18

Leigh felt the walls closing in on her again, just as metal had twenty-six years ago. Squeezing the life from her. She’d tried not to let Max see it. But it was there in her mind. In her reality.

She walked into the paneled den where she gazed on the portrait of her mother. There was one of her father in her own room.

“I wish you were here,” she whispered to the woman in the portrait. A lullaby floated in her mind. She’d been loved, probably the only time in her life. Now someone wanted to take even that away.

She would have liked to see a more combative Max. A “Hell, no, we won’t” would have been far preferable to what she believed was acquiescence. She’d given him the answer he wanted, but that didn’t mean she would be available for an appointment. Even the idea of needles sent shivers through her. He should have known that. Maybe he did. Maybe he was right, but dread was a dark pit inside. The nightmares had increased in the past few days. Her mother’s bloody face and empty eyes …

Her mother.

Not some stranger’s mother. Hers. The one she remembered and loved and even talked to on occasion.

Kira Douglas was responsible. She hated the woman, first for the way she’d intruded in her life and now for trying to destroy it.

She went to the phone, started to call Seth, then hung up. It was time she depended on herself.

Her city editor took one look at Kira when she arrived late and called her aside. “Let’s go into an office,” he said.

She followed him, her heart sinking. She had to tell him what was going on. If she didn’t, and kept asking for time, he would fire her. She would have to trust him.

She hated to do that. She hated putting a burden on him when it was her problem. She would be asking him to do what a reporter never did: withhold one hell of a story.

She followed him into a room. He closed the door and nodded toward a chair. “Sit.”

She did. He could be formidable at times, a teddy bear at others.

“You look like hell,” he said.

“That bad?”

“That bad. How long since you’ve had some sleep?”

“Night before last?”

“I don’t need a zombie.”

“The story was good yesterday.”

“It could have been better. Didn’t have your usual flair.” He sat on the table. “Talk to me, Kira. Is your mother worse? Something else going on?” His eyes traveled to the bandage on her arm.

“A lot is going on,” she said. “I need your word, though, that you won’t print anything until I approve it.”

“You have my attention,” he said. “What do I have to give up?”

“A story that’s still unfinished, but if everything works out, it could be a great story, an award-winning story. Or it could be a great story that can’t ever be printed.”

“You still have my attention. Why can’t it be printed?”

“It could destroy lives. All of a sudden I’m questioning what I do for a living.”

“Kira, you’re one of the best I’ve seen. You can extract stuff no one else can. I don’t want to lose you.” He sighed. “A great story that can’t be printed. You ever read those Greek myths?”

“Tantalus?” she said.

He nodded. “I’m not good at wanting something I can’t have. Give me a good reason.”

“A woman’s life.”

“Your mother’s?”

“Yes.”

“The transplant?”

“We thought we had a donor last night. She was prepped, ready to go, and at the last moment they pulled the plug. Something wrong with the kidney.”

“Hell, Kira. That’s rough.”

“There’s more,” she said. “I might have a live donor for Mom.”

“You told me there wasn’t a match.”

Leap of faith. “There could be.” Her hand clutched the notebook she’d brought with her. “My mother’s biological daughter. I just found out about it.” She hesitated, then added, “The blood tests I took showed I couldn’t be her biological daughter. There’s one out there and I think I know who she is.”

“Christ,” he said. “You had no idea?”

Then she told him about the possibility of a baby swap. Then the MARTA incident and the burglary. She left out any mention of Max.

“You think all this is connected.”

“I think it’s a good possibility.”

She explained everything, every theory she had. Everything but the name of Leigh Howard. “Mom doesn’t know. She can’t know. She’s extremely weak and this kind of news … could kill her.”

“How much did you tell the police?”

“Not all of it. I was afraid it would get to the media.”

“And this person. She doesn’t want to give a kidney.”

“I don’t think she believes it. No one would. I didn’t at first.”

“Who is it?” Then his eyes widened. “That feature you insisted on doing. Does it have anything to do with it?”

“Yes.” She’d hoped he wouldn’t come to that conclusion this quickly. She knew she could get fired for using the newspaper. Her throat closed in on her, but she had to tell him. “It was an opportunity to get a DNA sample.”

“My God,” he said as rubbed his face. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying? That one of the city’s most prominent families might be involved in attempted murder and burglary as well as covering up a baby switch?”

She nodded. “It was unethical using the newspaper to get to know her, but it was a good story. It was only way I thought I could get DNA fast without stirring up a mess. It showed a match.”

“You apparently kicked up a mess anyway.”

“Yes,” she said unhappily.

“This is a damned good story. Switched babies. A life hanging in the balance …”

“I know,” she said miserably. “But it could cost my mother her life.”

“What do you mean?”

“I offered to keep everything quiet and not say anything or make any claim on the Westerfield trust if she donates a kidney. She would simply be a Good Samaritan. My mother would get a kidney. All would be right with the world.”

“Except for attempted murder. You could have been killed.”

“I wasn’t.”

Another line had been added to the lines around his eyes in the past few moments. But she was glad she’d told him. This could come back to haunt the newspaper, and she couldn’t let that happen. Her actions were her own.

Wade Carlton shifted his teddy-bear bulk on the desk, stared at her for a moment. “Anything important coming up in city hall the rest of this week?”

“Just a few more budget hearings by various committees.”

“Okay. Tell you what we’ll do, though I’ll have to run it by the managing editor. I’m going to put you on special assignment for the next two weeks. Keep a daily diary, and we’ll do a series on the need for transplant donations. You can do it on your own time. If we can use the Westerfield angle, we will. You’re right. It would make a blockbuster story, but I’m not going to risk someone’s life for it. If we can’t use it, the stories will make a damn good public service series.”

She should have known. She’d known Wade for five years, not only on a business basis. They were friends outside the newsroom as well. “Thank you.”

“I’ll have to run it by Jim first. And I’ll talk to him about getting you some protection, just as he did for Robin last year.” He stood. “I think you should tell the police everything.”

“A few more days first. I have to give Leigh Howard time to agree. If she won’t, all bets are off.”

He frowned.

“I promise to tell the police if I don’t have an agreement by Friday.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Now go home, straighten up, and get some rest. I’ll have Diane fill in for you at city hall. I’ll talk to Jim and call you this afternoon.”

“I’ll keep city hall?”

“Yeah.”

For the first time in several days, she felt at least part of the load lift from her shoulder. She stood. “I really am sorry about the Leigh Howard story. I should have checked with you first.”

“Yeah, you should have,” he said.

It was a rebuke. It sounded offhand, but she knew it wasn’t. He was disappointed in her and that hurt.

She went to Diane Doza’s desk and filled her in on the ongoing stories at city hall. Diane, a general assignment reporter, had substituted for her before and knew the issues and personalities.

She left for home. There were calls to the insurance company. Furniture to be replaced, though most would have to wait until the insurance money came in. A computer to be replaced; that was a necessity. A visit to her mother and a call to her doctor.

Chris was still there. He handed her keys for new locks and explained the security system. “I’ve done some work for them,” he said. “They’re giving you twelve months’ free service.”

She wanted to say no, but she didn’t have that luxury at the moment. She would pay him back sometime in the future.

“Call me if you need anything. Call if you even suspect a problem. Okay?”

“Definitely. I’m a first-rate coward.”

He grinned. “I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

“Believe me.”

“As long as you call at the first sign there’s something wrong …”

“I will. For the moment, though, I’m going to bed.”

He continued to stay there, then said, “I thought I would take Archie and pay Ms. Howard a visit.”

“Why Archie?”

“He has a way of disarming women.”

Kira had no doubt that could happen. Archie was a mismatched dog, as if he were composed of spare parts. He had a perpetual good nature despite, or perhaps because of, an obviously abusive puppyhood.

“You think you can convince her when her attorney can’t.”

“I have more than a few reservations about the attorney, but then I don’t care much for attorneys in general. Cop bias.”

“Go for it,” she said. There seemed nothing to lose. Chris could be disarming. He’d probably been the good cop during interrogations.

He left, and she went through the house. Chris had accomplished miracles as far as cleaning up the mess. He’d stacked ruined paintings and furniture in a spare room along with boxes of broken china. The fridge, which had little in it, had been filled with several cartons of chicken salad from a deli.

There was also fresh milk and a jar of cocoa. A sign on it said, “Treat yourself.”

She made herself a cup of coffee for now. She had to make a few calls, then she would take a nap before visiting her mother. She didn’t want to look like a walking ghost.

Max made a few calls, determined the best labs for the tests, then made an appointment for Leigh.

He was worried though. Leigh had agreed too easily. He wasn’t sure she would go through with it. Probably she had called Seth immediately after he’d left.

Then he called the investigation agency that had prepared the report on Kira. “I want some protection for someone,” he said. “Good and discreet. Do you have a recommendation?”

“Davies and Peeples. They’re good. They know how to blend in, and discretion is as much a part of their training as firearms.”

“Have a number?”

Twenty minutes later he’d hired someone to look after Kira.

He called the newspaper and asked for Kira. She’d left for the day.

She would probably be at one of two places. Her home or the hospital? As exhausted as she’d been last time, he opted for the former.

He went to his secretary, who was a sorceress. She could find anything. Do anything. Conjure anything.

“Do we have any spare laptops around?” he asked.

“Sure. We’re always updating.”

“I want a good one.”

“How soon?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“You’re a hard taskmaster, but I’ll have one.”

And she did. Ten minutes later he left the office, a cleaned laptop with him.

Forty minutes later he drove up to her home. He parked, then called her on his cell.

She answered after several rings, her voice sleepy. He tried to ignore the sudden image of her lying in bed, her blue eyes half closed and her body …

“I have some news,” he said. “I’m outside. May I come in?”

“Outside? What time is it?

“Five p.m. Did I wake you?”

“Yep.”

“Sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t be. It’s time to get up. Five in the afternoon is a god-awful time to be asleep.”

He grinned at that. “Not always.”

“Give me a few minutes.”

“Five?”

“Make it ten.”

The phone went dead. He glanced at his watch and leaned back. He was surprised at how eager he was to see her. He could have called and sent a messenger over with a computer, but …

Dammit. He wanted to confirm for himself she was all right. He wanted to tell her in person that Leigh had agreed to the test. He wanted to see that rare smile again.

He called himself all kinds of an idiot. He was violating every rule he’d ever made for himself. Never get involved with clients or with someone involved in a case. Hell, never get involved, period.

Yet here he was in front of someone’s house like a lovesick schoolboy. It shook him to the depth of his soul.

He closed his eyes for a few moments, then glanced at his watch. Five minutes. He stepped outside, stretched, glanced up and down the street. White picket fences protected the neat houses. Several kids played in one yard.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Few cars were parked on the street. It would be difficult for any surveillance without notice. He had to believe the promises of the firm he’d retained earlier.

Another glance at his watch. Two minutes left. Not that he’d ever been the typical schoolboy.

He headed for the porch with the laptop. The door opened.

Kira stood there, her eyes swollen with sleep. She wore a T-shirt and shorts and looked as sexy at that moment as any well-groomed woman in Victoria’s Secret lingerie.

She didn’t say anything, merely held the door for him. Her face was tight with tension.

He walked in and looked around. Things looked far better than they had early this morning. But damage was still obvious.

He held out the computer to her. “Thought you could use this,” he said.

She hesitated. “This wasn’t necessary.”

“No,” he said. “But we had a spare one in the office and I heard you say last night yours was stolen. It’s a loan,” he added hurriedly before she could say no. “Return it when you have time to get a new one.”

She didn’t take it. “Is that why you came?”

“No. Leigh has agreed to a DNA test. I thought you would like to know.”

“You could have called,” she challenged.

“Yes,” he said simply. “I could have done that. I just … wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Her expression softened. “Thank you.” She reached out and took the computer and set it down. “When is the test?”

“It’s scheduled the day after tomorrow at two p.m.”

“Where?”

“At her house. I told her that you—or someone you designate—might want to be there.”

“I do.”

“Even if the tests show a match, it doesn’t mean she’ll donate a kidney. As I told you earlier, she won’t go near a hospital.”

Her back straightened. “Then I’ll have to convince her.”

He should go. He’d done what he came to do. He felt he owed her at least a computer. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the trashing of her home had something to do with the Westerfields. What and who and why he didn’t know, but he was damn well going to find out.

“How’s your mother?”

“Deteriorating day by day.”

“I’m sorry the transplant didn’t work out.”

“Me, too.”

His gaze met hers. He saw the sorrow there. But also the strength and determination that so appealed to him.

There was something else there, too.

He held out his hand. He didn’t know if she would take it or not. After a moment’s hesitation, she did. Her hand was warm, her fingers long and slender. They wrapped around his, and he felt the need in her. It wasn’t sensual, or maybe a small part of it was. It was a yearning, instead, for comfort, for human contact.

He pulled her to him and held her. She trembled against him and his hold tightened.

Delayed reaction from last night’s terror.

He knew it. He should let her go and get the hell out of here.

He just couldn’t do it.