Her Sister's Secret (Mills & Boon Vintage Superromance) (7 page)

She leaned forward again, elbows on the desk, one hand cupping her chin as bits and pieces of research came back to her. “You own a…fat boy? A HOG?”

Rhys threw back his head in a burst of laughter. “Yeah, it’s a Harley. Most of the bikes I own are Harleys.” He stood, picked up a magazine from a table near the window and handed it to her. Pointing at the title, he said, “That’s a HOG—Harley Owners’ Group—magazine.”

She spared him a speculative glance, waiting for further explanation, or another innuendo, or God only knew what. She hadn’t a clue what would spring from this man’s mouth next.

“So HOG’s an acronym, not the name of a bike. Though some people use it that way.”

He smiled again, that same blinding smile he’d given her before.

“I knew that,” she deadpanned. “It was a test…to see how much
you
know.” She allowed a grin.

“Well,” he said, grinning, too. “I can see you do need a little guidance.” With a gesture he indicated Whitney should pull her chair around next to his, and as he sat again, he reached behind her and took several books from the shelves. “Let’s start with the basics.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

WHITNEY FRESHENED UP for dinner, replacing her denim shirt with a soft navy turtleneck. Her brain was still frazzled from all the information Rhys had heaped on her, but at least they seemed to have arrived at an understanding.

He realized she was serious about her job, and regardless of whatever sideline business he had, it was obvious the man knew his motorcycles. He said he’d been riding since he was fifteen and had dozens in his collection. She’d asked immediately when she could photograph them, but he’d put her off. Which only meant she’d try again.

She glanced around the room. While she’d been gone, her room had been cleaned and the bed turned down. She loved her hosts’ attentiveness, loved the way Gretta and Johnny made her feel like part of the family in the short time she’d been at the inn. Maybe when this was over—

No, that wouldn’t happen. If she found SaraJane and got custody as planned, she’d probably never return to Estrade.

Voices filtered up from outside, and, phone in hand, Whitney padded stocking footed to the bay window. Once again she couldn’t see anyone, since the sound came from below her on the veranda. She sat on the window seat, curled her legs under her and punched in Albert’s number, anxious to tell him what she’d learned today, in case he could use any of it in his search for SaraJane’s birth certificate.

She left her number, then called Tanya.

“Hey, Ms. Editor, it’s about time you decided to show up for work.”

“I had another hot date with one of my many lovers. Where are you? And what’s so urgent?”

Whitney hesitated, thinking how to explain.

“You mentioned another book,” Tanya prompted.

“Motorcycles. A coffee-table book on motorcycles.”

“Motor— Uh, excuse me, I think there’s something wrong with the phone.”

Whitney heard a loud thumping on the other end, as if Tanya was hitting the phone with her hand.

“There, I hope that’s better,” her friend said, coming back on the line. “I actually thought I heard you say something about a book on mo-tor-cy-cles
.
” She emphasized, drawing out the syllables.

Whitney laughed out loud. The woman’s terse sense of humor, which she claimed was the result of being raised an only child in an Italian-Jewish family, never failed to amuse Whitney.

“Right. Motorcycles it is,” she said, launching into her best sales pitch, describing the concept in the same way she had for Rhys. “And the bottom line is that I still have an enormous amount of research to do even to get a proposal to you. What I really want to know is if the project interests you.”

Tanya’s silence suggested she liked the idea or was at least considering the possibilities. When she didn’t like something, her reaction was immediate.

“Besides, I think it’s a good departure from my usual work.”

“Any particular reason you picked motorcycles?”

“Not just motorcycles,” Whitney said. “Also the people who ride them, where they go, what they do—you know, all that stuff I just said.”

“You checked
Books in Print?
” Tanya switched to her editorial mode.

“Yes, but like I said, I still have a ton of research to do.” Whitney paused, uncertain how much to tell her friend. Tanya was privy to almost everything about her, and had ever since they were roomies in college. Whitney had told her about Morgan and that Whitney had hired Albert to help locate Morgan’s baby…her niece, but this was different. She wasn’t sure she wanted to divulge how the book tied in with it—not just yet.

She didn’t want anything to screw up her chances of finding SaraJane. Besides, the book idea really did excite her. Nothing wrong with dual research, especially if it gave her legitimacy with Rhys.

“I plan to be in Arizona for a while doing research at a motorcycle shop called Journey. The owner’s offered to let me hang around for a couple of weeks to research the business. Like an intern.”

“You had to go to Arizona to research? There’s no place like that in Southern California—where you happen to own a house?”

Tanya knew something was up. They were too close for her not to know. Still, Whitney the timing wasn’t right. She felt a need to keep some information to herself for the moment. “Estrade was recommended as a haven for bikers…and the landscape is a great backdrop for photos, so I checked it out. That’s all.”

Another pause. “So, what do you want from me? Carte blanche so you’ll have a good reason to hang out with this biker guy?”

“Tanya. It’s work. And besides, you know I’ve never been attracted to the macho type.”

Her friend’s laughter rippled through the phone line. “Maybe you oughtta consider it. A little macho might do you some good.”

Whitney gave a derisive laugh of her own. “Yeah, guess I couldn’t do any worse than I have in the past, could I?”

So far, she’d had three strikeouts in the love department. No question, she was a lousy judge of character when it came to men, always picking ones who turned out to be interested in her money or the publicity they could gain from the association.

Her relationship with Brock had certainly proved that point. Maybe Tanya was right when she’d joked that Whitney’s poor choice in men was her way of avoiding commitment.

“Anyway, it might do
you
some good not to work eighteen hours a day, either,” Whitney added.

“Okay, okay. Truce,” Tanya said. “Motorcycles it is. When do I get a proposal? And when are you coming back to New York?”

“Soon—so I can sell the condo.” Whitney waited for a shriek but got silence.

“I need to do this, Tanya. It’s all part of my plan to settle in one place once I get custody of SaraJane.”

More silence.

“Put yourself in my place. I’ve thought about it a lot. La Jolla’s a better place to raise a child than Manhattan.” Whitney braced for objections. Tanya didn’t have many close friends, and if Whitney moved away, it would affect her friend’s life, as well.

Finally Tanya said, “I wouldn’t let you get away with a cliché like this—but aren’t you putting the cart before the horse here, just a tiny bit? I mean—and I don’t want to sound like the little cartoon guy with the black cloud over his head—what if you don’t find your niece? Or even worse, what if you do and you can’t get custody?”

Whitney took another deep breath. She’d played out every scenario in her head dozens of times. And it all came back to the same thing. She had to move forward. She’d do whatever she needed to get custody of SaraJane. If that meant living in a house in La Jolla, instead of a New York condo, so she’d appear more stable, she’d do it.

“I’ve got a pretty good lead. And from what my attorney says, custody shouldn’t be a problem. All I have to do is show the father’s unfit to care for the child, and with this guy’s record, that shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Based on what your sister told you?”

“Sure. And some other things I learned from Albert.”

“Albert?”

“The PI. My cousin.”

“Oh, yeah. And what if the things your sister told you is just a tad biased? Or even if they’re not and you still don’t get custody? That can happen, you know.” Tanya said softly, “I’m just playing devil’s advocate because I don’t want you to get your hopes up and then have them come crashing down.”

“That’s always a possibility,” Whitney admitted, knowing how much Tanya cared about her. She and Albert were probably the only people who really did. “Right now I want to take it one step at a time.”

“Good. And you might not want to sell your place here until you’re sure about the next step.”

Whitney
was
sure. She wanted—no, needed—everything in her life well in place so there’d be no doubt about her ability to care for her niece. Heaven knows, she’d had enough of her own doubts without someone else chiming in.

“Well, you can rest easy. I’m not doing anything immediately. I have other things to take care of, and getting the book off the ground is one of them.”

“You know, I just don’t get this new fascination with motorcycles,” Tanya said on a melodramatic sigh.

“You’ve got all these things going, trying to find your niece and getting custody and all, and then you decide to hang out with a bunch of bikers? You gotta admit, it’s kinda out there.”

“It’s complicated, Tanya. Too complicated to get into right now. But I promise to fill you in the first chance I get.”

After their conversation Whitney considered what Tanya had said. But at the moment things were moving right along, and her insides jumped with nervous energy at the thought that everything would work out in the end.

All she had to do was stay focused.

Today she’d been so intent on appearing legitimate and asking Rhys research questions that she’d almost forgotten about gleaning any other information from him—until he mentioned he’d lived in Chicago before he’d moved to Estrade a year ago.

He’d also said he’d been married once, but hadn’t elaborated. Said he had one child, and after disclosing that, he’d gotten all moody and closed up. Whitney sincerely hoped the marriage he’d mentioned wasn’t to Morgan, because if it was, getting custody would be way more difficult.

She needed indisputable evidence that he was unfit, and after their meeting today, she had new concerns about how difficult it would be to prove. He wasn’t a user, that was certain. She’d seen enough substance abuse among her own set of acquaintances to be reasonably sure she’d recognize if he was.

So, maybe he’d kicked the habit and used the business as a cover for the sale of drugs. Still, the business seemed to be for real, and she had a hard time imagining it wasn’t. Just as she had a hard time imagining Rhys as the person Morgan described. Yes, he was charming. He was attractive. Sexy. In those ways he was everything Morgan had said.

But he was more than that. He was much more complex than Morgan had described. The thought created a sudden twist of need low in her belly. Another reason to keep her guard up.

Hearing voices outside again, Whitney rested her forehead against the window frame. A child’s laughter drifted upward, and she saw a little kid…probably Gretta and Johnny’s grandchild skip across the yard while they watched from a glider swing.

The phone rang. Albert returning her call. After perfunctory greetings, she told him the information she’d gathered. Albert said he’d follow up on her lead and check for the birth certificate in Chicago. Then he began his usual litany about when Whitney might come back to California.

Hearing the child’s laughter again, Whitney parted the lace curtain and watched as the toddler, in a blue hooded sweatshirt, skipped in a circle around Gretta and Johnny. Finally they all held hands doing a ring-around-the-rosy dance, and Whitney’s heart squeezed thinking about SaraJane, who would be about the same age. She let the curtain fall, wistfully savoring the warm family scene.

“Not for a while,” she murmured. But someday she would experience the same happiness as the family dancing in the yard below. No matter how many doubts she’d had about her ability to raise a child, she was certain of one thing: she and SaraJane would be close, just the two of them. It was sad to think Morgan’s little girl wouldn’t have grandparents to love her the way Gretta and Johnny loved their grandchild, but SaraJane would have someone who would love and protect her no matter what. Whitney would never let anything bad happen to SaraJane, again.

Having lived through Sheffield parenting firsthand, she’d never allow her niece’s maternal grandparents the opportunity to destroy another life.

“I can’t finalize the move to California until I finish what I started, Albert—at least or not until I’m convinced I’ve done everything I can from here. Right now, it’s too soon to tell.”

“Look, Whitney. You’re paying me to handle the investigation. Why don’t you just let me do it my way?” Albert asked. “It’ll be easier on you.”

“I’m paying you to get information for me, Albert. And speaking of information, do you have anything more?”

Finding SaraJane, fighting for custody—was something she needed to do for Morgan, something she needed to do for herself. She knew that even when she did locate her niece it wasn’t likely Rhys would allow Whitney to simply walk off with the child. And there were SaraJane’s feelings to consider. How would she react to being taken away by a stranger?

Whitney knew only too well that even abused children still sought love from their parents—at least, until they were old enough to know better. And even then…

There were definitely more things to consider than appeared on the surface, and she wouldn’t know the full extent until she found her niece.

Albert sighed heavily into the phone. “Okay. You already know Gannon lived in California before heading for Arizona. Chicago might be a lie. Or maybe he only spent a little while there. What I learned recently from one of his live-ins is that he lived for a year or two with a young girl named Isabelle.”

“That’s the name Morgan called her favorite doll,” Whitney whispered. She closed her eyes. “Go on.”