Jalen.
Weaker and more foolish than he needed to be where this one woman was concerned, he looked at her.
Mistake.
Tears sparkled in those big brown eyes, clinging to her black lashes and threatening to spill onto smooth brown cheeks that had to be the softest things in the world, not that he’d ever know. Worse was her unblinking earnestness, which was unexpected but unmistakable. Whatever else she might be, Lia Taylor didn’t appear to be off her meds, a wacko or a plain vanilla liar.
Or maybe that was just his lust talking.
Snatching his hand free—maybe he could think better when she wasn’t touching him—he stalked back to his desk, anxious to put some distance between him and her and between him and his growing sense of unease.
“Start talking,” he said. “Why don’t you start with explaining this miraculous event, since you and I have never laid eyes on each other before today, much less had sex.” He let his gaze scrape down her body, lingering on a few key points, trying to insult her the way she’d insulted his intelligence by expecting him to believe this fairy tale. “You didn’t think I’d forget having sex with you, did you, sweetheart? Because there’s no chance of that. Let me assure you.”
“Don’t call me sweetheart. This is hard enough without you being patronizing.” She shut the door again and took a few steps farther into the office. “And of course it wasn’t an immaculate conception—”
He leaned against his desk, crossing his arms and his legs. “Oh, I get it. This is the part of the conversation where you try to convince me that we had sex after some college frat party and I was too drunk to remember.”
“No, actually,” she said, her voice cooling several degrees and her tears long gone by now, “I’ve never been sexually attracted to drunk people.”
So she wasn’t going to pursue that line of argument, eh?
Smart choice. Especially since the chance of him forgetting a night with her, drunk or not, were the same as him playing starting center for the L.A. Lakers. Anyway, he’d been too busy studying to have many drunk nights in college, and too careful of his future to have unprotected sex with random women.
“Well, feel free to enlighten me.”
“My husband and I—” she began.
The H-word didn’t sit well with him, which was insane. “You’re married?”
“Widowed.” She had the nerve to raise one delicate brow with obvious annoyance. “Are you going to let me get a complete sentence out?”
He waved a hand for her to continue.
After a pause to make sure he wouldn’t interrupt again, she started over.
“My husband was older than me. We wanted kids. He couldn’t have them. So we went to a sperm bank.” She hesitated. His belly knotted, apparently realizing before the rest of him that a missile strike was headed straight for the space between his eyes. “The Hopewell General sperm bank.”
Thomas’s heart stopped cold.
Lia’s voice gentled, as though she knew that she was flipping his world up on its end. “I was artificially inseminated. I got pregnant. We were ecstatic.” Tears sparkled in her eyes again, and she struggled, her voice cracking. “Until he was killed in a car crash before Jalen was born.”
Ah, shit.
He waited, giving her time to collect herself, which was probably a mistake.
After a deep breath, she got it together enough to keep on kicking the ground out from under Thomas’s feet. “That was nine years ago. Now Jalen is sick and he needs your help, which is why I’m here. The end.”
It was the end, all right. The end of Thomas’s ability to stand upright with his knees nice and strong. Bracing his palms on his desk for support, he took his time lowering himself into his chair and wished he could handle this crisis as well as he handled the ones inside the operating room.
Think, man. THINK.
Didn’t Hopewell General have privacy policies in place to protect the anonymity of anonymous sperm donors?
Hell, yes.
He looked up to find her hovering over the desk, watching him intently, as though the world—their world—hung in the balance. Which, he supposed, it did.
“How do you know?” he wondered. “How do you know I’m the father?”
Her gaze wavered. “I … hacked into the hospital’s records.”
The words rattled around inside his head, making no sense. He tried to imagine what had to be involved in such a task—break-ins, firewalls, passwords, encryptions, decryptions and probably a whole bunch of other computer wizardry that he’d never heard of and could never understand.
“You … hacked into the records?”
“Yes,” she said, defiant now. “I’d do anything for my son.”
“You don’t just hack into—”
“You do if you’re an FBI analyst. And I hope you realize that I’ve just given you enough information to ruin my career and send me to jail for a long time. So I hope you’ll use it wisely.”
He was a bright guy, but it took his spinning thoughts way longer than it should have to coalesce into something coherent. “Hang on. You’re the hacker?”
Impatience leached into her voice. “Yes.”
“So what the hell were you doing with the chief of staff earlier, hanging out like you’re new BFFs?”
“They don’t want to put the hospital through the scandal of prosecuting me, so they’ve hired me to build a stronger security system.”
“Jesus,” he muttered.
Her lips twisted a little, as though she, too, appreciated the irony.
They watched each other for a couple of beats, both wary.
“Do you believe me now?” she asked.
His answer took much longer than it should have. An automatic and emphatic Hell, no! should have been flying out of his mouth, but it seemed stuck in his throat. Crazy, right? He hadn’t signed up for a kid, had always taken steps to prevent producing a kid and wasn’t ready for a kid. Hell, maybe there really wasn’t a kid.
Maybe this complete stranger was looking for a baby daddy with resources to pay for the kid’s braces. Maybe she’d researched him and his family and knew the kind of money they had. Maybe she wanted to get rich quick on child support. Other women had certainly tried, unsuccessfully, to tap into his wallet over the years, so he wouldn’t be surprised. Plus, the hospital was up to its neck in scandals, and it wouldn’t do his personal reputation around here any good if he turned out to have a baby mama, not that he’d ever cared too much about people’s opinions of him, even his colleagues’.
And yet …
Hold up. There was no and yet, even if the idea of having a son tugged at some primal daddy thing inside him. He was too shrewd to be played for a fool.
“Why would I believe the word of an admitted hacker and felon who barges into my office to tell me I have a son but doesn’t have any proof? Or do you have proof? My bad.”
Flashing him a look withering enough to melt his spine, she reached into a skirt pocket, pulled out a smart phone, tapped a couple of buttons and handed it to him without a word.
Whereupon his limbs froze with sudden paralysis.
If he looked at that picture, there was