Searching for Cate. Marie Ferrarella

went well, she upbraided herself. If she’d interviewed suspects the way she had her birth mother, the bureau would have had her mowing lawns instead of where she was.

      She did her best to calm down. Part of that entailed focusing on a plan. Now that she had located her birth mother, she was going to have to try talking to her again. Later, after both she and Joan had an opportunity to collect themselves.

      As she approached the elevators it occurred to Cate that she still didn’t know what the woman was doing in the hospital. She needed to get a look at Joan’s medical records.

      Christian lengthened his stride. He had considerable more leg than the woman did, but she moved quickly. He managed to finally catch up to her just as she pressed for the elevator. Rather than call out to her again, he simply got in front of her. She looked surprised, and almost as agitated as his patient.

      “Excuse me.”

      She could feel herself growing defensive. Was he about to lecture her on behalf of his patient? Right now, she was in no mood to have to listen. If he wasn’t careful, this good-looking doctor was going to find he had bitten off more than he had bargained for. “Yes?”

      There were a great many diplomatic ways to begin. Since Alma’s death, he’d lost the ability to be diplomatic and patient. Christian went straight to the heart. “Who are you?”

      Blunt. She admired blunt. Sometimes.

      “Ah, the million-dollar question,” the woman he’d just chased down said sarcastically. Christian saw the same tears he’d just witnessed in Joan Cunningham’s eyes now making an appearance in the blonde’s. It struck him that they had the same light green color. “I wish to God I knew,” she whispered. It sounded as if she’d said the words more to herself than to him.