His Child Or Hers?

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 one of the identifying features I was able to tell Rodger about way back in the beginning.

“Robbie has Benjamin’s birthmark,” she reiterated quietly. “And according to his medical records he has the same blood type as my son. And—”

“Fine. Your P.I.’s poked around and come up with enough coincidences to build a case. But that’s a long way from proving—”

“Hank, it isn’t only the birthmark and the blood type and Robbie’s age. Most Guatemalans have a darker complexion than Benjamin does, and…if you read the report…There’s no mistake. I’m his mother. A simple DNA test will prove that.

“In fact, I spoke to someone at a private lab in Englewood. If you’ll agree to take Robbie there, we can both be tested and have a definitive answer within twenty-four hours.”

He pushed himself out of his chair and paced across the room—his heart pounding harder still.

Of course he’d agree. He’d take Robbie tomorrow, and hope to hell the test would prove Spicer had arrived at the wrong conclusion. But deep down his fear was telling him that wasn’t going to happen.

One by one, he scrutinized the photos on the mantel and discovered Natalie was right. The birthmark didn’t show in any of them. And if she’d actually told Spicer about it in the beginning, this was no scam. It was the real thing.

He turned and stood gazing at her. There were no striking similarities between her features and Robbie’s, but their eyes were the identical shade of brown. And something about the way she held her head…

Dammit, if she was Robbie’s mother, he was at risk of losing his child. The thought made his chest feel hollow.

“Maybe if you just looked at the report,” she murmured.

As much to give himself some breathing space as anything else, he walked back over, picked it up and began flipping through the pages.

The document was exhaustive, even contained a brief description of his house. “A comfortable, three-bedroom bungalow in a semirural area outside Madison, New Jersey,” he read before moving on to biographical information about him and Audrey.

He skimmed the summary section headed Hank Ballantyne. “Thirty-six years of age. NYPD homicide detective. Work involves rotating shifts and frequent overtime.”

He swore under his breath. That hardly made him sound like the ideal single parent.

As for Audrey…

“Live-in housekeeper. Fifty-eight years of age. Widowed. One married daughter living in Idaho.”

Hell, couldn’t Spicer at least have mentioned that she was crazy about Robbie? And that she was one of the nicest people in the state of New Jersey?

Thinking that—thanks to Rodger Spicer—Natalie knew almost as much about his adult life as he did, he moved on to the next section and discovered it discussed Jane’s leaving him. And their subsequent divorce.

He read through the overview, which contained details that had obviously come from the divorce pleadings.

Jane hadn’t been able to have a baby and had been pressing him about adoption for quite a while. Then, when they’d seen the news coverage of the earthquake, so many children suddenly needing homes had made him agree to the idea.

Once he had, with Worldwide matching prospective parents to the orphans before they even left Guatemala, getting Robbie had been a relatively quick process.

But after he was theirs, it hadn’t taken Jane long to decide that a baby wasn’t actually what she’d wanted. And she’d left mere weeks after the adoption was final.

The adoption was final. Of course! There was the key fact. Why hadn’t he realized that immediately?