Mystery Child

“It is just as rough a thing for a man to be without his child for five years,” he responded.

“If she’s his child.” But, she really didn’t doubt that Jubilee was.

“I saw her when we walked in the house. She looks just like him. A prettier, younger, cuter version, but just like him.” He grabbed a mug from a small stack near the coffeemaker. Small scars crisscrossed his knuckles, thin white lines against his tan skin. They were nothing like the scar on his face. That one was thick and jagged, stretching from the corner of his eye to his jaw.

“And there’s the birth certificate,” she said more to herself than to him. How had Tabitha gotten her hands on it? If Jubilee wasn’t Daniel Boone Anderson’s child, why had Tabitha asked her to bring the little girl to him?

“There’s that, too. Wonder where your sister got it.” His voice had gone quiet, his eyes suddenly cold and hard.

“I don’t know.”

“I may just have to see if I can find her. Boone deserves the truth.”

“So does everyone else, but you’re just going to have to join the crowd of people hoping to get it, because I have nothing else to offer.”

“Except that you’re the one person your sister has contacted since she left Las Vegas.”

“There’s that,” she murmured, grabbing a clean coffee cup and filling it with hot liquid. She took a sip. It tasted like sawdust and disappointment.

* * *

This was what Malone had been hoping to hear. A birth certificate with Boone’s name on it. It was the kind of thing that he’d been looking for. Not just a red-haired child with freckles and blue eyes. A document that linked that child with Boone.

He needed to track down Special Agent Spellings and confirm that the birth certificate was legit, then he’d call Chance. His boss had left DC nearly three hours ago. He’d be arriving soon, but this wasn’t the kind of news that Malone wanted to hold on to. The sooner they could confirm the birth certificate, the sooner they could start the process of petitioning CPS to run DNA tests. Five years was a long time to wait to be reunited with a loved one. He didn’t want Boone to have to wait even an hour longer.

Once he got the information about the birth certificate, he was going to do a little digging, see if he could figure out where Tabitha had gone. He wanted to talk to her.

So did a host of other people. Quinn was right about that. She was wrong about her sister, though. Tabitha had known exactly what she was getting Quinn into.

He was pretty certain that Quinn realized it now.

Too little, too late.

She was staring into her coffee cup as if she could find the mysteries of the universe in it, the bright pink hand-printed shirt peeking out from beneath her sweatshirt again.

She didn’t look angry. She looked...sad.

That bothered Malone more than he wanted it to.

A simple mission. In. Out. Back to his vacation. Only it wasn’t going to turn out that way. He set his mug down, took Quinn’s.

“You were right,” he said, placing it next to his.

“About what?”

“Everything is going to be okay.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sure you did. You said it to Jubilee.”

She frowned, her smooth skin and large gray eyes making her look years younger than she was. She could have passed for a teenager, but he knew she’d been widowed for several years. He’d have liked to know more.

Like why a woman as smart as she seemed to be would believe the lies her sister had told her.

“I guess I did.” She offered a half smile and sighed. “I probably knew Tabitha wasn’t telling me the entire truth, but I never would have imagined that she had a child who wasn’t hers.”

“We could all be mistaken. That’s a possibility.”

“No. It’s not. I got a good look at the birth certificate. It was an original,” she responded.

“Did you see the baby’s name?”

“Kendal Grace Anderson.” Flyaway strands of hair stuck to her forehead and cheek. She brushed them away, moved toward the back door. “Mother’s name was Megan. Father’s name Daniel Boone Anderson.”

It all lined up.

Every detail.

“I need to call my boss,” he muttered. Once Boone got word about the birth certificate, he was going to be chomping at the bit, trying to get home faster than humanly possible. Returning home and being told he wasn’t going to be able to see his child wouldn’t sit well. Maybe Chance could work a little magic and make sure that didn’t happen.

“You go ahead. I...need some air.” Quinn walked to a small alcove at the back of the kitchen. A door led from there out to a porch.

Malone had already scouted the property, looking for areas that might be security risks. Quinn had been run off the road and chased into the woods. There was no guarantee the perpetrator wouldn’t return, but there were law enforcement officers all over the property and along the road where Quinn’s Jeep had been abandoned. She’d be fine outside on her own, but he followed anyway, stepping into the cool night air.

“You don’t have to babysit me,” Quinn murmured as she settled onto a bench swing that hung from porch eaves.

“Who said I was?” He settled down beside her, the chains creaking.

“You were going to call your boss.”

“It can wait.”

“Until?”

“I make sure you’re okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. She was tiny. Probably a foot shorter than Malone, but her personality seemed bigger—her voice, her gestures, those eyes that seemed to take up most of her face.

“You were lied to. You were put in danger. You trusted someone, and you were betrayed.” They were all good reasons for not being okay, but Quinn shrugged.

“I’ve been through worse.”

“I’m sorry for that.”

She turned her head, looked him straight in the eyes, her gaze dropping to the scar on his cheek, the one on his hands. “I think you’ve been through way worse, so I don’t think you should be sorry for me.”

“Trouble is relative.” He stood and paced to the porch railing, because he didn’t want her to ask about the scars. It wasn’t something he discussed—the torture, the sorrow of losing brothers in arms, the helplessness of watching it happen. “Is there someone you want me to call?”