with pain. “Now you do. So go away. I’m not in the mood for a class reunion.” She turned for the door, reaching for the handle.
“Catherine.” He took a step toward her. “Tink. We need to talk about this.”
She shook her head. Her blond-streaked hair shone with glimmering lights. “We have nothing to discuss.”
“Wrong answer. Where’s the kid? Where does she live?”
She turned about, her expression now bemused. “How am I supposed to know?”
“You’re her mother.”
“Her mother is the woman raising her. She isn’t mine anymore, and she certainly isn’t yours.”
“I never gave up my parental rights.”
“Rights? How dare you?” She clamped her fists on her hips and leaned forward. “The only person who had any rights was Elizabeth. She had a right to be raised by adults.”
“So you gave her away like a puppy.”
Catherine flinched as if he’d slapped her. Hot color flushed her cheeks and her big eyes grew bigger. So low he barely caught the words, she said, “Giving up my baby was the hardest thing I ever had to do in my life.”
Her sorrow touched him. He clamped his mouth shut.
“I regret being irresponsible, for having sex without being old enough to know what I was doing. I regret not using birth control. I regret not being able to give her a home. But I made the right decision, and that I don’t regret. Wherever she is, she has two parents who love her.”
At least a fourth of his cases involved missing persons. Many of those clients were adoptees seeking birth parents. A few were parents seeking children they regretted giving away. He had never understood why they couldn’t leave the past alone. Now he felt a glimmer of that urgency to know.
Did his daughter hate him? Did she believe he’d discarded her like unwanted garbage?
“I can find her.” He nodded eagerly. “Give me the date she was born. The hospital, the doctor and the name of the adoption agency. We can find her.”
Catherine cocked her head. “Are you nuts?”
“I’m serious. I can do it. That’s how I—”
“Why would you want to? She has a family, a life, people who love her. We can’t pop into her life and mess things up.”
“If,” he said slowly, “I had known you were pregnant, I’d have married you. You never gave me a chance—or a choice.”
She snorted in derision. “I wouldn’t have married you. Not after what you said at the dance.”
Taken aback, he glared down his nose at her. She had changed more than her appearance. Catherine St. Clair had grown a backbone. One made of pure steel, if he were any judge. His temper flared. The more he struggled to control it, the hotter his blood boiled. “So you got even with me and threw away the kid. Why didn’t you just kill her?”
Bad words, fighting words. He regretted them as soon as they popped out of his mouth.
“Good grief!” She threw up her hands and turned her gaze to the heavens. “Ten minutes ago, you claim you didn’t even know I was pregnant. Now you want to play daddy of the year. Get lost, Easy. Just go away.” She entered the house and slammed the door. The clunk of a dead bolt sounded like a pistol shot.
Easy wavered. He hadn’t accomplished what he set out to do. He didn’t know any more about her involvement with Jeffrey Livman than when he’d arrived. He breathed hard, trying to get back to the present problem.
John Tupper had told a chilling story. After a whirlwind courtship, Roberta Tupper had married Jeffrey Livman. In the year they were married, Roberta had severed contact with her family. Six months ago Roberta had fallen from a rock formation in Garden of the Gods, and died from massive head injuries. There were no witnesses and no physical evidence of foul play. The coroner had declared Roberta’s death accidental.
Except, Roberta had been asthmatic and shunned physical activity such as hiking or rock climbing.
Except, a few weeks before her death, John Tupper had confronted his sister at her place of work, demanding to know why she refused to visit him or his family. He had come away with the impression that Roberta was terrified of her husband.
Except, Livman never notified the family of her death. Livman had Roberta’s body cremated without so much as a funeral or a memorial service. John had learned of the tragedy from the newspaper.
Except, Livman had collected on an insurance policy to the tune of five hundred thousand dollars. In John’s words: “I sell insurance. A childless woman whose husband is young, healthy and employed does not need half a million in life insurance.”
In Easy’s mind, all those excepts added up to murder.
He had hoped, because of their former relationship, Catherine would cooperate. Through her he might obtain a confession of murder, or discover some basis for John to proceed with a wrongful-death suit against his former brother-in-law.
At the moment he considered himself lucky she didn’t shoot him on sight. Stunned by how much her revelation about the baby hurt, he mounted his motorcycle and rode away.
CATHERINE RESTED with her back against the wall until the motorcycle noise faded in the distance. She breathed deeply through her mouth, her chest aching.
On wooden legs, she walked downstairs to her bedroom. From the bedside table she picked up a polished silver frame. It contained a photograph of a little girl with dark hair, dark eyes and a gap-toothed smile. Catherine had clipped the photograph from a magazine and did not know the girl’s name. Over the years, she’d changed the anonymous photographs from baby pictures to this present child.
Not for the first time, she wondered if her insistence on pretending to have a photograph of Elizabeth was a sign of insanity. A means of punishing herself for a guilt she couldn’t shake.
She accepted her action. She knew she’d done the right thing for Elizabeth. At the time, she’d been sixteen years old, little more than a baby herself. She had no right to destroy Elizabeth’s life. Still, the hurt, guilt and shame lingered.
Catherine traced the smiling child’s jawline with a fingertip. Seeing Easy again hurt most of all. The pain of learning he’d joined the army remained burned into her memory. He’d left without so much as a goodbye. He’d left her alone to deal with her pregnancy and her parents and the shame.
Closing her eyes, she remembered vividly the feel of Easy’s skin. He’d been a breathtakingly beautiful boy. She’d filled notebooks with sketches of his face and hands and the alluring musculature of his arms. Tall, slender and graceful, he’d always been ready with a joke and a laugh. A smart aleck, the class clown and captain of the football team—she’d loved him desperately.
A scratching noise startled her. The greyhounds waited at the French doors leading to the lower patio. Oscar lifted a paw and patted gently at the glass.
With
