Haven's knees started trembling so badly she was glad the desk hid them from Brady Ross's overobservant gaze. What were his rights where Anna was concerned? She was simply the little girl's guardian. If he could prove he was Anna's father, surely his rights would supersede her own.
Anna. The daughter of her best friend, the precious little girl whom she loved more than life itself, was in a room on the floor above them. Did this man mean to pluck her from everything she found safe and familiar and take her away with him? Haven couldn't allow that to happen.
What did he really want? She had to find out. If it was money—and logic told her that was what it had to be—maybe something could be worked out. She'd get what he wanted if she had to beg, borrow or steal. Much as she loved the day care center and the work she did there, she'd sell it in a minute if she had to.
"How much?" she asked.
"Excuse me?"
"How much to make you go away and never come back?"
The tightening of his mouth was the only outward sign that her words had affected him. "Are you trying to bribe me?"
His voice was dangerously soft, and Haven felt a chill race up her spine. Brady Ross would make a formidable opponent. She'd be wise to keep her wits about her.
"All I'm saying is, if it's money you want, you might be able to get it. Without the nuisance of having to care for a small child."
His eyes narrowed. "Do you find it a nuisance to care for my daughter?"
"Of course not," she denied hotly. "Taking care of Anna is a joy."
Dismayed, she bit her lip. Already she'd revealed too much. If he discovered how desperate she was to keep Anna, he might name a price far beyond anything she'd be able to pay.
"Then why should I find it a nuisance?" he countered.
"Are you saying you don't want the money I'm offering?"
"I'm saying there's not enough money on the planet to make me abandon my daughter."
She refused to look away from his penetrating gaze. "Every man has his price, Mr. Ross."
"Do you?"
She was silent.
"You'd do anything to keep her, wouldn't you?" he said.
To deny it now would be pointless. Haven lifted her chin. "Yes."
"Good." He nodded in satisfaction. "The report was right, then."
Confusion made her blink. "The report?"
"I had a private investigator do a background check on you."
She went cold. "You had me investigated?"
"I had to know about the character of the person in charge of my daughter's welfare."
He made it sound so reasonable. What had he found out? she wondered. What secrets had been laid bare, what judgments had he formed? And why should she care?
She cared because the thought that he could examine her private life without her knowledge made her feel naked and vulnerable. Not a comfortable feeling under the best of circumstances, but exceedingly disturbing where Brady Ross was concerned. She cared because, despite everything, she was attracted to the man. He could destroy her life, steal her dreams, and still she was attracted. What a fool she was.
"I see," she said slowly.
"Aren't you curious to know what else the report said?"
She summoned up her pride and lied. "Not particularly."
"I thought it might interest you to know that I've decided not to remove Anna from your care. At least for now."
Surprise momentarily robbed her of breath. "You're not going to take Anna away from me?"
"I don't believe in removing children from stable homes, Ms. Adams. Unless, that is, circumstances warrant it. I will, of course, expect to set up a schedule of visitation."
"Of course," she echoed, more puzzled than relieved. Just who was Brady Ross, and why didn't he want custody of his daughter? If, indeed, Anna truly was his daughter.
"May I see her, please? From a distance?" His lips curved sardonically. "I promise I won't snatch her and run."
She opened her mouth in automatic refusal, but no words emerged. Despite the cynical curve of his mouth, there was something in his voice, faint but unmistakable; a quality of yearning that touched her heart. She supposed it wouldn't hurt to have him look at Anna. From a distance, as he'd said. Besides, if he really was the little girl's father, she didn't want to antagonize him unnecessarily. Somehow, they would have to find a way to work things out. Together.
Haven rose on legs that weren't quite steady. "Follow me."
* * *
He should have told her why the letter had taken so long to catch up to him, Brady thought as he followed Haven Adams out of her office. Especially since the truth about his absence might have served to allay her understandable suspicion of him. His reluctance to reveal anything personal about himself was an ingrained habit. But that wasn't the reason he'd stayed silent. To speak of what he had endured would be breaking a vow.
For three years, seven months and seven days, his life had been a living hell. Upon his release, he'd recounted every detail of that hell to his superiors during countless hours of debriefing. The pain of that recounting had been almost more than he could bear. He'd felt as if he were living it all over again. When he stepped off the plane returning him to Pittsburgh soil, he'd promised himself to put the entire experience behind him. Thoughts of his time in captivity were forbidden. He would speak of it to no one, unless required by law.
Besides, it truly didn't matter whether or not Haven Adams felt sympathetically toward him. The law was on his side, and she knew it. He wouldn't be on his way to see his daughter otherwise.
Her hips swayed as she walked, and his gaze appreciatively followed the motion. Among her other womanly attributes, she had a terrific pair of legs.
She was nothing as he'd imagined. After reading the detective's report, he'd expected to find a shy, retiring woman who was a cross between a librarian and a nun. Instead, he'd tangled with a petite tigress, a voluptuously rounded female with red curls that gleamed like fire and bottomless blue eyes so dark they appeared black. Back when he had cared about such things, he'd always been a sucker for red hair and blue eyes.
Her appeal went beyond the way she looked, though. She'd kept her cool, had met his gaze directly and unflinchingly, and that impressed him. It also made him wonder what it would take to make her lose that steely control she maintained over her emotions. Was she as full of fire and passion as her wild mane of hair and lush, kissable lips seemed to imply? Too bad her being his child's guardian made that one question he could not pursue.
As they passed gaily decorated rooms full of laughing, playing children, Brady couldn't help drawing a contrast to the spare, utilitarian office he'd just left. Who was Haven Adams? he found himself wondering. Her name implied safety, a refuge from the havoc of everyday life. That certainly seemed to be what she provided in this open, cheerful and inviting place.
According to the report, she had been twenty-five when she'd quit a well-paying job as a chemist to nurse Melinda Dolan during her final battle with the cancer that had claimed her life when Anna was only seven days old. Had it been solely for the money, or had Haven done it out of devotion to her friend? Had he been a betting man, Brady would have chosen the money.
Still, he mused, following her up a staircase and out into another brightly lit hallway, if her motivation had been money, why had she used the bulk of her own bequest to open this center? As an investment, it wasn't the smartest choice she could have made. It would never make her rich; she'd be lucky if she broke even.
The center was located in one of Pittsburgh's most economically depressed neighborhoods, and its clientele consisted mainly of the children of single mothers who struggled at minimum-wage jobs just to make ends meet. The tuition Haven Adams received from them barely matched her expenses, and she had to rely on donations to make up the shortfall. On top of that, each child received a hot meal at lunch—and sometimes breakfast—every day. No, running this center was not the act of an avaricious woman.
She stopped a
bruptly outside the doorway of a room, jolting his thoughts to a halt, along with his body. Inside, ten toddlers sat listening while a woman read them a story.
"Which one is Anna?" he whispered.
"Near the middle. The one in the blue pants and red shirt."
She's so little, was his first thought. Even though she was almost three, he hadn't expected her to be so tiny. Or to have such a serious face as she listened intently to the story being read to her. He most definitely hadn't expected to feel the urge to put his arms around her and hold her close, to shield her from the harsh realities of the world they lived in.
"She doesn't look like me," he murmured.
"She's the picture of her mother," Haven replied softly.
He tried to recall Melinda Dolan's face, but the image that formed in his brain was ill-focused and fuzzy around the edges. What remained vividly imprinted on his memory was the pain and disillusion he'd been feeling the night his child was conceived. Melinda Dolan had also been in pain. Together, for a few brief, sweet hours, they'd been able to comfort each another.
Turning his attention back to his daughter, he asked, "What happened to her arm?"
He felt, rather than saw, Haven's grimace.
"She's always trying to keep up with the older kids, to do what they do. She hates being left behind. Anyway, she made it to the top of the jungle gym before we could get to her, and fell and broke her wrist. The cast should come off in a week or so."
"A pistol, is she?" he asked.
"A human dynamo," she replied, and he heard the pride in her voice.
He was standing so close he could smell her skin. During his years of confinement, he'd spent a lot of time in complete darkness. To compensate, his other senses had grown sharper. Particularly acute was his sense of smell. From Haven Adams he caught the aromas of strawberry shampoo, perfume-scented soap and baby formula. His senses swam with her, until he didn't know what he wanted to do more: reach out and tangle his fingers in the soft curls of her hair or pull her into his arms and kiss her breathless.
"I've seen enough," he said abruptly, turning on his heel. Relying on the sense of direction his military training had made second nature, he headed for the building's main entrance.
"When will I hear from you again, Mr. Ross?" she asked when she caught up with him.
He looked at her out of the corner of one eye. "My name is Brady, Haven. Since we're going to be seeing a lot of each other, it only makes sense to drop the formalities, don't you agree? You'll be seeing me first thing tomorrow morning. That's when we have an appointment to have the blood work done for the DNA testing. I wrote the address and time on the back of the letter I showed you."
"We have an appointment?"
She sounded dazed, and he felt a sudden burst of sympathy for her. This had taken her by as much surprise as Melinda's letter had taken him. She would need a while to adjust
"The appointment is for Anna and me, but I thought you'd like to come along."
In truth, he'd known she would insist. Until he had positive proof, there was no way she'd leave him alone with the little girl. "After all, they can't tell if I'm her father without taking a sample of her blood, too, now can they?"
* * *
A host of emotions coursed through Haven as she watched Brady Ross stride down the path to the compact car he'd parked at the curb. Disbelief, confusion, desperation—she felt them all, in varying degrees of intensity. But by far, the primary emotion making her heart pound was fear.
When his car disappeared from view, a sense of urgency propelled her up the steps two at a time in a headlong rush for her office. Her breath coming in quick gasps, she began rummaging through the papers on top of her desk.
"Where is it, where is it?" she muttered.
Her gaze fell on the photocopy of Melinda's letter, and she sank down hard in her chair. Was it only minutes ago that she'd stared down Brady Ross, certain she could dispose of his claim as easily as snapping her fingers? She'd been so sure he was a fraud. Now she didn't know what to think.
One of two things could happen, she decided. Either he had played out the charade while he was here, and she'd never hear from him again. Or he really was Anna's father, in which case she'd hear from him all too soon. Tomorrow morning, in fact.
She had the dull feeling it would be the latter, because she couldn't forget the look in his eyes when he'd gazed at Anna. It was the look of tenderness mixed with awe and wonder that most first-time fathers wore when they saw their newborns and realized they'd played a part in the miracle of creation.
Many things were still unclear, but of one thing she was absolutely convinced. Brady Ross was not playacting. He truly believed he was Anna's father. The letter from Melinda supported his claim. Like it or not, she had to face reality. When the results from the DNA tests were returned several weeks from now, it was highly probable that Brady would have positive proof of his paternity. From now on in, her every action had to be with Anna's welfare uppermost in her mind.
Where had he really been for the past three years and nine months since Anna's conception? Had he really only learned of her existence two weeks ago? And why didn't he want full custody? Full custody was the only way, given the terms of Anna's inheritance, that he'd be able to get his hands on a sizable chunk of money.
Haven let out a ragged sigh. She'd drive herself crazy searching for answers. The important thing was that he'd said he didn't believe in removing a child from a stable home, unless circumstances warranted it. But what circumstances would warrant it for him? What would happen when he disagreed with her child-rearing methods? What would happen if he just plain didn't like the brand of toothpaste she bought for Anna?
Despite his reassurance, the threat of losing the little girl still hung like a noose around her neck. It would continue to tighten so long as Brady Ross was around.
Haven glimpsed the object of her search under a sheaf of papers and pounced. Opening the Yellow Pages, she riffled through the hook until she came to the listing for detective agencies. It was time to fight fire with fire, to find out exactly who and what Brady Ross was. It was time to use whatever she found in whatever manner necessary to keep Anna.
Picking up the telephone receiver, Haven dialed a number and listened to the subsequent ringing. If he thought she would give up Anna without a fight, he had another think coming. No one was going to take Anna away from her. No one. Not while she still had breath left in her body.
* * *
Chapter 2
« ^ »
"'And from that day forward,'" Haven read, "'Evangeline never again talked to strangers. The end.'"
If only life were like a fairy tale, she found herself wishing as she closed the book in her hands and dropped a kiss onto the forehead of the little girl snuggled to her side. Then she could pray for a gallant white knight to save Anna from the menacing stranger, the way he had Evangeline.
"Again, Binny!" Anna begged. "Again!"
Laughing, her worries temporarily banished by the young girl's enthusiasm, Haven reached out a hand to ruffle soft brown curls. "I've already read it to you three times tonight. Besides, it's getting late. Time to go to sleep."
"Please, Binny? Puh-leeee-ze?"
Green eyes uncannily like Melinda's beseeched her, and sad fingers squeezed Haven's heart. It was at times like these she felt most keenly the loss of her best friend.
They were only six years old when they met in boarding school, and theirs was a bond that had remained unbroken until Melinda's death nineteen years later. Together, they had forged the family neither had ever had. Melinda, because her parents were dead, and her guardians cared only for the money they received from her trust fund. Haven, because her parents were too immersed in their scientific research to pay much attention to their only child. Melinda's death had left a gaping hole in Haven's heart that even Anna couldn't fill.
"All right," she said, giving in. "I'll read it just once more." She opened the book. "'Once upon a time, i
n a land far, far away, there lived a little girl named Evangeline…'"
Ten minutes later, Anna was asleep, and the only sound in the room was the pattering of rain on the roof. After extricating herself from the arms wrapped around her, Haven walked to the door. One hand on the light switch, she glanced around the room she'd so painstakingly decorated.
Sheep frolicked around the mint green walls on a border that had been installed at Anna's eye level. White-and-gold French provincial furniture hugged the walls, the focal piece the beautiful canopy bed where the child now lay sleeping. Stuffed animals of all shapes and sizes cavorted in the antique cradle that had been Melinda's when she was a baby.
How different it was from the room Haven had occupied as a child. This was a room for dreams and fantasies, for laughter and shared secrets. A room to come to for shelter and comfort. A room to foster security and the knowledge of being loved. And now that security was being threatened by a tall man with uncanny gray eyes and unknown motives.
"Good night, precious," she murmured. "Sweet dreams." A lump closed her throat as she flicked off the light. She knew that her own dreams would be far less peaceful.
"Anna sleeping?" Josephine Clark asked when Haven wandered into the kitchen.
"Like a log."
Josephine had been Haven's nanny. Because her parents had never been home, it was to Josephine that Haven had run with cuts and bruises. Josephine's strong brown arms had cradled her when she'd had a nightmare. Josephine's long, slender fingers had wiped her brow when her body raged with fever. Until she was six years old and bundled off to boarding school, Josephine—a mere eighteen herself when she'd come to care for Haven—had been the one constant in her life.
They'd kept in touch over the years. Josephine had never married, and after Melinda died, she had insisted on coming to help. What had started out as a temporary arrangement had quickly become permanent. During the day, Josephine ran the kitchen at the day care center. At night, she helped Haven with Anna and the housework. Haven didn't know how she would have managed without the woman's assistance. Or her friendship.
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