Sam felt her blood pressure rise. “Do you want me to get you some help or not?”
She saw him flinch, but didn’t regret her harsh tone. He might be only twelve, but he’d managed to barge into her office all on his own.
“Yes, I do. It’s just that you mentioning the FBI…it sounds serious.”
More serious than you can imagine. “Okay,” she said, reaching for her notepad. “Why don’t you tell me your story and I’ll make some notes? Then I’ll get back to you.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. As soon as I can.”
He chewed on his lower lip for a few seconds, then began. When he finished, less than ten minutes later, Sam didn’t trust herself to look his way. She stared at her notes, the words blurred by tears. She sniffed, blinked twice and finally raised her head.
His eyes met hers, and Sam thought she caught a glimmer of satisfaction in them. He knows I’m hooked.
She cleared her throat. “Okay, so let me review this. Your mother has had no contact with your father since you were born.”
“Since before I was born. She says he never knew about me.”
“But she never tried to contact him, to tell him about you?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. She always told me he never knew. I think he moved to another city, anyway.”
“Maybe your mother can fill in some of these gaps.”
“Why do you have to see my mother? Can’t this be just between us?”
“Does your mother know you came to see me?”
He looked away.
“She doesn’t, does she?”
“She has enough problems.”
Sam had no reply to that. He was right of course. “The thing is, you’re a minor. I can’t legally help you without your mother’s consent.”
His eyes flicked coolly back to hers. “But you’re not a real private detective, anyway.”
And you’re no typical twelve-year-old. “I can’t do anything for you without your mother’s knowledge. Anyway, you told me she was the one who suggested finding your father.”
“Kinda.”
“What do you mean, kinda?” Sam’s voice rose.
His gaze dropped to his hands, interlocked in his lap. “When she first found out about the cancer, she said it was too bad my father didn’t know me.”
Sam felt as if she’d just plunged her other foot into quicksand. “Well, I’d have to talk to her if you want me to help,” she eventually said.
“Okay, okay.” His eyes met hers again. “But don’t upset her. Please? She already feels bad because she knows I’ll have to go into foster care after…well, after.”
He didn’t need to clarify. “I won’t upset her, Danny, I promise. But she needs to know. Can you tell me anything at all about your father?”
“His name is Danny, too. I think my mom forgot his last name.”
Or never knew it. Sam was beginning to wonder if Danny was the product of a one-night stand. Which meant the task she’d taken on would be impossible. “Anything else?”
His face brightened. “He liked motorcycles. My mom said he had a real cool tattoo on his right arm and long hair, like a rock star.”
“Oh,” was all Sam could think to say. The picture forming in her mind wasn’t exactly a poster for fatherhood. “So Benson is your mother’s name?”
“Yeah. Emily Benson.” He craned his neck, looking at something behind her.
The clock, Sam realized. “You have to go soon?”
“Yeah. I told Minnie I’d be back about five and I gotta take a couple of buses.”
“Who’s Minnie?”
“Our next-door neighbor. I’ve been staying with her for the last two weeks.”
“Your mother—”
“She’s in the hospital.”
“Oh. Is she having surgery or something?”
He shook his head. “Nope. All that’s finished. Now she’s just waiting. In…I can’t remember the name for it. A special room in the hospital.”
“Palliative care?”
“Yeah. That’s it. Mom calls it the Waiting Room. She jokes about it. You know, how hospitals are always making you wait for something. She says she even has to wait to die.” His voice cracked again and he turned his head toward the bookshelves at his right.
Silence shrink-wrapped the room. Sam badly wanted a glass of water. No. Make that a double of any alcoholic drink available. Unfortunately none was.
Finally he said, “Minnie says I can stay with her for now but…well, she’s old, you know.” He looked back at Sam. His eyes were red-rimmed. “She’s living on a small pension and can’t take care of me for too long.”
Sam cleared her throat. “I’ll need her telephone number.”
Danny complied, then said, “She’s in the apartment across the hall from ours, so I can go back and forth, take care of Mom’s plants and stuff.” He got to his feet. “So…uh, when should I call you?”
Sam knew she was sinking fast and there was no way out. Maybe a couple of phone calls would convince him she couldn’t do much more. “Like I said, I have to, uh, talk to someone who may be able to help and then I’ll get back to you.”
“Will that take long?”
She felt her face heat. He was persistent. Not one to be put off by lame excuses. “I’ll do my best, Danny.”
His eyes held hers for a long moment, then he turned abruptly and walked out the door. Sam dropped her forehead into her hands. What have you done now, Sorrenti?
© Janice Hess 2008
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
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First published in Great Britain 2010
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© Susan Macias Redmond 2009
ISBN: 978-1-408-92058-9
The Sheikh and the Bought Bride Page 19
