CHAPTER ONE

      A WEATHERED SIGN identifying the office as belonging to Mitch Tucker, private detective, was just this side of shabby. As was the rest of the small building’s exterior, Laura decided critically. Really not in keeping with the expensive commercial land it was situated on; but then, she wasn’t shopping for a spotless houseboy. She wanted a first-rate detective, and despite outward appearances, Mitch Tucker came highly recommended by several adoptee search organizations.

      Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door, making herself ignore the chipped paint.

      A hawkish, high-pitched voice ordered her to enter.

      Now, that was a voice that would grate steel, Laura decided as she obeyed the order. The interior was dim, nearing murky. Having just come in from the glare of bright sunshine, she found focusing difficult. But even with the disadvantage, it was rapidly clear that Mitch Tucker was nowhere in sight.

      So who had spoken?

      “Hey!” the voice screeched again.

      Startled, Laura whirled around. A bright-green parrot eyed her balefully.

      “Hello,” she replied cautiously.

      “Hello,” the parrot mimicked as he lurched sideways in a scooting motion across his perch.

      Laura glanced at an ancient desk covered by disorganized piles of seemingly neglected papers. Immediately, she wondered if the man’s detective methods were equally sloppy.

      The phone rang, startling her anew and making the bird squawk. “Hello,” the parrot repeated, swinging from side to side.

      An answering machine clicked on. A husky male voice invited the caller to leave a message.

      Laura listened while the female caller ended her one-sided conversation with a suggestive kiss. Strolling closer to the desk, she saw that a light on the answering machine indicated several other messages.

      “Probably all women,” Laura muttered in disapproval.

      A masculine voice from the doorway surprised her. “Then maybe we’d better listen.”

      “That’s not necessary.”

      He met her gaze. “And you’re Miss…?”

      “Kelly,” she replied shortly. “Laura Kelly.”

      He glanced at his caller I.D. “You’re right. Practically all women.” There was an indiscernible note to his voice and Laura couldn’t tell if he was serious or simply needling her.

      Then he motioned for her to take one of the chairs angled in front of the desk. After she was seated, Mitch pushed himself back in his own chair, propping boot-clad feet on the scarred edge of his desk. “So what’s your story, Laura Kelly?”

      Laura didn’t care for his casual demeanor or neglected office. She crimped the handles of her purse together as she started to rise. “I’m obviously wasting your time.”

      He didn’t answer right away, instead studying her again. “Depends. What’s your problem?”

      “My problem?” Without warning she was shaking—with fury, fear and an inescapable sense of injustice. “Is that what you reduce the agonies in people’s lives to? Their problems? Sarcastic, insignificant—” But she couldn’t speak any longer as the pain assaulted her.

      “Oh, hell,” Mitch mumbled, swinging his legs off the desk, his chair scraping the wooden floor as he pushed it back. His boots thudded as he crossed over to her, a dull but distinctive sound in the echoing room. Awkwardly he shoved a box of tissue toward her. “Didn’t know you were going to get all weepy on me.”

      But Laura had not given in to tears. The fear was too great for that. And she was all out of retorts.

      Mitch’s sigh reverberated in the soulless office. “Divorce? Hey, it’s rough. You marry someone, expect picket fences and champagne. Instead you get barbed wire and beer. But, trust me, you aren’t the first.”

      The pain in her chest was multiplying. Suddenly she was dragging in big gulps of air; yet they didn’t seem to be reaching her lungs.

      “Oh, man, you’re really freaking.” Mitch rapidly looked around the office; his eyes landed on the remains of yesterday’s lunch. After dumping soggy French fries, onion rings and the remainder of a cheeseburger, he popped open the white paper fast-food bag. Without hesitation, he pulled the smelly, grease-stained sack over Laura’s head.

      In a few minutes, her breathing returned to normal and she pushed the bag off her head, ignoring the fragrance of onions that lingered in her hair.

      “You okay?”

      Not quite meeting his eyes, she nodded.

      His gaze was sympathetic. “No need to be embarrassed. Divorce isn’t pretty.”

      “That’s not why I’m here.”

      He poured coffee into a disreputable-looking mug and handed it to her. “No?”

      She drew in the warmth of the mug, feeling the coldness that had accompanied her since she had learned that she might lose her son. It was a chill she couldn’t shake. “It’s worse.”

      Mitch paused as he poured his own mug of coffee. “How much worse?”

      “It’s a matter of life and death.”

      His voice gentled. “Why don’t you tell me about it.”

      Laura knew she couldn’t conceal the pain that possessed her. She didn’t even try. “I need your help to save my son’s life.”

      “What’s he in danger from?”

      “Being related to me.” She took a deep breath. “Because I don’t know who I’m really related to. That’s why I need your help. I need to find out who I am.”

      SHE WAS EITHER a ding-a-ling or a mental case. Mitch wasn’t sure which, but he didn’t need this kind of complication in his life right now. He’d lost months of work after an investigation had left him laid up in the hospital. The fact that his client had failed to pay the huge bill he’d racked up on the case had only further compounded his problems. He was close to losing the small building that housed his office, along with the valuable land it sat upon. He had already lost his condominium, and had been forced to move somewhere less expensive. And he’d been forced to trade in the sports car he loved for an annoyingly practical SUV that made him cringe each time he climbed inside.

      He didn’t have time to waste on an unbalanced woman. Maybe he could find a number for some sort of help hotline.

      But then she raised large, deep-blue eyes and he paused. It wasn’t instability he glimpsed there, rather an immense pool of pain.

      “Why did you come to me?” He had noticed the distaste in her expression as she’d glanced around his neglected office. It was hardly the indication of someone who believed in his work.

      “I’ve been told you’re the best.”

      An arrow of ego pierced his armor. “Oh, yeah?”

      “I understand your success rate with finding birth parents is phenomenal.”

      He nodded in acknowledgment. Before his extensive recuperation