Secrets & Seductions (13 page)

Apparently he needed to decide how fair a person he really was.

 

Everett lay in the darkness that night with the covers pulled up to his chin. He liked to picture the pretty house in Spring Heights, but he could barely remember living there before the man came to look for a puppy and took him instead.

Everett thought about telling his parents that he wasn't dead, but they might still be mad at him for being so stupid and scared. They might be disap
pointed that he was just an accountant. As long as they didn't know, he could pretend they would be happy.

Sitting up in the dark, he threw his pillow across the room as hard as he could. If he was rich and successful, they would be so proud of him that they would forget all about being mad. Before they found out who he was, he had to figure out how to get a lot of money.

How was he going to do that?

 

“I got the job at the day-care center this morning,” Emma said as soon as she heard Ivy's voice on the phone. “The temp agency sent me.”

“You don't sound very excited about it,” Ivy replied.

“Would you be? It pays minimum wage and it only lasts until school starts again.”

With the receiver in one hand, Emma unpacked the groceries that she'd bought on the way home from the interview.

“You'll find something better.” Ivy's tone brimmed with confidence. “Have you gotten any calls yet on that last batch of résumés you mailed out?”

“All the districts are facing budget crunches.” Emma set the jug of kitty litter on the floor of the closet. She put into the cupboard two cans of the mixed seafood with gravy that Posy preferred.

“At least the temp job will supplement my unemployment benefits,” she told Ivy.

“Don't hang up on me for mentioning this again, but you know I'm good for a loan if you need one,” Ivy reminded her.

Emma pulled out the crisper at the bottom of the refrigerator. There was a crack in the plastic, covered with tape. The aging appliance was nothing like the fancy side-by-side in her old kitchen.

She didn't miss Don, but she sure missed her house.

Cradling the cell to her ear, Emma stored the rest of the produce she had bought; carrots and radishes, peaches and a tomato.

“Thanks. You're a doll.” Emma hated the idea that she might have to accept her friend's offer if she didn't find a decent job soon.

She had been sending out résumés when she wasn't on the Internet checking out possible leads to her birth parents. Every avenue she explored turned out to be either a dead end or it cost money that she didn't have.

“Have you heard from anyone you met at the camp session?” Ivy asked innocently.

All Emma had told her was that her plan to get more information from Morgan had failed. She was way too embarrassed to tell her friend the rest.

“The only people I've talked to are you and Maria at Kid World,” Emma said as she shut the refrigerator door.

“I've got laundry to do for work tomorrow, so I'll talk to you later, okay?”

“Congrats on the job,” Ivy replied before they disconnected.

Emma had just fixed a turkey sandwich when the phone rang again. Figuring Ivy must have forgotten something, she didn't bother letting the machine screen the call.

“Emma? Honey, I'm so glad to finally reach you.”

Silently she gripped the receiver tightly as a lump rose up in her throat.

“Please don't hang up on me,” the voice pleaded. “I just want to know how you've been.”

A lump rose up in Emma's throat. “No, Mama,” she whispered. “I won't hang up.”

A
fter reading the return address from Children's Connection, Emma ripped open the envelope. Her heart was pounding like a Northwest rain shower on a metal roof. Had Morgan missed her?

Had he reconsidered her request for more information? What if it was merely some printed form thanking her for coming to the agency or, worse yet, a belated bill for his time.

When she yanked out the folded papers, her hand shook so badly that it took a moment for her to focus on the cover letter. Her fingers traced the logo at the top. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for disappointment as she glanced at the signature. Her
jaw dropped when she saw that it was indeed Morgan's name at the end, written in bold strokes and followed by his title.

“Holy Mother of God,” she whispered fervently as she closed her eyes and pressed the pages to her heart. Was this the answer to her prayers? Why else would he write to her on company letterhead?

She sat down on the couch, and the cat jumped up beside her.

“Good girl,” Emma muttered, petting her absently. Posy climbed onto her lap and arched against her hand.

Feeling a little sappy, Emma traced the lines of Morgan's signature with her finger. Doing so brought with it a flood of longing, but she couldn't let herself get sidetracked.

Involuntarily, her hands tightened their grip, wrinkling the elegant gray bond. When she could put it off no longer, she blinked hard and began to read.

“What the hell is this?” she cried, her hopes plunging.

Startled, Posy jumped down, but Emma hardly felt the scratches the cat's claws left on her thighs. Struggling with her disappointment, Emma tossed the stiffly worded cover letter aside and read the second page.

Just as Morgan had indicated, the enclosure was an employment application. He was tossing her a bone in the form of a job offer. She was about to rip the paper into tiny pieces, but instead she wadded it into a ball.

“Here, kitty,” she said furiously, tossing it to Posy. “Have yourself a party.”

The cat laid back her ears at the tone of Emma's voice. Crouched down, she approached the crumpled-up application with the same caution she might a grenade with a pulled pin. Tail thrashing, Posy changed her mind and stalked off without touching it.

Emma would have liked to call Morgan and tell him what she thought of his little joke, but prudence won out over mingled frustration and longing. After one day she already disliked her job at the day-care center. In addition, her bank balance had dipped dangerously low. Conversely, the bills were piling up.

Harder yet, the researcher she'd just hired was unsuccessful in finding a single lead on Emma's parents.

“It's like they didn't exist,” the researcher wrote in her e-mailed report. “I'm at a dead end.”

Emma wasn't in a position to reject a legitimate job offer, not even from Morgan. If she didn't get any responses to the latest stack of résumés she'd sent out, she might have to swallow her pride and contact him.

 

“Emma Wright called first thing this morning,” Cora said when Morgan approached her desk.

He had been at the fertility clinic talking to one of the managers there.

“She called?” he echoed. “What did she want?”

He had figured Emma would either submit the application, return it in shreds or not respond at all.

“She had a few questions about the opening,” Cora replied. If she recalled the heated manner in which Emma had left Morgan's office the last time, she didn't let on.

“Did she sound interested?” Morgan couldn't help but ask.

“I guess so. She did ask me to mail her another application.” Cora grinned. “She said her cat ate the first one.”

He wasn't sure how to interpret the last comment, so he merely nodded.

“Keep me posted,” he said gruffly before going to his office.

He hadn't yet sorted out his feelings about the possibility of working with the woman with whom he'd enjoyed the best sex of his life, but at least Heidi would be pleased if Emma ended up getting hired. Meanwhile he had a report to read from the investigator doing the follow-up on the attempted kidnapping in Russia, then a meeting with his head of security and the agency's legal counsel.

 

Emma set the familiar teacup back down on the plaid place mat. Over the years, she and her mother had probably spent countless hours talking at this kitchen table, but right now Emma had no idea what
to say. She wasn't even sure why she had accepted this particular invitation after she had ignored her parents' calls for weeks.

“How do you like the job at the day-care place?” asked her mother. She, too, seemed nervous, and her face bore a few fresh lines.

Was Emma responsible for them?

After a hasty though emotional reunion, her father had left to run a supposedly important errand. In reality he was probably doing what he always did, which was leaving Emma's mother to handle an awkward situation alone.

“Even though I've only been working there for three days, the job is frustrating,” Emma replied, stirring sweetener into her tea. “I wish I could quit. The facility is decent enough, but there are too many children to supervise and care for properly. Spending one-on-one time would be impossible.”

“I suppose the company is trying to make a profit.” Her mother pushed her glasses back up her nose, a gesture she made when she was uncomfortable. “Still, it must be frustrating for you to see what's going on. I'm glad I never had to leave you in day care when you were small.”

“If I'm ever lucky enough to have a family of my own, I hope I'll be able to stay home with them, too, at least for the first few years,” Emma remarked. They both knew it would take more than luck for her to have children of her own.

Her mother brightened visibly at the mention of a possible family in Emma's future. “Does that mean you've met someone interesting since we last talked?” she asked.

“Someone interesting” was, of course, a mother's code meaning “eligible single man.”

Immediately Emma thought of Morgan. Interesting? Definitely. Single? Yes. Eligible? Probably not as far as
she
was concerned, unless one were to include potential employer in the mix.

She and her mother had always been able to confide in each other, or so Emma had assumed until recently. The desire to talk about Morgan, at least the G-rated part, with someone who really knew her seemed to climb its way up her throat until it threatened to choke her.

“Funny you should ask,” she said with more than a hint of irony. “I did meet someone. He's attractive and single. Too bad I totally screwed it up.”

Her mother reached over to pat Emma's hand. “Tell me about him. What's his name?”

For a moment Emma traced a line in the plaid place mat with her finger. Once she began speaking, the words poured out as she described Morgan's character and appearance.

“He sounds too good to be true,” her mother replied. “How did you meet?”

Emma took a sip of her tea. “That's the proverbial fly in the soup. He just happens to be the director
at Children's Connection. I met him when I went to find out more about my birth parents.”

Stiffening visibly, her mother withdrew her hand and squared her plump shoulders. “I know how determined you were to investigate the issue. So tell me, were you successful?”

“Not at all,” Emma admitted as she fiddled with the tag on her tea bag. “Except for the same medical report you gave me, their records are confidential. Morgan wouldn't tell me a thing.”

“That must have been frustrating,” her mother remarked after a moment. “Have you given any more thought to my suggestion that knowing who—” Her voice broke and she had to clear her throat.

Emma felt a burst of sympathy. It was hard not to push back her chair and run around the table to give her mother a reassuring hug. Before she could decide whether to do anything, her mother recovered her composure.

“That knowing where you came from might not necessarily make accepting your situation any easier?” she continued. “What then?”

Emma didn't believe it wouldn't help. She leaned forward, determined to make her mother understand how she felt. “Mama, I need to know where I came from, what my roots are.” She took a deep breath as she searched for the right words. “Maybe knowing the names would help to make it all real.”

Her mother pursed her lips. “Honey, that part of your life has been closed for a long time now.”

“Not to me,” Emma exclaimed, slapping her hands on the table to vent her frustration. “I haven't had all these years to get accustomed to the idea like I would have if you had been honest with me.” She gulped back a sob. “Why couldn't you be honest?”

Her mother's cheeks paled and her chin wobbled. “I'm sorry.” She dipped her head. “We did what we thought was best.”

The sight of a lone tear dribbling down her cheek nearly broke Emma's heart. Her own eyes filled and she had to swallow hard. God, but she
hated
this. As much as she resented it, she hated hurting them, too. Part of her, a huge part, wished she could turn back time to before she knew the truth.

No. She
didn't
want that. Somehow the two of them had to work through this, to understand each other's feelings, no matter how painful.

“Mama, do you get what I'm trying to tell you?”

Her mother dabbed at her cheek with her napkin. “No, dear, I'm sorry that we've caused you such distress, but I'm also sad that you don't seem to understand our side. We never meant to hurt you.”

Emma felt as though they were going in circles. Biting her lip, she looked away. What else could she say?

Silently she took a sip of her tea as her mother folded her napkin in half.

“I'm sorry,” she said again, but this time her tone
was different. “Can we try to get back where we were? I don't know what else to say except that you're the daughter of my heart.” When she looked up, her eyes were filled with fresh tears. “I miss you.”

For a moment Emma sat frozen in her chair, torn by conflicting feelings. Then she got to her feet and held out her arms. “I miss you, too,” she replied, her throat clogged with emotion.

Moving around the table, they met for a healing hug. “Let's not go back,” Emma whispered on a wave of determination. “Let's go forward.”

Her mother dropped her arms and searched her face. “I'd like that and I know your father would, too.” She sat back down, cheeks pink. “Thank you, dear.”

Emma nodded before she, too, returned to the table. For the first time since she had confronted her parents with her suspicions, the feeling of resentment that had been eating away at her insides like acid began to ease up. It gave Emma hope.

“Perhaps the real purpose behind all of this, if you believe in fate or cosmic circumstance or whatever, was for you to meet Morgan,” her mother suggested with a hopeful expression. “From what you said, he sounds like a fine man, so isn't that a good thing?”

Frustrated, Emma went along with her mother's attempt to look at the bright side, as she was fond of telling Emma to do. “No, meeting him was not nec
essarily a good thing.” Briefly she described the two-week camp session, leaving out the part about her plan to seduce Morgan. “At first I thought we really hit it off,” she said instead.

“If he's got eyes and a brain, he's interested,” her mother said loyally. “Trust me on that.”

Her tone nearly succeeded in making Emma smile. “Thank you for that, but it turns out that he has an ironclad rule against getting personal with people he works with.”

Her mother waved her hand dismissively. “Maybe he needs a little more time.”

Emma hadn't realized until Don left just how little her parents had cared for him. Her mother had made it clear after the split that she firmly believed the cure for Emma would be to find a nice man and get married again. Her attitude had come as a surprise, since she and Emma's father had certainly experienced their rough times.

“Well, I got a letter from Morgan the other day,” Emma admitted.

Her mother's expression brightened.

“It's a job offer,” Emma continued before her mother could speak. “Kind of ironic, huh?”

“I don't understand,” her mother replied after she had poured more tea. “If the man doesn't date women he works with, why would he try to hire you?”

Emma shrugged, wishing she had never mentioned him. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“So you'd be working at the adoption agency?” her mother continued. “The one that has your sealed records?”

“He hasn't exactly offered it to me yet,” Emma replied. “He told me about an opening and he suggested that I fill out an application.”

Her mother added a slice of lemon to her cup. It was obvious that she was trying to keep her feelings neutral. “What are you going to do about it?”

 

Morgan wondered whether Emma experienced a feeling of déjà vu when Cora showed her into his office. He had hoped that flame of attraction he'd felt when he first saw Emma, fueled by the intimacy they had shared, would have flickered out by now. Instead, to his dismay, it burned hotter than ever.

She hesitated in the doorway, looking as though she might bolt. Today her outfit was more subdued than during her last visit, no doubt in deference to the interview.

Her simple gray skirt ended right above her luscious knees. It was paired with a matching jacket over a plain white blouse with a round neckline. On Emma the demure style looked sexy enough to scatter his thoughts like fall leaves in a storm from the coast.

Cora waited patiently by the door. If she had been surprised that he was conducting the interview himself, she was smart enough not to comment.

“Would either of you like anything?” she offered.