Secrets Rising (2 page)

Nevertheless, she strode toward Jake Thornton, extending her hand and making an effort to appear confident, like the woman she had been before the death of her parents...before she found the note. "I'm Rebecca Patterson."

He wore a black knit shirt and matching jeans instead of the rumpled suit of movie detectives, but the square set of his jaw, the intensity of his black—no, midnight blue—eyes reassured her. His dark hair was a little too long and shaggy in a careless way, as though he hadn't taken time for a haircut lately.

"Jake Thornton." He enclosed her hand in a solid shake. Please come in." He stepped back to permit her to enter.

She moved past him, vaguely surprised that he was only a little taller than her 5'8" plus her three inch heels. That put him over six feet, but not the giant of her first impression.

His inner office was like the reception area...nondescript, ordinary. A filing cabinet in one corner. A large desk in the middle holding scattered folders and a computer. Not much different from her own office at the Wingate Hotel.

She perched on the edge of another tan chair then made herself slide back, set the briefcase on the floor beside her and make an attempt to appear composed.

She liked that, the fact that he didn't elaborate, didn't comment by word or expression on the nasty divorce that had ensued when Elaine had gained proof of her husband's infidelity. She needed someone who would keep her confidences and wouldn't pass judgment.

Rebecca bit her lip. She hadn't meant to say that. "I just found out that I'm adopted," she said, speaking the words evenly and without inflection as if they were a statement of fact, nothing more.

Jake leaned back, crossing tan, muscular arms over his wide chest, distancing himself from her, shutting her out. "And you want me to find your real parents," he said noncommittally.

She clutched her purse more tightly. She hadn't expected to be given the third degree. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't sure. It's important that I find them."

He picked up a pencil and slid it through his fingers from end to end to end, his eyes never leaving hers. "It's important." Neither agreement nor a question, merely an expression of disbelief.

She had no more emotional energy left for arguing. She rose and looked down at him. "It would seem I've made a mistake. Apparently you're not interested in taking my case. My apologies for wasting your time."

He motioned her to sit again. "Relax. I didn't say I wasn't interested. I just want you to be positive you really want me to find your parents. I've been in this business for several years, and I gotta warn you, not all reunions are happy. If your parents aren't looking for you, they may not be thrilled to be found."

Rebecca sank back into the chair, her legs suddenly shaky. "I know that."

She retrieved the briefcase, opened it in her lap and withdrew the note. Wordlessly she handed it to him, gave her deepest secret into the keeping of this man who seemed completely unconcerned with her problems. That detachment was the element that gave her the courage to do this.

Jake Thornton accepted the folded piece of paper from the attractive, nervous woman seated across from him. She was a strange mix of fragility and determination. A lot of his individual clients had that
I've got to know but really don't want to
frantic confusion when they came in. That's why he was devoting more and more of his time to his corporate clients. Impersonal. Unemotional. Safe.

Even when he had to deal with individuals, he reminded himself it was still business, still impersonal. His job was to find out what they wanted to know. Why they wanted that knowledge, what they did with it, how it affected their lives, that had nothing to do with him.

But this one was different somehow.

He couldn't quite put his finger on it. There was something about her that made him uncomfortable, something vulnerable and needy that reached inside him and touched places he didn't want touched, places he hadn't realized still existed.

She sat stiffly erect during their entire interview, that small chin lifted just a little, long blond hair perfectly smooth and pushed away from her face. All the while her slim fingers gripped first her purse and now a leather briefcase so tightly her knuckles were white, and her green or blue eyes—he couldn't tell the shade for sure—widened then narrowed with conflicting emotions.

And he had the strangest urge to loosen those tense fingers, smooth her brow, dig up loving biological parents for her, make everything all right.

Dumb.

He, of all people, knew the likelihood of Ozzie and Harriet parents.

He unfolded the paper. The handwriting was neat and meticulous. Rebecca Patterson with her neat, meticulous appearance and bearing could have written it, but the paper was yellowed and the ink faded.

To Brenda and Jerry Patterson
, the note read.
I can never thank you enough for everything you've done for me and for my baby. Please take care of her and never let her try to find me,
it concluded
.

He read the note through twice. "All right if make a copy of this?"

She nodded. He dialed Noreen's extension and asked her to make the copy for him. Normally he'd do it himself, but the copy machine was down the hall, and he was reluctant to leave Rebecca alone even for the necessary couple of minutes. She seemed so fragile, he had an irrational fear that she'd shatter into a thousand pieces if he left her right now.

Noreen returned with the copy, and he handed the original back to Rebecca. "Just offhand, I'd say you're right. Your mother isn't going to try to find you. She's probably not going to be thrilled to have you show up on her doorstep, either."

Rebecca flinched almost imperceptibly as though he'd struck her a physical blow. Well, damn it, she'd come to him to find the truth and that's what he was trying to give her.

"I realize all that, Mr. Thornton. Nevertheless, I have to find out who wrote this note. Who my mother is. Who I am."

Jake leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on his desk. This woman was just asking to get knocked to the ground, and he wasn't sure she had the strength to get back up again.

"Have they been good parents to you? Make you eat your vegetables? Send you to school? Take care of you when you're sick?"

Pain filled her eyes and put a slight tremor in her voice when she spoke. "They were wonderful parents. Nobody could have had better parents."

"Then maybe you ought to go see them, take your mom some roses, your dad a bottle of brandy, spend the weekend with them, be glad you have somebody who loves you and forget about finding this woman who ran out on you."

In amazement, he listened to himself trying to throw this case away. What the hell was the matter with him? Rebecca wanted information, and he had the resources to get it for her. That's what he did. He was a P.I., not a shrink.

Her eyes glistened, and for a moment he thought she might cry, but when she spoke, her voice was surprisingly firm. "I'd love to do exactly that, Mr. Thornton, but it's no longer possible. My parents were killed in an automobile accident six weeks ago."

Jake ducked his head and plowed his fingers through his hair. So much for his misguided efforts to be a shrink. He should definitely stick to investigating. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

"It doesn't matter. Will you find my real parents or not?"

Real parents
. The phrase stuck him as odd. The people who'd raised her and given her their name were dead, and the people who'd given her life didn't want to be found. Will the
real parents
please stand up and claim Rebecca Patterson?

Not likely.

Jake's feet thudded to the floor. He straightened in his chair, opened a drawer, withdrew a contract and slid it across the desk toward her. "Read that."

She gave him the information. "If you call me at work and I'm not available, please don't leave a message. I have an answering machine at home which I'll check frequently. You can be completely open with any message you leave there. I live alone."

"Got it. Now, tell me everything you know about the woman who wrote that note."

"I'm afraid it's not much. I do have one other item." She opened the briefcase again and withdrew a carefully folded blue dress.

"I assume this was hers. It was with the note. I found them in a locked drawer of my dad's desk after my parents died." She lifted her hands then let them flutter down aimlessly. "They must have planned to tell me eventually or they wouldn't have saved this stuff. They didn't know they were going to die this suddenly."

"So they never really told you that you were adopted. You just deduced it from this note."

"No, I didn't just deduce it, though that note is pretty strong evidence. I talked to their lawyer after I found this note. He drew up the adoption papers."

Jake nodded and picked up the dress. "She must have been tiny."

He studied the garment carefully. He could almost see the petite blond woman with Rebecca's features who must have worn it. The label was frayed, washed many times, but the embroidered script was still legible. "Sharise's Shoppe. Ever hear of the place?"

Rebecca shook her head. "No. I've made inquiries around Dallas, but nobody's ever heard of it. I asked my parents' lawyer. He said all he knew was that the woman...my mother...had worked as a waitress for Mom and Dad. They owned a small restaurant in Plano. They sold the land a few years ago to a developer and got enough money to retire. They were on their way to visit friends in Florida when a drunk driver ran into them. He survived with minor injuries, but my parents were killed instantly."

"What about records from the restaurant? The person writing this note thanks them for giving her a job. They'd have had to have a name and social security number for all employees."

Rebecca shook her head. "According to their lawyer, she worked for tips, room and board. If my parents paid her...and, knowing them, they did...they paid her in cash. She used the name Jane Clark, but I'd be very surprised if that was her real name."

"Probably not, but the Jane part may be right. People frequently keep their first names, especially if they're common ones. Anything else? A physical description?"

"Only a few of Mom and Dad's friends even remember her. They all agreed that she was small, had short, dark brown hair and wore glasses. Very nondescript. She just appeared one day and started working. Mom and Dad wouldn't talk about her, so they must have known something."

"Most people wouldn't give a job and home to a stranger off the streets, even help her hide her identity. Is it possible your parents knew her?"

"It's possible, of course. But they were the type people who would take in a stranger. They did it all the time. Most of my life we had at least one stray person living with us. They were very generous. I was a little surprised when they didn't give away all the money they got from selling the restaurant."

Rebecca was so transparent, Jake could almost read her mind. Now she felt she was just one more of those strays her parents had taken in, and she had the stupid notion that finding a blood relative would change things. Well, he'd tried to talk her out of it. He'd done his good deed for the month.

"So you've discussed this with your parents' old friends, and none of them knew who she was?"

"None. She just showed up one day. Pretty soon it was apparent she was pregnant. She worked as a waitress, gave birth and disappeared." Rebecca smiled wryly...or grimaced. Jake couldn't be sure which. "All we have to prove my mother ever existed is this note and her dress."