Baker entered the law offices of Gantler & Abernathie hesitantly. The waiting area was expensively appointed, with leather chairs, some kind of pretty tables with inlaid marquetry on the tops, and rugs thicker than his mattress. He could never afford a lawyer like this. But Terrence Logan could, and he’d insisted on getting Everett the best criminal defense lawyer in Portland. The sharp edge of guilt’s knife twisted in his stomach as he thought of his biological father’s generosity.
There were two other people in the reception area and as he gave his name to the woman at the large desk he wondered if either one of them was an arrested criminal out on bail.
Bail. When he’d stood in that Portland courtroom and heard the hefty sum that guaranteed he wouldn’t take off for Timbuktu at the first chance, he’d felt another load of despair land squarely on his shoulders. He’d never be able to raise that kind of money.
But then Terrence Logan—his father—had whispered in the bailiff’s ear, the bailiff had approached the judge, and the next thing Everett knew he was walking out into the warm Oregon air, a temporarily free man. He’d looked at the man who had signed his bail bond and said, “Why?” although it barely squeaked out past the lump in his throat.
Terrence Logan had smiled, and the warmth in his eyes made Everett feel even worse than he already did. “Because you’re my son,” he’d said.
But I tried to ruin your adoption foundation! Everett wanted to say. I’m not worthy to be called your son. But the words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t fathom how the Logans could bear to look at him after the damage he’d helped to cause to Children’s Connection. He’d been so stupid! So…gullible, lapping up Charlie’s pretended friendship like a starving dog. He was pathetic. There was no way he could ever be associated with the Logans now, even if he did have that biological connection. Too much time had passed.
“Mr. Baker? Mr. Abernathie will see you now.” The receptionist smiled as she stood and led him into the lawyer’s office.
“Everett.” Bernard Abernathie crossed the room to shake his hand and guide him toward a chair before his desk. “I bet it feels good to be a free man again.”
Everett nodded. “But I shouldn’t be.”
“And you probably wouldn’t be,” the man said sharply, “if you’d continued on with that harebrained notion of representing yourself. I’m glad you’ve decided to accept your parents’ offer.”
Everett shrugged. “I didn’t want to hurt their feelings.”
The lawyer nodded, clasping his hands together. “Whatever your reasons, it seems your parents are most interested in doing whatever they can to help you refute these charges. They’ve offered to pay for your legal defense.”
“I can’t refute the charges,” Everett said dully. “I did everything they say I did.”
“Yes, but it’s why you did it that’s important,” Abernathie told him. “Charlie Prescott manipulated you right from the very beginning.” He leaned forward and placed his hands flat on his desk, pinning Everett with his gaze. “This morning I talked with the prosecutor. Since Prescott’s dead, they’ve come to the end of what they can accomplish in terms of recovering any of the children he stole. That Russian idiot is useless. If you’ll agree to give the cops all the information you have, and if it leads to the recovery of at least some of them, you’ll receive a suspended sentence during which you’ll be required to attend court-appointed psychiatric counseling.”
A suspended sentence. The words echoed in his head. Everett hesitated. It wasn’t right, was it, that he got off unpunished? “But—”
“But nothing,” his counsel said. “There’s no room for nobility when you’re facing prison.”
Everett swallowed. “I broke the law, too.”
Bernard Abernathie sighed. “Look, Everett, or Robert, or whatever you’d like to be called now. I deal with a lot of criminals. I see con artists and liars and worms every day. I represent some of them. You—” He looked Everett squarely in the eye. “—are not a hardened criminal. Jail is the wrong answer for you. If you feel you have to atone, do some kind of volunteer work. But you don’t walk away from a gift like this. This is your freedom we’re talking about here.”
Everett still hesitated, evaluating Abernathie’s words.
“Isn’t there anything you care about enough to avoid prison?” His lawyer’s voice was laced with exasperation and what sounded like a trace of compassion.
Anything you care about. Nancy Allen’s face flashed across his mind. His heart squeezed in pain. He could never approach her again. She knew about what he’d done, knew the full story. He’d used her to gain information about the babies at Portland General Hospital. Surely she wished she’d never met him. She must hate him.
Even so, he realized he wouldn’t get her out of his heart so easily. Nancy was everything good and right, the best thing that had ever happened to him in his entire life, and he’d never forget her.
Danny’s unexpected visitor slept and rested most of the rest of the day. The next morning, when he went down for his first cup of coffee, Leilani said, “The young lady’s awake. I could set up breakfast for the two of you on the lanai.”
Danny glanced at his housekeeper sharply, hoping she wasn’t having visions of matchmaking. But Leilani’s broad, pretty face was serene and she met his gaze as she waited for his answer.
“I guess that would be all right,” he said slowly. He wanted to talk to Sydney Aston anyway. Did she even know she was Sydney Aston yet? Eddie had warned him to let her set the pace of her recovery. If she asked, he would tell her what her name was. But he hoped she’d remember on her own.
He went out to the terrace after his workout and shower to find Leilani just seating his guest.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning.” She smiled at him. “You know, I’m not sure I even got your name yesterday. Did you tell me you’re Danny?”
He nodded, smiling in return as he extended a hand. “Daniel Dane Crosby, but everyone calls me Danny.”
“Well, Daniel Dane Crosby called Danny,” she said, “I owe you an enormous debt. If you hadn’t seen me, I can’t imagine what might have happened.”
“At the very least, a really nasty sunburn,” Danny said, trying to lighten the moment.
She laughed, but a moment later, her lovely face lost its glow. “I still can’t remember my name.”
“Eddie—Dr. Atada—says you’ll probably begin to remember soon. You just need a little rest and relaxation.” He poured a glass of the fresh strawberry papaya juice and offered it to her. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.”
She smiled again, and he noticed that she had a small dimple in her left cheek. “Careful. It’s so lovely here I might be tempted to stay indefinitely.”
“Danny?” Leilani came to the French doors that led into the house. “You have a telephone call. From Portland,” she added. “I think it’s your brother.”
Danny was
