Unbreakable Bond (14 page)

 

R
EBECCA HAD TO DO
something to make the man and woman like her. They stayed mad all the time, and if they were mad, they'd send her back to the orphanage.

She closed her book,
Pippi Longstocking,
and stuffed it into her tote bag. Pippi was her favorite character in the whole wide world. She wanted to be just like her.

Mama Reese kept complaining about the kitchen floor being dirty. Rebecca would clean it. And if she used Pippi's way, she could do it fast before the old woman woke up.

Her snores echoed from the couch, and Rebecca found the dust mop and a pair of scissors. It took her almost twenty minutes to cut off the ends and divide it in two. Then she dragged the plastic bucket inside, pulled over a chair and climbed in it to reach the sink. She dumped dishsoap inside, then let water run in the bucket.

The handle was wobbly, and the bucket swung back and forth as she tried to climb down from the chair. Then the bucket slipped and water poured over the sides.

She started to yell out, but she couldn't wake Mama Reese. No, she had to clean up the mess.

Soapy water ran across the floor, and she skated across it, sloshing soap across the floor in her path. She
nearly slipped twice, but grabbed the table edge, spun around and skated back the other way, zigzagging back and forth.

Suddenly the old woman shrieked. “What are you doing?”

Rebecca stopped and smiled. “Cleaning the floor for you.”

But the old woman didn't smile back. She bared her teeth and bunched her hands into fists.

“Look at the mess you've made!” Mama Reese stormed toward her, jerked her arm so hard it hurt and shoved her into the chair.

Rebecca gripped the edge of the chair, her heart thudding. “I'm sorry…”

“You ruined my mop and now you made a big mess for me to clean up.” The woman's fingernails dug into her arms. “I don't know what I'm going to do with you, you little brat. You're not worth the pitiful amount of money they give us every month.”

Tears pricked Rebecca's eyes, then the woman jerked the mop pieces from her feet and dragged her toward the bedroom. Cursing beneath her breath, she threw open the closet door, shoved her inside then slammed the door.

“We're going to get rid of you,” the woman yelled. “I don't want you here anymore!”

Rebecca reached for the doorknob, but the lock clicked in place and she was pitched into the dark. Tears burned her eyes and rolled down her cheeks as she pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them.

What would happen to her now? No one wanted her….

Slade insisted they return to their houses and shower before confronting the lawyer. Nina was relieved to have some time to prepare herself for the visit.

If her father was connected… No, she couldn't believe that he would hurt her by deceiving her so ruthlessly.

Gage had dropped off a rental car, and they drove to Slade's place first since hers was closer to the lawyer's office.

“You own the house?” Nina asked.

“Yeah. It needs some work, but I liked the location,” he said as he guided her up the steps to the porch and inside.

“It has charm,” she said, admiring the two-story with the big front porch. “And the view of the mountains is spectacular. It's so private, too…”

“That was another plus,” Slade said. “I like the solace.”

She imagined the house with fresh white paint, flower boxes on the windowsills, a garden out back, and knew it would make a beautiful home once he finished renovations. She envisioned a passel of little children running around in the yard.

But Slade liked the peace and quiet—he wanted to be alone, not have a family. And she had to remember that.

As they stepped inside, she noted the sparse furnishings. A comfortable leather couch and throw rug, a big club chair, stereo, but no pictures on the walls or mantel.

Then she noticed the photograph of a young girl about ten and a brunette woman perched on the desk in the corner. It had to be his mother and sister.

“Do you need anything while I shower? Something to drink?”

“No, thanks, I'm fine. I'll just wait here.” She sank onto his overstuffed sofa, and he stared at her for a long moment, then nodded. His boots pounded on the steps, and a second later, the shower water kicked on.

An image of Slade undressing flashed into her mind, and she closed her eyes and groaned. He was tall, broad-shouldered and, she imagined, deeply tanned and muscled beneath those clothes. She could almost see the soapy water beading on his skin, see his thick body hardening….

She jerked her eyes open, shocked at her train of thought. Good grief, she was not the lustful type. She was a schoolteacher. She'd been alone so long that she hadn't even thought about being with a man.

She'd been solely focused on surviving one day at a time. On school. On teaching. On holding on to faith when her faith had been crushed so many times.

Frustrated, she stood, walked over to the photograph and studied it. The little girl looked happy, the mother smiling, her arm curved protectively around her child.

Only their lives had fallen apart when the girl had become lost.

That was the reason Slade understood her anguish. He'd suffered his own.

Then she spotted a box of things he'd unpacked in the corner by the fireplace and glanced inside. Some plaques from the service, a medal for bravery.

Slade's footsteps sounded, the stairs squeaking as he descended. When he noticed her looking at his things, his jaw clenched.

“Are you ready?”

Nina nodded, but her palms felt sweaty at the sight of him fresh from the shower. His hair was still damp and tousled as if he'd just run the towel through it. And he hadn't buttoned the top button of his denim shirt, which revealed his golden-bronzed chest.

“Nina?” Something hot and sultry smoldered in his eyes, and her belly tickled.

But heat climbed her face as she realized he knew she'd been staring. The moment felt intimate. She had to distract herself, so she gestured toward the photograph.

“You were a war hero. That's impressive.”

“Trust me, Nina, I was no hero.”

“I don't believe you, Slade.”

He gestured toward the scar on his cheek. “See that? I got it escaping while three of my men died saving me.”

Anguish and guilt underscored his self-deprecating tone, raising her curiosity. He knew everything about her, all her deep, dark secrets, while she knew very little about him.

She gestured toward the picture. “Your sister was pretty. What happened to her?”

Any heat that had passed between them died, and his expression became closed. “She got mixed up with the wrong crowd, and ran away. Died. End of story.”

His cell phone buzzed, abruptly ending the conversation, and he connected it as he gestured toward the door.

“Blackburn.” He paused. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

“Who was that?” Nina asked as they made their way to the sedan.

“Ben Camp again. I asked him to check into your father's financials around the time of the hospital fire.”

Nina's pulse rocketed. “And?”

For a brief second, he hesitated as if he didn't want to admit what he'd learned.

“You promised not to keep things from me,” she said.

He released a pent-up sigh and started the engine. “He found a large withdrawal from your father's personal account the week before you delivered Peyton.”

Nina's stomach sank, and she turned to look out the window as he drove to her house. When they arrived, he strode around to help her from the car. “I'm sorry, Nina. We could be wrong about your father.”

She fished for her keys and shook her head. “And you could be right. Daddy likes control. He obviously thought I wasn't mother material back then.”

“As a father, he wanted the best for you,” Slade said. “A bright future, college.”

She frowned. “So you're defending him?”

“No, not at all. I'm just trying to get in his head. Some men want to protect their kids no matter what. Even if they do make the wrong decisions.”

She gritted her teeth. He'd described her father to a
T.

Silently she limped to her bedroom, stripped and climbed in the shower. Battling tears, she stood beneath the shower massage, allowing the warm water to soothe her sore muscles. Her chest was bruised from the air bag, her legs battered from the dash and her face looked as if someone had taken a fist to it.

But her physical injuries didn't matter. Her heart was breaking.

If her father had paid someone to take Peyton away and had lied to her all these years, she would never forgive him.

 

W
HILE
N
INA SHOWERED
, Slade distracted himself from thinking about her being naked and wet by searching the computer for background information on the lawyer.

As a teenager, Mansfield had hidden behind his daddy's money. Was he hiding behind money now?

He found several articles on the lawyer, cases he'd handled, but nothing specific to suggest illegal behavior.

Still, judging from the pricey area where he lived, and his Mercedes, he was rolling in the bucks. And none of the cases Slade noted were impressive enough to make him wealthy. He phoned to verify that the lawyer was in his office, and learned he was working at home for the day.

Nina emerged, looking vulnerable and soft and so damn pretty that something stirred inside him. He knew she was anxious about her father and hoped like hell he hadn't deceived her all these years.

He drove them to Mansfield's, a ten-acre estate on the outskirts of town on the river. “Looks like Mansfield has done well for himself.”

The troubled expression on her face indicated she understood his implications. That she knew her father might have padded the man's wallet.

“Are you sure you're up to this?” Slade asked.

Nina nodded. “Yes. We've come this far. I'm not backing down now.”

Slade traced a thumb over her wrist, his body instantly reacting to the warmth of her skin. “Not even after that attempt on our lives?”

“Like you said, if whoever did this thought he scared me off, he's wrong. He only made me more determined that I'm right, that Peyton is out there somewhere, that she's alive.”

Slade refused to comment. At this point, he knew something had happened eight years ago that somebody would kill to keep quiet, and he wanted the whole story now.

Her ankle was still slightly swollen, and she had to lean on Slade as they walked to the door. Her injuries only reminded him that they had nearly died the night before, raising his protective instincts. He had the insane urge to whisk her away to bed and protect her from the danger, and whatever they learned.

But she gave him a brave smile, and he punched the doorbell instead. The river gurgled and splashed over
rocks behind Mansfield's property, and Slade noted tennis courts to the side, then heard the sound of a match being played on the courts.

So much for Mansfield working at home.

A maid greeted them at the door. “May I help you?”

“We're here to see Mr. Mansfield.”

“He's busy at the moment. Can I make an appointment for you?”

Slade produced his ID. “No. We have urgent business. We need to see him now.”

A nervous expression flitted across her face, but she gestured for them to follow. “He's having a tennis lesson,” she said. “He won't like being disturbed.”

“He'll get over it,” Slade muttered sarcastically.

Nina leaned on him again, and they followed the maid through the house to a patio overlooking the tennis courts.

Mansfield glanced up and saw him, and missed his shot. The trainer said something to him, then Mansfield motioned that the lesson was over, leaned his racket against the fence and strode toward them, mopping his face with a towel.

His eyes narrowed on Nina as if he recognized her and knew the reason for their visit.

The maid offered an apologetic look. “They insisted it was important, Mr. Mansfield.”

Mansfield gestured for her to go inside, sank into a patio chair with a curse then took a long drink from his water bottle. “What the hell do you two want?”

“You know who we are?” Slade asked.

The man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yes. I saw the news article about your accident this
morning in the paper. You're a P.I.” He crooked a thumb toward Nina, his breathing labored from the exertion of his tennis lesson. “And everyone in town knows you, Miss Nash.”

Anger pulsed inside Slade at the man's abrasive attitude. “I have some questions for you, Mansfield.”

Mansfield wiped sweat from his neck with the towel. “You should be asking her the questions. Like why she keeps stirring up trouble.”

“If she's stirring up trouble by asking questions, that means someone is keeping secrets.” Slade gripped the man's collar. “In fact, some bastard tried to kill her—and me—last night. Was that bastard you, Mansfield?”

“Take your hands off me, Mr. Blackburn,” Mansfield said, his eyes fuming.

“You know,” Slade said, “for a bunch of innocent people, you and everyone I've talked to certainly are acting defensive.”

“Go to hell,” Mansfield spat out.

“I've already been there.” Nina gestured toward the bruises on her face and arms. “Both physically and mentally.”

Slade shoved him back into the chair. “Listen, Mansfield, I know for a fact that you and Nina's father had several phone conversations around the time her baby disappeared. I also know that Mr. Nash made a sizeable withdrawal, as well. My guess is that Nash paid you to arrange an adoption for her baby.”

Mansfield released a withering sigh. “Miss Nash, your father approached me about arranging an adoption, but later he phoned me and claimed that you refused to sign the papers.”

“That's true,” Nina said.

“But he didn't give up, did he?” Slade pressed.

Mansfield drummed his fingers on the table. “He was persistent,” Mansfield said. “He thought eventually Miss Nash would agree, but then she delivered the baby prematurely and the fire occurred that night, and the baby died, so the point became moot.”

“So my father didn't pay you to find a family for my baby?” Nina asked.

His expression turned chilly. “No.”

“What about the Waldorp's adoption?” Slade said. “Did you handle it?”

“Whether I did or did not is none of your business.” Mansfield stood and gestured toward the door. “Adoptions are sealed and confidential, and I'm bound by attorney-client privilege. I could be disbarred if I shared any information about them.”

“Being disbarred will be the least of your problems if you were complicit in kidnapping and arranging a phony adoption.” Slade squared his shoulders. “I'll see that you rot in jail, and your career will be over.”

 

N
INA STRUGGLED TO BELIEVE
in her father's innocence as they left the lawyer's house and drove to meet Brianna McKinney and the social worker at the adoption agency.

Brianna greeted them with a genuine smile, putting Nina immediately at ease. “I've heard about your ordeal, Nina, and I can't imagine what you've been through. My adopted son was kidnapped a few months ago, and it was the most harrowing experience of my life.”

Nina recalled the story in the paper about the abduction. “I read about you,” Nina said. “That case led to the arrests regarding the hospital fire and explosion.”

Brianna nodded, and led her and Slade into an office where an auburn-haired woman with freckles sat, studying a file.

“Miriam,” Brianna said, “this is Slade Blackburn of GAI, and Nina Nash, the woman I told you about.” She gestured toward her and Slade. “This is Miriam Sheppard. She works with the state adoption agency.”

They exchanged pleasantries, then Slade spoke. “Miss Sheppard, we're looking into the possibility that Nina's baby was kidnapped, then adopted.” He explained the Hoods' and her father's reactions to her pregnancy. “We think Stanford Mansfield might have been paid to arrange the adoption. And it's possible that Gwen and Roan Waldorp took the child. They have an adopted daughter the same age as Nina's child.”

“You know adoption records are sealed,” Miriam said.

“Please,” Nina begged. “Just tell us what you know.”

Miriam glanced at Brianna warily then sighed. “All I can tell you, and this is under the table, is that the Waldorp adoption was not a state adoption.”