Baby By Chance. M.J. Rodgers

That cedar had borne the weight of her treehouse, weathered the worst of winter’s storms and soaked up the tears shed by her young self.

      Her heart filled with sudden hope. Maybe, just maybe, the impulse that had brought her here wouldn’t prove to be so crazy, after all.

      DAVID SAVORED HIS COFFEE as he watched the traffic beneath his window. Mornings were always his favorite part of the day; he enjoyed watching the world wake up and get busy, especially in this part of the world.

      Western Washington wouldn’t push open its coffin lid of clouds to let in any real sun until summer. He didn’t mind enduring the months of overcast skies ahead. The rain was a familiar companion, and he had learned that there was comfort in the familiar. A man could handle anything when he knew what to expect.

      A long, difficult case now hinged on an interview he would conduct with his client’s runaway daughter in a few hours. Getting the girl’s trust was key. He was counting on what he had to show her to help him. But his approach also had to be right. He had come in early so as to plan what he would say to her.

      He checked his watch. Barely eight. He had another full hour before the office officially opened and anyone else arrived. Plenty of time to—

      “Excuse me.”

      David spun around so sharply at the sound of the unexpected voice behind him that coffee splashed out of his cup. He found himself suddenly face-to-face with large, luminous eyes the color of summer clover.

      She stood in the doorway, a slim silhouette in a dark business suit with matching, low-heeled pumps. Across her forehead was a curve of shiny, golden-brown bangs. The rest of her hair fell in one long, thick braid to the gentle swell of her right breast. Her cosmetic-free face reflected the pink, creamy glow of youth. She didn’t look a day over twenty-one.

      “I’m sorry I startled you,” she said.

      Her surprisingly deep and resonant voice vibrated through David like the melody of a forgotten song.

      She took a tentative step into the room. “If you have some paper towels, I can try to soak up that stain on the carpet.”

      “No,” he said in a tone that was far too abrupt and gruff and had nothing whatsoever to do with her offer to help and everything to do with the unwelcome surprise of her. His thoughts must have shown on his face, because her open, expectant expression quickly faded.

      “I’ve obviously come at a bad time,” she said, and turned to leave.

      “No,” he heard himself barking again in that same uncivil tone. He took a deep breath. This was foolish. He was a professional. She was a client.

      “Come in,” he said, carefully modulating both his manner and tone. “The clerk will see to the carpet when he arrives. I’m David Knight.”

      He set his coffee cup on the desk and walked over to extend his hand. He was determined that this woman would see him as he really was—a cool, cordial investigator, in control of himself.

      She did not immediately take his hand but instead studied his face. There was a question in her eyes. But whatever she wanted to know, she seemed hesitant to ask. When she finally stepped forward and slipped her hand into his, he was taken aback by the warmth and strength of her clasp.

      “I’m Susan Carter.”

      Her name didn’t ring a bell. Not that all of the firm’s clients were known to him. But he was surprised that no one had mentioned her over the dinner table the night before. His brothers seldom passed up an opportunity to talk about an attractive woman.

      Could she be a special client taken on by his mom or dad?

      “Is something wrong, Mr. Knight?”

      David realized that while silently asking himself these questions, he’d been unconsciously gripping her hand. He released his hold and retraced his steps to the desk, where he grabbed the telephone.

      Didn’t matter whose client she was. What mattered was that he arrange for her to be taken care of so he could get on with what he had to do.

      “Who’s handling your case, Ms. Carter? I’ll call and let them know you’re here.”

      “There’s no one to call. This is my first visit.”

      He dropped the telephone receiver onto the base. So, she had walked in off the street. Did she really think that private investigators had nothing to do but sit in their offices waiting for prospective clients?

      “We’re not officially open for business until nine,” he said, maintaining an amicable tone.

      “Could someone see me then?”

      She’d missed the important point of his message. He tried again. “The clerk will be available to check the schedule when he arrives. But I doubt there’ll be an opening this week.”

      Her disappointed response came out in a rush. “Of course. You’re as busy as everyone else. I saw your light while I was driving by and thought—”

      Her deep voice ceased abruptly. She had no intention of sharing what she’d thought. He had the sudden conviction that she rarely did. She swallowed hard, squeezing the strap of her shoulder bag in what appeared to be an involuntary movement. “Stupid mistake on my part.”

      Her self-effacing tone told him she did not like making mistakes. The firm set to her mouth also said that she was harder on herself than anyone else could be.

      “Please, forgive the interruption.” She looked him straight in the eye when she said those words. Hers was a sincere apology, not a polite one.

      He saw then what he had missed earlier. There were dark circles beneath her eyes. She was in trouble. She had clearly acted on impulse coming here. If he insisted she make an appointment, she’d probably talk herself out of keeping it. She was turning to go.

      “I have a few moments, if you want to tell me how we can help,” David heard someone say in a familiar voice that he tardily recognized as his own.

      She halted in mid-stride and turned back. “You’ll see me now?” Her question sounded full of surprise and hope.

      In answer, he started toward the door adjacent to the reception room, wondering all the while what the hell he was doing.

      “My office is through here. What do you take in your coffee, Ms. Carter?”

      SUSAN CRADLED THE WARM cup in her cold hands. She could smell the freshly ground beans, the rich cream, the sweetness of the sugar.

      David had prepared her coffee just as she had asked, but she had yet to take a sip. As she tried to get comfortable on the guest chair in his office, she willed her jumpy stomach to settle.

      At his request, she’d filled out a card with her address and telephone number. He held that card now as he sat across from her, an immaculate, black marble desk between them. He wore a polite expression of openness and patience. And the way he leaned back in his black leather chair, the thick steam rising from his refilled cup, spoke of a man at ease.

      But every nerve in Susan’s body told her he was not.

      She found his face more rugged than handsome—bold forehead, bold cheekbones, bold chin. His skin had been weathered by time spent in outdoor pursuits. From the lines across his forehead and around his mouth, she estimated him to be somewhere in his middle thirties.

      But his eyes—as chilly a gray as the overcast spring day—his eyes were older, wiser and wary. Every time she looked into them, she had the oddest sensation that it was she who made him most wary.

      She could have convinced herself that she was imagining things if she hadn’t seen the unguarded expression on his face when he’d spilled his coffee. David Knight hadn’t just been surprised to see her. He’d been disturbed in some personal way.

      Susan normally wasn’t reticent about asking questions, but there was a quality to this man that didn’t