raven-haired beauty had taken more than his breath away. She had walked off with his wallet.
Clayton returned quickly to the small diner. Michelle was nowhere to be seen. A woman in a similar pink uniform, but two generations older, greeted him at the counter.
“May I help you?”
“Is Miss Finnley still here?” he asked, but he already knew the answer.
“She finished her shift.” The woman pulled a coin from her pocket and offered it to him. “She left this for you.”
“What is it?”
The laugh lines in her weathered face deepened. “A subway token.”
Mikki ran a brush through her hair and splashed cool water on her face. Leaning against the sink in the ladies’ room, she removed the wallet from her pocket and flipped though the contents. A Massachusetts driver’s license, assorted business cards and no less than three credit cards—all gold—issued in the name of Clayton Reese.
So, he hadn’t lied about his identity. What did he really want? she wondered. He was too rigid and conservative to be a good con man.
She thumbed through the wad of hundred-dollar bills and laughed. It would serve him right if she kept the money, but she wasn’t a thief. Not anymore. And never by choice. She tossed the billfold in her purse and quickly changed into her jeans and T-shirt. If she took a cab, she could get to the uptown hotel before Mr. Reese figured out the New York City subway system.
With a soft knock on the door, Annie let Mikki know that he had left. She slipped out through the back exit and hailed a cab.
She had difficulty believing Clayton’s story. If her biological parent wanted to find her, why wait until now to make contact? Why not back when she’d turned eighteen and the court records could have been unsealed? Something about his story didn’t quite fit. Could his interest lie more in her tainted past than in her uncertain parentage?
Clayton elbowed his way through the revolving door. Inside the lobby he sucked in his first breath of bearable air. His anger had risen with each passing subway stop. How the hell was he supposed to know there was an express train and a local train?
He had to call the hotel manager for a replacement key, an inconvenience that added to his embarrassment. Three messages from Richard didn’t help his mood, either. By the time he reached his room, he just wanted a shower to remove the grime. Right after he canceled his credit cards. As he stepped into the suite, he saw his wallet on the writing table. Skeptically he checked the contents.
“It’s all there.”
Clayton whirled around. Michelle Finnley was leaning against the wall with a grin that seemed to scream, “Sucker.” He suppressed the urge to inflict physical damage. “How did you get in?”
“Your pass key was in your wallet.” She slid her hands into the pockets of her worn jeans. “You shouldn’t walk around the city with that much cash. Anybody could pick your pocket.”
“And you shouldn’t enter a strange man’s hotel suite. It might not be safe.”
Her laughter filled the room. “You’re not a stranger. I know all about you. Where you work, where you live, who to call in case of an emergency. I even know your social security number. Which is fair, since you seem to know so much about me.”
Touché. He dropped his attaché on the desk. The woman had nerve, he’d grant her that. Her lack of fear led him to believe she knew how to take care of herself. Considering the neighborhood she worked in, she would have to.
She made herself at home in a Queen Anne chair. Her silky hair tumbled freely around her shoulders and her oval face had been scrubbed clean of the harsh makeup. She tucked her legs below her in the wide seat. A faded T-shirt, tightly stretched across her chest, outlined the firm breasts beneath.
“Are you going to tell me what this is really about, or are we going to continue to play games with each other?” she asked.
He came to the shocking realization that he wouldn’t mind playing games with her. At least not the kind of games that came to his mind. His awareness of her was too intense to be healthy. His purpose was to expose her as another in a long line of frauds. Instead, he was having erotic thoughts about her. “You don’t believe in subtlety, do you?”
“You may have time for that, but I don’t. And I don’t like people coming around where I work and asking questions about me.”
“Why? Do you have something to hide, Michelle?”
“Mikki,” she corrected. “And we all have something to hide.”
He wanted to discover her secrets. Another problem he had to overcome. The situation called for objectivity above all else, and he was fast losing his.
“What do you want to know...Mikki?” The boyish nickname rolled off his tongue with surprising ease. He sat in the chair across from her and met her unwavering stare.
“I find it difficult to believe that a parent who gave me away with no qualms has suddenly decided to renew family ties.” Bitterness tinged her voice and angry sparks danced in her eyes.
“Richard Hawthorne didn’t give his daughter away. She was kidnapped over twenty years ago.”
“Richard Hawthorne? As in Hawthorne Enterprises?”
Suspicion brought an end to his softening thoughts. “So you’ve heard of him?”
“No. It’s on your business card. Or did you think I couldn’t read?” Mikki sighed. Her first impression had been light. The man was a cold, distrustful snob.
“Yes, well—” He cleared his throat. “I recently came into some information.—”
“From who?”
“I thought you might be able to tell me.”
“I have no idea.” But she could make an educated guess. Her stomach muscles contracted.
Was her stepfather moving up in the world? Petty cons and picking pockets were one thing. Trying to pass her off as some rich man’s missing heir was in a class by itself. A class-A felony. Well, she wanted no part of it. “Obviously there’s been a mistake. You can tell Max I’m not playing this one.”
“Max?” He drew his eyebrows together in thought. “You mean Maxwell Blake? You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find your stepfather, would you?”
“I have no idea,” she said, but she noticed the distrust in his narrowed glare. Max wasn’t smart enough—or stupid enough—to pull off this kind of scam. Was he? Who else would have anything to gain?
Bright, Mikki. You would. No wonder Clayton Reese looked down his nose at her. As long as she knew she was innocent, why should she care what he thought of her? For some unfathomable reason, she did.
“I’m sorry you made the trip here
