Found: One Secret Baby Read online

  Found: One Secret Baby

  NANCY HOLLAND

  A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

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  HarperCollinsPublishers

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  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2016

  Copyright © Nancy Holland 2016

  Cover images © Shutterstock.com

  Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2016

  Cover design by Michelle Andrews

  Nancy Holland asserts the moral right to

  be identified as the author of this work

  A catalogue record for this book

  is available from the British Library

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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  and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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  Ebook Edition © July 2016 ISBN: 9780008127381

  Version 2016-06-21

  For my beloved, patient husband.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Acknowledgements

  Also by Nancy Holland

  Nancy Holland

  About HarperImpulse

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  The usual flicker of nerves made Rosalie Walker stand up straighter as the receptionist opened the door to show her visitor in. The appointment had been made this morning and she’d been too busy to Google this new client. Would Morgan Danby be a man or a woman?

  She looked up, far up, into blue eyes fringed with thick, black lashes.

  Definitely a man. A man she could have sworn she’d dreamed about.

  The spark of interest she saw in his eyes filled her mind with images of naked bodies intertwined on white sands along sun-sparkled seas. She allowed herself one second to feel like a woman before the lawyer took over.

  She extended her hand. “Rosalie Walker.” An involuntary purr shadowed her words.

  But the spark in his eyes had burned itself out. He engulfed her hand in his, his no-nonsense expression just a step short of downright cold. “Morgan Danby.”

  His voice was deep, and as sexy as the rest of him, but like his face, it held no warmth. Only for that one moment had his eyes shown any sign of a flesh-and-blood man hidden behind the mask.

  “Sit down, Mr. Danby.” She gestured to the chair across the desk and sat in hers.

  What would bring a gorgeous man in a hand-tailored suit and diamond cufflinks to a family law practice miles from Los Angeles’ center of glamor and wealth?

  “How can I help you?” The tell-tale purr lingered, but luckily he didn’t seem to hear it.

  “I’m here to learn more about the late Maria Mendelev.”

  The way he mispronounced Márya’s name froze Rosalie’s breath in her chest.

  “What is your interest in the late Ms. Mendelev?” she managed in a neutral tone once her heart began to beat again.

  He made a dismissive gesture with one aristocratic hand. “I’m not interested in her.”

  Anger closed Rosalie’s throat, but she forced her lips to keep a smile of polite interest.

  “I’m interested in the child she may have left behind.”

  The world spun away, then fell back into place on a less stable axis.

  Rosalie fought to keep her eyes fixed on Mr. Danby’s face without even a glance at the small photo stuck to the edge of her computer monitor.

  “Wouldn’t it make more sense to talk to the man who would be this supposed child’s father?” Her voice sounded almost normal, but the rest of her body echoed with shock. “I understand he can be reached at San Quentin for the next thirty years or so.”

  “I’ve talked to him, but he insists he never got Ms. Mendelev pregnant.”

  It was hard to believe the man who murdered her friend would say the right thing for the right reason.

  “Doesn’t that settle the matter?”

  Mr. Danby shook his head. “I suspect he’s worried that if he admits he fathered a child, money will be taken out of his trust fund to support it.”

  That sounded more like her friend’s killer.

  “Why don’t you contact Child Welfare Services?” Contempt colored her voice. “They would be responsible for a child with a deceased mother and an incarcerated father.”

  “It’s unclear which county would be responsible for the child, given the Mendelev woman’s wanderings in the last months before she died.”

  The Mendelev woman. How could he talk about Márya like that?

  Rosalie stood up. “I don’t think I can help you, Mr. Danby. I’m sure there are many other lawyers in Los Angeles who could find the information you want.”

  He looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. “You’re the only lawyer who was a witness at the hearing on Ms. Mendelev’s order of protection against her alleged abuser.”

  Rosalie closed her eyes against the mounting panic. Too much was at stake to let this man bait her into losing control. She put her hands on the desk and leaned into his personal space. The musky scent of his body distracted her for half an instant before she pushed it out of her mind.

  “That ‘alleged’ abuser is the man who murdered her.”

  Something dangerous lit in Morgan Danby’s dark blue eyes. Staying so close pushed Rosalie’s courage to the limit. His gaze dropped to her breasts, now at his eye level. Her mind cringed, but she didn’t move.

  “He’s also my brother,” Danby said.

  A burst of pure panic made her blink. The monster’s family had finally shown up.

  Morgan shifted in his chair. Claiming Charleston Thompson as a brother always made him feel as if he’d stepped in something vile.

  The anger radiating from the woman who loomed over him didn’t help. He might have found her attractive under other circumstances. Brains always impressed him, although his tastes ran to tall, slender blondes, not chest-high brunettes with more attitude than charm.

  He distracted himself from that inappropriate train of thought by glancing around the sleek, efficient office, straight out of a mid-range office-furnishings catalog.

  Ms. Walker looked efficient too, but not quite as sleek. Wisps had escaped from the smooth cap of her hair to curl around her face, and a mysterious small white spot marred the shoulder of her suit jacket.

  When she sank back into her chair, he could breathe more easily, but the flowery scent of her perfume lingered
and kept his adrenalin, or some other stimulating hormone, at full force.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said.

  She was a cool one. Her face and body were frozen in the professionally appropriate attitude of polite attention. Only her fisted hands hinted at the anger he sensed boiling underneath the frosty façade, and she quickly dropped those to her lap, out of his sight.

  An ice princess to match Lillian’s ice queen. He wished he’d let his stepmother fight this battle for herself.

  But he’d promised Lillian he would find her grandchild before Charlie’s father did, and no small-time lady lawyer was about to freeze him out.

  “Sorry my brother is a murderer, or sorry he’s my brother?”

  “Take your pick. You know him better than I do.”

  “You don’t know him at all. But that didn’t stop you from testifying against him.”

  “I didn’t testify against him. I testified in support of Márya’s—Ms. Mendelev’s—petition for a court order to protect her from him.”

  Márya. That explained the brief flash of fire in those green eyes when he called the dead woman “Maria.” But that was what Charlie called her. Why wouldn’t he know how to pronounce the woman’s name? Given Charlie, he probably called her whatever he damned well pleased.“How long had you known her when you testified?” he asked

  “About four months.”

  “That isn’t very long to determine the dynamics of a violent relationship.” The words left a nasty taste in his mouth, but he needed to break through Ms. Walker’s icy façade.

  “I determined that as soon as I saw her broken arm. The yellowed bruises from the last time he’d beaten her pretty much backed up that conclusion.”

  Morgan swallowed a bolt of anger at Charlie’s brutality. “So you took it upon yourself to intervene.”

  “She begged me to help her.”

  The woman paused, but her face yielded no clue to what might be going on inside her head. She’d be murder to face in a courtroom, a talent clearly wasted in this one-step-up-from-a-storefront family law practice.

  “And she was pregnant.”

  He allowed himself a thin smile. “So the investigator was right. There is a child.”

  Ms. Walker lowered her eyes to the desk and shook her head. “She was three months’ pregnant and bleeding heavily.”

  Damn. How could he tell Lillian that Charlie had managed to kill his own kid?

  Morgan took out his smartphone and opened a file. “What hospital did you take her to?”

  Ms. Walker was still staring at the desk. “Merced County General.” She spoke slowly, as if she needed to make an effort to remember, but that was ridiculous. All this had happened less than two years ago. Had her encounter with Charlie’s lady friend really been that traumatic?

  “Why there?”

  Laser-green eyes snapped back to his, brown specks turned to gold. “I found Márya hiding in a campground at Yosemite, which is in Merced County. Since your brother forced her to quit school and her job when he invaded her life, she didn’t have medical insurance.”

  “But she filed for the order of protection in Los Angeles County.”

  The tiniest shift in the woman’s ramrod posture. What didn’t she want him to know?

  “It’s easier to hide in L.A.,” she said.

  Rosalie hated to be reminded of those last months of Márya’s life. Her friend had lived in constant fear that Charlie would find her. She’d moved every week from one homeless shelter to another. If only she’d accepted Rosalie’s offer of a place to live until they got Márya’s visa straightened out so she could get a job.

  If only … The words echoed through the silence left behind by her friend’s death.

  Rosalie shook the memories off and refocused on the man who sat across from her.

  How could Charlie Thompson have a brother who oozed wealth and power the way Morgan Danby did? Mr. Danby must have been four or five years younger than Charlie, and he didn’t look at all like the stocky, red-haired murderer.

  But her visitor had said something about a trust fund. And someone had had enough money to hire the best criminal defense lawyer in L.A. to represent Charlie. The investment had paid off. They’d plea-bargained down to life with the possibility of parole. The idea that Charlie would ever walk free again tightened Rosalie’s stomach one more notch.

  Another if only—if only she could have claimed attorney/client privilege and refused to answer Mr. Danby’s questions. But she’d known from the start she couldn’t be Márya’s friend and her lawyer at the same time. And given her situation now, she didn’t dare openly obstruct the efforts of Charlie’s family to find out whether he had a child.

  “Ms. Mendelev had no permanent address in Los Angeles,” Mr. Danby said. “So apparently you weren’t a good enough friend to give her a place to hide, as you put it, after she ended her relationship with my brother.”

  “Relationship?” Rosalie’s temper finally snapped. “Like the one between a boxer and his punching bag?”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. No doubt he was pleased he’d broken through her self-control. She softened her face to assume a professionally neutral expression again.

  “I offered to let Márya live with me, but she was a proud woman. And once she had the protection order, she thought she’d be safe. Her attorney, the staff at the shelters where she lived, and I all tried to tell her otherwise, but in her home country defying a court order was something done only by the very brave or the very stupid.” She paused. “Given how viciously he murdered a defenseless woman, I’d guess bravery isn’t your brother’s problem.”

  Mr. Danby had the decency to flinch. “I’ve read the police report on the incident.”

  She swallowed another jolt of anger. A woman’s death was much more than an “incident.” At least, it was in Rosalie’s world. She wasn’t so sure about Morgan Danby’s.

  “Where did you get your information?” she asked him.

  “A private investigator.”

  Maybe she could use that somehow. “A private investigator who worked for you?”

  He glanced away. “For my stepmother Lillian, Charlie’s mother.”

  So this man didn’t share a gene pool with Charlie Thompson. A tightness in her chest she’d scarcely been aware of loosened and she could breathe freely again.

  “You must know it’s not necessarily in the P.I.’s best interest to tell his client everything he knows.” She let that sink in. “But it is in his interest to find leads he could be paid to follow.”

  She might have struck a nerve. After all, Mr. Danby was here himself, which meant someone had had enough sense to fire the P.I. She’d bet it had been Danby.

  “Why should I doubt the investigator’s integrity?” he asked her in a slightly bored tone.

  “Did he provide your stepmother with a copy of the coroner’s report on Ms. Mendelev?”

  Morgan Danby flinched again. “I assume the investigator didn’t think that was something she needed to see.”

  “A smart move on his part. But you see my point.”

  “You’re suggesting the P.I’s claim that a child had survived was a ruse to squeeze more money out of Charlie’s mother.”

  “Did he find any documentary evidence Ms. Mendelev had given birth?”

  She held her breath, outwardly calm, inwardly hollow with fear.

  Danby shook his head.

  “The P.I. found a few people who thought she’d been pregnant when she’d arrived at the homeless shelter in Fresno, and one woman at an L.A. shelter who said she’d seen Ms. Mendelev with a baby shortly before Charlie … before she died.”

  “Staff members at the shelters or residents?”

  “Residents. Staff members always claimed confidentiality when the P.I. talked to them.”

  “As they should, of course. They need to protect their clients from unwanted intrusions into their private lives.” She gave him a pointed look, but he shook it off.

&n
bsp; “Were Ms. Mendelev alive, I would have complete respect for her privacy.”

  Which probably meant he’d have refused to give Márya a dime of Charlie’s money.

  “But if she left a child behind,” Danby continued, “well, of course, that child’s grandmother has a keen interest in its welfare.”

  Rosalie couldn’t stop another grimace at the “its”, but emotion was her enemy here.

  “The operative word being ‘if.’ Without any proof such a child exists, I hope you will do as you suggested and respect the late Ms. Mendelev’s privacy.”

  “Of course.” He stood up.

  She stood too, but didn’t extend her hand until he did, then shook his with a distaste she didn’t bother to hide. “Goodbye, Mr. Danby.”

  “Goodbye, Ms. Walker. I won’t say it’s been a pleasure.”

  Under other circumstances, she might have smiled at that exit line. The man was witty as well as drop-dead sexy. He was also a major threat to everything that mattered in her life.

  She showed him to the door, closed it behind him, and walked back to her desk on legs that barely held her. She sank gratefully into her chair, her whole body shaking.

  After he left Rosalie Walker’s office, Morgan did some quick research on his laptop at a nearby coffee house before he drove the rented Porsche past a house not far away.

  Nothing unusual about the place or about anything he’d been able to dig up on the Walker woman, except that she owned the house free and clear. Given the location in a solidly middle-class L.A. neighborhood, it was hard to know how she’d managed to buy it without a mortgage. Maybe she’d inherited it. Or maybe she wasn’t the one who’d paid for it.

  Could the lady lawyer have a “sugar daddy,” as his father would have said? For some reason the idea rankled. Still, it fit the contrast between the low-profile law practice and the high-priced house. She was an attractive woman, if you ignored the pit-bull personality, and she probably kept that leashed around the man who’d paid for the cozy little bungalow. If she did have a sugar daddy, though, it didn’t look as if he lived in the house. Too many flowers in the garden. Two black-and-white cats lounged on the back of a flowered sofa in the front window. If Morgan didn’t know better, he would have thought the house belonged to some little old lady. But he’d spent an uncomfortable part of the afternoon trying not to stare at Ms. Walker’s breasts, so he knew for a fact that she was no old lady.