The woman standing on his front porch had a long tangle of dark hair, a killer figure and a face that would make any red-blooded male take a lengthy second look. A lengthy third one, too.
She was downright gorgeous. And gorgeous women did not routinely come calling. Not to his door, at least.
In fact, he was positive it had never happened before. It was definitely the sort of thing he’d remember.
Opening up, he gave her a warm smile. Then his gaze involuntarily flickered to her legs—and he ordered himself to keep his eyes off them.
It might be tough to do, though, because he’d always been a leg man and hers were great.
“Hank Ballantyne?” she said.
He nodded. This was getting better by the second. She hadn’t just rung the bell because she was looking for directions or something. She was looking for him.
Of course, that briefcase she was carrying could mean trouble. She might be a lawyer or a process server—it wouldn’t be the first time one had appeared out of nowhere. Or maybe she wanted to sell him something. Or she could be some sort of scam artist.
But his instincts were telling him she wasn’t. And like most cops, his instincts about people were usually reliable.
“I’m Natalie Lawson,” she said. “There’s something I need to discuss with you.”
Okay, not a process server. If that was it she’d have told him straight away.
“Would you like to come in?” he said, taking a backward step.
“I…are you alone?”
He nodded again. “I’m a pretty safe risk, though. I’m a police detective. NYPD.”
“Yes. I know.”
She knew. Okay then, she’d done some homework—which got him back to thinking either lawyer or a sales pitch. But if it was the latter, wouldn’t she be acting friendly instead of looking so darned serious?
Glancing across his greening property to the Taurus parked in his driveway, he noted the Atlas Car Rentals sticker on its front bumper. Salespeople didn’t normally drive short-term rentals.
He ushered her inside and began gathering up the toy trucks that were parked all over the couch, while she stood gazing at the pictures of Robbie on the mantel.
“There,” he said. “That gives you room to sit down. Would you like coffee? Or something cold?”
“Thanks, but no. I just…where’s your little boy?”
“My housekeeper took him shopping. He outgrows his clothes awfully fast. Either that or he plays hard enough to destroy them.”
Natalie smiled. It was a great smile that made him smile back—yet he was still wondering what she was after.
As he sat down on one of the wing chairs facing the couch, she said, “He’s pretty active, then.”
The comment was almost enough to make him laugh. When he wasn’t asleep, Robbie seemed to be in perpetual motion.
“That’s a real understatement,” he said. “He gets into more…but you aren’t here to talk about my son.”
“Actually, I am.”
“Oh?” He glanced at her briefcase again, an uneasy feeling creeping up his spine.
Had she come in some sort of official capacity? If so, he had no idea what it might be. But there was a simple way to find out.
“You’re here to talk about Robbie because…?”
Instead of replying, she opened the briefcase, pulled out a spiral-bound document, then leaned forward and handed it to him.
The title page read, Final Report on Benjamin Lawson-Garcia. Prepared by Rodger Spicer, Private Investigator, Licensed by the State of Michigan.
“Michigan?” He looked at her uncertainly.
“That’s not really relevant. I just hired him because he was recommended by a friend. One who lives in Detroit, which is where I grew up.”
She bit her lower lip for a moment before saying, “Look, I know what a shock this is going to be, and I’ve spent days trying to think of some way to lessen it. There isn’t one, though. Benjamin Garcia is my son, and…my Benjamin is your Robbie.”
For an endless moment Hank felt as if he’d been punched in the solar plexus. He couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t think. He could only stare at Natalie Lawson while the meaning of her words sank in.
He finally managed to take a deep breath, which started his brain working properly again. After that, he only needed half a second to realize this picture was completely out of focus. And that maybe his instincts had been wrong. Maybe Natalie was a scam artist. Because she was not Robbie’s mother.
Ordering himself to deal with this calmly, he set the report down on the coffee table and said, “Both Robbie’s parents were killed in an earthquake. In Guatemala. He was just a baby at the time.”
When she didn’t reply, merely sat gazing at him, he decided that the more details she figured he knew the quicker she’d back off from whatever her game was.
“The quake left hundreds of children orphaned,” he elaborated. “And a lot of them ended up being adopted in the U.S. Robbie only remained in Guatemala for a few weeks afterward. Then he was flown here and placed with my wife and me.”
“Yes,” she murmured. “It’s all in the report. The adoptions were arranged by Worldwide Child Rescue and…” She shrugged. “But you know that as well as I do. What you don’t know is that Rodger Spicer has spent the past three years tracking Benjamin down.”
“Three years,” Hank repeated. “That’s roughly how long I’ve had Robbie. Since he was about six months old.”
“Yes, well…The Worldwide people weren’t exactly cooperative. They did everything they could to prevent Rodger from accessing their records. But child by child, court order by court order, he…”
She paused, then continued. “Some of the babies they brought here came from an orphanage in Guatemala City. And Benjamin was one of them. He shouldn’t have been, though. There was a mix-up, and…
“You see, my husband was killed in the quake, but I was only injured. And Benjamin was taken to the orphanage—to be cared for while I was hospitalized.
“Only, somehow the sisters mixed him up with another baby and turned him over to Worldwide.”
Hank could feel panic growing inside him. What if Robbie really was her son? If he was, there was only one reason she’d have come here. To get him back!
But no. That report had to be wrong.
“Look, I’m sorry you lost your child. And your husband,” he managed to say evenly. “I can only imagine what that’s put you through. But this…”
His gaze flickered to the document. “Your Rodger Spicer’s made a mistake.”
“No, he hasn’t,” she said gently. “Robbie has a birthmark on the left side of his neck, doesn’t he. Just above his shoulder. My baby had a birthmark there.”
His heart pounding, Hank glanced over at the photos on the mantel. “You saw that three minutes ago, when you were looking at those,” he said, turning back to her.
“I don’t think it shows in any of them.”
Did it?
He’d seen the pictures a thousand times, yet right this minute he was so upset he couldn’t answer his own question.
“Then you know about it from the report,” he said.
Natalie shook her head. “I’ve always known. It’s