gripped her. “Call an end to what?”
“The con. The sting. Whatever you want to call it.”
“There is no con.” Exasperation raised her voice several decibels. “At least not on my part. I didn’t contact you. You came to me.”
“If that’s true, you have nothing to lose by seeing it through. I’m asking you to come to Massachusetts for one short weekend and meet Richard Hawthorne. No matter what the outcome, you won’t be out anything. All your expenses will be paid.”
Mikki came to her feet and crossed the room. Her first instinct was to decline the offer. Apparently someone had gone to a lot of trouble, or she wouldn’t be sitting in a first-class hotel room having this conversation with Clayton Reese. She stared out the window at the bustling city traffic. If she left now, he would believe she had tried to pull a scam then backed down. One weekend to prove her innocence to him. Would she succeed? Or would she find herself implicated in another of her stepfather’s cons without the benefit of juvenile status to keep her from going to jail?
She twisted a lock of hair nervously around her finger. Stay as far away from this situation as you can, she tried to warn herself. But a tiny voice whispered into the part of her brain that still believed in dreams. What if the information Clayton Reese had in his possession was genuine?
What if she could meet her real father?
What if she was a bona fide heiress?
Two
Clayton instructed the driver to wait in front of the run-down building. Had Mikki given him the wrong address? Broken beer bottles littered the street. An old man huddled against a lamppost, trembling like a lost child. He held out a coffee mug, jingling the change inside.
Clayton paused on the landing and rapped his knuckles against the door. While he waited, he felt the need to constantly check over his shoulder. He expelled an immense sigh of relief when Mikki answered.
“You’re early,” she said and held the door for him.
“Your house?” he asked.
She shook her head. “It’s a boarding house. Or maybe you thought that working at the diner would afford me a suite at the Marquis.”
A stab of guilt cut through him. “I apologize.”
“No need.” She shrugged and led him down the narrow corridor.
Her room, smaller than the size of his closet, contained a twin bed and nightstand. A lightbulb in the ceiling provided the only illumination in the windowless alcove.
One suitcase rested against the wall. “Did you pack everything you own?” he asked, noting the empty closet.
“Better than returning home to find I’ve been robbed,” she replied as if the answer should have been obvious.
He wasn’t sure which bothered him more—the dangerous neighborhood she lived in, or the knowledge that everything she owned fitted into one suitcase. Whichever the reason, the knot in the pit of his stomach clenched tighter.
She ran a comb through her hair and checked the mirror. The simple black skirt and cream-colored blouse, although vintage, gave her an air of quiet dignity. She was probably wearing the best outfit she owned, he thought. Could she really be a Hawthorne? There did seem to be a familial resemblance. Or was he merely seeing what he wanted to see for his own reasons?
“We’d better get going if we want to catch the plane,” he said.
“Plane? You didn’t say anything about a plane.” Her olive complexion paled to white.
“Why, is there a problem?”
As if to gather her courage, she inhaled deeply. “No. Of course not.”
But Clayton didn’t believe her for one moment.
Only when she was settled in the car outside Logan International Airport did Mikki’s queasiness subside. She stretched her arms to relieve the tightness. Flying was highly overrated, she decided. She glanced toward her amused traveling companion.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“She speaks. Oh, speak again, bright angel.”
“Big deal. You can quote Shakespeare.” Maybe her conversation had been lacking during the short flight, but neither had he been Mr. Eloquent.
“You’ve never flown before.” His voice was pitched as if the very idea were inconceivable.
“Gee, did you just figure that out, Sherlock?”
His grin faded to a frown. “I’m sorry if that sounded condescending.”
“It did, and you are.” Or perhaps she was overreacting. Nothing he said or did seemed intentional, but Clayton had a way of making her feel defensive by his polished presence.
“Then you’d better learn from a master, because if you turn out to be Richard’s daughter, you’ll need all the arrogance you can muster to survive in that family.”
She arched an eyebrow at the harshness in his tone. “You sound as if you know them well.”
“I should. Richard is married to my Aunt Alicia.”
Aunt Alicia. Why did that name cause her nerve endings to stand at attention? She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t put a face to the distant memory.
“Are you all right?”
“year.” She glanced out the window as the car started to move. “I thought you were his lawyer or something.”
“I work for him, but I’m not a lawyer.”
“Oh,” she mumbled and waited for him to elaborate. Silence lingered. “How long a drive do we have?”
“About an hour. Put on your seat belt and enjoy the scenery.”
Once they left the city of Boston, there were miles of beautiful scenery to enjoy. Seven years in New York had dimmed her memories of lush green foliage. She thought about Kansas and better times, before her mother married Max. Before.... No! She would not dwell on a past she couldn’t change. The wrongs she’d committed had been done to protect the only mother she’d ever known.
How much of her past did Clayton know? Apparently he had been very thorough in his investigation, but juvenile records were sealed. That he had brought her this far meant he couldn’t disprove the information he had received.
She felt, rather than saw, his curious stare. His scrutiny unnerved her. She slumped deeper in the soft leather seat and did her best to ignore him. She failed miserably.
Outwardly Clayton was a flawless example of the male species. Tall and lean, he personified every fantasy she’d dared to imagine, and a few she hadn’t thought of yet. He had invoked a sexual
