Found: One Secret Baby. Nancy Holland

noisy courthouse lobby swirled around her with the same black panic that had almost overwhelmed her when Mr. Danby first mentioned Márya’s child. After three days, she’d thought the man was gone for good.

      She sat down hard on a well-worn wooden bench and forced air into her lungs. Then she punched her office number and tried to act as if her world hadn’t just been turned upside down—again.

      “The judge is running late,” she told her receptionist when he answered. “Please tell my afternoon appointments I’ll be there as soon as I can, and reschedule anyone who can’t wait.”

      And please, please make it so that Morgan Danby can’t wait and can’t reschedule, she added in silent prayer.

      Not that she had much hope of that. For all his casual air, Mr. Danby didn’t strike her as a man who would give up easily or be a gracious loser. But she had to win this one for Joey’s sake.

      When she reached her office building four hours later, the expensive black sports car in the parking lot warned her that her prayer had not been granted.

      Mr. Danby stood in the reception area outside her office, staring at one of the paintings that decorated the wall, an impressionistic hibiscus in brilliant red with broad strokes of yellow, green, and black.

      “Are you an art critic, Mr. Danby?” she asked, in lieu of the polite greeting she couldn’t force out.

      He scanned her wind-blown hairdo and crumpled linen suit. She ignored the urge to straighten herself the same way she’d ignored the flutter in her chest when she first saw him.

      “Rough day in court?” he asked with one sexily raised eyebrow.

      “Rough day on the freeway. I won in court.”

      “Congratulations.” He turned back to the painting. “I didn’t have a chance to look closely at this when I was here before. It’s quite good. They both are.” He gestured to the painting on the other wall, a golden poppy with the same bold strokes of contrast.

      “Thank you.”

      “You painted them?”

      She allowed herself a smile at his surprise. “My mother.”

      “She’s very talented.”

      Her smile faded. “Was very talented. She’s deceased.”

      “I’m sorry to hear that.” His tone was more calculating than sympathetic.

      “It’s been a few years,” she told him as she crossed to her office and gestured him in.

      He gave the hibiscus another look before he followed her.

      She went to her desk and set down the bag that held her tablet computer. Mr. Danby had his back to her, intent on the painting of a flower garden on the wall across from her desk.

      “Your mother again?”

      She nodded, fighting to ignore the tingle his gaze sent through her.

      “And that one?” This time he pointed to the painting of a child in a sandbox that hung behind her. “Is that you?”

      She refused to let him see the sudden flash of grief. “Yes.”

      “Your mother had a remarkable talent for that kind of middle-brow art.”

      Middle-brow art? Rosalie stiffened and gestured toward the chair across from her.

      “Did she sell many of them?” He lowered his long, lean body into the chair.

      Why should he care, if it was middle-brow art? She sat down and jiggled the mouse to turn on her computer monitor. “No. It was a hobby. She gave a few to friends.”

      He crossed his legs and leaned back to watch her face. “I came up blank in Merced.”

      Irritation morphed into dread. She sat up straighter and gave him an empty smile.

       Chapter Two

      The ice princess was back in place as soon as Morgan reminded Ms. Walker why he was here. He missed the very different, very attractive, person she had become when she smiled, but he couldn’t undo what needed to be done.

      “I’m not surprised,” she said blandly.

      “Because you lied to me?”

      “Because privacy laws protect people like Márya, Ms. Mendelev, from people like you.”

      “People like me?”

      “People who want access to someone’s medical records so they can use the information for personal gain.”

      He leaned forward. “I have absolutely nothing to gain from this. I’m here on behalf of my stepmother, who only wants what’s best for her grandchild, if she has one.”

      “What’s best for the child—or what’s best for her? Does she really care about this supposed grandchild, or does she see it as a chance for a do-over on motherhood, since she didn’t exactly do a great job the first time around? You’ll forgive me if I remain unconvinced it’s Márya, or any child she might have had, that interests either you or your stepmother.”

      It rankled to hear his own worries about his stepmother’s motives echoed by this sanctimonious lady lawyer, but Morgan bypassed an angry reply.

      Instead he tried to do as Lillian suggested and play to the woman’s friendship with Márya Mendelev. “Do you think your friend would want her child to be shuffled through the foster-care system when it has a grandmother, a wealthy grandmother, who’s eager to love it and raise it as her own? Would she want to deny her child the chance to have the best of everything?”

      Ms. Walker scowled. Apparently Lillian’s wealth didn’t impress her.

      “You must be aware, even if your stepmother isn’t, that the odds a healthy baby will remain in foster care for long are slight these days, given the high demand for adoptable infants.”

      “Before the child could be adopted, there would have to be a good-faith search for any living relatives. Given Charlie’s criminal record, we wouldn’t be hard to find.”

      A flash of some strong emotion crossed Ms. Walker’s face before the professional mask dropped back in place.

      “Which is one more reason to believe there was no child. Or, if there was, that it might have been claimed by relatives on Ms. Mendelev’s side of the family.”

      Was that who she was protecting? He made a non-committal sound, clicked open his smartphone and scanned the file of emails from the P.I. No, he remembered correctly.

      “According to Ms. Mendelev’s application for a student visa, she had no living relatives. Her family was wiped out in the civil war in her home country. Unless she lied to the immigration people.”

      The woman across from him licked her lips, drawing his attention to their soft fullness, reminding him of that fleeting smile. He gave a silent sigh and refocused on the business at hand.

      “How did you gain access to that information?”

      “The private investigator …” had better luck bribing the staff at the college the Mendelev woman had attended than he’d had bribing the staff at the homeless shelters, but Morgan wasn’t about to tell the lady lawyer that. “… accessed her records online.”

      “Be that as it may, I’m afraid you’ll have to accept the fact that this supposed child was a figment of your P.I.’s imagination.”

      He leaned in, temper tightly reined. “You said yourself Ms. Mendelev was pregnant when you first met her.”

      She leaned forward as well, green eyes fixed on his. “Do you want to know how many times your brother had kicked