Fatal Hearts

by Norah Wilson

  “I do not!”

  “Yeah, you do. Where’d you go to med school?”

  “Dal,” she confessed.

  “There you go. You must have absorbed some of that Maritime accent during your years in Halifax.” He turned his T-shirt right side out and pulled it on. He really didn’t need to do that on her account. “So, how often do you call your parents?”

  “My mom,” she clarified. “Dad won’t talk on the phone. So we exchange greetings through Mom.”

  “I guess that lets out Skype.”

  “God, yes! They don’t even have a computer. I keep trying to interest them in one by telling them all the things they can do online. But they say they’d rather talk to their neighbors in person instead of strangers on Facebook, or go see a real bank teller.” She reached for her light jacket. “I can’t argue with that, at least not as long as they’re able to get out and around.”

  “Good point. Why settle for virtual relationships when you can have actual ones?”

  Like the actual sexual relationship she was currently having. Much better than her relationship with her battery-operated friend.

  “I should phone my folks too. They think I’m on a fishing trip.”

  “You told me.” She could just imagine how horrified they’d be to think their son’s death might have been something other than a horrible but natural tragedy. “That was incredibly kind of you, shielding them. Though they must worry about you a lot since—”

  “Yeah, they do.” His eyes followed her as she found her purse and dug her keys out. “These last few days, I’ve been checking in with them every evening, to see how they’re doing, and so they can switch off the unconscious worrying. They really appreciate it, so thank you.”

  “Thank me? What for?”

  “For reminding me that people worry. Whether I think that worry is rational or not really isn’t the point. Reassuring them is.”

  She smiled tremulously. “You’re welcome.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Boyd found himself whistling in the shower.

  Last night, he’d hated to let Hayden go. He’d walked her down to the parking lot, and that kiss outside her Subaru had been as hot and hungry as the first one they’d shared. He almost thought she might invite herself back upstairs. But she’d been right not to. They’d both needed sleep. He’d come back to his room and crashed on the bed with Hayden’s scent burrowing into his brain. For a change, he’d fallen asleep quickly and slept deeply. The only thing that could have improved his slumber would be if Hayden had been there by his side.

  He’d liked the feel of her in his arms, but she clearly wasn’t the overly cuddly type. For which he should be grateful. No, for which he was grateful. This wasn’t one of those situations where a woman proposed no-strings sex, then proceeded to try to hog-tie him. He respected that. He respected her. And he’d try to give her everything she’d been missing, while letting her keep her emotional boundaries.

  The bigger challenge might be keeping a safe perimeter around his own heart.

  He stopped whistling.

  God, how long since he’d had a thought like that? A decade, at least. Since the vet tech, Laurie’s defection, he’d never had to worry about his heart. The razor wire on his emotional fences hadn’t lost its gleam. Yeah, he’d chosen to let it down partially now and again, but never fully. Maybe he never could.

  The thought was both comforting and sad.

  Thrusting away any further self-examination, he shut off the taps and reached for a towel.

  Downstairs, he found Sylvia at her usual spot at the table.

  “My, don’t you look dashing this morning, Detective.”

  He lifted a hand to his chin. He’d shaved with carnal thoughts of getting between Hayden’s thighs, but if it pleased Sylvia Stratton that he’d cleaned up, so much the better.

  “I do like a clean-shaven man,” she said.

  “Well, that seals it. My holiday from shaving is over.” He went to the coffee carafe and filled his mug, then held it up. “Refill?”

  “Please.” While he poured her a fresh coffee in a new china cup—she never refilled the old, he’d learned—she picked up the pitcher of orange juice by her elbow, poured a glass for him, and topped up her own.

  “I’ve a special treat for you this morning. Grilled breakfast sausage. It’s made locally and contains no nitrates or preservatives.”

  “Sausages?” He breathed the word reverently as he placed her fresh coffee within reach. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.” She smiled, and for a second he caught a glimpse of what must have attracted the Senator to her. “Of course, you mustn’t count on it being here every morning. It’s far too fatty.”

  “Of course. Thank you.”

  Boyd piled his plate with scrambled eggs, sausage, and a baked tomato, and returned to the table. As he ate, Sylvia went back to her crossword or sudoku puzzle or whatever it was she did every morning.

  When he’d cleaned his plate and drank his OJ, he helped himself to some of the homemade yogurt. He was really developing a taste for it, and he knew Sylvia would approve. He’d already heard her lecture about how gut health impacted so much more than digestion, including good immune system health. And damned if he didn’t feel better. Not that he was ready to concede that dietary change could change his world. Hell, maybe it was just the great sex.

  That thought started a cascade of mind pictures that he’d best not be thinking about at his host’s table, so he pushed them away.

  “Dr. Stratton, I was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me.”

  “Questions?” She arched a delicate eyebrow.

  “About my birth parents. I haven’t been able to find Josh’s notes about his investigation. Detective Morgan is working on the case, trying to reconstruct my brother’s search. I’ve actually been working with him these past few days.”

  Both dark eyebrows rose this time. “Indeed.”

  “I know you were one of Josh’s first stops when he came to town, presumably because you were practicing here during that era and delivering babies.”

  “That’s certainly true. I was one of Josh’s first contacts here, and I did conduct a full family practice.” She took a sip of her coffee. “I was so favorably impressed by your brother that by the time we finished speaking, I found myself offering him a room.”

  “Yes, thank you for that.”

  “We got on well enough over our breakfasts, although I fear your brother thought I was rigid, but that’s just because I am.” Her self-deprecating smile was almost charming.

  “I’ve been known to be a little rigid myself, as Josh could have told you.”

  She stroked the handle of her coffee cup. “I presume you want to know what I told Josh during our first meeting?”

  “Yes, ma’am. As well as any opinions you might have formed since.”

  “I’ll tell you now what I told your brother. If someone conspired to obliterate the record of your birth, making it difficult if not impossible for you two to locate your birth mother, it’s safe to say that takes money. Lots of it.”

  Well, duh. Of course it takes money. But whose money? “You think our mother came from a wealthy family?”

  “I would bet on it.” She took a drink of her coffee and placed the cup in its saucer. “It would take money to buy that dreadful lawyer’s services. It would take money to falsify the documents and to hide the birth. I even suggested to Josh that it might have been a privately attended birth.”

  “Was that legal here at the time? Supervised home birth?”

  “I hardly think legality would have been a consideration, given what happened with the birth record and the whisking away of the children to another province.”

  That’s pretty much what he and Hayden had concluded. “I agree it would take money to do this, but I can’
t exactly go to all the families on the social register in Fredericton to ask them if any females among them gave birth to twins thirty-five years ago, then committed a series of criminal acts to conceal the fact and dispose of the babies.”

  “No, I wouldn’t recommend it. People would complain to powerful people, and you’d find yourself sitting in a very hot seat, Detective.”

  “So what do you suggest I do?”

  “I’ll give you the same advice I gave your twin. Look at the physicians to the wealthy. While whoever did this might stoop to using a questionable lawyer to make a problem go away, they would never risk the life of a daughter or niece or young cousin to just any doctor.”

  “Why would a reputable doctor go along with something like this?”

  She shrugged. “Loyalty to the family, possibly. Or a combination of loyalty and a monetary inducement. Physicians can be poor money managers and even worse retirement planners, for instance. Or I suppose it could even have been done in exchange for a favor.”

  Again, pretty obvious. Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. What did everyone want? Since it was a physician, they wouldn’t be physiological needs. More on the order of self-esteem or personal power or wealth. But he was curious what she, a doctor herself, thought a fellow doctor might want for providing such a heinous service. “A favor? Like what?”

  “That would depend on what the physician wanted and what the family could offer.” She drank the last of her coffee, then pressed a pristine napkin to her mouth. “It could be admittance to an exclusive club they otherwise wouldn’t be considered for.”

  Boyd nodded. Self-esteem.

  “Or if the individual sat on the hospital board, perhaps they could exert their influence on the physician’s behalf.”

  Personal power.

  “If the family had corporate connections, they might be in a position to provide inside information to help the physician’s portfolio thrive.”

  And there we have it. Wealth. Financial security.

  Well, that narrowed it down. Not.

  “So who are these physicians to the wealthy? Do you have a list?”

  “I made one for your brother, so it shouldn’t be too hard to reproduce. And of course, I included only those who were practicing here when you were born.”

  “When I was supposedly born,” he said. “If they went to the trouble of falsifying our names on the birth record, they might have done the same with the date.”

  “You were adopted as little more than newborns, correct?”

  “That’s correct. Our mother says we still had the remnants of our umbilical cords.”

  Sylvia waved a dismissive hand. “Then your actual birth date won’t be far off whatever the birth record says. They couldn’t have billed you as more than a few weeks old, or the developmental differences would have given the lie away. The discrepancy would have been instantly obvious to your adoptive family’s physician, who presumably took over your care immediately.”

  “So the birth date is probably accurate, give or take a couple of weeks?”

  “Precisely. As for the list, if I can’t find a copy, I’ll reproduce it for you.”

  “Thank you. That would be very helpful,” he said, though he wasn’t entirely sure it would help. For starters, Josh would have taken a hard look at every physician on that list. If she’d supplied it to him early on, as she seemed to indicate, his twin would have found something if there’d been anything to find. But he was touched nevertheless. Dr. Stratton could definitely be a pain in the ass. A snob and an unbending perfectionist with a spine of steel. But clearly she could be kind too. “I do think I’ll have to cast the net a little wider than that, though.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “I love your theory, but what if it wasn’t my mother who came from money? What if it was my father? If my mother were of more modest roots, she might have seen a regular run-of-the-mill doctor.”

  Her lips thinned. “Indeed.”

  He decided to try his and Hayden’s theory out on her, that the physician was a GP, not an obstetrician. But Sylvia being Sylvia, he went about it backward. If he just laid the question out there, she might get her back up in defense of her family physician colleagues. But if he gave her an opportunity to correct him, he doubted she could resist it.

  He leaned back in his chair. “Of course, whatever GP she was seeing, it was probably only for the first part of the pregnancy. There must’ve been an ob-gyn involved for the delivery, since we’re talking twins, which are higher risk than single births, right?”

  “Ordinarily, yes,” she said. “But remember, standards were different back then. And we’re a very small center. Things haven’t always been done as they are in bigger centers. They still aren’t.”

  Bingo. “Oh, and here’s a thought. What if it was our father who had the dough—and the reputation to protect? His focus might’ve been less on the health of the pregnant mother and more on getting the unwanted children shipped off as far away as possible.”

  “If that were the case, I hardly think he would have abandoned the young lady to substandard care.” Her brows knit together in a fierce frown. “If the pregnancy were lost or the deliveries botched due to poor care, that would have been the beginning of the young man’s nightmare, not the end. The woman might have blamed him for their loss, and rightly so, since he could have afforded the best possible care.”

  “Point taken,” he conceded, more to humor her than anything. “Sounds like we should give the docs on your list priority.”

  She looked only marginally mollified by that concession, but she let it drop. “Very well. I won’t be able to produce anything for you until at least tonight. Is that satisfactory?”

  “That’s fine,” he assured her. “Are you off to church?”

  “Good gracious, no. I’m off to Saint John to visit with my son, Jordan.”

  “He’s a doctor too, right?”

  “He is.” For a moment, she looked like any mother, proud of her son. Then she lifted her nose a little higher. “The Strattons have been physicians for many generations.”

  Wow, that would be wild. To inherit your occupation, or at least the expectation of occupation. He offered up a thank-you to Frank and Ella McBride for not doing that to them. Neither he nor Josh had been attracted to construction, and God knew they’d had a close enough look at it working for their dad’s company in the summers.

  “And he was okay with that? I mean, did he chafe against his birthright or embrace it?”

  “I believe he’s happy with his life, with his choices.”

  “That’s important.” Boyd found his voice growing gruff. “We never know how long we’re going to have, so we’d better be doing work we like and hanging out with people we enjoy.”

  “That’s an excellent philosophy, Detective. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must get ready to go.” She rose, and he did too. She waved for him to resume his seat. “Sit. Enjoy your coffee, and there’s more orange juice.”

  He sat.

  She walked around the table, leaving her dishes where they were, and paused beside his chair.

  “Is Dr. Walsh working today?”

  Her question came from so far out in left field that it took a few extra seconds for Boyd to process it. “No. No, actually she’s not.”

  “Feel free to invite her over. She might enjoy the spread.” She indicated the buffet with a sweep of her hand. “I believe she joined your brother for breakfast at least once.”

  That was a great idea, actually. Then they could work together on the investigation.

  Right. Like that was the only thing he was thinking about.

  Realizing Sylvia was waiting for a response, he cleared his throat. “Thank you. That’s very kind. I’ll invite her.”

  “Good. Well, I’ll be off shortly, after I’ve freshened up.”

  Ten
minutes later, Dr. Stratton was out the door and gone. Only then did Boyd whip out his cell phone and call Hayden. She answered on the fourth ring, just seconds before he would have hung up.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “No. You interrupted my yoga routine. It took me a while to find the phone.”

  He had a sudden desire to see her in her yoga gear, contorting her body . . .

  “Boyd?”

  “Sorry. I spaced there, thinking about your downward dog.”

  She laughed. “You dirty dog.”

  “Guilty.” He could clearly picture the curve of her full, luscious lips, the way she pinned that lower lip with her teeth sometimes. “Um, I was calling to see if you wanted to join me for breakfast.”

  “Sure. Where are we going?”

  “Actually, Sylvia’s place. She’s going to Saint John to visit her son, and when I told her you had the day off, she suggested I invite you over.”

  “Really?”

  He grinned. “Really.”

  “I can be there in seventeen minutes.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, then realized he was talking to dead air. She’d hung up.

  CHAPTER 19

  She was there in sixteen minutes.

  Boyd had hoped she’d still be in her yoga pants, but she’d changed. As it turned out, he couldn’t complain. She wore a pair of skinny-legged jeans and a tailored navy jacket over a beige shirt. With her amazing mass of hair loose—God, he loved it like that—and her face bare except for some lip gloss, she looked both wholesome and incredibly sexy. He met her at the service entrance, pulled her inside the door, and greeted her with a kiss.

  “Well, hello to you too,” she said when she could breathe again.

  “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

  “What makes you think I wanted you to?”

  The heat in her eyes sent a jolt of excitement through him. “Better do breakfast first. Mrs. Garner will be around soon, wanting to clean up after us.”

  The mention of breakfast refocused her in a hurry. “God, yes. Let’s eat.”