Besides, Riane had made it clear that she didn’t want to have anything more to do with him. It was his own fault, he knew. He should have been honest with her from the outset.
All he could do now was track down the real missing child and put this whole situation behind him. And the only hope he had of doing that was to talk to Senator Rutherford-Quinlan. So instead of heading back to Pennsylvania the next morning, as he wanted to do, Joel found himself driving toward the Quinlan mansion.
He’d followed the same route so many times in the past few days that his car could probably negotiate the course on its own. As he pulled up in front of the house he was grateful that Riane’s car was absent from its usual parking space. Not only did he want to spare her the discomfort of another confrontation, he was certain she would do everything she could to prevent him from talking to her mother.
Yes, Riane’s absence was a good thing.
Why, then, did he feel so empty inside?
He pressed the doorbell, expecting it would be Sophie who responded to the summons. Expecting to have a few more minutes to prepare his speech before he had to see the senator.
But the woman who opened the door could be none other than Ellen Rutherford-Quinlan herself. He’d seen pictures of her, of course, and clips on the news. She wasn’t a blend-into-the-background politician. She had strong views and never missed an opportunity to express them. But nothing he’d read or heard had prepared him for this face-to-face meeting.
She was attractive, tall, although not as tall as Riane, and quite slender. Almost delicate. He reminded himself that there was a sharp mind and steely determination behind the delicate facade. And if he misstepped on this assignment again, she could—and very likely would—squash him like a bug.
“Senator Rutherford-Quinlan.”
Ellen smiled, and in the half second it took her lips to curve, his assessment changed from “attractive” to “stunning.” She extended a hand. “Can I help you?”
“Joel Logan.” He accepted the proffered hand. “I’m a private investigator. If you have a few moments, I’d like to speak with you regarding a case I’ve been working on.”
Her smile dimmed, her gaze sharpened. “What kind of case?”
“Could I come inside to discuss this?”
She hesitated a second, then nodded and stepped back. She gestured to the French doors that led into the den, the room he’d waited in the first night he’d come here to see Riane. It seemed like a lifetime ago rather than the ten days he knew it to be.
“I’ll have Sophie bring in coffee,” she said, continuing down the hall toward the kitchen.
She returned a few minutes later, Sophie behind her with a gleaming silver coffee service on some kind of antique cart. Sophie acknowledged his presence with a brief nod of greeting and none of her usual warmth. Was her reserved demeanor a result of the senator’s presence or a reflection of Riane’s animosity?
“Tell me about this case you’re working on,” the senator said when Sophie had left the cart and exited the room.
Joel forced his thoughts away from Riane. “I’m trying to find a child who was adopted twenty-two years ago.”
If she was surprised, she didn’t show it. Which made Joel consider that his visit might not have been completely unexpected. Had Riane warned her mother about the nature of his investigation—or had Mike’s discussion with Camille Michaud somehow come to the attention of the senator?
“How do you think I can help you do that, Mr. Logan?”
“I believe the adoption of this child was handled by Samuel Rutherford.”
There wasn’t the slightest flicker of recognition. Of course, she was a politician—she was accustomed to public scrutiny, to hiding her personal feelings behind the party line.
“He was your cousin?” Joel prompted.
“Second cousin, actually.” She moved to the cart Sophie had left, filled two cups with the fragrant hot brew. She passed one to him. “I believe Sam’s specialty was criminal law.”
“It was,” Joel agreed. “Which is probably why his secretary remembered this particular case.”
Her hand trembled, very slightly, as she added a splash of cream to her cup. She seemed to pull herself together again, faced him. “Why do you think any of this concerns me?”
“Camille Michaud,” Joel said simply.
The senator met his gaze levelly, unflinching.
“She was your roommate at Vassar.”
“She was,” Ellen agreed.
“Are you still in contact with her?”
She hesitated briefly, then nodded. She obviously knew he could check her phone records if he wanted to.
“She was the social worker assigned to the case. My partner has been in contact with Ms. Michaud, but she claims not to remember the child.”
The senator finished stirring her coffee, took a sip.
Stalling for time, Joel guessed. Considering her strategy.
“Who’s paying you to find this child?” she asked at last.
“Why does that matter? Are you going to offer a larger fee not to find her?”
“If you want my cooperation, Mr. Logan, it would be wise not to insult me.”
She was right, of course, and he had no reason to make such an accusation. Except that the senator was a Rutherford, and Rutherfords were notorious for bending the rules to suit their own purposes. But he forced down his irritation, unwilling to let his quick temper blow his only lead. “Are you going to cooperate?”
“I want to know who’s looking for this child.”
“Her sister.”
Her cup clattered in her saucer. She set both onto the glossy tabletop and lowered herself to the edge of the sofa, smoothing her hands over her skirt. “Sister?”
He nodded, intrigued by this hint of nerves, the first genuine evidence of any emotion. “The child who was adopted had a half sister, older by about eight years.”
“Why would only one child have been taken away?” she wondered aloud.
“The older sister was taken out of the home by a relative. An aunt on her father’s side,” he explained. “The biological mother of the girls wouldn’t consent to this aunt taking the younger child, since there was no blood between them.”
“But she let her children be separated?” The senator seemed genuinely shocked, distressed even, by this possibility.
“Apparently.”
Before either of them could say anything else, the front door slammed shut and Riane stormed into the room, eyes flashing with venom and fury.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
The senator rose to her feet, obviously shocked by her daughter’s outburst.
At that moment the resemblance between the two women struck Joel. It wasn’t so much their looks, although they were both tall and both had dark hair. It was the way they carried themselves. With confidence and grace. Although right now every inch of Riane’s graceful form was practically vibrating with tightly suppressed anger.
“Riane, honey—”
Riane paid no attention to the warning note of her mother’s voice or the restraining hand the older woman laid on her arm. She didn’t so much as spare a glance in her direction, but aimed all of her fury at Joel. “Get out!”
“I need to talk to—”
“Haven’t you done enough damage without insulting my parents with your neophyte theories?”
“Your mother might be the only person who can help me find the child.”
“That isn’t her problem, it’s yours.”
“Riane—”
She shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. “Get out.”
He couldn’t give up when he was so close to getting through to the senator. He also knew he couldn’t stay now, not when he could see how much Riane was hurting. Not when he was the one responsible for her pain.
He took a business card out of his pocket, passed it to the senator. “If you think of anything at all that might help me, I’d appreciate hearing
from you.”
The senator took the card from his hand but didn’t glance at it. Her gaze seemed to dart from her daughter to him and back again, concerned, wary and all too understanding.
Joel decided to make an exit while he still could.
It was a long moment after she’d watched Joel’s truck disappear before Riane felt composed enough to face her mother again. She was embarrassed by her outburst. It wasn’t like her to give free rein to her emotions, but when she’d pulled into the driveway and seen his vehicle parked in front of the house, something inside her had snapped. And all the hurt and anger and frustration she’d kept bottled up inside had burst forth.
“I’m sorry,” she said at last, turning to her mother. “I didn’t really believe he had the nerve to come back here or I would have warned you.”
Ellen glanced down at the business card in her hand, brushed her thumb over the simple black lettering. “Courtland & Logan Investigations,” she murmured. “I should have guessed.”
“Courtland,” Riane repeated, feeling an unaccountable chill despite the sunny warmth of the room. “Is that the same Courtland you asked me about?”
“I would guess so.”
“Then you knew…about Joel’s investigation?”
Ellen shook her head. “Not enough, apparently.”
Riane felt the pressure building at her temples. “How could you know?”
“Camille contacted us on the ship.”
“Then she is…involved in this?”
When Ellen looked at her, Riane noticed that her mother’s face had gone white beneath her tan, and her eyes were wide, wary. “I didn’t want it to come out like this.”
“What? You didn’t want what to come out like this?” Riane asked, a heavy emptiness settling in the pit of her stomach.
“Ryan and I have talked about almost nothing else since Camille’s phone call,” Ellen admitted. “And we still hadn’t come to any decisions about what to do. But now, after what Mr. Logan said…”
“Now what?” Riane demanded impatiently. “What is Camille involved in?”
“It isn’t just Camille,” Ellen admitted, a single tear sliding slowly down one pale cheek.
Riane had never seen her mother like this—so flustered and obviously upset. She didn’t know how to respond. Nor was she certain she wanted any of the answers she’d demanded.
“Camille arranged a private adoption without the knowledge or consent of social services. She could have lost her job, she might have faced criminal charges, but she did it because she knew the child needed a good home and she knew a family who desperately wanted a child.”
“Is this the child Joel is looking for?”
Ellen nodded, heedless of the tears that now streamed down her face. “We did what we thought was best. We never knew…”
The “we” scared Riane even more than her mother’s tears. It confirmed what she’d suspected, even though she’d refused to admit it: somehow her parents were involved. The throbbing at her temples escalated. She ignored the pounding and put an arm across her mother’s shoulders, wanting to comfort her and yet feeling hopelessly inadequate at the task.
“Forget about it, Mom. No one needs to know what happened. Joel doesn’t have any evidence. If he did, he wouldn’t have come here on a fishing expedition.”
But Ellen shook her head sadly. “I can’t keep this secret anymore.”
The sick feeling inside Riane intensified along with an almost desperate need to halt her mother’s next words. She shook her head. “Forget it. Forget he was ever here.”
“I’m sorry, Riane.”
“Sorry? Why?” Riane didn’t realize her own cheeks were wet.
Ellen looked at her, her soft green eyes filled with regret and sadness. “The child he’s looking for is you.”
Chapter 9
R iane stepped away, stunned. Even though she’d somehow known, in her heart, that it was true, hearing the words hit her with the force of a physical blow. She leaned against the edge of the desk, gulping in lungfuls of air, desperately trying to stop the room from spinning.
Slowly she turned back and faced the woman she’d always believed was her mother. “I was adopted?”
Ellen nodded.
“Why?”
“Because we were desperate to have a child, and the doctors said I wouldn’t ever be able to have one of my own.”
It was a valid explanation, but it wasn’t what Riane wanted to know. “Why did you hide the truth? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Ellen dropped her gaze, folded her hands together in front of her. “We couldn’t.”
“What do you mean—you couldn’t? Why couldn’t you?”
“Do the details really matter?”
Riane was stunned, infuriated. “Of course they matter. This is my life we’re talking about.”
“We gave you a good life,” Ellen reminded her. “We gave you everything.”
“Except the truth.”
“We did what we thought was best at the time.”
“Best for who?”
“For all of us, I like to think.” Ellen sighed. “But mostly for me. It was so hard for me to admit that I’d failed.”
“Failed how?”
“By not being able to have a child of my own.”
“There are lots of women who can’t have children.”
“I’m not saying my situation was unique, I’m only trying to make you understand how I felt.”
“Try harder,” Riane said bluntly. “Because so far I’m not understanding any of this.”
“I was an only child, and my father had been making noises for years about wanting to be a grandfather. I’d always felt that he was disappointed in me, because I hadn’t been the son he wanted. I couldn’t bear to let him down again.”
“So you secretly adopted a child and passed it off as your own to placate your father?” Whatever explanation Riane had expected, this was not it. “Did you even want a child? Or was having a baby a calculated maneuver to ensure your inheritance?”
Blinded by tears, she didn’t see Ellen’s hand swing toward her. But she felt the sting of the palm against her cheek, heard the slap resound in the tense silence of the room. Never, in her entire life had her mother—Ellen, she mentally amended—hit her.
Riane gingerly touched her fingertips to her hot cheek. “Was I hitting a little too close to the truth?”
“No!” Ellen’s eyes were wide, horrified. “Oh, God, Riane. I’m sorry. So sorry.”
She reached out a hand, as if to comfort, but Riane recoiled from the gesture. “Are you sorry for hitting me? Or because it’s true?”
“It’s not true.” Ellen shook her head from side to side vehemently. “Of course I wanted a child. For years Ryan and I tried desperately to have one of our own.”
“And when you couldn’t, it was easy enough to take someone else’s.” She didn’t try to keep the bitterness from her tone; she couldn’t stop the anger and resentment building inside her.
“None of this was easy.”
“For twenty-two years you raised me as your own and never gave any indication otherwise.” Everything she’d ever believed about herself and her family had been a lie. A whole series of lies, one piled on top of another, until the truth had been buried so deep it should never have been discovered. And it wouldn’t have been, if Joel Logan hadn’t started digging.
“As far as we were concerned, you were our child.” Ellen wiped at the tears sliding down her cheeks. “You are our child.”
Riane had basked in that knowledge over the years. Now, faced with the realization that Ellen and Ryan weren’t really her mother and father, that none of the past twenty-two years had been real, she didn’t know how to feel. She was hurt and angry, but overriding all else was an aching emptiness deep inside. A void that obliterated any sense of self she’d ever possessed.
“From the moment you came to us, I believed you were meant to be ours. That God sent you to us—”
&nbs
p; “God?” Riane interrupted, her tone derisive. “Are you suggesting that Camille was on His payroll?”
“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” Ellen said evenly.
Riane shook her head. “How dare you claim divine intervention as justification for your actions?”
“Whether you believe it or not, I believed it. I believed you were given to us because you needed a family to love you as much as we needed a child to love.”
“I hope that helps you sleep at night.”
“And when you go to sleep at night, it’s in the home we provided for you,” Ellen reminded her tersely.
Riane fell silent.
“You have a right to be angry,” Ellen continued, “but I am still your mother and I deserve your respect.”
Riane bit back the sharp retort that sprang to her lips, because despite the fact that Ellen hadn’t given birth to her, she had been her mother in every way that mattered. And that was why her betrayal struck so deeply. “Did you—” She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Did you ever really love me?”
The tight lines around Ellen’s mouth relaxed a little. “Always. And so much more than I ever would have thought possible.”
The unwavering certainty in Ellen’s voice sliced through Riane’s anger, tore at her heart. She swallowed. “Then why did you have to ruin everything by telling me the truth now?”
It was a ridiculous question, of course. But as furious as Riane was that the truth about her parentage had been hidden for the past twenty-two years, she couldn’t deny there was a part of her that wished the lie had continued. So long as she’d been Ellen and Ryan Quinlan’s daughter, she’d been someone. Now she didn’t know who she was, what was expected of her.
“Do you remember the Christmas when you were four years old?”
Riane frowned. “No.”
“I do.” Ellen smiled, almost wistfully. “You asked for only two things from Santa that year: a ballerina doll and a sister.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Riane demanded impatiently.
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