A soft knock sounded on the door. She sat straight up in the middle of the bed.
"Yes?"
"Dinner will be here in about thirty-five minutes," Trent said through the closed door.
"Fine. Thanks. That'll give me time for a quick nap."
"I'll let you know when dinner arrives."
"Okay."
"Kate, are you all right? Is something wrong?"
Go away she thought. Yes, something's wrong. I'm still hung up on you and there doesn't seem to be anything I can do about it.
"I talked to Moran," Kate said.
"May I come in?" Trent asked.
Oh, great. Just great. "I … uh … okay, sure." She scooted to the edge of the bed and was halfway standing when Trent opened the door.
He looked at her. She looked at him. He frowned. "Have you been crying?" He came toward her slowly, as if uncertain whether he should.
"No. I don't cry. Not anymore."
He paused when he was within a couple of feet of her. "What did Moran say to upset you?"
"I'm not upset."
"Okay, so what is it? Something's bothering you. I know how you are when—"
"No, Trent, you do not know me," she practically screamed at him. "You don't have the slightest idea who I am. I'm not sure you ever did."
His shoulders slumped. His frown deepened. "That's not fair, Kate. You could be right about my not knowing the person you are now, but I did know you once. And you knew me. We knew each other inside out." He moved closer, reached out and lifted her hand, then placed it over his heart. "There was a time when I thought—" He dropped his hold on her as if her hand had suddenly become red-hot. "Sorry. Old habits die hard, I guess. Being with you brings back a lot of memories. Good memories."
Don't look back, she told herself. Don't get sucked in by all those good memories. She needed to take charge of this situation. Set a precedent here and now. Their past relationship was off-limits. It was in the past and should stay there.
"Moran will call tomorrow if a meeting he's trying to set up works out," Kate said, deliberately changing the subject. "They've found three other sets of people who may be the parents of those three little girls. With us that makes four, so one set of parents is going to be disappointed after the DNA tests results come back."
"You're afraid we'll be those parents, aren't you? That's what's wrong." He gazed at her, kindness and concern in his dark eyes. And true understanding. "You have to know how much I want one of those little girls to be Mary Kate. I want it as much as you do."
She knew he was telling her the truth. As Mary Kate's father, he wanted what Kate wanted. But she also knew that he hadn't dreamed of the day, hoped and prayed for the day, lived for the day that Mary Kate would be found. But she had. Not one single day had passed in the eleven years and nine months since their child had been stolen from them that Kate hadn't longed for the moment she would see her daughter again. No, Trent had chosen a different path—he had believed Mary Kate was dead, that she was lost to them forever.
"I'd like to be alone for a while," she told him, her voice deadly calm. "Please, let me know when dinner is ready."
With a hurt expression on his face, he turned around and walked out of her bedroom. When he closed the door, Kate rushed into the bathroom, turned on the faucets and gathered water in her hands. After splashing her face with cool water several times, she dried her face and hands, then clenched her teeth together tightly, trying her best not to cry.
Things weren't going to get any better between Trent and her. Not only did the past stand between them, a painful reminder of how much they had lost, but the sexual tension smoldering just below the surface frightened her. It would be so easy to fall into Trent's arm, to fall into his bed, in an effort to recapture what they'd once shared. No matter what happened, even if one of those three little girls turned out to be their daughter, Mary Kate would never be her child again. And even if she succumbed to her feelings for Trent, they couldn't go back. It was too late for them. Too late for all of them.
* * *
Trent poured himself another cup of decaf coffee, then relaxed across the table from Kate where they'd shared a delicious meal in the suite's spacious lounge. They'd also shared some mundane conversation while they dined—Kate on her Caesar salad and he on his salmon fillet.
"I ordered dessert." With his free hand, Trent lifted the silver lid covering the plate containing a huge chocolate brownie smothered in whipped cream and pecans. "I hope brownies are still your favorite dessert. Brownies aren't a specialty of either hotel restaurant, but they aim to please their guests, so they actually sent out to a bakery."
"My food preferences haven't changed much," she admitted. "At lunch you remembered about the cheeseburgers and tonight you went to a great deal of trouble to see that I got my all-time favorite dessert. You're being very nice to me. And I'm afraid I haven't been all that nice to you. I'm sorry. It's just—"
"You've been nice enough," Trent said. "Besides, why should you be nice to me? I wasn't exactly the ideal husband at a time when you needed me most. I was too wrapped up in my own grief and guilt to help you."
She stared at him, her expression telling him that she was uncertain she'd heard him correctly. "Was that some sort of apology?"
"If an apology will do you any good now, then I'll apologize until I'm blue in the face. I'm sorry, Kate." He set the cup and saucer on the table, shoved back his chair and stood. "God, how you must have hated me." He walked across the room to the windows and looked out over downtown Memphis. Dressed in brilliant lights more sparkling than diamonds, the River City came alive at night, like a beautiful woman decked out in all her finery. A part of him wished he could walk out into the night and disappear. He'd managed to keep his demons at bay for so many years, pretending he didn't care, telling himself over and over again that Mary Kate was dead and that he'd never see either his daughter or his wife ever again. But reality had made a lie of all the beliefs he'd clung to for the past eleven years, ever since Kate had walked out on him. Now Kate was back in his life, even if for only a few weeks. And if fate was on their side, they'd see their daughter soon.
Damn, why hadn't he listened to Kate all those years ago when she'd insisted she was going to find their baby? He should have helped her hunt for Mary Kate. Instead, he'd crawled into a dark, emotionally barren hole and cut himself off from hope and from love.
He felt her presence directly behind him, even before she laid her hand on his shoulder. The minute she touched him, he tensed. God, how he wanted to hold her. Hold her and never let her go.
"Trent?"
He clenched his jaw.
"It's all right," she told him.
"No, it's not all right. I failed you. And I'm sorry about that."
"Neither of us was equipped to handle losing our baby. We each dealt with it the best we could. But what hurt me the most was your agreeing with Aunt Mary Belle that it was all my fault."
What had she said? Trent snapped around and glared at Kate. "Aunt Mary Belle never said it was all your fault. God, Kate, she never—"
"She said that if I hadn't run off angry that Sunday after church and taken Mary Kate with me, none of it would have happened. Don't you dare deny that she said it."
"Yes, she did say that, but she also said that if only she had agreed to walk with us, the way she should have, it wouldn't have happened. Don't you remember her saying—?"
"You're lying!"
"No, you don't remember, do you? By the time Aunt Mary Belle told me she blamed herself, you'd already run out of the room."
Kate stared at him in disbelief.
"Are you telling me that all these years you've thought I blamed you for what happened?" he asked.
"You did blame me. You and Aunt Mary Belle both blamed me."
He stared at her, hurt and anger mixing with love and understanding inside him. "Kate, honey, no one blamed you but you. You were so consumed with guilt that nobody could get through to you
, not even the doctors."
When he reached out to touch her, she backed away from him.
"I can't deal with this right now," she told him. "I don't know if I believe you or not."
"Why would I lie to you? What would I have to gain?"
"I don't know, but … if you didn't blame me for what happened, then what were you apologizing for a few minutes ago?"
"For everything," he told her. "For letting what happened, happen. For not being able to make things right. For not taking better care of you. For not being able to give you what you needed to see you through the rough times. God, Kate, if I hadn't made so many mistakes, you wouldn't have left me. I failed you miserably."
"All these years, I thought I'd failed you."
Before he could pull her into his arms the way he wanted to do, she turned and fled. He hurried after her, but halted when she slammed the door in his face. He stood there for several minutes staring at the door, trying to decide if he should storm into her bedroom or leave her alone. When he heard the click of the door lock, the question was answered for him. Kate didn't want or need him. Not anymore.
* * *
Chapter 5
« ^ »
Kate and Trent had been the first to arrive, but within thirty minutes, everyone was assembled at the local FBI headquarters in Memphis. Dante Moran, looking every inch the federal agent in his black suit, pale gray shirt and striped tie, surveyed the group before his dark gaze settled on Kate. She offered him a hesitant smile. He understood, as she did, that when all was said and done, at least one set out of the four groups of parents here today would be gravely disappointed. There were only three adopted girls who had been stolen around Easter twelve years ago by the infant abduction ring, only three babies taken at that time who could possibly belong to them.
Avoiding eye-contact with Trent, Kate scanned the room. At breakfast earlier this morning, neither she nor Trent had brought up anything about the night before, about the blame-game that Kate didn't understand. She had truly believed that both Trent and his aunt held her responsible for Mary Kate's kidnapping. Was it possible she'd been wrong? After some major soul searching during the night, she still didn't know for sure if Trent had told her the truth. But why would he lie?
How could you have been so wrong all these years? she asked herself. You were so sure he blamed you for Mary Kate's abduction.
As Kate glanced from person to person, she noted a similar expression on each parent's face—that odd mixture of hope and fear. No doubt her features conveyed those same emotions. Jayne and Clay Perkins were the only couple still married. They were in their late thirties, he tall and thin, she short and plump. They had a ten-year-old son and a seven-year-old daughter. Their eldest child, Megan, who'd be almost twelve now, had been snatched from her stroller in a downtown Birmingham department store when she was three months old. A week before Easter.
Exotically dark and beautiful Jessica Previn and blond and equally attractive Dave Blankenship were divorced. His second wife, Mindy, accompanied him today, as did Jessica's fiancé, Cory. Dave had a three-year-old son by Mindy and he'd proudly shown-off his child's photos to the other parents. Jessica and Dave's daughter, Charity, had been stolen from her infant swing in the couple's Prattville backyard the day after Easter, nearly twelve years ago.
Muscularly built and sporting a military short haircut, Dennis Copeland, a widower for two years, had been left alone to raise his younger daughter, seven-year-old Brooke. His wife Stacy and he had been students at Auburn University when their first child was born. Two-month-old Heather Copeland had been abducted by a friendly stranger who'd sweet-talked the babysitter into letting her hold the child. The Copeland's babysitter had taken Heather for a stroller ride in a small park near her parents' apartment on the Thursday before Easter.
Kate couldn't help wondering how the loss of their child had affected each couple. The horrific event had no doubt proven as devastating to each of them as it had to Trent and her. Had the Blankenships' marriage disintegrated the same way her marriage had? Had they blamed each other? Or had they simply fallen out of love? What about the other two couples? How had the Perkinses and the Copelands managed to stay together? What did it matter? she asked herself. Although the others shared the same tragedy, they were all individuals who had their own unique relationships that had either stayed intact or had fallen apart for reasons only the two people involved knew. And maybe even they didn't know. There were times when she questioned her reasons for leaving Trent. But there was one thing everyone here today shared—a desire to know the truth about their lost child. Apparently the others were as anxious as Trent and she to find out if their daughter was still alive, if by some miracle one of these stolen baby girls might be theirs.
As Dante Moran explained in detail what the FBI knew about the infant abduction ring that had operated in the deep south for the past dozen years, Trent reached over and grasped Kate's hand. Instinctively she started to jerk away, not wanting comfort from anyone, least of all her ex-husband. She hadn't been able to trust another person completely, had chosen to go it alone, to take care of herself and not lean on any man. But common sense stopped her from rejecting Trent's touch. Common sense and admitting to herself that an emotional bond still existed between them. After years of being apart, of now having very little in common, they still shared one of the most important links any two people can share. A child. And in their case, a missing child.
Kate found herself clasping Trent's hand tightly and inching ever so slightly toward him. She glanced at him and saw her own thoughts and feelings reflected in his eyes. He leaned over and said quietly, "Meeting these other parents makes me wish the FBI had found four little girls."
Kate nodded. "Someone's daughter is still missing, her fate unknown." She gulped down her fear. "Mary Kate may not be one of the these children. We could be the parents whose hearts are broken all over again."
Trent slipped his arm around Kate's shoulders. Understanding his intention, she realized she welcomed the comfort he offered. Truth be told, she was glad she wasn't facing this traumatic experience alone. None of this would be easy whether or not they found Mary Kate.
"The bureau is in the process of notifying all the adoptive parents. They number in the hundreds. We have begun with the oldest children. The three baby girls we believe were taken from within a two-hundred-mile radius in Alabama on or around Easter Sunday twelve years ago this coming April are among the first to be processed. We're asking the adoptive parents of these three young girls to cooperate by allowing us to take DNA samples of their adopted child," Moran said. "Here today we'll try to answer any questions y'all have. Then we want the birth parents to give us DNA samples. These tests will take top priority. One of the birth parents has agreed to pay the expenses to have these four tests done by an independent lab to expedite the matter, so we should know something in a week or less. The DNA tests will confirm paternity. We'll also use blood types and any footprints or fingerprints available for each child."
Kate turned to Trent. "Did you—?"
"Yes."
"Thank you."
"I offered to cover the cost of the DNA tests so we wouldn't have to wait any longer than absolutely necessary," he said softly, for her ears only. "I'd pay ten times that much to find out the truth for us … and for these other parents." He inclined his head toward the others.
"Even if these girls belong to any three couples here, that doesn't mean you'll be able to walk in and claim your child," Moran explained. "We're dealing with a legal nightmare. The adoptive parents of these three girls are already hiring lawyers, as I'm sure will countless hundreds of other adoptive parents in the weeks and months ahead."
"What rights do we have?" Dennis Copeland asked.
"That's probably going to be a decision the courts have to make."
"Are all these girls in good homes?" Jessica Previn asked. "Do they all have loving parents?"
"I don't have that kind of detailed inform
ation at this time," Moran told her.
"When do we get to meet the adoptive parents?" Jayne Perkins asked.
"Will we be shown pictures of the girls?" Jessica Previn questioned. "I'm sure I could pick out Charity if I saw her."
"I agree," Jayne said. "I feel certain I'd know Megan the minute I laid eyes on her."
"We plan to try to set up a meeting with the adoptive parents of these three girls, hopefully very soon, within a day or two," Moran said. "We'll ask each to bring pictures of their child. But I caution y'all not to get your hopes up, even if you see photographs of these girls. Your infant daughters were all blond. Two were blue-eyed and two brown-eyed. As we all know hair and eye colors can change over the years. Blondes can become brunettes. And blue eyes can turn green or even brown. And it's been known for children with chocolate brown eyes as babies to have hazel eyes as teenagers."
"Should we birth parents hire our own lawyers?" Dave Blankenship asked.
"I can't advise you on that," Moran replied.
"If you were one of us, what would you do?" Trent asked, then answered his own question, "You'd hire a lawyer, wouldn't you?" Trent looked from parent to parent as he spoke. "I've already contacted my lawyer about this matter and I'd recommend that y'all do the same. I'm sure all of you, like Kate and I, want only what's best for your child—if it turns out one of these girls is your child. What's best may well mean leaving our daughters with their adoptive parents, but even in that case, we'll still want our rights, as the biological parents, protected."
A loud murmur rose from the other parents as they discussed their options amongst themselves. To a person, they all agreed that each couple would hire a lawyer of their own.
"I'll be in touch with y'all when I receive any more pertinent information," Moran told them. "And as soon as we can work something out for a meeting with the adoptive parents, we'll let you know. In the meantime, a technician from O'Steen Labs is here to take your DNA samples. Special Agent Clark will escort y'all, couple by couple, into his office where the technician is waiting. And I want to assure everyone that these DNA samples will be properly collected and will be under FBI protection from here to the lab, as will the results."
LAYING HIS CLAIM Page 6
