The Place I Belong (24 page)

Chapter 20

A
T ONE O
’
CLOCK
the next day, Hannah sat in her car in front of Paul Taggart’s white frame law office. He’d scheduled her in at lunchtime without any questions, telling her he’d order sandwiches for both of them.

She felt wrung out, both physically and emotionally, from the night before. After she’d spilled her guts about Ward, she and Adam had eaten his delicious inventions featuring caviar. Somehow he’d even made it work with a dark chocolate mousse, the salty taste of the fish eggs contrasting with the richness of
the cac
ao.

Weight gain might have been a concern, except they’d made love twice after eating. She’d deliberately seduced Adam because she wanted to forget all about Ward and the ugliness he’d dragged into her house. Not that Adam was reluctant, but guilt still twined with the heat flickering through her at the memories.

Shaking off those thoughts, she stared down at the crumpled copy of Sophie’s intake form, which she’d dug out of her junk drawer that morning. She placed it on her knee, trying to smooth the wrinkles out before she gave it to Paul. Fortunately, the slash through the line requesting an emergency contact number was still clearly legible, as was Robert Sawyer’s signature. Folding the paper, she slipped it into her handbag before taking a deep breath and opening her car door.

She strode across the porch and through the front door, not allowing herself to hesitate and fall prey to second thoughts. An older woman with the thickest mascara she’d ever seen was seated at a heavy, oak desk, keyboarding at superhuman speed. Without slowing, she smiled at Hannah. “Dr. Linden?
Mr. Tagg
art’s expecting you. Go right on in.” She tilted her
hairspray
-lacquered head in the direction of an open door beyond her desk.

Hannah said thanks and walked through the doorway, finding Paul at his desk with a telephone headset hooked over his ear. He flashed a smile at her, held his index finger up in a request to give him a minute, and waved her toward a green, leather sofa. On the coffee table in front of it were platters of quartered sandwiches, pickles, Cole slaw, sweet potato fries, and bottled water. She shrugged out of her jacket and draped it over the sofa’s arm.

Paul finished his call and crossed to where she sat. “My apologies, but I made the mistake of taking that call from Bill Lassiter. He could talk the ear off an elephant.” He folded himself into an armchair before passing her an empty plate.

As she served herself, he sat back. “Adam told me your ex-fiancé paid you a visit yesterday. I guess I wasn’t as subtle in my inquiries as I thought. Adam and I both regret any distress it caused you. Say the word and I’ll stop all further investigation.” His tone was remorseful.

“No.” Hannah put her plate down with a clatter and dug into her handbag. “I want you to keep going.” She pulled out the form and handed it to Paul, who had straightened up in surprise. Evidently Adam hadn’t mentioned her change of heart. “This should help.”

He unfolded the paper and scanned down it, his lips stretching into a feral smile. When he looked up, she got a glimpse of what he must be like in the courtroom. “Gotcha, Senator Sawyer,” he said.

“Three of the vet techs are prepared to testify about Sophie’s condition on my behalf,” Hannah said, “but I’d prefer not to involve them. It might affect their jobs.”

“This won’t ever get to court,” Paul said, his pale-gray eyes lit with satisfaction. “Sawyer won’t let it. We just have to decide what you want from him.”

“What do you mean?”

“A public apology in the media. Compensation for the economic damage to your career.” He held up the paper. “This and a little back-door pressure will get you both of those.”

“I wouldn’t touch a penny of his money,” Hannah said. “I just want my name cleared in a way that will silence Mrs. Shanks and her sort.”

“How much crow do you want Sawyer to eat?”

Hannah remembered the suffering that Sawyer’s selfishness had put Sophie through and was tempted to make him grovel for that cruelty. Then she had a better idea. “As long as the blot is removed from my work record, he can blame it on one of his aides or absentmindedness or whatever he wants to do to save face. However, he must make a large donation to the local animal welfare society. I’ll get their contact information for you. He can even spin it as a gesture he’s making of his own free will in Sophie’s memory.”

“I like it,” Paul said. “You demonstrate your power by letting him present it his way, knowing all the while you can reveal the raw truth whenever you choose.”

“I’m not sure how you’re going to do all this without legal action,” Hannah said.

“Trust me, the senator will accept your terms without a word of protest.” Paul snagged a sandwich from the platter. “He wouldn’t have sent Ward down here if he wasn’t already worried.”

She raised her bottle of water in a mock toast. “To Sophie’s memorial fund.”

Chapter 21

T
ELLING THE CABBIE
he’d pay him to wait, Adam jogged up the cement steps to the front door of a modest frame house in a suburb of Boston. The yard was small, the grass a frost-killed brown, but the short, concrete sidewalk was bordered with winter cabbages. While the house was a simple square box with little charm, its green paint peeling in a few places, the front door was a cheerful, glossy rust color, and the brass of the Irish-harp-shaped knocker gleamed.

He hesitated on the porch, remembering Matt’s tense, unhappy face as he said good-bye to him this morning. No matter how much he hated seeing his son looking miserable, he couldn’t lie to him outright, so he’d offered no words of reassurance. Just a quick hug that had been shrugged off with an edge of resentment.

He’d spent the two flights it had taken to travel here from Sanctuary reading the newly expanded file on the O’Briens, trying to find the flaw that would make them unsuitable to adopt Matt. He’d asked Gaspari to dig deep. There were a few parking tickets, one minor automobile accident, and one contempt of court citation for failing to show up for jury duty twenty years ago. No serious medical conditions came to light, nor did there appear to be any issues with alcohol, drugs, or gambling.

Instead he read of Ellen’s job recruiting and coordinating tutors for at-risk children, and Pat’s years of service as a librarian.

Hoping to discover a bitter marriage or a filthy house, Adam gave the bottom of his leather jacket a downward tug and rang the doorbell.

The yapping of a small dog came from inside. “Oh hell, they even like animals.”

He heard a woman’s voice admonishing the dog to hush. The door opened. “Mr. Bosch?” the red-haired woman asked with a tentative smile.

He made himself smile back as he held out his hand.
“
Mrs. O’Br
ien, please call me Adam.”

Her face relaxed into genuine welcome and she took his hand between hers. “And I’m Ellen.”

A man joined her. “Adam, good to meet you. I’m Pat,” he said, giving Adam a firm handshake. “Come in.”

A muffled yip sounded from behind a closed door. Pat said, “That’s Hattie. We don’t want her begging while we eat.”

Adam nodded as he followed them through the small hallway into a living room filled with dark, polished wood furniture and china knickknacks. Faux Tiffany lamps cast a pale glow in the dimness of the winter afternoon. The scent of hot tea and fresh baking wafted to his nostrils.

On the oval coffee table sat a tray laden with a delicate china tea service and a plate of scones with clotted cream and jam. The gourmand in him appreciated the classicism of the offering, while a more basic reaction to the aroma set his mouth watering. He’d eaten nothing but a bag of pretzels on the journey.

Ellen waved him to the couch while she sat on one overstuffed armchair and her husband took the other one. “We like to have a real Irish tea,” she said, picking up the pot and pouring the steaming liquid into a cup. “I know you’re a grand chef and all, so I hope you won’t mind my scones. Pat swears they’re the best in Boston.” She cast her husband a laughing, sidelong glance that made her blue eyes gleam, and Adam felt the first twist of pain. No ugly nagging here.

“I’d never turn down a homemade scone,” Adam said, taking one from the plate proffered by Pat.

“I’m thinking you know how to eat it properly too,” Pat said, putting one on his wife’s plate before taking his own.

As Adam slathered cream and jam on his scone and made small talk, he examined the O’Briens. She was dressed in gray, wool slacks and a cream sweater that seemed a little bulky on her slight frame. Her red hair was twisted in a knot on top of her head, reminding him of Maggie when she was waitressing.

Pat’s wiry body was clothed in green trousers and a pressed, plaid flannel shirt. His sandy hair was shot through with silver, but his face was barely lined and sported a sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Pale, amber-colored eyes were a surprise with such Irish coloring.

Engrossed in his observations, Adam bit into the scone without thinking. The burst of flavor brought him up short, and he closed his eyes to concentrate on the perfect combination of sweet, sour, and yeast, as well as the exquisite blending of
textures
.

“You did it again, love,” Pat said. “You got him with your scones.”

Adam opened his eyes. “I’m putting these on my menu. How many can you bake every day?”

“Oh, about five dozen,” Ellen said with a wink. “Pat takes them to the firehouse where his brother works.”

They had a fireman in the family. It just kept getting worse.

“I’ll buy them all and arrange for a courier to pick them up.” Adam was only half-joking. He took another bite and nodded. The scones were brilliant, perfect for a late fall luncheon. He hated that she could bake so beautifully.

He hated even more the way the couple teased each other and took turns refilling teacups and plates like a practiced team. And although they were ten years older than he was, they looked healthy and active—perfectly capable of dealing with a teenager.

As soon as she was satisfied everyone was well fed, Ellen fixed her blue eyes on Adam. “You’ve come a long way, and we’re very eager to hear more about our young cousin. Do you have a photo by any chance?”

Adam reached into the carry-on bag he’d brought with him and pulled out a manila envelope containing copies of Maggie’s photos of her son, as well as Matt’s current school portrait. “These are for you to keep,” he said, handing it to Ellen.

Her fingers shook slightly as she fumbled with the flap, opening it to spill the pictures onto the coffee table so Pat could see them at the same time. “Oh my goodness, he’s so handsome,” she said as the portrait slid out on top. She glanced up at Adam. “He looks just like you.”

A jolt of pleasure tinged with anguish made him wince.

“I’m sorry, was that the wrong thing to say?” she asked, distressed. “I meant it as a compliment.”

“No, of course you did. Thank you.” Adam turned her attention back to the photo. “He has Maggie’s eyes.”

“And a bit of her smile,” Pat said.

“I don’t understand it. Why did she not tell the family about Matt?” Ellen asked after they’d gone through all the images once and begun again.

Adam laced his fingers together and frowned down at them, choosing his words carefully. “When she told her parents about her pregnancy, she didn’t get the support she expected.” He met Ellen’s gaze. “I think she was protecting Matt.”

“Those old so-and sos!” Ellen exclaimed. “I’d like to give them a piece of my mind.”

“She didn’t tell me about it either,” Adam said.

“But why—?” Ellen began.

“It’s not our business, love,” Pat said. “We should be thanking Adam for letting us know Matt exists.”

“It’s not something I hide,” Adam said. “I’m a recovering alcoholic, but when Maggie knew me, I was on a downhill slide. I don’t blame her.”

Pat nodded. “You seem like a responsible sort. I wondered why you hadn’t married her.”

“When can we meet Matt?” Ellen asked, unconsciously strok
ing the portrait with one finger. “That is, if we’ve passed muster.”

They’d passed muster and then some. It wrenched his gut but Adam smiled. “I was hoping you might come down to Sanctuary for Thanksgiving or the day after, if it wouldn’t upset your plans too much. I know it’s only two weeks away, but it would be nice for Matt to have real family to celebrate with.”

Ellen and Pat looked at each other before turning back to Adam. “Will you allow me in your kitchen to make my special sweet potatoes for Thanksgiving Day?” she asked.

“You’ll want to add them to the menu too,” Pat said. He reached out and took his wife’s hand. “Ellen doesn’t have any family left here in the States, so she’s adopted mine and that’s where we usually have our holiday, but it will mean the world to both of us to get to know Matt.”

“We married late and weren’t able to have children of our own,” Ellen said. “So, well, I hope we’ll see him often.”

Adam wanted to curse William Gaspari for finding this
couple
. Instead, he insisted that he be allowed to pay for their plane tickets and that they treat his house as their own.

As he stood on the front steps saying good-bye, Ellen reached out to touch his arm. “Thank you for giving Maggie’s family another chance. We would have helped her if we’d known. Please believe that.”

He looked at these two people with nothing but concern and gratitude written on their faces, standing with their arms twined around each other’s waists, and believed it wholeheartedly.

His stomach clenched into a knot.