the least of her problems. Right now the issues plaguing her were much more emotional. “She was given up for adoption when I was seventeen. Her adoptive father came to see me about an hour ago.”
She explained what little she knew about Sam Winslow and her daughter’s life-threatening illness, even going so far as to share with Victor the less painful details of the events surrounding the child she’d been forced to give away. He remained silent, until she said, “I want a chance to get to know my daughter.”
He stood suddenly and crossed the space separating them. Gently he laid a hand on her shoulder in a silent offer of comfort. “I’ve known you since you were fresh out of law school. You’re a very intelligent woman, Rebecca, and an excellent attorney. I’m talking to you as a friend, not your employer. Meeting this little girl is not the move of a smart person. Don’t do this.”
She knew he was right. The analytical part of her understood she was courting disaster, but her heart spoke another story, even if it meant she would accomplish nothing more than a broken heart. “I have to, Victor,” she said quietly.
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “For God’s sake, why?” he asked, his voice filled with frustration.
“Because I didn’t have a choice. For some reason that I’m not willing to question, I’ve been given a chance now, and I have to take it.”
“Rebecca—”
“I can’t turn my back on her,” she argued, before he could issue further opposition.
He sighed. “I’m not saying you have to. Do whatever is required medically, but don’t go anywhere near this child. You know the risks.”
True, she knew the risks, but she was willing to take them. And all she had to do was convince Sam Winslow she was entitled to at least meet the daughter she’d been forced to give away fourteen years before. “I have to, Victor. She’s my daughter.”
He shook his head, his gaze filled with concern. God, she thought, if only her own father had been as compassionate, she might not even be having this discussion right now.
“No, Rebecca,” he said gently. “She’s Winslow’s daughter. And since you’re determined to go through with this, then you’d better remember that.”
Chapter Two
As the afternoon eased into early evening, each time the telephone on her desk rang, Rebecca jumped. The lab had sent someone within an hour of Sam’s departure, and she’d been waiting for his phone call ever since. Five hours later and still no word from Sam Winslow.
She’d prayed she’d be a compatible match, but, from the Internet research she’d conducted while indulging in a microwave lunch at her desk, she knew her chances weren’t all that high. A twin was the most likely, then a sibling, lastly a parent. But she could still pray, and she did.
Her research had told her a great deal about aplastic anemia as well. From what the medical journals reported, the disease was indeed as serious as Winslow indicated. Melanie, her daughter, could very well die. She didn’t know any of the details, but it was more than likely Melanie had suffered some sort of low-grade infection that had gone untreated for the anemia to require such drastic measures. She wondered how such a thing could have happened, but she didn’t want to pass judgment on anyone at this point.
The shock she’d been feeling since Sam made the purpose of his visit known had finally worn off. She’d been fighting against the tears ever since, refusing to unleash the pain and silence of the past. Once again tears burned the backs of her eyes. She wanted to give in, but she couldn’t. Too many years of conditioning prevented her from releasing the pent-up emotions.
The waiting was killing her. She had a schedule to rearrange and cases to farm out if her plan worked. Since her conversation with Victor, she’d spent more than a few moments wondering if he was right. Perhaps she should just do whatever was required medically and leave well enough alone.
If only Winslow would call, she could set the wheels in motion. For a brief instant she wondered what her father would say if he knew what she had planned. She shook her head. Silence would serve as her protection against Justice Martinson’s wrath. She’d made the mistake of trusting him once. This was one secret she wouldn’t reveal to anyone—especially her father.
The telephone on the edge of her desk rang, and she jumped. This was it. Since returning from her court appearance earlier that afternoon, she’d instructed Laura no calls unless it was Sam Winslow.
She stared at the phone as it rang a second time. What if he didn’t agree? She didn’t think he would turn her down—he’d told her she was needed.
The phone rang a third time and she reached for it. “Rebecca Martinson.”
“This is Sam Winslow.” His deep voice filtered through the phone lines. She didn’t have to see him to know his lips were probably drawn in that everpresent tight line.
“We have the results. How soon can you check into the hospital?”
Despite the hint of relief in his voice, his words were still clipped and somewhat brusque. Rebecca wondered what his reaction would be when she told him what she wanted. She didn’t care what Sam Winslow thought of her. Nothing was important now except that she have the chance to save her daughter’s life, and convince her daughter’s father that she be allowed to spend a few days with the girl.
She took a deep breath and gathered her courage. “Mr. Winslow, I’d like to discuss this with you further. Where are you staying?”
Silence.
She bit her lip, waiting. Hoping.
After a moment he rattled off the address to his hotel, which she jotted down. She checked her watch. “I’ll be there within the hour,” she said, and hung up the phone.
Bracing her hands on the edge of her desk, she hung her head for a moment and said a quick prayer of thanks. She really wasn’t much of a religious person, but since she’d made her decision, she’d recited every prayer she remembered.
SAM FACED THE WINDOW overlooking the rear parking lot of the hotel, waiting. He glanced at his watch again for the fifth time. She would be arriving any moment now. He scowled.
A sleek, black, foreign sports car pulled into the parking lot, and he watched its slow progress across the asphalt. Instinct told him it was her.
The car slid into the parking slot two floors below. He held his breath, a part of him hoping she wouldn’t come. Seconds later she slipped from the car.
She looked cool, despite the hot August evening, her white linen suit unrumpled even in the sweltering heat. Her rich dark hair was pulled back and fancily secured so it hung halfway down her back. There was no denying where Mel’s beauty came from—her birth mother.
He stepped away from the window when she turned and headed toward the luxury hotel. Rebecca Martinson may be intelligent, a hot-shot lawyer, according to the report the investigator provided him with, and beyond beautiful, but he knew her type all too well. According to the investigator, Mel’s birth mother had a pedigree to rival royalty.
Rebecca Martinson’s father was a State Supreme Court Justice, her grandfather
