Laws of Attraction (34 page)

“I know it’s a shock.” Jillian’s gentle voice quivered with compassion. “It’s the truth, Zane. Deb left a letter for me in the event anything happened to her, naming you Casey’s father.”

“That doesn’t prove a thing,” he forced through stiff, numb lips.

“Casey looks just like you.”

Reeling, he pushed her hands away. But he couldn’t so easily shove aside her words. “There are millions of dark-haired, dark-eyed kids.”

“The instant I saw you, I knew Casey was yours. He has the same lean athlete’s build, same thick, straight black hair, same dark melted-chocolate eyes. He even wears your intensely focused expression on his face a lot of the time.”

Zane fought to control his too-rapid breaths. “What do you expect from me? Money? Is that it?”

“No!” she gasped. “Of course not! You needed to know about him. And Casey needs his father.”

Shaking uncontrollably in the icy grip of pain and terror, he rocketed to his feet. “I don’t want him.”

“How can you say that? You haven’t even met him yet.” She rose and grasped his forearm. “He’s a terrific little boy.”

He wrenched free. “The kid is better off without me.” Blinded by agony, he stalked across the room. “See to it he has everything he needs. Send me the bills.” Zane yanked open the front door.

And came face to face with his son.

In ten shell-shocked seconds Zane absorbed every detail.

Jillian was right. The child had his build, his hair, his eyes, and the same sober expression he saw in the mirror every morning.

The kid looked like him, all right. But Zane didn’t see himself in the child staring up at him. He saw his brother.

Oh, God,
Trevor
.

Zane’s heart splintered, and he staggered back from the door.

“Hi, mister,” The little boy chirped. “Who are you?”

The innocent, childish question sliced through Zane like a chainsaw.

I’m your father
.

Unable to speak, he brushed past the boy and the buxom redheaded woman accompanying him and tore outside. He made it to the sheltered grove across the street before his legs buckled.

He dropped to his knees in the bushes, shaking and sweating … and puked his guts out.

For his son’s sake, he had to get as far away as possible.

And never come back.

* * *

When her dreams of becoming a ballerina were quashed by early-onset klutziness, Diana Duncan took up the safer vocation of writing. Her first thrilling masterpiece—written in orange crayon—was titled “
Perky the Kitten
,” and became an instant bestseller with her grandparents.

Her childhood growing up as a military brat gave her the ability to leap into a conversation with anyone, anywhere, anytime … and she always discovers a new friend in the process. This gift of gab perfectly equipped her for a career that involves making stuff up.

Di is famous for using seven words when one will do. She wields smart-assery like a samurai sword, and will be the first to volunteer in a catastrophe. Of course, she was probably the one who
caused
the catastrophe. She’s fiercely loyal to her friends and family … but in the event of the upcoming zombie apocalypse, she won’t hesitate to use them as human shields.

She loves her job as an author, and claims writing is the most fun she’s ever had while wearing her sock monkey pajamas. She also enjoys gardening, cooking, and adopting abandoned curbside furniture to refurbish into treasures.

Diana published six books with a traditional print publisher before going rogue with Indie publishing. Di donates ten percent of the proceeds of every book sale to organizations that help both people and animals in need.

She loves to hear from her readers. Write to her at [email protected] Join her on Facebook at
Diana Duncan Author
and feel free to stop by and ogle her kilted hunks on her website
www.dianaduncan.com