miracle. It was now the twenty-first century, the beginning of a new millennium. It seemed impossible to believe that a cure for acute leukemia wasn’t within the doctor’s ability. Houston boasted one of the most advanced and respected medical and cancer research centers in the world. If the cure wasn’t within reach here, where would it be?
The frown line between Dr. Fletcher’s eyes deepened, and Laura felt her heart clutch. “That’s part of the problem, Mrs. Kelly. As we discussed during your last visit, the most effective course of treatment is a bone marrow transplant. However, your genetic makeup isn’t adding up.”
Alex fussed, and automatically, Laura ran a soothing hand over his plump legs, then handed him a set of plastic toy keys. “Not adding up? What do you mean?”
“I’ve run some preliminary tests on your potential donors. It’s more than the fact that no one’s a match. Genetically, it appears that they aren’t blood relatives.”
For a moment Laura was speechless, and when she did speak, she had to struggle for words, for some sense of what the doctor was telling her. “My aunt and my mother’s cousins—of course they’re blood relatives.”
Dr. Fletcher shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Is it possible you’re adopted, Mrs. Kelly?”
“Of course not!” Then Laura paused. It didn’t seem feasible, yet… People had often commented that she didn’t resemble either of her parents. Her mother and father had always jokingly replied that the dissemblance was Laura’s lucky chance of fate.
Meeting the doctor’s troubled eyes, Laura realized her luck had just run out.
CHAPTER ONE
A WEATHERED SIGN identifying the office as belonging to Mitch Tucker, private detective, was just this side of shabby. As was the rest of the small building’s exterior, Laura decided critically. Really not in keeping with the expensive commercial land it was situated on; but then, she wasn’t shopping for a spotless houseboy. She wanted a first-rate detective, and despite outward appearances, Mitch Tucker came highly recommended by several adoptee search organizations.
Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door, making herself ignore the chipped paint.
A hawkish, high-pitched voice ordered her to enter.
Now, that was a voice that would grate steel, Laura decided as she obeyed the order. The interior was dim, nearing murky. Having just come in from the glare of bright sunshine, she found focusing difficult. But even with the disadvantage, it was rapidly clear that Mitch Tucker was nowhere in sight.
So who had spoken?
“Hey!” the voice screeched again.
Startled, Laura whirled around. A bright-green parrot eyed her balefully.
“Hello,” she replied cautiously.
“Hello,” the parrot mimicked as he lurched sideways in a scooting motion across his perch.
Laura glanced at an ancient desk covered by disorganized piles of seemingly neglected papers. Immediately, she wondered if the man’s detective methods were equally sloppy.
The phone rang, startling her anew and making the bird squawk. “Hello,” the parrot repeated, swinging from side to side.
An answering machine clicked on. A husky male voice invited the caller to leave a message.
Laura listened while the female caller ended her one-sided conversation with a suggestive kiss. Strolling closer to the desk, she saw that a light on the answering machine indicated several other messages.
“Probably all women,” Laura muttered in disapproval.
A masculine voice from the doorway surprised her. “Then maybe we’d better listen.”
“That’s not necessary.”
He met her gaze. “And you’re Miss…?”
“Kelly,” she replied shortly. “Laura Kelly.”
He glanced at his caller I.D. “You’re right. Practically all women.” There was an indiscernible note to his voice and Laura couldn’t tell if he was serious or simply needling her.
Then he motioned for her to take one of the chairs angled in front of the desk. After she was seated, Mitch pushed himself back in his own chair, propping boot-clad feet on the scarred edge of his desk. “So what’s your story, Laura Kelly?”
Laura didn’t care for his casual demeanor or neglected office. She crimped the handles of her purse together as she started to rise. “I’m obviously wasting your time.”
He didn’t answer right away, instead studying her again. “Depends. What’s your problem?”
“My problem?” Without warning she was shaking—with fury, fear and an inescapable sense of injustice. “Is that what you reduce the agonies in people’s lives to? Their problems? Sarcastic, insignificant—” But she couldn’t speak any longer as the pain assaulted her.
“Oh, hell,” Mitch mumbled, swinging his legs off the desk, his chair scraping the wooden floor as he pushed it back. His boots thudded as he crossed over to her, a dull but distinctive sound in the echoing room. Awkwardly he shoved a box of tissue toward her. “Didn’t know you were going to get all weepy on me.”
But Laura had not given in to tears. The fear was too great for that. And she was all out of retorts.
Mitch’s sigh reverberated in the soulless office. “Divorce? Hey, it’s rough. You marry someone, expect picket fences and champagne. Instead you get barbed wire and beer. But, trust me, you aren’t the first.”
The pain in her chest was multiplying. Suddenly she was dragging in big gulps of air; yet they didn’t seem to be reaching her lungs.
“Oh, man, you’re really freaking.” Mitch rapidly looked around the office; his eyes landed on the remains of yesterday’s lunch. After dumping soggy French fries, onion rings and the remainder of a cheeseburger, he popped open the white paper fast-food bag. Without hesitation, he pulled the smelly, grease-stained sack over Laura’s head.
In a few minutes, her breathing returned to normal and she pushed the bag off her head, ignoring the fragrance of onions that lingered in her hair.
“You okay?”
Not quite meeting his eyes, she nodded.
His gaze was sympathetic. “No need to be embarrassed. Divorce isn’t pretty.”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
He poured coffee into a disreputable-looking mug and handed it to her. “No?”
She drew in the warmth of the mug, feeling the coldness that had accompanied her since she had learned that she might lose her son. It was a chill she couldn’t shake. “It’s worse.”
Mitch paused as he poured his own mug of coffee. “How much worse?”
“It’s
