photograph and returned it to his inside breast pocket. His business suit was trim and dark blue. It gave him a dynamic image, but it seemed strange to see him clad so formally. The Devlin she had known had never dressed in anything but jeans and ski outfits. When he had worn anything at all, that is, but that was another memory she had to bury.
Perhaps Devlin, too, had memories he needed to tame, because he was all business again as he got to his feet. “I don’t have the right to ask you not to confront Ramey with everything I’ve just told you before I get the chance to see him,” he said, his voice almost curt, as if he didn’t trust himself to be sympathetic again. “I hope you won’t, but if you feel you don’t have a choice, then please make sure he understands I’m not a cop. I’m not here to arrest him, and I’m not interested in making any charges. All my client cares about is having him sign her papers I’ve brought with me.”
“And if he decides instead to disappear?”
“Then I’ll find him again,” he promised, and she knew he meant it.
Karen stood, and there was another precarious moment when the forceful blue eyes under the heavy black eyebrows sought hers. All out of nowhere the thought struck her that she need no longer consider herself a married woman. It was a treacherous idea. It even felt like an immoral one, and she quickly smothered it. She was suddenly anxious for Devlin to leave. But, maddeningly, he lingered.
“Did your assistant give you my business card?”
“Yes.”
“My cell phone number is listed on it. Use it if you need me.”
“Yes.” Why didn’t he just go? She wanted to be alone so she could try to deal with this monstrous thing.
“It may be necessary for you to sign a deposition. You’ll have to consult your lawyer about just what your situation is legally.”
“Yes.”
There was another uncomfortable pause. What was he waiting for now?
“If we had to go and meet again, Karen,” he finally said, his voice raspy with emotion, “I would have wished for it to be anything but this.”
HE WAS FINALLY GONE. She was mercifully alone again. Too dazed to go on standing, she sank back into her desk chair. She sat there, struggling to accept what she had just learned. Devlin was too careful an investigator to have brought her anything but the truth. She could no longer question it.
Bigamy! Michael was guilty of bigamy, and she was his victim!
Whatever had vanished from their relationship, it was a cruel blow to learn that her marriage to him had been nothing but a lie. Which meant everything he had shared with her about his past—and she realized now it wasn’t all that much—must also be a lie. Then exactly who was Michael Ramey, and what other secrets might he be guarding?
Whatever the explanation, she would no longer need to seek a divorce since it seemed she had never been legally married to him in the first place. It occurred to her there was a terrible irony in that.
All of this was too agonizing. She didn’t want to think about it anymore. Livie. She wanted to be with Livie, to hold her securely in her arms. She longed for someone she could trust and who trusted her, someone who belonged to her without question in a world that suddenly seemed shadowed with uncertainties. Only her daughter could satisfy her need.
Maud and Robyn must have thought her a little crazed when she rushed away from Dream Makers a few minutes later after the most inadequate of explanations. But they didn’t try to delay her with questions she was in no mood to answer. Claiming her blue Camry from the parking garage across the street, Karen drove across the Mississippi River into St. Paul.
The tree-shaded house was located near one of the colleges and not far from a park. It had a soothing quality about it. There was an old-fashioned glider on the front porch and a fenced yard in the back with a sandbox and a playhouse.
Parents were grateful for Mildred Gustafsson. A retired kindergarten teacher, she provided their children with superior care. One of her toddlers, an inquisitive boy named Joey, peered around her leg when she answered Karen’s ring.
“Mrs. Ramey!” The lanky woman, who seemed far younger than her mature years, was a little startled to find Karen standing on her porch.
“I know this is way ahead of the usual hour we pick Livie up. But I got back from Atlanta earlier than scheduled, so I thought I’d collect her now. She’s not still napping, is she?”
Mildred Gustafsson looked bewildered. “But Livie isn’t here.”
Karen felt her stomach lurch sickeningly. “What do you mean she’s not here? She has to be here.”