Her Galahad. Melissa James
the birth registry, of your dad and brother. You’re far more likely to get answers out of them.”
Her gaze turned cool, challenging. “Only about Emily? Is that all the information you want?”
Darkness filled his heart. “You know that’s not all.”
“You want me to spy on them.” It wasn’t a question; she knew the answer. “You want me to help you get your revenge.”
“Yeah, all right, I do!” he snapped.
She lifted a brow, not letting him off the hook. “And?”
“I need you to see what they’ve done to you, to me, to our child. I want you to believe what I’m saying is the truth,” he replied bluntly. “I want you to want justice like I do.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “You want me to find evidence against my own family. You want me to help you put my brother—maybe even my sixty-eight-year-old father—in prison.”
“I never said that,” he shot back.
“You just thought it,” she said softly.
He turned away from her. “Okay, can we at least find evidence to hold over them, so they don’t start any more plots?”
She looked at him, her golden eyes boring into his, filling him with the old, uncanny feeling that she could see right past his barriers and into his soul. Back then, her love filled him with a happiness so rare and incredible he hadn’t cared that she knew him inside and out. Now it just made him uncomfortable.
Damn her for still seeing into his heart so clearly! Could she see what he couldn’t afford to let her know?
He crossed the room to squat before her. “If they know where Emily is, she’s in constant danger,” he rasped, full of passionate conviction. “If Beller works out we’re together on this—and he probably already has—we’ve got a week at most to find her. He’s got the resources to get to her quicker than we can through the official channels. If he gets to her first—or Duncan,” he added, hating the need to be so ruthless, “they’ll hold her safety over our heads to keep us quiet, and for Beller to take you back.”
The light went out of her eyes so fast he thought she was going to faint. She dropped a white, ravaged face in her hands and whispered, “My God. We have to find her fast.”
“And we have to get ammo on them. It’s the only way,” he went on when she looked up, her eyes dark with pain and denial. “If they’re chasing their tails trying to cover up their little perjuries, they won’t have time to think of getting to Emily. And any evidence of Emily’s whereabouts now is more likely to come through them than the official channels.”
Her face lifted to his, her eyes filled with suffering, with guilt—and complete, pain-filled understanding. “You want me to spy on my father—to get evidence that could put him in prison.”
“It’s the only way,” he said again. God, how he hated pulling her strings when she was already in shock, but he couldn’t afford the luxury of time or compassion when their daughter’s life was at risk. “If he’s innocent, we’ll find nothing.”
“If not, you’ll put my whole family away.”
“But you’ll have Emily,” he reminded her, hoping to God it would be enough to make her agree.
She looked away, chewing her lip. He waited in silence, allowing her time to think it through.
After a long stretch of quiet, she said, “I want my child.”
“So do I.” Watching her carefully, he said, “But I have to protect myself. I need you to come to my lawyer, and to the cops. To back up my story so the cops won’t suspect me for perjury on the death certificates. Then if Beller or Duncan try their tricks, I’ll have an unimpeachable witness to state where I’ve been at all times. As Duncan’s sister and Beller’s supposed wife, you can give me the alibi no one else could—and they couldn’t afford to expose our history.”
She tilted her chin. “Show me Duncan was part of the plot to adopt Emily and put you inside, and I’ll do whatever it takes.”
From his wallet he pulled out another piece of paper, and tossed it into her lap. “Here you go. Put yours down and we have a matching pair of death certificates, three or so years apart.”
She looked at the death certificate, marked September 20, two and a half years before. She shook her head, but didn’t speak.
“Not good enough? Didn’t your brother give you yours?” He sighed. “Go to the cops. Ask who the star witnesses were in my case. Show ’em your ID, and you should get access. You’ll see Duncan knew I was alive when you married Beller.” He threw another piece paper in front of her. “Here’s my parole papers, date marked—same day as my second ‘death.’ I was in the cells at the City of Sydney Police when I supposedly died the first time.”
She licked her lip, then bit down hard. Her fingers gripped the papers hard enough to rip them to shreds.
“Still not enough? What about the adoption papers? The parole papers tell you where I was when you had Emily,” he challenged. “The adoption paper’s dated. I didn’t have the freedom to create it! And if I had, would I give up my own child? You know how I feel about kids.” When she remained silent, he got to his feet and paced the room. “Come on, princess, do the sum!” he flung at her. “Duncan gave you the death certificate. He was there when Emily was born. How could I have got the adoption papers, since I’m not named as Emily’s father? How could I have myself declared dead the day I got out of lockup, a penniless ex-con? It doesn’t make sense—unless you put legal eagles with money and connections in the equation. You know what they’re capable of—”
“All right.”
“—and yet with all this evidence—” He wheeled around to face her when the words penetrated his consciousness. “What?”
“I said all right.” She met his eyes; hers were dull gold, filled with the darkness of inner torment. “I’ll help you find your evidence or whatever you want, if you help me find Emily.”
He blew out a sigh of relief. He’d done it. She’d come with him. That was the only whatever he wanted from her.
Liar. You want her like hell already. Five hours with her and she’s already got you inside out. Stay five days with her and you’ll be her puppet again…and she’ll knot your strings just like she did seven years ago.
“I don’t need anything on Duncan or Beller,” he said, playing it safe. “But if your dad’s involved, we need to know, to hamstring any tricks he might try. Only you can do that.”
She started like a nervous doe, the wide-eyed, haunted look back. “You can do most of this yourself. You could find another respectable witness, and get search warrants. Why do you really need me? There’s something you’re not telling me.”
Yeah, she was smart, all right, even in shock. “Only you can access Emily’s files, talk to the hospital staff where you gave birth, and put your name down with the relevant organizations to find her.” With unthinking bitterness he added, “I have no power to search for my daughter, or ask about her as things are—and only you, her mother, can give me those rights.”
After a quiet moment she said softly, “I wanted to keep her, Jirrah. I would have put your name on the birth certificate.”
“Gee, thanks, princess.” He gave her a wry look. “But right now, ‘would have’ don’t count a hill of beans. She’s my daughter—my flesh and blood—and I’m ‘father unknown.’” He tried to stare her down, but she held his gaze, her lissome body taut with defiance; and he hated the ache building in him just watching her. “I want that wiped from the record. I want my name on her birth certificate. I want to claim my daughter.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not alone in that. She’s my child,