The Hidden Heir. Debra Webb

      Maybe she was smarter than Van Valkenberg and his people had estimated. She was definitely cagier than Keith had anticipated.

      He closed his eyes and tuned out the questions one by one. No more thinking. A few hours’ sleep would give him the clear head he needed for determining his next course of action.

      The chirp of his cell phone disrupted the silence.

      Keith sat up and blinked twice before the numbers on the clock became clear: 1:30 a.m. He grabbed the phone off the bedside table.

      “Devers.”

      “I think I’ve got it.”

      Ben.

      Keith scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m listening.”

      “You see, she piggybacked her number on several others, bouncing around the Midwest ending up in South Bend. The technology isn’t anything new, but your average Joe, or Betty in this case, wouldn’t know about it. Not that it’s a problem to find it.” He laughed. “The needed gadgets are available right on the Internet. But her one mistake was in her post office box.”

      “Her post office box?” Keith’s brow furrowed in confusion as he started to button his shirt. Somehow the conversation had jumped from cell phones to post office boxes and he didn’t quite follow. Maybe that hour of sleep had been just enough to ensure his brain staged a rebellion against waking up.

      “Yeah. You see, you have to have a billing address. No billing address, no cell phone. Unless, of course, you’re using the pay-as-you-go kind and she isn’t. So, she used an alias and a post office box.”

      Keith was just about to tell him to get to the point, when he went on, “Only problem is, when I hacked into the files—” Ben cleared his throat “—well, actually I had a contact who did the hacking. Anyway, she listed her physical residence. It’s required, like I said. Once I had that, I cross-referenced with the DMV. It’s her, all right. The hair’s different. The eyes, too, but there’s no question that Ashley Orrick is one and the same as Nola Childress.

      “I don’t get it,” Ben said, sounding surprised or maybe a little disappointed his prey had fallen down on the point. “All she would have had to do was use someone else’s address. Simple. I’ll bet she—”

      “Where is she, Ben?” Keith stood and shoved his feet into his shoes.

      “Oh…ah…she’s in Waynesville, Missouri. You could be there by 7 a.m. if you leave now. I projected a route to her home address, calculated the distance and driving time. I sent it to your pocket PC.”

      “Thanks, Ben.”

      Keith closed his phone; otherwise, his colleague might go on forever. He did love to talk about gadgets and such. Keith glanced at the clock again. One hour’s sleep was better than none. He reached for his jacket and tie, surveyed the room to ensure he hadn’t forgotten anything and left.

      In the car, he dragged the pocket PC from his jacket, downloaded and checked his final destination.

      He had to admit she’d picked an excellent place to get lost.

      But he had something she didn’t—Ben Haygood.

      ASHLEY FORCED the orange juice past her lips. Her stomach quivered traitorously but she made herself drink for Jamie’s sake.

      He carefully sat his juice glass on the table. “How long can you stay?”

      She pushed a smile into place. “Just for today.” Her lips trembled in spite of her best efforts. God, she hated this.

      He averted his dark gaze, choosing to stare at his uneaten eggs rather than his mother. He didn’t have to say anything. Ashley knew exactly what he was thinking. His mother’s visits grew farther and farther apart. Her excuses for the long absences were less and less creative. Each time it was more difficult to fool her extremely intelligent son. Pain twisted in her chest. How could she keep doing this to him?

      But how could she risk otherwise?

      “What would you like to do?” She pushed aside her untouched plate and clasped her hands atop the table. “You name it, baby, and we’ll spend the day making it happen. Just you and me.”

      “I’m not a baby.”

      Oh, yeah, she’d forgotten that. Ten-year-old boys didn’t like being called babies. “Sorry.”

      He picked at his eggs. “I have chores.”

      Ashley closed her eyes to hold back an onslaught of emotion. This wasn’t his fault. She couldn’t let him see how much his response hurt.

      Since he’d started school, she’d left him in the care of her dear friend Marla Beck. Ashley had gone to elementary school with Marla, but they hadn’t seen each other since sixth grade. Ashley would always believe that God had led her to Springfield and back into Marla’s life. Marla had two small girls of her own, but she’d opened her home to Jamie in order to give him some much needed stability. Ashley couldn’t count on staying in one place long enough to facilitate his education. Dragging him around from school to school would only send up a red flag for anyone searching for the two of them. Leaving him with Marla was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do, but it was the right thing to do.

      Marla gave Jamie what she couldn’t. That thought tightened in her chest, pressed in around her heart. It was true. Here, in Marla’s home, he had the guarantee of waking up in the same bed each morning. A good school where he could bond with other boys and girls his age and develop lifelong friendships. Church on Sunday morning. All the right things a kid needed to grow up emotionally healthy and physically strong.

      Ashley’s friend refused payment for her kindness. She accepted only what it took to keep Jamie in clothes and other necessary school or medical expenses. She was truly a fine person. She’d lost her husband to an automobile accident several years ago, but he’d left her financially secure, enabling her to be a stay-at-home mom. Marla insisted this was the least she could do for Jamie and Ashley. Ashley was pretty sure it had more to do with how much she cared for Jamie than anything else. Ashley and Marla wanted their children to have the same kind of happy childhood they’d both enjoyed.

      “I could help you do your chores first,” Ashley offered. She wanted to grab him and hold him close. To beg him to forgive her for the mistakes she’d made. To plead with him to love her the way he used to when a few hugs and kisses could make up for most anything. But first and foremost, she had to respect his feelings. This couldn’t be about her.

      He shrugged. “I guess that’d be okay.”

      “All right!” She couldn’t hide her excitement.

      “First, we have to clean up the table.” He said this with the slightest glimmer of enthusiasm.

      “Okay.” She hoped he didn’t hear the quiver of her voice in that one word. It hurt so bad to watch him hold back like this…afraid to love his own mother. Afraid to count on her the way a child should be able to count on his parent.

      She helped her son scrape the plates and put them in the dishwasher, along with their glasses and silverware. They wiped the table together and checked to make sure nothing had been forgotten, such as leaving the milk on the counter.

      “Now what?” She looked to him for direction. Let him lead.

      “I have to make my bed.” He scratched his head. “I forgot that earlier. Ms. Marla told me you were here and I…forgot.”

      Ashley’s heart leapt. He’d heard she was here and he’d gotten excited enough to forget part of his routine. Maybe there was hope for them after all.

      “I’m pretty handy at making beds.”

      He nodded. “I remember.”

      Her heart so heavy she could scarcely breathe, she followed her son up the stairs to the room Marla had kindly decorated in a NASCAR theme just for him. Together, they made