“Would you like to come in?” Hank said

The woman standing on his front porch was downright gorgeous. And gorgeous women did not routinely come calling. Not to his door, at least.

“Hank Ballantyne,” she said.

He nodded. She was looking for him.

“I’m Natalie Lawson,” she went on. “There’s something I need to discuss with you. I just…where’s your little boy?”

She knew he had a son. Okay, then, she’d done some homework. “My housekeeper took him shopping.…But you aren’t here to talk about my son.”

“Actually, I am.”

“Oh?” He glanced at her briefcase, an uneasy feeling creeping up his spine. “Because…?”

Instead of replying, she opened her briefcase, pulled out a spiral-bound document and handed it to him. The title page read, “Final Report on Benjamin Lawson-Garcia.”

She bit on her lower lip for a moment before saying, “I’ve spent days trying to think of some way to lessen the shock. There isn’t one, though.…My Benjamin is your Robbie.”

Hank could feel the panic growing inside him. There was only one reason Natalie Lawson had come here. To get Robbie back!

Dear Reader,

Hank Ballantyne first appeared in my October 2000 Superromance novel, The Man Behind the Badge. He was the partner and best friend of that book’s hero, Travis Quinn, and long before I’d finished writing about Travis and Celeste, I’d grown to like Hank so much that I wanted to tell his story.

Initially, I had no idea what it was. All I really knew about him was that he was a single father with an adopted three-year-old son, Robbie, whom he adored. But what if…?

This is the magic phrase for writers. We take the little bit we know about our unwritten story and play “what if” in our heads.

In this case, it wasn’t long before an absolutely gut-wrenching “what if” occurred to me. What if Robbie’s “dead” birth mother suddenly appeared—very much alive and wanting her child back?

That’s what happens at the beginning of His Child or Hers? And it sets up a conflict that tears at all three characters’ emotions throughout the book.

I hope you enjoy reading about how they come to terms with an extremely difficult situation.

Warmest regards,

Dawn Stewardson

His Child or Hers?

Dawn Stewardson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To John, always

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

With special thanks to two fellow Harlequin authors for answering numerous questions during the writing of this book:

Marisa Carroll provided the medical information I needed. Illona Haus, who writes as Morgan Hayes, was (as always) my expert on homicide detectives.

They made my research considerably easier, and I sincerely appreciate their generosity.

I also want to thank Michele Billung-Meyer, for being so in tune with the psychosocial development of children—and for sharing her sense of how Robbie and Emma would react as the story unfolded.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

NOT FAR FROM Guatemala City’s main plaza, the taxi turned down a narrow street, then stopped in front of a tired old colonial building.

Her hands trembling a little, Natalie paid the driver and climbed out. As he pulled away, she stood gazing at the words carved in stone above the doorway. Orfanato de las Hermanas de Socorro.

Sisters of Mercy Orphanage. Where her baby had spent the past four months. Being cared for by strangers.

She closed her eyes, not wanting to think about all the nights she’d lain awake in her hospital bed, the ache to hold Benjamin worse than any of the pains from her injuries.

But that was over. Now she was well enough to take him home, to what was left of the town of Villa Rosa, and start rebuilding their lives.

Lives without Carlos.

Blinking back the tears suddenly stinging her eyes, she told herself she was lucky she hadn’t lost both her husband and her son in the earthquake. And lucky she’d survived.

If there’d been no plane to transport the critically injured to the capital city, she wouldn’t be alive today.

She was, though. And she was about to reclaim her son.

Brushing her hair back from her face, she started toward the front door, her excitement tinged with a trace of apprehension that she simply hadn’t been able to shake.

From the first moment she’d been lucid enough to understand what people were saying, they’d assured her Benjamin was fine, that he’d escaped with only cuts and scrapes.

Even so, she wouldn’t entirely believe it until she saw for herself. Until she held him and hugged him. Smelled his sweet baby smell and felt the soft smoothness of his skin.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped into the orphanage. It reminded her of the ancient grade school she’d attended as a child—a worn slate floor at its entrance and, beyond that, a broad staircase consisting of half a dozen stone stairs.

In reality, of course, she was light-years away from her childhood in Michigan. She was a doctor practicing in a foreign country where people, for the most part, spoke only Spanish.

At first, that had caused her problems. But once her college Spanish had improved to reasonable fluency she’d been okay.

Her heart beating quickly, she headed up the stairs and across the hallway to what was obviously the administration area.

A young nun, wearing a long-sleeved brown dress that hung almost to her sturdy shoes, was working at the counter. She looked up as Natalie approached. “¿Puedo ayudarle?”

“Hola. Me llamo doctora Natalie Lawson. Y tengo una cita con la madre superiora.”

The young woman nodded, then turned and started in the direction of an office.

Natalie nervously licked her lips. Yesterday, when she’d phoned, she’d spoken personally to the mother superior, Madre María-Teresa—who’d been thrilled at an opportunity to practice her English. And she’d assured her that all the paperwork would be ready when she arrived. So in no time at all, Benjamin would be in her arms.

She waited, trying not to watch the clock on the wall ticking away the minutes, until an older nun finally walked out of the office and approached her, her gray habit swishing quietly with each step.

“Doctora Lawson,” she said, smiling. “Much pleasure to meet you.”

“And I’m very glad to meet you. I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done.”

Acknowledging the gratitude with a slight nod, the mother superior said, “One of the sisters bring Benjamin. You will sign the forms.”

“Fine.” She followed along into the office, her legs feeling only a little rubbery, and wrote her name on each line indicated with an X.

Just as she finished, there was a tap on the open door and another nun stepped into the office, a baby in her arms.

“Here he is,” the mother superior murmured.

At first, Natalie couldn’t move. She’d been waiting so long for this moment that it seemed like a dream.

It wasn’t, though. Her son was mere feet from her. She took a deep breath, then pushed herself out of her chair, crossed the room and reached for him—her heart so full of love it was threatening to overwhelm her. But then…

This baby wasn’t Benjamin.

The realization struck with a cold, dark sense of certainty. Aside from anything else, her son had a birthmark on the left side of his neck. This child didn’t.

Telling herself not to panic, that the sister had merely brought the wrong baby from his crib, she turned to Mother María-Teresa and said, “This isn’t my son.”

The woman gave an understanding smile, rose from behind her desk and walked over to them.

“It has been four months, Doctora Lawson. He has grown. But he is your son. For now, we have only one boy child this age in our care.”

Only one? Only this one? But he wasn’t Benjamin! Tentacles of fear had wrapped themselves around her so tightly that she could scarcely breathe. If her baby wasn’t here, where was he?

“And look,” the mother superior said, taking his tiny hand and fingering his identity bracelet.

Natalie stared at the name on it and numbly read, “‘B. Garcia.”’

“That is his name, sí? His father was Carlos Garcia? Archaeologist from Spain? That is in the file.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “My husband was Carlos Garcia. But this is not our son.”

CHAPTER ONE

HANK KNEW THE ASSAILANT was making his way toward the bedroom, sneaking down the hall as silently as possible.

Feigning sleep, he lay waiting. Coiled to move when the moment arrived. Listening to the whisper of fingers slowly turning the knob. A breathless sigh as the door opened across the carpet. Barely audible footsteps moving toward the bed.

Four…three…two…Now! He thrust his arm from beneath the covers and wrapped it around his son.

Robbie shrieked into his ear—one of the occupational hazards of fatherhood—then threw himself onto Hank’s chest in a fit of giggles.

Hank caught him in a bear hug.

“I almost got you!” he hollered, struggling to get free. “I almost did!”

“Uh-huh. You had me right to the last second. Then my instincts warned me someone was there.”

When Hank released his hold, Robbie scrambled around so he could sit straddling his father’s chest. “Mrs. Chevy said I should come wake you up.”

“By launching a kamikaze attack? Is that how she told you to do it?”

He nodded, looking so sincere that Hank would have believed him if he didn’t know Audrey Chevalier better.

But he could practically hear her saying, in her most grandmotherly voice, “Now, wake your father very gently, darling. You know how he likes to be a little lazy on his days off.”

And he did. Working ten days at a stretch sometimes felt as if he were working forever, but he really enjoyed having four days off between shifts. Especially when the weather cooperated, which it was doing at the moment.

The next three days promised to be just as nice as yesterday—three more spring days that were going to be gorgeous, and that he intended to spend with his son.

Except for this morning, he remembered. Audrey was taking Robbie shopping for clothes.

It was a task she’d insisted on assuming more than a year ago, after Hank had arrived home with an expensive pair of jeans that Robbie put his knees through in a week, and four designer T-shirts that came out of their first wash too small for a teddy bear.

Hank lifted his son onto the floor, then rolled out of bed, aware that if he believed in guardian angels he’d be convinced his had sent Audrey to him.

She’d spent her entire life in New Jersey, most of it right in the town of Madison, and she hadn’t wanted to leave the area after her husband died.

But she’d been both lonely and nervous on her own, so taking a job as a live-in housekeeper had been the perfect solution for her. And she’d been the perfect solution for a single father who worked irregular hours.

If she ever decided to leave…The mere possibility made him shudder.

“You’re cold, huh, Dad? You oughta get dressed.”

“Right. So why don’t you go tell Mrs. Chevalier I’ll be there in five.”

“’Kay.”

Robbie took off running, standard three-year-old speed if he was a good example.

As Hank watched him disappear, he tried to recall what life had been like without a child in the house.

He smiled to himself, thinking that it had been a whole lot quieter. And he hadn’t had to worry about tripping over toys in the dark.

But he’d never once regretted adopting Robbie. Not even during those first harrowing weeks after Jane had walked out on them. Because he’d been absolutely crazy about his son from the first moment he’d laid eyes on him.

HANK’S IMMEDIATE IMPULSE was to ignore the doorbell.

He had a section of the ceiling down in his basement office, and was wrestling with a wrench and a length of old galvanized pipe he wanted to replace before Audrey and Robbie arrived back from their shopping expedition.

If he didn’t make his deadline, Robbie would be down here helping. And that always resulted in jobs taking ten times longer.

As the bell rang again, he vaguely recalled Audrey saying something about a delivery. He hadn’t thought she’d meant today, but he decided he’d better go check things out.

Wiping his hands on his jeans, he headed up the stairs and along to the front door. A glance through its small window almost started him rubbing his eyes in disbelief.

The woman standing on his front porch had a long tangle of dark hair, a killer figure and a face that would make any red-blooded male take a lengthy second look. A lengthy third one, too.

She was downright gorgeous. And gorgeous women did not routinely come calling. Not to his door, at least.

In fact, he was positive it had never happened before. It was definitely the sort of thing he’d remember.

Opening up, he gave her a warm smile. Then his gaze involuntarily flickered to her legs—and he ordered himself to keep his eyes off them.

It might be tough to do, though, because he’d always been a leg man and hers were great.

“Hank Ballantyne?” she said.

He nodded. This was getting better by the second. She hadn’t just rung the bell because she was looking for directions or something. She was looking for him.

Of course, that briefcase she was carrying could mean trouble. She might be a lawyer or a process server—it wouldn’t be the first time one had appeared out of nowhere. Or maybe she wanted to sell him something. Or she could be some sort of scam artist.

But his instincts were telling him she wasn’t. And like most cops, his instincts about people were usually reliable.

“I’m Natalie Lawson,” she said. “There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

Okay, not a process server. If that was it she’d have told him straight away.

“Would you like to come in?” he said, taking a backward step.

“I…are you alone?”

He nodded again. “I’m a pretty safe risk, though. I’m a police detective. NYPD.”

“Yes. I know.”

She knew. Okay then, she’d done some homework—which got him back to thinking either lawyer or a sales pitch. But if it was the latter, wouldn’t she be acting friendly instead of looking so darned serious?

Glancing across his greening property to the Taurus parked in his driveway, he noted the Atlas Car Rentals sticker on its front bumper. Salespeople didn’t normally drive short-term rentals.

He ushered her inside and began gathering up the toy trucks that were parked all over the couch, while she stood gazing at the pictures of Robbie on the mantel.

“There,” he said. “That gives you room to sit down. Would you like coffee? Or something cold?”

“Thanks, but no. I just…where’s your little boy?”

“My housekeeper took him shopping. He outgrows his clothes awfully fast. Either that or he plays hard enough to destroy them.”

Natalie smiled. It was a great smile that made him smile back—yet he was still wondering what she was after.

As he sat down on one of the wing chairs facing the couch, she said, “He’s pretty active, then.”

The comment was almost enough to make him laugh. When he wasn’t asleep, Robbie seemed to be in perpetual motion.

“That’s a real understatement,” he said. “He gets into more…but you aren’t here to talk about my son.”

“Actually, I am.”

“Oh?” He glanced at her briefcase again, an uneasy feeling creeping up his spine.

Had she come in some sort of official capacity? If so, he had no idea what it might be. But there was a simple way to find out.

“You’re here to talk about Robbie because…?”

Instead of replying, she opened the briefcase, pulled out a spiral-bound document, then leaned forward and handed it to him.

The title page read, Final Report on Benjamin Lawson-Garcia. Prepared by Rodger Spicer, Private Investigator, Licensed by the State of Michigan.

“Michigan?” He looked at her uncertainly.

“That’s not really relevant. I just hired him because he was recommended by a friend. One who lives in Detroit, which is where I grew up.”

She bit her lower lip for a moment before saying, “Look, I know what a shock this is going to be, and I’ve spent days trying to think of some way to lessen it. There isn’t one, though. Benjamin Garcia is my son, and…my Benjamin is your Robbie.”

For an endless moment Hank felt as if he’d been punched in the solar plexus. He couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t think. He could only stare at Natalie Lawson while the meaning of her words sank in.

He finally managed to take a deep breath, which started his brain working properly again. After that, he only needed half a second to realize this picture was completely out of focus. And that maybe his instincts had been wrong. Maybe Natalie was a scam artist. Because she was not Robbie’s mother.

Ordering himself to deal with this calmly, he set the report down on the coffee table and said, “Both Robbie’s parents were killed in an earthquake. In Guatemala. He was just a baby at the time.”

When she didn’t reply, merely sat gazing at him, he decided that the more details she figured he knew the quicker she’d back off from whatever her game was.

“The quake left hundreds of children orphaned,” he elaborated. “And a lot of them ended up being adopted in the U.S. Robbie only remained in Guatemala for a few weeks afterward. Then he was flown here and placed with my wife and me.”

“Yes,” she murmured. “It’s all in the report. The adoptions were arranged by Worldwide Child Rescue and…” She shrugged. “But you know that as well as I do. What you don’t know is that Rodger Spicer has spent the past three years tracking Benjamin down.”

“Three years,” Hank repeated. “That’s roughly how long I’ve had Robbie. Since he was about six months old.”

“Yes, well…The Worldwide people weren’t exactly cooperative. They did everything they could to prevent Rodger from accessing their records. But child by child, court order by court order, he…”

She paused, then continued. “Some of the babies they brought here came from an orphanage in Guatemala City. And Benjamin was one of them. He shouldn’t have been, though. There was a mix-up, and…

“You see, my husband was killed in the quake, but I was only injured. And Benjamin was taken to the orphanage—to be cared for while I was hospitalized.

“Only, somehow the sisters mixed him up with another baby and turned him over to Worldwide.”

Hank could feel panic growing inside him. What if Robbie really was her son? If he was, there was only one reason she’d have come here. To get him back!

But no. That report had to be wrong.

“Look, I’m sorry you lost your child. And your husband,” he managed to say evenly. “I can only imagine what that’s put you through. But this…”

His gaze flickered to the document. “Your Rodger Spicer’s made a mistake.”

“No, he hasn’t,” she said gently. “Robbie has a birthmark on the left side of his neck, doesn’t he. Just above his shoulder. My baby had a birthmark there.”

His heart pounding, Hank glanced over at the photos on the mantel. “You saw that three minutes ago, when you were looking at those,” he said, turning back to her.

“I don’t think it shows in any of them.”

Did it?

He’d seen the pictures a thousand times, yet right this minute he was so upset he couldn’t answer his own question.

“Then you know about it from the report,” he said.

Natalie shook her head. “I’ve always known. It’s one of the identifying features I was able to tell Rodger about way back in the beginning.

“Robbie has Benjamin’s birthmark,” she reiterated quietly. “And according to his medical records he has the same blood type as my son. And—”

“Fine. Your P.I.’s poked around and come up with enough coincidences to build a case. But that’s a long way from proving—”

“Hank, it isn’t only the birthmark and the blood type and Robbie’s age. Most Guatemalans have a darker complexion than Benjamin does, and…if you read the report…There’s no mistake. I’m his mother. A simple DNA test will prove that.

“In fact, I spoke to someone at a private lab in Englewood. If you’ll agree to take Robbie there, we can both be tested and have a definitive answer within twenty-four hours.”

He pushed himself out of his chair and paced across the room—his heart pounding harder still.

Of course he’d agree. He’d take Robbie tomorrow, and hope to hell the test would prove Spicer had arrived at the wrong conclusion. But deep down his fear was telling him that wasn’t going to happen.

One by one, he scrutinized the photos on the mantel and discovered Natalie was right. The birthmark didn’t show in any of them. And if she’d actually told Spicer about it in the beginning, this was no scam. It was the real thing.

He turned and stood gazing at her. There were no striking similarities between her features and Robbie’s, but their eyes were the identical shade of brown. And something about the way she held her head…

Dammit, if she was Robbie’s mother, he was at risk of losing his child. The thought made his chest feel hollow.

“Maybe if you just looked at the report,” she murmured.

As much to give himself some breathing space as anything else, he walked back over, picked it up and began flipping through the pages.

The document was exhaustive, even contained a brief description of his house. “A comfortable, three-bedroom bungalow in a semirural area outside Madison, New Jersey,” he read before moving on to biographical information about him and Audrey.

He skimmed the summary section headed Hank Ballantyne. “Thirty-six years of age. NYPD homicide detective. Work involves rotating shifts and frequent overtime.”

He swore under his breath. That hardly made him sound like the ideal single parent.

As for Audrey…

“Live-in housekeeper. Fifty-eight years of age. Widowed. One married daughter living in Idaho.”

Hell, couldn’t Spicer at least have mentioned that she was crazy about Robbie? And that she was one of the nicest people in the state of New Jersey?

Thinking that—thanks to Rodger Spicer—Natalie knew almost as much about his adult life as he did, he moved on to the next section and discovered it discussed Jane’s leaving him. And their subsequent divorce.

He read through the overview, which contained details that had obviously come from the divorce pleadings.

Jane hadn’t been able to have a baby and had been pressing him about adoption for quite a while. Then, when they’d seen the news coverage of the earthquake, so many children suddenly needing homes had made him agree to the idea.

Once he had, with Worldwide matching prospective parents to the orphans before they even left Guatemala, getting Robbie had been a relatively quick process.

But after he was theirs, it hadn’t taken Jane long to decide that a baby wasn’t actually what she’d wanted. And she’d left mere weeks after the adoption was final.

The adoption was final. Of course! There was the key fact. Why hadn’t he realized that immediately?

Looking over at Natalie once more, he said, “Let’s be sure we both understand something here. Even if you are Robbie’s birth mother, my wife and I adopted him under New Jersey state law. And at this point I have sole custody. So, legally speaking, he’s my son.”

She coughed an anxious little cough, then said, “Well, the thing is, I’ve already consulted a lawyer. One in Trenton. And, legally speaking, it’s not actually clear whose son he is.”

ACCORDING TO RODGER SPICER’S report, Hank Ballantyne was an intelligent, rational man.

With that in mind, Natalie had told herself a million times that if they just remained reasonable, they should be able to work out a solution to their problem.

Not that she was anywhere near convinced they’d manage it, but they had to try. Aside from anything else, it would be a whole lot easier on Benjamin if they could simply come to an agreement themselves.

So even though she had the feeling Hank was tuning in and out while she went over what the lawyer had told her, she pressed on.

“Basically, his opinion is that we’re looking at a legal nightmare,” she said. “You believed you were adopting an orphan, but…”

She caught herself before she said “Benjamin” aloud. She had to start thinking of her son as Robbie. After all, that was the name he knew, so it was what she’d have to call him.

“But because I was actually alive,” she explained, “and didn’t know what was happening, let alone agree to give up my baby…

“Well, apparently, there’s almost no relevant case law in the entire country, let alone in the state of New Jersey. So if we can’t agree on how to handle this, if we have to resort to the courts, it would be a precedent-setting case—which I gather could easily drag on for years. Plus cost a fortune in legal fees.”

“And while it was dragging on?” Hank said. “Where would Robbie be?”

“With one of us.”

“Which one?”

“We wouldn’t be sure about that until…If we can’t work things out on our own,” she continued, desperately trying not to sound as though she was threatening him, “I’d have to apply for interim custody.”

“You’d have to,” he repeated, eyeing her so coldly she looked away.

Obviously, she had sounded threatening. But she’d just wanted him to realize what her only alternative would be.

Not that it would necessarily do her any good. Her lawyer had made that clear.

She might be the birth parent, but Hank was the one Benjamin…Robbie knew. The one he loved and had lived with for as long as he could remember.

That meant most judges probably wouldn’t let her take him back to Guatemala until after a final decision had been reached. Far more likely, the ruling would be that he should stay right where he was for the time being. With Hank.

And if that was the end result of the first round of legal wrangling, a competent lawyer could probably manage to drag the court proceedings on until Robbie was ready for college. So resolving the problem themselves…

She said, “Hank, the most important factor in this is Robbie’s well-being, right?”

“Of course.”

“And I realize that my walking in here and trying to take him away from you would not be in his best interest, so it isn’t what I’m trying to do.

“It really isn’t,” she added when he looked as if he wasn’t buying that for a second. “But I’ve been working on finding him since the day I went to that orphanage and learned…

“If we just come up with a compromise that we can both live with…Hank, I know how awful this must be for you, but he is my son.”

“And he’s been my son since he was six months old. Do you think I don’t love him?”

“I know you do,” she whispered, her throat tight. “Now that I’m here…now that we’ve met, I can tell—”

“Let’s get back to what your lawyer said,” he interrupted. “What did he figure would happen if you did apply for interim custody?”

She thought about what to say for a few seconds, deciding there was no point in trying to make her case sound stronger than it actually was. Not when Hank would undoubtedly talk to a lawyer of his own.

“He basically told me,” she finally said, “that how the hearing went would depend on the legal arguments and the particular judge.”

She watched Hank shake his head when she finished speaking, trying not to feel sorry for him but finding it impossible.

There was no trick at all to putting herself in his shoes when they were pretty much identical to her own. They loved the same child, but he couldn’t be with both of them at once. And the problem was no more Hank’s fault than hers.

“All right,” he finally said. “You’ve had a lot more time to consider this than me. How do you see us resolving it?”

Nervously she licked her lips. In her dreams, she simply whisked her son back to Guatemala with her. But she knew she couldn’t do that in reality. Aside from anything else, it would be too horribly traumatic for him.

As far as he was concerned, Hank was his father. While she was…it hurt to even think about. At this point, she was nothing to him.

“You have come up with some ideas, haven’t you?” Hank said.

“Not specifically detailed ones. But I thought we could consider some sort of shared custody arrangement.”

Hank eyed her, his expression unreadable.

“I realize we’d have to take this slowly. That Robbie would have to get to know me, feel comfortable with me, before we could even consider anything more long term.

“So, for the moment, I was just hoping you’d let me spend some time with him. I’m staying at the Whispering Winds Motel, only a few miles from here.”

He nodded that he knew where it was.

“We could take things step by step, give ourselves the chance to really consider our options—”

Before she completed the sentence she heard a door open. Seconds later, a whirlwind of a little boy charged into the living room.

“We had ice cream,” he said, throwing himself at Hank. “’Cuz I was good.”

Natalie’s heart flooded with emotion. After all this time, her son was right here before her—alive and well and the most beautiful child she’d ever seen.

She desperately wanted to gather him up in her arms and never let him go. But he was already in Hank’s arms.

And to his mind that’s where he belongs, an imaginary voice whispered.

Taking a long, deep breath, she told herself she was not going to cry.

Yet even though she’d realized that when she found him he’d have no idea who she was, contemplating that in the abstract and coming face-to-face with the reality were two completely different things.

Watching him hug Hank, without even glancing her way, tore at her far more than she’d ever have imagined.

“Oh, you’ve got company,” a woman said from the hallway.

Looking over, Natalie forced a smile as Hank said, “Audrey, this is Natalie Lawson. Audrey Chevalier, my housekeeper.

“Of course, you’ve already guessed that,” he added quietly to Natalie, nodding toward the report lying on the coffee table between them.

“Yes,” she murmured, thinking that both Hank and Audrey were far different from what she’d been expecting.

Learning he was a homicide detective had made her leap to some conclusions she’d already realized weren’t accurate.

Oh, not all of them were wrong. Being a big-city police officer was far from the safest job in the world. That was an undeniable fact. And to her mind, at least, it hardly made cops ideal father material.

But she’d been imagining Hank as a man who was much too involved in his work to really have time for a child—especially since he’d only adopted at his ex-wife’s insistence. Yet that wasn’t the impression she was getting now.

She gazed at him cuddling her son for another moment, a dull ache around her heart, then glanced toward the hallway once more.

She’d pictured Audrey as a stern woman too old to be caring for an active little boy. In reality, she seemed like a very pleasant, very young fifty-eight-year-old.

When Natalie focused on Robbie once more, he was watching her, his big brown eyes full of curiosity and a dried smudge of chocolate ice cream on his cheek.

He looked like Carlos.

She hadn’t been certain, just from seeing those photographs, but he did. And that sent a fresh rush of emotion through her. Getting him back would be getting back a part of her husband, as well.

She continued to gaze at the little boy snuggled in Hank’s lap, and realized that anyone who didn’t know better would never suspect the man wasn’t his natural father.

Hank didn’t actually resemble Carlos very much, but there were similarities. Regular yet rugged features. Hair that was almost ebony and eyes the color of black coffee. The sort of dark good looks that had always appealed to her.

Not that Hank Ballantyne appealed to her. Lord, no. He was the man standing between her and her son.

Focusing on Benjamin…Robbie, once more, she softly said, “Hi.”

The instant she spoke, he hid his face against Hank’s chest.

“We’re in a playing-shy-with-strangers phase,” he said.

Strangers. Nodding again, she tried not to let the remark sting. It did, though. Hard.

“Would you like me to make lemonade or anything?” Audrey asked.

“No, thanks,” Hank said quickly. “In fact, we’re going out for a while. We’ve got some things to discuss.”

CHAPTER TWO

HANK HAD DRIVEN Robbie to the lab in Englewood first thing, and Natalie had said she’d go as well. That meant, come tomorrow, they’d know for sure whether she was his mother.

However, the chance she wasn’t seemed so tiny that Hank hadn’t waited to consult a lawyer of his own.

By calling in a favor, he’d gotten a last-minute appointment with Doris Wagner—whom he’d known only by reputation until he’d walked into her office half an hour ago.

He eyed her as she sat gazing at her computer screen. A small, middle-aged woman, she looked as timid as a sparrow. However, she had a reputation as a veritable tigress in the courtroom, and was acknowledged to be one of the best lawyers around when it came to custody battles.

Not that he wanted to find himself in the midst of one. But he loved his son more than anything else on earth and there was no way he was letting Natalie Lawson take Robbie out of his life.

For the thousandth time, he recollected her words. “I realize that my walking in here and trying to take him away from you would not be in his best interest, so it isn’t what I’m trying to do.”

He mentally shook his head. How could she have said that in one breath and raised the idea of shared custody in the next?

Shared custody. Did she honestly believe that was even a possibility?

He suspected she didn’t. Because by the time they’d finished talking, he’d realized that the prospect of coming to any mutually acceptable compromise was virtually unimaginable.

Maybe, if there wasn’t such a major geographic obstacle, some sort of sharing would be feasible. But saying she didn’t live nearby was the understatement of the year.

He’d been surprised when she’d told him she was a doctor, and a quantum leap beyond surprised when she’d said she still lived in Guatemala.

She ran a clinic in Villa Rosa, a little town there, she’d explained. And…

He turned his thoughts back to the moment as Doris Wagner swiveled the computer screen away from herself and looked across the desk at him.

“Whoever Dr. Lawson consulted was right,” she said. “There’s virtually no relevant case law. Which means that even if a judge found in your favor an appeals court could easily find in hers. So I suggest you explore her proposal of a joint custody agreement very thoroughly before you reject it.”

“But I just can’t see any way one could work. Not with her in a different country.”

“Did you ask if she’d be willing to move back to the U.S.?”

“I didn’t come right out and ask, but I got the distinct impression it’s not an option. She told me how important the clinic and the people down there are to her. And if that’s where she sees her future, it makes her suggestion…”

The word on the tip of his tongue was ludicrous, but instead of saying it, he merely shrugged.

“She didn’t get any more specific about what she has in mind?” Doris asked. “Nothing more than you’ve already told me? Didn’t say how much time she wants?”

“No.”

“Then maybe things aren’t as bad as you think. She’s a single woman with a demanding career. And she knows as well as you do that nothing like Robbie alternating a week with her, a week with you, is possible. So she could be thinking more along the lines of a month or two a year.”

“I doubt it, although I could live with that. I wouldn’t like it, but…”

He paused, shaking his head. With Doris basically suggesting that he was probably looking at some sort of joint custody, what he’d like or wouldn’t like didn’t really matter.

“I have the sense that she wants him at least half the time,” he continued. “And once he starts school he’ll have to be in one place or the other for that, which throws even half-and-half out the window. School’s ten months a year, not six.”

After pausing again, he added, “I doubt there’s a hope in hell that she’d settle for only summer vacations. Not even summer vacations and Christmas.”

And he wouldn’t voluntarily agree to so little, either, which made it seem obvious that they had an insurmountable stumbling block.

“Guatemala’s a poor country,” Doris said. “She’ll be aware the education system here is far superior, and she undoubtedly wants the best for her child.”

“I’ve thought about that, and I’ll certainly use it as an argument. Even if I convince her, though…maybe she’d agree to only a little time at first. But what if that turned out to just be the proverbial thin edge of the wedge? What if she pushed for more and more until I eventually lost him entirely?”

“It could happen,” Doris said gently. “The problem is, you haven’t really got a choice.

“She’s already warned you that if you don’t work something out with her, she’ll apply for interim custody. And if she was awarded it—”

“Wait!” he interrupted, feeling a sudden pounding in his chest.

When Natalie had raised that possibility, he’d assumed it was highly unlikely. But if Doris thought…

“Do you figure she would be?” he made himself ask.

“I doubt the odds are high, but she certainly might be. Regardless of that, though, consider the final result if you go to court.

“Instead of an agreement the two of you arrive at, a third party will impose the rules. And keep in mind that, under the circumstances, there’s absolutely no doubt a judge would grant her some amount of access to Robbie. The only question is how much.”

“How much would you guess?”

Doris shook her head. “Since there aren’t any real precedents, it would be pretty well up to the particular judge. Worst-case scenario, she’d be named the permanent primary guardian.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid I am. I don’t believe in deluding my clients, Hank. If this ends up in a courtroom, there’ll be the risk of your losing custody. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Until you have the results of the DNA testing…”

“They’re only going to confirm what I already know,” he said, the pounding in his chest even harder now. “I went through that report very carefully last night, and Rodger Spicer did a thorough job. I’d say the chance that Robbie isn’t Natalie’s son is about one in a million.”

“Then let’s consider how this might play out in a courtroom. Even assuming she is his mother, you have several things going for you. You’ve been the single constant in the boy’s life since he was six months old. And despite your divorce and shift work, you’ve managed to provide a stable home environment.

“Judges are reluctant to order custody changes when things are going smoothly. So, assuming your relationship with Robbie is as good as you claim—”

“It is,” he assured her. “And he adores Audrey Chevalier.”

“Then, if this was an ordinary instance of a birth mother trying to reclaim her child, Natalie Lawson wouldn’t have a prayer.”

“But it’s not ordinary at all.”

“Exactly. You only have him because those nuns made a mistake. And as soon as Natalie learned about it she hired a private detective to locate him. Plus she’s a professional woman who can support him and provide a loving home.”

“In a village in Guatemala,” Hank muttered.

Doris nodded again. “That’s something else you have on your side. If she was awarded custody, she’d take him to a foreign country. He’d be totally uprooted, living in Spanish-speaking surroundings, and you’d rarely be able to see him.

“Yet if she is his birth mother, and never even considered giving him up for adoption…Some judges would find that awfully hard to get past.”

Hank stared at the floor, thinking that if this ended up in court it sure wouldn’t be the sort of legal proceeding he was used to.

As a detective, he dealt with facts that added up to either guilty or innocent. But this case wasn’t merely a question of facts.

Considerable weight would be given to extenuating circumstances. And one particular judge’s mind-set would be critical.

The subjectiveness of that made him very, very anxious.

Focusing on Doris again, he said, “So what do I do?”

“Absolutely nothing until you get those lab results. But if they do prove she’s his mother, here’s what I’d suggest.”

IT WAS THE HEIGHT of the afternoon rush hour when Hank’s meeting with Doris Wagner ended, and heading through the parking garage, he decided there wasn’t much point in starting for New Jersey just yet. The commute to his place took a minimum of forty-five minutes when the traffic was light.

Besides, he could do with a little extra time to think—and someone to bounce things around with—before he got home and had to face Audrey’s questions. She was so worried about the possibility of losing Robbie that she’d have a million of them.

He reached his Blazer and climbed in, then took his phone from his pocket and pressed the speed dial for Travis Quinn’s cellular.

Travis and he were the best of buddies, as well as partners, and Travis had a knack for seeing situations clearly. Unless the situation involved Celeste, of course.

Last fall, Celeste had been the prime suspect in a homicide they’d investigated. Yet the moment Travis had laid eyes on her something had short-circuited in his brain, making him absolutely refuse to even consider the possibility she could be guilty.

Fortunately, it had turned out she wasn’t. Because they were getting married in June and the C.O. would have a heart attack if one of his detectives married a murderer.

“Quinn,” he answered on the fourth ring.

“It’s Hank. Where are you?”

“At Celeste’s. What’s up?”

“I’ve got a problem.”

“A serious one?”

“Yeah. And I’m only a few blocks away, so I thought if you weren’t in the middle of anything…”

“No, come on over.”

“Thanks, I’ll be there in five.”

The city was practically in gridlock, making his trip to the West 74th brownstone actually take a lot longer—but he finally got there.

Once he’d buzzed Celeste’s apartment and she released the lock, he headed up the stairs to the third floor. He’d barely started down the hall before Travis opened the door.

Celeste’s cat, Snoops, peered warily out from behind his ankles, making Hank think about how badly his son wanted a pet.

It was something he’d been holding off on until Robbie was older. But the way things stood now, he might be living in Guatemala before he was much older.

As Travis gestured him inside, he told himself not to be a pessimist. One way or another, he’d insure that things turned out okay. But telling himself that and feeling confident of it were two different things.

When they reached the living room, Celeste took one look at him and disappeared into the kitchen—to emerge a minute later with a couple of beers. She handed one to him and one to Travis, saying, “Is this problem just a guy thing? I’ve got some work I can go do if—”

“No, I’d like your thoughts, too.”

She smiled and he managed to smile back. He’d grown to like her after he’d realized the idea of her being a killer was ridiculous. And it was easy to understand why Travis had fallen so hard for her. Aside from being a terrific person, she was great-looking—even though she wasn’t Hank’s type.

He’d never gone for blondes. Dark-haired women were the ones who always caught his eye.

Women like Natalie, he thought, an unexpected image of her taking him by surprise.

Women like Natalie, maybe, he silently repeated. But not her, specifically.

Oh, he might initially have figured she was good-looking, but he sure didn’t think so at this stage of the game.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He was objective enough to realize she hadn’t suddenly turned from a beautiful woman into a toad. His attraction to her, though, had done an instantaneous fizzle when he’d learned what she wanted.

He focused on Celeste once more, as she perched on the end of the couch next to Travis and automatically reached for his hand.

Seeing that made him feel a little…envious? Was that it?

Probably, he admitted.

If any woman had ever been as crazy about him as Celeste was about Travis, it had been a long, long time ago. And facing the risk of losing his son had made him very aware of how alone he’d be if that happened.

“So?” Travis said. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s about Robbie,” he began. Neither Travis nor Celeste interrupted as he told them how Natalie Lawson had shown up and dropped her little bombshell.

When he was finished, Travis slowly shook his head, saying, “Talk about a shocker. But something doesn’t ring quite true. Why would her baby have ended up in an orphanage? Wasn’t there anyone who could have looked after him? No relatives or—”

“Uh-uh. She mentioned she has virtually no relatives here, let alone in Guatemala.”

“Here?” Celeste said.

“In the U.S., I mean. She’s originally from Detroit. Did her medical degree at the University of Michigan.”

“Then how did she end up in Guatemala?”

“She got involved with…I think she said it’s called American Physicians Abroad—one of those organizations that provides health care in foreign countries.

“At any rate, neither she nor her husband had any relatives down there. He was from Spain, an archaeologist working on a site near the town where her clinic is.

“But getting back to how Robbie ended up in an orphanage, the quake literally devastated the area. Half the population was either killed or injured, so a lot of people were left without anyone to care for them. And with Natalie in the hospital…I guess it made sense, given the situation.”

“Oh, Hank,” Celeste said, “this is really awful. What are you going to do?”

“Well, I’ve just been to see a lawyer. That’s why I’m in the city. Natalie had already gotten legal advice, so I figured I’d better do the same.”

“And?” Travis prompted.

Briefly he filled them in on what Doris had told him. “Her final advice,” he concluded, “was to play things cool, to wait until Natalie comes right out and tells me exactly what she wants—then use that as the starting position to negotiate her down.”

“I don’t believe this,” Celeste said, shaking her head. “You’re being forced to negotiate because a judge might rule in her favor? Even though you’ve had Robbie since he was a baby?”

He shrugged, doubting the casual gesture would fool either of them for a second. They were like family; Robbie even called them Uncle Travis and Aunt Celeste. So they certainly knew how much his son meant to him.

“Oh, man,” Travis muttered. “And we complain about the criminal justice system.”

“Yeah, well, that’s how things stand. So I have to let Natalie get to know Robbie while we try to work out an agreement.”

Travis eyed him for a moment, then said, “You’ll be careful, huh?”

Hank nodded, knowing exactly what his partner meant. He didn’t intend to give Natalie the slightest opportunity to take off with Robbie.

“I’ll be with them every minute they’re together,” he said. “I’d trust Audrey to supervise, but since she’ll be leaving any day now—”

“Where’s she going?” Celeste interrupted.

“Oh, I thought I told you,” Travis said. “Her daughter’s having a baby, so she’s heading out west for a couple of weeks. Idaho, isn’t it?” he added to Hank.

“Right. She’s just waiting until Valerie goes into labor, then she’ll be on a plane.”

“And what about Robbie?” Celeste asked.

“We’ve got that covered. One of her friends is going to fill in. A woman he knows.”

Travis nodded, then turned their conversation back to the problem, saying, “So Natalie is here for how long? I mean, if her clinic is so important to her…”

“I asked about a time frame,” Hank said, “but she hedged on answering. This American Physicians Abroad sent a doctor to fill in for her, though, and I have a feeling she intends to stay here until the situation is completely resolved.”

They were all silent for a minute, then Celeste slowly said, “Do you think the two of you will be able to work something out? Does she seem like a reasonable woman?”

“She seems…” He raked his fingers through his hair, not entirely sure how to answer that.

His life would never again be the way it was before Natalie Lawson came knocking on his door. And part of him hated her for that—the same part that was itching to tell her she could see how happy Robbie was, so she should just go home and leave them alone. Yet he couldn’t stop himself from considering things from her point of view.

If his son had gone missing, he’d have done exactly what she had. Turned the earth upside down if that was what it took to find him. But why did her child have to be his child?

“Hank?” Celeste murmured.

He tried to recall what she’d just asked.

“She doesn’t seem unreasonable,” he said, once he had. “She just wants her son.

“Just,” he repeated, wearily shaking his head. All she wanted was what had been stolen from her, yet if she got him back…

“Take it easy,” Travis said.

“Yeah, I know. I’m not in the greatest shape. I lay awake all last night, thinking, and the more I thought the less I could see how any sort of sharing arrangement would be even remotely feasible.”

He paused and took a long, slow breath, then continued. “In any event, Doris said that if Natalie and I can’t work things out on our own she’ll recommend someone for us to meet with. Some sort of counselor or mediator. But there’d still be no guarantee we could agree on a plan.”

“And in the meantime?” Celeste said. “While Natalie’s getting to know Robbie? Are you going to tell him she’s his mother?”

Hank looked at her, only then realizing he and Natalie hadn’t discussed that. But since she was intent on being part of his life, they’d have to tell him sooner or later. And after they did…

He ran his fingers through his hair once more, the sense that his son was already beginning to slip away from him gnawing at his insides.

“HANK?” AUDREY SAID GENTLY. “You might as well get it over with.”

He glanced across the kitchen table at her and nodded. But then, instead of making the call, he pushed back his chair and headed for the living room—where Robbie was playing with his friend Gary, whose mother routinely left him here while she did her grocery shopping.

When he walked into the room, Robbie shot him a grin and said, “We’re playin’ trucks.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

As if Robbie didn’t have enough trucks for half a dozen kids, Gary had brought his own backpackful. The floor was wall-to-wall with them.

“Wanna play with us, Dad?”

“Thanks, but not right now.”

“You can have my fire engine,” Gary offered. He was almost a year older than Robbie, and had gotten much more into the idea of sharing.

“Hey, that’s really tempting,” Hank told him, “but I just wanted to make sure you guys were having fun.”

He watched them for a minute or two. Well, actually, he watched Robbie. Then he backtracked to the kitchen, where the number of that lab in Englewood was sitting next to the phone.

“It’s past ten,” Audrey said.

“Uh-huh.” And the lab people had told him he could call any time after nine-thirty.

Fleetingly he wondered if Natalie had phoned them yet. Then he told himself she didn’t really need to. She was positive that Robbie was her child.

Glancing at Audrey again, he thought she looked as if she’d aged overnight. Her hair seemed to have more gray mixed with the brown than it had only yesterday, and she was clearly tired. Of course, she probably hadn’t slept any better than he had the past couple of nights.

After procrastinating for a few more seconds, he forced himself to pick up the phone and punch in the number.

“This is Hank Ballantyne,” he told the woman who answered. “My son, Robbie, was tested there yesterday. As was a Dr. Natalie Lawson. I’m calling for the results.”

“Just a minute, sir.”

Audrey eyed him while he waited, her expression anxious.

The woman at the lab finally picked up again. “Mr. Ballantyne?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a positive match.”

She said more, something about his getting written documentation in the mail, but he only half heard the rest of her words because “there’s a positive match” kept repeating in his ear.

“Thank you,” he said when she stopped speaking. Then he clicked the phone off and numbly told Audrey the news.

Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Hank, I’m so, so, sorry,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” he managed. “Me, too.”

NATALIE HAD BARELY LEFT her motel room since she’d driven back from the lab in Englewood yesterday. She’d been sitting by the phone, waiting for Hank Ballantyne to call. And worrying about what he’d say when he did.

Or should that be if he did?

He’d promised he would, as soon as he’d done some thinking about letting her spend time with Robbie. But maybe he’d changed his mind.

Maybe, instead of phoning, he’d have a lawyer get in touch, because he’d decided that he wouldn’t let her see any more of her son unless a judge forced him to.

Or he might simply vanish with Robbie. Then she’d have to start searching all over again.

Closing her eyes, she reminded herself that Rodger Spicer’s report hadn’t painted Hank as the sort of man who’d run. He was the type who’d stand and fight.

She only hoped he wasn’t going to fight her.

It would be so much better for Robbie if they didn’t end up battling over him. Yet, if that was the route Hank decided to take…

Well, if her alternatives were to start legal proceedings or forget about ever seeing her child again, there’d be only one real choice—no option at all. She was just afraid she might not have enough emotional reserve left to carry her much further.

She’d been running on empty ever since that day in the orphanage. And now that she’d finally found her son, now that she’d seen him…

She told herself to calm down. Whatever happened, she’d cope. The way she’d been doing for what seemed like forever.

As she glanced at the silent phone once more it suddenly rang. Her heart slammed against her ribs, then began to race.

Her throat dry, she answered.

“It’s Hank,” he said.

“Yes. Hi.”

“I called the lab a while ago.”

“Me, too.”

Barely breathing, she waited for him to say something more, each second like an hour.

“We’d better talk again,” he said at last.

“Yes. Fine.”

“Is it okay if I come there?”

She desperately wanted to ask how he’d decided to play things, but all she said was, “Of course.”

“Good. I’ll see you in ten.”

CHAPTER THREE

TELLING HERSELF THAT HANK would be here any second now, Natalie wandered into the bathroom and halfheartedly brushed her hair. It wasn’t even a little less wild after she finished than before she’d started.

Wash-and-wear hair, her mother always used to call it, a kind way of saying it had a will of its own. An iron will. Over the years, she must have tried to tame it a hundred different ways—none of them successful.

Eventually she’d given up, and now just left it long so she could at least tie it back out of the way when she was working.

Hearing the crunch of tires on the gravel, she hurried to the window, in time to see Hank getting out of his Blazer.

He did not look pleased, but she could scarcely expect him to. Until she’d suddenly appeared, he’d been under the impression she was dead. And she’d bet he wished, with all his heart, she actually was.

She headed over and opened the door, the thought that homicide detectives undoubtedly knew how to commit perfect murders sending a shiver down her spine.

As he stepped inside and glanced around the room, her gaze followed his.

The Whispering Winds wasn’t a dump, but it wasn’t luxurious, either. She didn’t know how long she’d be away from home, and her funds were nowhere near unlimited.

Finding her son had taken almost all the money she’d inherited from her parents. And while working with American Physicians Abroad was emotionally rewarding, she didn’t earn anything like what doctors in the U.S. made.

If she and Hank did end up fighting each other in court, she’d be hard-pressed to pay her legal fees.

“It’s nice out,” he said at last. “Do you want to take a walk?”

“Sure.”

She grabbed a sweater from the closet, doing her best to appear nonchalant when she was feeling anything but. His expression hadn’t given her an inkling about what he was thinking, which left her still totally up in the air.

The motel backed onto a stretch of green space that lent the air an earthy scent of spring, and the path they followed ran alongside a gurgling stream.

Under most circumstances she’d find it a relaxing setting, but the longer they walked the more anxious she grew.

“Spring’s my favorite season,” she finally said to break the silence.

“Yeah?” Hank said, barely glancing at her.

“I guess that’s one of the reasons I fell in love with Guatemala. It’s known as the land of eternal spring.”

All that got her was a second “Yeah?” so she lapsed back into silence.

They walked a little farther, then he said, “I saw a lawyer yesterday.”

Her pulse skipped a beat. She wasn’t surprised that he had, but what advice had he gotten?

“And?” she prompted when he didn’t continue.

“She basically said what yours did—that we should try to work things out ourselves.”

“Ah…good. I mean, I’m glad they agreed.”

“Right. So…I guess we’d better talk about your seeing Robbie.”

“Fine,” she murmured, afraid that if she said even one more word he’d start having second thoughts.

“There’ll have to be some ground rules.”

She nodded.

“First off, I’ll be there whenever you’re with him.”

“That’s fine,” she said, not hesitating for a second. She’d agree to just about anything when he was going along with this.

“Good. Then…well, I guess we could start with your coming back to the house once we finish talking. If you’d like, I mean.”

“That would be great,” she said, still trying for nonchalance although she felt like doing cartwheels in the grass.

“But this is my last day off,” he continued. “I’m back at work tomorrow, and I’ll be on the midnight-to-eight shift for the next ten days, which means I don’t get home till after nine—later if we’re in the middle of something at the end of the shift. So, by the time I’ve slept…well, the earliest you’ll be able to see Robbie will be around four or five.”

“Hank, I’ll fit in with whatever works for you. I realize how difficult you must find this. And I knew that even if you decided to let me see Robbie, you wouldn’t want me constantly hanging around. So I was thinking I’d see if the hospital in Madison wants a volunteer.

“I wouldn’t be able to do hands-on work with patients. I’m not licensed to practice in New Jersey. But if there’s anything else they could use me for…”

“I’m sure there’ll be something. I keep hearing how short staffed they are.”

“Good. I’d hate to just sit around in the motel.”

She hesitated then, not really wanting to mention the present, in case he thought she was resorting to bribery, yet knowing she’d better.

Finally she said, “When I was in Englewood I got something for Robbie. A fire engine. Is it okay if I bring it along today?”

“Sure,” he said, almost making her smile with relief. “He’ll love it. Anything with wheels.”

“Right. I kind of figured that after seeing all his cars and trucks.”

She told herself to stop there. Being nervous often made her talk too much. And, sure enough, the next instant she heard herself saying, “I guess it was silly, but once I’d bought it I started thinking I shouldn’t have. That it might jinx things and you’d tell me I couldn’t see him. So the fact that you’re letting me…Well, it really does mean a lot.”

He eyed her for a moment, before saying, “Look, Natalie, don’t read too much into it, okay. If my lawyer hadn’t advised me to try compromising with you, I’m not sure I would be. Because regardless of what arrangement we work out, assuming we can even do that, every day Robbie spends with you will be a day he isn’t spending with me. And I’m not happy about that.”

“I don’t blame you,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t be, either.”

“Right…well…we should probably turn back.”

They walked in silence again until he said, “There’s something else we have to decide. Whether we should tell Robbie you’re his mother.”

Her automatic response was, of course they should, but she caught herself before the words came out. It hadn’t occurred to her there’d be any question about that. There obviously was, though.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“Well, I talked it over with Audrey and we both feel that for the time being I should say you’re a friend. And he should call you Natalie.”

“Oh,” she said, trying to pretend that didn’t hurt.

“After all, he’s only three. Three and a half.”

Hank stopped and looked at her then. “I’ve never known his real birth date. We chose one based on the pediatrician’s guess because the records weren’t complete and…Hell, as it’s turned out, the records weren’t even Robbie’s, were they.”

“He was born on October 11,” she said quietly. “And the earthquake struck on February 15. Those four months were all I had with him.”

While Hank had had three years. She tried to force that thought away.

“October 11. The doctor’s guess was pretty close. But the point I wanted to make is that Robbie isn’t old enough to really understand the concept of a mother. Not the fact that a mother’s the woman who gives birth to a person, I mean.

“Sometimes,” Hank added after a moment, “it’s hard to know exactly what he does understand.”

“Well, as you said, he’s only three and a half.”

“Yeah.”

A few beats passed, then Hank said, “I guess I should tell you that he knows he’s adopted—sort of, at least. I talked to him about it a few months ago, but I don’t think my explanation really made much sense to him.

“And getting back to his concept of a mother…as far as he’s concerned, I think she’s just someone who lives with a child and looks after him. Something his friends have but he doesn’t.”

“Has he ever asked why he doesn’t?”

“Uh-huh. And I told him his mother was dead.”

“Oh,” she murmured again. Even though she realized it shouldn’t, that hurt, too.

“Looking at things now,” Hank continued, “I guess it wasn’t the best answer. But it seemed to be at the time. My ex-wife doesn’t keep in touch, which meant there was no point in even mentioning her to him. And as far as I knew, you actually were dead, so…

“Well, he doesn’t really understand the concept of death, either. And he seems quite content that he has only me and Audrey. At any rate, I think we’d just confuse him if we got into how you can be his mother.”

She merely nodded, aware her voice would give her away if she spoke.

She’d studied child development in med school, and half the patients she treated in Villa Rosa were children. She knew the stages of growth their minds went through, was perfectly aware what a child Robbie’s age could comprehend and what he couldn’t.

Even so, when it came to her son, she’d been deluding herself—imagining that they’d tell him she was his mother, he’d wrap his little arms around her neck and the three missing years would simply melt away. But that wasn’t going to happen.

Hank had those years and they could never be hers.

HANK CUT THE IGNITION, then stared into the rearview mirror as Natalie’s rental pulled up behind his Blazer.

She’d suggested coming over in her own car so he wouldn’t have to take her back to the motel, and it had struck him as a good idea.

He’d figured that driving home alone would give him a chance to sort through something he was having trouble with—the fact that the more time he spent with her the nicer she seemed.

Oh, not that he’d rather she was evil incarnate. After all, she was Robbie’s mother.

Still, he’d find their situation easier to cope with if he was obviously the guy wearing the white hat and she was Cruella De Vil.

But it was clear that nothing about this mess was going to be black and white. And unfortunately, like most cops, he wasn’t as good at dealing with shades of gray.

Opening the door of the truck, he told himself that—as far as their negotiations were concerned—whether Natalie was nice or not was immaterial. Even if she was a reincarnation of Mother Teresa, he didn’t want her ending up with the lion’s share of time with Robbie.

He watched her get out of the Taurus, thinking she looked nervous. Maybe even frightened. But that was hardly surprising after Robbie had basically ignored her the first time around.

She had to be concerned about what kind of reception she’d get today. And worried that he’d never decide he liked her.

Audrey had raised that possibility last night. And after she had, they’d discussed it. They’d even flirted with the idea of trying to insure Robbie wouldn’t warm to Natalie.

They’d both been a little ashamed of themselves, but they had considered it—although ultimately they’d rejected it because he had a right to know his mother.

Like it or not, he did. A moral right and a legal one, as well. Doris Wagner had left no doubt on that score. Still, Hank couldn’t help wondering how long Natalie would persist if Robbie didn’t take to her.

Maybe she’d get discouraged pretty fast. Discouraged enough to pack up and head back to Guatemala. Alone.

He fantasized about that for a few seconds, then told himself it was nothing but wishful thinking. After spending three years and heaven only knows how much money to find her son, she wouldn’t quit now that she had.

Besides, her quiet manner probably made most kids feel at ease with her. And Robbie was basically a pretty friendly little guy, so he’d come around.

Glancing at the shopping bag she was holding, he thought about how many points she’d score with that fire engine—likely enough that she’d have Robbie on side in no time. And once he decided he liked her…

Hank gestured that they should head for the house, not wanting to let his thoughts wander any farther down that road right now.

Sooner or later they’d have to start talking about how much sharing each of them was prepared to do. But he was in no rush. Discussing the idea would only make it seem more real.

When Hank started forward Natalie followed along, telling herself there was no reason to feel even half as uncomfortable as she did. That wasn’t actually true, though.

The man wished she was anywhere else. She could read that in his body language—in his walk and the stiff set of his broad shoulders.

Telling herself not to go there, she turned her attention to the house. In contrast to him, it seemed positively welcoming.

The first time around, she’d been so nervous that she’d barely noticed what the exterior was like. Today, she was a little more observant. And the Cape Cod styling, the gray board-and-batten construction, the long front porch with its white railing…everything about it added up to a “friendly” sort of place.

The setting was appealing, too. On either side of the house, the lawn gave way to shrubs and trees that seemed to stretch forever—although she could make out a weathered split-rail fence that said he didn’t own anywhere near as far as she could see.

They’d almost reached the porch steps when the door flew open and her son came racing out. Just as it had the other day, her breath caught at the sight of him.

“Hey,” Hank said, swinging him up into his arms. “I haven’t been gone for a month, you know.”

“Yeah, but Mrs. Chevy made cookies. For the company. So I hadda wait for you. And her,” he added in a loud whisper, looking over at the “company.”

Natalie shot him the warmest smile she could manage.

“This is Natalie,” Hank said. “Do you remember her?”

As Robbie gave an exaggerated shrug, Audrey appeared in the doorway. Her expression said she was determined to be pleasant if it killed her—and that she was convinced it might.

“Hi,” Natalie said, managing another smile, also.

“Hi. I heard Robbie telling you I baked some cookies. So come in and we’ll see how they turned out.”

GLAD SHE’D HAD the foresight to wear jeans, Natalie scuttled across the living room, trying her hardest to stay ahead of Robbie.

The fire engine had proved a major hit. And while he raced it around the floor, making loud siren wails, she was in charge of moving cars out of its path.

Unfortunately, there were so many of them that she kept hearing impatient honking noises among the wailing.

Every so often, when she’d managed to clear a stretch of “road,” she glanced over to where Hank was sitting on the couch. He was pretending to read the paper. But since he hadn’t turned a page in half an hour, she knew he was actually keeping a close eye on them. And she couldn’t stop imagining what he must be thinking—not to mention feeling.

Looking away, she reminded herself that she had every right to spend some time with her own son. She shouldn’t have a sense of guilt about it.

But she knew why she did. She was getting what she wanted at Hank’s expense, and she’d really prefer that wasn’t the way things had to be.

“Robbie?” he said.

They both turned toward him.

“You’re going to wear Natalie out. Maybe you should do something a little quieter for a while.”

“What?”

“Play with one of your puzzles? Or see if she’ll read you a story?”

“Wanna do a puzzle?” he asked her.

“Sure.”

She watched him hurry over to the bookcase, the bottom two shelves of which were obviously his. Then, as he knelt poking through his things, she glanced at Hank once more.

Because her anxiety level had been sky-high the other day, her memory of the entire visit was a bit of a blur. But she recalled realizing that he wasn’t what she’d expected. And that those conclusions she’d jumped to, after reading Rodger Spicer’s report, hadn’t all been accurate.

Oh, she still had trouble with his being a police detective. Aside from anything else, she couldn’t understand what would make someone want to work in homicide.

But setting that aside, he’d obviously been doing a great job with Robbie—which gave her strangely mixed feelings.

She’d always hoped and prayed that, wherever her son was, he’d been adopted by good people. But somehow, at the same time, she’d imagined that when she finally found him she’d be rescuing him from a family that hadn’t given him nearly as much love as he deserved.

Now, however, she’d come face-to-face with reality. And the reality was that Robbie was a happy, secure child—whom Hank loved very much.

It was almost enough to start her wondering if she was making a mistake. If she should back away and content herself with being far less a part of his life than she wanted to be.

But how could she?

She’d felt him growing inside her, and had given birth to him. Held him when he was barely a minute old. Nursed him. And she’d never stopped loving him with all her heart.

He was part of her. Part of Carlos. How could she back away from that?

The sound of a phone ringing interrupted her thoughts, and a second later Robbie trotted over to her with a painted wooden puzzle. They’d just spread all the pieces right side up on the floor, when Audrey hurried into the room.

“That was Mark,” she told Hank. “He and Valerie just got to the hospital.”

“Do you want me to call about a flight?” Hank asked her. “Get you on the earliest one I can?”

“Oh, yes, please. I’m so excited I can hardly think straight, let alone deal with the airlines.”

“Oh, and Hank,” she added as he was heading off, “don’t book a return one that comes in too late.

“My daughter’s having her first baby,” she explained to Natalie as Hank disappeared. “They live in Idaho, so I’m not likely to arrive before she delivers.

“But we decided it made more sense to have most of my time there afterward, with her and the baby, than sit around just waiting, beforehand.

“You know how it is with firstborns. Well, of course you do—you’re a doctor. They can be weeks late.”

“Yes, they certainly can.”

She glanced at her firstborn. Her only born. He’d been a mere eight days late, but she’d thought she’d never go into labor.

“Oh, now I’m wondering if I should have said I’d stay longer than two weeks and gone earlier,” Audrey murmured. “Then I could be in the delivery room with her. But I just didn’t want to take too much time away from Robbie.”

“Who’ll be looking after him while you’re away?”

For a fleeting second, the hope that they might have no one lined up and that she could do it flitted through her mind.

But she told herself they’d have something arranged, even before Audrey said, “One of my friends. She’s a widow, too, so she can move in on a moment’s notice.”

Audrey turned toward Robbie, saying, “You’re going to be good as gold for Mrs. Harmand, aren’t you.”

He nodded.

“And will you miss me?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How much?”

Grinning, he stretched his arms apart as widely as they’d go.

“Well, good, because I’m going to miss you, too. A whole bunch. But I’ll be back soon.”

Focusing on Natalie again, she said, “Will you be all right here until Hank’s off the phone? I’m basically packed, but I’ve got some last-minute things to gather up.”

“Sure, we’ll be fine. We’re just getting started on the puzzle. Right, Robbie?”

“Uh-huh.” He turned his attention back to it as Audrey hurried from the room.

Natalie sat on the floor beside him, very aware this was her first time alone with him in over three years.

Her throat tight with emotion, she desperately wanted to wrap her arms around him and hug him half to death. She didn’t make a move, though.

She knew better than to try to force herself on a child—even if he was her own—so she merely watched him, her eyes drinking in the way his dark hair curled onto his neck, the smoothness of his skin, the perfection of his little hands hovering over the pieces of the puzzle.

The last time she’d seen him…

But there was no sense thinking about how many milestones she’d missed in his life. The past was past, and the important thing was that she’d finally found him. Now all she had left to do was work things out with Hank.

All? she silently repeated. What was she trying to do? Fool herself into believing that arriving at an agreement with him would be easy?

There was no point in that, especially not when something he’d said earlier was still lingering in her memory.

“Every day Robbie spends with you will be a day he isn’t spending with me,” he’d pointed out. “And I’m not happy about that.”

Of course, she could say the same thing. So arriving at a plan they could both live with was going to be tough.

“There,” Robbie said.

Focusing on the puzzle, she saw he’d put a couple of the pieces together.

“Good,” she said.

As she was reaching for the one that would fit next to them, Hank reappeared.

“I have Audrey on a flight that leaves in two hours,” he told her. “So I’m afraid we’ll have to cut this short. If the traffic around Newark’s bad, we could be tight for time.

“Let’s get some shoes on you,” he added to Robbie. “You can’t walk around an airport in just socks.”

Without even thinking before speaking, she said, “If it would be easier to leave him here, I’d be glad to stay with him.”

“No,” Hank said so sharply that Robbie’s gaze darted to him.

“I mean…thanks,” he added more gently. “But I like taking him places. Especially ones we don’t often go to.”

She nodded, telling herself not to let his initial reaction bother her. But it was hard to do when he so obviously didn’t trust her. He was afraid that if he left Robbie with her, he’d come back to discover they’d vanished.

“Crazy thinking,” she whispered under her breath.

Even if kidnapping was something she’d consider, which she wouldn’t, the man was a police detective. If she tried to make a run for it with Robbie, Hank would have their descriptions all over the country in no time flat.

Yet he figured she might try. And that made her wonder if he actually intended to ever let her be alone with her son.

Maybe he was only putting on an act, only pretending he’d be willing to agree to some sort of compromise. Maybe, right this minute, his lawyer was working on a way to simply get her out of the picture.

If that was it, if Hank Ballantyne was playing her for a fool, the sooner she talked to her lawyer again the better.

But how could she possibly know whether that was it or not?

CHAPTER FOUR

BEFORE NATALIE HAD LEFT Hank’s he’d apologized a second time for having to cut short her visit with Robbie. Then he’d suggested she come again tomorrow—and promised to call after he got back from taking Audrey to the airport, so they could decide on a time.

But darkness had closed in around the Whispering Winds and she hadn’t heard from him, which was doing absolutely nothing for her peace of mind. The longer she waited, the more worried she was growing that her suspicions were right. That he was merely stringing her along with no real intention of trying to work out a compromise.

Restlessly she wandered across the room and opened the door to the cool night air, thinking again that maybe she’d better phone her lawyer first thing in the morning.

On the other hand, she might be wiser to hold off until she felt absolutely certain that Hank was playing games.

Gazing into the moonlit night, she reminded herself one more time that working things out with him would be a thousand times preferable to starting a legal battle.

When even their lawyers agreed on that, didn’t it make sense not to push too hard? To give him the benefit of the doubt? At least for the moment?

While she was trying to decide if that was actually how she should proceed, the phone finally rang.

“It’s Hank,” he said when she answered. “I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier, but it took me a while to get hold of Betty Harmand. The woman who’ll be looking after Robbie.”

“Yes, Audrey mentioned her name.”

“Well, I figured it made sense to talk to her before I set anything up with you. And she wants to spend most of tomorrow at the house—not just come over when I’m leaving for work. She said she’d feel more comfortable if I was here with Robbie for a while.

“But getting to the point, she’s bringing her things over in the morning, so would you mind waiting until later to come?”

Telling herself that was a reasonable request, not an attempt to keep her away from her son every minute he possibly could, she said, “When did you have in mind?”

“Oh…sometime after lunch? She won’t be arriving very early, because the days I start on midnights I sleep in as late as I can. Or as late as Robbie lets me, to be more accurate.”

“Then why don’t I call around one and see how things are going.”

“Great. Talk to you then. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The moment she hung up, her mind returned to the question of whether the man was playing straight or playing games. It made her realize she was well on the way to driving herself crazy. She simply couldn’t spend much more time in this motel room, alone with her thoughts.

Yet Hank started midnights tomorrow. And he’d said that meant she wouldn’t be able to see Robbie until late in the afternoons. Which meant she definitely had to start doing something.

At home, she’d be able to immerse herself in her work, the way she had when she’d first returned to Villa Rosa after the earthquake—her husband dead and her son missing.

She’d thrown all her energy into her practice and into supervising the rebuilding of the clinic, working such long hours that she was always far too exhausted to think.

That was what she needed now. A way of keeping herself occupied. And if she could be useful at the same time, she would. So, come morning, she was going to call that hospital in Madison and offer to volunteer.

THE MADISON PLAINS HOSPITAL, although not imposingly large, was a modern three-story building. Natalie parked in the visitors’ lot, then headed inside and across the front lobby to the elevators.

She had a 10:15 a.m. appointment with the chief of staff, a Dr. Brian Eisenberg, and she was hoping he’d give her suggestion an immediate thumbs-up.

When she’d spoken with his secretary, first thing, she’d both explained why she wanted to see Eisenberg and asked the woman to call and verify her credentials with the AMA.

Hospitals had to check out people they took on as volunteers, but if the medical association had already confirmed she was legit, there shouldn’t be any delay about her getting the go-ahead—assuming Eisenberg was as receptive to the idea as his secretary had implied was likely.

He proved to be a pleasant, chubby man in his midfifties who listened without interrupting while she briefly explained her circumstances.

When she’d finished he shook his head, saying, “What an awful thing for both you and Mr. Ballantyne.”

She nodded. “It is, but hopefully we’ll manage to work something out. In the meantime…Well, as I told your secretary, I’m only licensed to practice in Michigan—and Guatemala, of course. But if I can help somehow…”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that. The only question is where we can make the best use of you. Is there anything in particular you see yourself doing?”

“Not really. Since I don’t know how long I’ll be here, I wouldn’t expect—or want—any responsibility. So, just whatever you think.”

“Well, you seem like a people person.”

She smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“That’s how I meant it. And do you enjoy working with children?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you’re fluent in Spanish,” he said, glancing once more at the brief C.V. she’d written out and brought along.

“You know, I think we’ve got a place you’d fit perfectly. The psychologist on Pediatrics left recently, and we haven’t managed to replace her yet. So if you basically filled in for her…

“I’m not talking about the paperwork or anything like that, but we need someone who’s accessible to the patients and their families.

“Our staff members often can’t make time to spend with children who are upset about being here. Or sit down and talk to parents who’ve got questions. Does that sound like something you’d be comfortable doing?”

“Sure. There’d be questions I couldn’t answer, though. Hopefully not medical ones, but when it comes to hospital regulations and such…”

“You’ll be able to check things like that. And we’ll put Visiting Consultant on your ID badge, so that when you don’t know something about the system, nobody will find it strange.”

His gaze flickered to her C.V. again before he said, “Your Spanish is going to be a real bonus. We’ve got a situation at the moment that…

“But it makes more sense to have you meet Dr. Koehler, the chief of Pediatrics, and have her tell you the details. I only know the general story.”

Minutes later the two of them were on the second floor, in Cynthia Koehler’s office. She was forty-something, with a warm smile, and seemed pleased at the prospect of having Natalie on her unit.

“And I thought that since Dr. Lawson speaks Spanish,” Eisenberg continued his explanation, “she’d be a particular help with Señora Perez.”

“A help?” Koehler said. “She’ll be more like a godsend.”

“Good. Then why don’t I leave her with you. She’s here for another hour or two today, and…Well, you can discuss what sort of schedule will work.”

He turned to Natalie, adding, “I’m sure you’ll be just fine. But if you have any problems, feel free to bring them to me.”

As he left the office, Cynthia said, “How about we’re Natalie and Cynthia when we’re alone, doctors Lawson and Koehler on the ward?”

“Sounds fine.”

“And you can use the psychologist’s office whenever you need privacy. A lot of parents have concerns that they don’t want to raise in front of their children.

“I’ll have someone get you an office key later, but first let me tell you about Señora Perez. Because she’s always on the unit, and as soon as she discovers you speak her language…”

Cynthia paused and smiled. “I’m getting ahead of myself. I have a bad habit of doing that.”

“So do I.”

“Ah, good, then we should have an easy time understanding each other. But as for Señora Perez, she’s the grandmother of Emma Perez, who’s a patient here. And I think it’ll be easier if I fill you in on the grandmother first, Emma second.”

Natalie nodded.

“Señora Perez spent most of her life on a farm in Puerto Rico, never learned English. And although we have enough Spanish-speaking staff that it wasn’t hard to get her basic background story, we can’t make a habit of dragging people away from their regular jobs to translate.

“Fortunately, Emma’s bilingual, so that’s a big help. But she’s only seven. And…”

Cynthia paused again, as if organizing her thoughts.

“A couple of years ago,” she said after a moment, “Señora Perez came to live with her daughter, Emma’s mother, who’s been in New Jersey for…I’m not sure exactly how long, but she met Emma’s father after she moved here, so it must be at least eight years.