Finding Her Son

William gripped her arm, the eagerness in his voice gratifying, but she couldn’t mislead him. “Not exactly. I’m collecting information on adoptions from last year because I discovered these missing babies downtown. Well, at least there are missing pregnant girls, and—”

“Oh, Emily. How many times have we traveled down this path?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but they’re my family. In some ways they’re right. It’s been a year. We have to accept reality. We’ve tried to find him. Even my parents tried. But Joshua’s gone.”

“I’m not giving up. Not ever, but I need more time. With your parents painting me as a Black Widow in the gossip rags, my clinic is barely making it.”

“I can’t help anymore. I’m sorry.” William opened the door of the decade-old compact Eric had complained about so often. When she slid onto the cracked vinyl seat, William knelt beside the car. “Take my advice. Move on with your life. Close this chapter.”

“How can I do that when my son is out there somewhere? You may not believe I’ll find him, but I refuse to accept that I won’t.”

William gripped her hands, his gaze regretful. “Then I’m sorry for you. Goodbye, Emily.” He shut the door and, after a pitying look, walked back to the family crypt.

She shuddered and let out a slow breath, the cold filtering into her bones. This couldn’t be happening. She started her car and cranked up the heater as high as it would go to ease her shivering, though that had little to do with the weather. She’d wondered why the life-insurance company kept stalling on the check. She had her answer. And what was that about the so-called secret account? She’d have to call the bank, but she’d never get at the money. The Wentworths would see to that.

She glanced at her watch. Officer Bradford had an appointment and would be waiting at her clinic. Could she trust him? Right now, she needed him as much as he needed her. The second phase of her plan made her stomach churn, but she had to take drastic action. She needed funds to ramp up her search for Joshua. Eric would’ve understood.

Snagging her purse, she dug into her pocket for the number she’d saved. With one last glance at the marble resting place of the man with whom she’d thought she’d spend the rest of her life, she placed the call. “Karen, it’s Emily. Put the house up for sale. I’ll take the first offer. I need the cash. Now.”

THE PHYSICAL-THERAPY clinic looked too familiar. Mitch hated the fact he had a reason to enter the place, but after following Emily all morning, after zero leads on either the attempted hit-and-run, Ghost or Kayla’s disappearance, the trail was subzero. He had to shake something loose.

Mitch groaned as he pushed open the door and surveyed the plethora of exercise equipment and tables. The scent of menthol wafted on the air—an odor far too familiar for his liking. Several rehab patients worked on recumbent bikes. A few more did stretching exercises with the help of staff.

When he’d discovered she had an opening this morning, he’d scrambled to get a copy of his records, threw on his sweats and headed out the door. Mitch could now infiltrate Emily’s life, but he wasn’t an undercover cop. He didn’t like lying, he hated deceit and he was doing both. The bonus? He got the pleasure of being tortured in physical therapy for his trouble. A real win-win.

A young receptionist rounded her desk. “May I help you?”

With a quick, plastered-on grin, he scanned her name tag. “Hi, Cindy. Mitch Bradford. I have an appointment with Emily Wentworth.”

The door behind them flew open, and a familiar dynamo dressed from head to foot in black raced into the room. “Cindy, I know I’m late. Please tell me my new patient isn’t—”

She skidded to a halt, clearly dismayed to see Mitch standing there. “Shoot.”

Holy smokes. Emily Wentworth looked good. He didn’t know how he could’ve missed the impact of her up close and personal last night. She was completely his type, with a petite, fit body and long, light brown hair swinging from a ponytail—obviously so silky it would be amazing spread across his pillow. Then he stared into her eyes, and his heart skipped a beat. Thick lashes framed the bluest, saddest eyes he’d ever seen. For a moment he felt lost. Her look was kind and sympathetic, with depth that could embrace his soul.

Where had that come from, waxing poetic? He had a job to do. But as he took in the plain black dress, with its high collar circling her neck, he recalled her complete aloneness at the cemetery. He’d been watching, forced to back away once the Wentworths arrived. It was the anniversary of her husband’s death. Was she still in mourning, or was this all for show, all part of an elaborate plan to get at the Wentworth money?

Mitch’s gut told him she was sincere. He didn’t want to believe the pain on her face, the sorrow in her eyes, had been anything but real.

Then again, his gut hadn’t been all that reliable lately. A few months ago, Mitch had learned his mentor had been a traitor to the badge. He wouldn’t be fooled so easily now. Not anymore. He couldn’t afford to give Emily the benefit of the doubt.

Mitch gave her a deliberately innocent smile. “Did I get the time wrong?”

She bit her lip, embarrassment tingeing her cheeks.

“No,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Not a great way to make a first impression as a therapist. Let me change, and I’ll be right with you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Not until he knew for sure whether he’d completely lost his ability to tell the good guys from the bad guys. If he was wrong about her, he’d get the evidence he needed. And if she was guilty, he might as well just turn in his badge.

With a smile of gratitude, she disappeared behind a staff door.

Cindy handed him a stack of paperwork. “Emily will be right back. If you’ll fill out these forms…”

Mitch took the clipboard and sat in the chair closest to the receptionist before stretching his leg out. “So, I guess I was lucky to get in to see her so quickly. I heard she’s really good. I thought I’d have to wait longer for an appointment.”

“Oh, Emily’s the best, but…” Cindy hesitated. “She’s not that busy these days. Clients stopped coming because of her in-laws. They’ve said some things about her, and, well, some people gossip too much.” Cindy bit her lip and took a furtive glance around. “I need to get back to work.”

Obviously, Emily’s business had taken a big hit. That money angle his boss had mentioned reared its head again, but Mitch didn’t see the connection. If that secret account were hers, why not use it to save her business? Why work at all? Why not just disappear?

Mitch tried to get comfortable, but his leg had been giving him fits ever since that confrontation with Ghost. His body had revolted against a move he’d used a thousand times.

Once he finished the paperwork, he settled in for the long wait, but she returned in less than five minutes. Women usually took forever with clothes. Not Emily. Which shouldn’t have been surprising really. Nothing had been usual when it came to this assignment. The turtleneck she wore under her scrubs was a subtle reminder of what he knew lay beneath. He’d reviewed the crime-scene photos, had seen the jagged cut across her throat that had permanently damaged her vocal cords.

“Officer, come on back.” Her husky voice sent a shiver through him. He didn’t know what her voice had sounded like before, but this one was downright sexy.

“Call me Mitch. If you’re going to have your hands all over me, we should be on a first-name basis.” He followed her into a private examining room, trying to avoid studying the sway of her hips under the scrubs she’d changed into. Down, boy. Do not let yourself get taken in by a pair of baby blues and luscious curves. If she were innocent and wore black on the anniversary of her husband’s death, the implications made her so far off-limits, there wasn’t a measurement long enough.

She shut the door and cleared her throat, nodding at the exam table. Mitch was just relieved she didn’t offer to help him. His pride could only take so much. “Here’s my chart, just like you requested.”

He levered himself up on the table as she sat down and flipped through the pages. “You’ve been in therapy four months.” She closed the chart. “I didn’t really think you’d take me up on the offer.”

“Normally I wouldn’t have.” The words slipped off his tongue easily—since they were the truth. “I’ve got two months to requalify for SWAT. I’ll do anything to make that happen…Emily. Anything. And your reputation as a physical therapist…You’re one of the best.”

She nodded slowly. “The gunshot wound caused a lot of damage to your femoral artery and the surrounding nerves and muscles. What did your doctors say?”

“That I might never walk again. I didn’t listen too hard.”

A laugh escaped her, and the smile brightened her eyes. She sure was pretty.

“Good attitude. As long as you don’t go too far too fast. You came a few centimeters away from losing your leg.” She leaned back in her chair and set the chart aside. “Do you have the patience to follow orders? I won’t work with someone who goes off on his own. Even though you saved my life. You’ll need to do as I say. Exactly as I say.”

He understood chain of command, but from this slip of a thing…He bristled and met her unyielding gaze. He couldn’t afford not to play along. He’d seen the toughness in her before, the challenge. He’d give her a shot. It wasn’t like he had a choice. She was his assignment. But could he get his leg strength back and investigate Emily at the same time? Without going crazy?

“I want my SWAT uniform back. You tell me to sweat bullets, run stadium steps, go to yoga, I’ll do it. I’ll even wear a Texas Longhorns jersey, and I’m an Oklahoma Sooner, born and bred. You come up with a program to help me pass that physical, and I’m with you one thousand percent.”

“I’d have thought you a Colorado Buffaloes fan. But I believe you. So let’s get a baseline. You wearing workout shorts under those?” She stood and indicated his sweats.

He nodded. “And just to be clear, my grandparents came from Oklahoma. Once a Sooner…”

“I get it.” She smiled. “I like your loyalty to your roots, Mitch Bradford. I’ll go get some equipment while you take your pants off.”

A few months ago that order would have had him pulling her into his arms. Now Mitch simply slipped off his shoes, socks and sweats. He knew the drill. He’d never felt naked in a clinic before, but as he rubbed the gnarled scars on his thigh, he tensed. She’d know soon enough how damaged he really was.

After a slight knock, she entered the room. She glanced at his leg but didn’t give anything away—not pity, not disgust. She moved in closer, and he caught a waft of sweet mixed with tartness. Vanilla and some kind of berry, perhaps? His heart thudded as she placed her hands on his thigh.

“Let’s get started,” she said.

A dozen measurements later, Mitch swiped at the sweat rolling down his face and bit his lip to stop himself from crying out. The white-hot shards of pain shooting across his thigh were much worse since his heroics of the night before. He tried to ignore them as he strained against the minuscule weight Emily had pressed against his leg. His muscles behaved like traitors. Weak as a baby.

She frowned at her notes as she compared them to his records. Then she glared at him. “What have you been doing to yourself? You’ve lost at least fifteen percent of your strength and flexibility gains in the past month. That didn’t happen because of a single jujitsu turn. What aren’t you telling me?”