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Feeling oddly self-conscious, he glanced left, then right. No one even noticed him. Most of the passersby were huddled under umbrellas. And, anyway, New Yorkers always minded their own business.
He climbed six steps to a door that led to a small vestibule. The Fox & Fisher Detective Agency wasn’t the only business housed in this building. He checked the signs, then climbed more stairs, up to the next story.
A semitranslucent door had The Fox & Fisher Detective Agency lettered over the glass. He checked the hours, confirmed that it was open. Well, of course it was. What business wouldn’t be at three in the afternoon on a Tuesday?
He went in.
A woman was sitting at a reception desk. She was petite, with dark hair, darker eyes and pretty red lips. Her smile was meant to be welcoming, but she seemed slightly nervous about something.
“I don’t have an appointment,” he said. “Is that okay?” Up until three seconds ago, he hadn’t been sure he would go through with this. He wasn’t the kind of guy who hired other people to solve his problems.
Then again, he’d never had a problem quite like this one before.
“That’s fine. I can fit you in without an appointment.”
“Good. I’m in luck then.” She had a beautiful, refined way of speaking. Well educated, he could tell.
He wasn’t. He’d learned about life the old-fashioned way, through work and experience, and the lack of a college education had never stood in his way. He slipped his fingers inside his jacket, reached past the book he’d just received in the mail, to the manila envelope. Still dry. Good.
He removed his coat and folded it carefully over one arm, so the envelope wouldn’t fall out.
“Would you like to hang that in the closet?”
He shook his head, the muscles in his arms tightening reflexively. “I’d rather keep it with me.”
“Fine.” The dark-haired woman picked up a stack of files, and for no reason that he could tell, moved them to a different corner of her desk. “How can I help you?”
He was standing there like a dolt, trying not to feel absurd, yet the situation was so surreal. He’d certainly never dreamed that he would have reason to seek out the services of a private investigator.
Yet here he was.
“I’m Patrick O’Neil. I’d like to speak with one of your investigators. I—I need to find someone.”
“Locating missing persons is one of our specialties. And I’d be glad to help you. My name is Nadine Kimble.”
“You? But—I assumed you were the receptionist.”
Those pretty dark eyes blinked. “She’s on a break. I was just filling in for a few moments. We can continue our discussion in the boardroom. Would you like a coffee?”
He nodded. This situation was just getting stranger and stranger. Coffee would help. He let her pour him a cup, then added his own cream before following her down a short hall to a room on the left.
Like the reception area, the conference room was decorated in a modern, minimalistic style. He squinted at the odd black-and-white photos on the wall.
“Close-ups of paper clips,” the woman explained, which really explained nothing, as far as Patrick was concerned. Why put paper clips on your wall when you could have something truly beautiful, like a photograph of mountains, or the ocean or even one graceful tree?
“Please sit down and make yourself comfortable.” Nadine Kimble opened a notebook and pulled out a pen. “Now—who would you like us to find?”
He had an urge to question her credentials, but he supposed that was sexist of him. Just because she was little and cute and extremely feminine didn’t mean she couldn’t be a kick-ass investigator. Plus, this was the place that had been recommended.
With care, he removed the items in his coat pocket, first the book, then the package. Her eyes fell on the book. It was upside-down and his author photo was clearly visible.
“Is that you?” She reached across the table. “May I look?”
Action and Adventure in New Zealand was his sixth book. This ought to be old hat to him by now. But he still felt a rush of pride at seeing his picture, and his name, right there on the cover.
“By all means. I just received that copy from my publisher. The book won’t be available in stores for another month.”
“So, you’re an author. Of travel books.”
She sounded impressed.
Many women were.
This is not some girl you’re trying to chat up at the bar. Still, he found himself giving her his regular spiel. “I prefer to think of it as adventure travel. For people who are fit and up for a challenge and want to explore new places in ways that most tourists never experience.”
“That sounds wonderful.” She flipped through the pages, stopping to look at some of the pictures. Then she gave him a rueful smile. “I’m sorry. I’m getting distracted, aren’t I?”
She set the book to the side, then folded her arms on the table and leaned in toward him. “Tell me why you’re here.” She glanced expectantly at the manila envelope he’d placed on the table.
He covered the envelope with a protective hand. He felt as if something thick and hard had suddenly lodged in his throat. Even though he’d already decided this was the most expeditious solution, he suddenly wasn’t sure he could share his very personal situation with a stranger.
But what choice did he have? The revisions on his Alaska manuscript were due at the publishers in three weeks. He had no time to handle this himself. Wasn’t even sure how to go about it, truth be told.
“I need your help to—” His voice cracked. He took a sip of coffee, then managed to get the rest out. “To find my son.”
CHAPTER TWO
NADINE STARED AT THE MANILA envelope on the table, her feet suddenly as cold as ice.
Was this case going to be something she could handle on her own? What would she do if it wasn’t?
She’d been hoping her first client would be a nice, old lady, missing a piece of antique jewelry. Or maybe a sweet, young husband, worried that his new wife was unfaithful. Of course, in Nadine’s imagination, she wasn’t….
But instead she’d ended up with this strong, forceful man brimming with masculine vitality. Patrick O’Neil seemed not quite wild, but close to it, with thick, unruly, chestnut-colored hair, and a body packed with solid muscles.
She’d never met anyone like him, and felt completely out of her element. For heaven’s sake, he was an adventurer by trade. The book he’d just shown her had a picture of a guy paragliding off a cliff and she had no doubt that it was Patrick O’Neil himself in the photograph.
She swallowed, desperate to moisten her parched mouth. She couldn’t let him see that she was intimidated. After all, he was here because he needed help.
“Your son…has he run away?” she asked, trying to sound as if she’d seen it all and didn’t expect to be surprised.
He seemed impatient as he shook his head. “Not really. The situation is complicated. Six weeks ago, when I left on a working trip to Alaska, I didn’t even know I had a son. I found this envelope piled up with the rest of the mail that had collected over the six weeks I was away.”
From the larger envelope, he pulled out two smaller letters. One of them had been opened. The other—addressed simply to Stephen—still sealed.
Puzzled, Nadine waited for him to explain.
“These letters were written by an old girlfriend. One was addressed to me, the other to a young man named Stephen.” He ran a hand through his already mussed hair. “A young man she claims is my son.”
Again Nadine struggled to keep her expression neutral, as if she ran across situations like this all the time. “And is he?”
He shrugged. “I assume so. June Stone and I dated in our senior year of high school. After graduation, she went to university, while I worked until I had enough money for my first trip to Europe. We’d always known we had different plans, so our breakup was inevitable.”
“Where does the baby fit in?”
“Apparently June was pregnant when we broke up.”
“And you didn’t know?”
“No. In her letter, June said she decided not to tell me because she didn’t want me to feel like she was trying to trap me into marriage.”
“I assume she kept the baby?”
“Yes. She named our son Stephen and raised him on her own. He’s eighteen years old now, and he doesn’t even know I exist.”
“June must have told him something about his father.”
“Apparently she led him to believe that his father was dead.” Patrick shifted anxiously in his seat. “She said when he was young, she didn’t have the courage to tell him the truth, and once she became ill, she didn’t have the strength.”
“I see.” Perhaps June had been telling him the truth. But Nadine knew it was her job to be skeptical, to accept nothing at face value. “So why contact you now?”
“In a way, she didn’t. This letter was mailed posthumously.”
Nadine felt her eyes widen and quickly glanced down so he wouldn’t see her surprise. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded, accepting her brief statement of condolence. “Apparently it was her wish that these letters were to be mailed to me after her death. As soon as I read the one addressed to me, I went on the Web and found her obituary. She died of cancer five weeks ago.”
His story was sounding like something from a movie, poignant and romantic. Nadine reminded herself that her job was to be objective and analytical. “Why do you think she wanted you to know about Stephen now?”
“She felt that since her son no longer had a mother, he might need a father.” He shook his head. “She asked if I would contact Stephen and deliver this second letter in person.”
Nadine eyed the unopened envelope. Why hadn’t June asked for that letter to be mailed directly to Stephen? There was only one reason she could think of. “She didn’t want her son to know the truth unless you were prepared to meet with him.”
“Exactly. Whether Stephen and I strike up a relationship is up to us, June wrote, but she did say she’d be grateful if I would help Stephen financially, with his university education, since her long illness depleted her financial resources.”
“Ah.” At the mention of money, Nadine’s back straightened. Had June Stone been aware of Patrick’s successful writing career? Possibly she’d stretched the truth a little—or a lot—in an effort to provide some financial security for her son.
Still, Patrick didn’t seem to doubt the truth of her story. Not one word of it.
“You said the letter was mailed posthumously. By whom?”
“I have no idea. The return address is the apartment in Chelsea where June and her son used to live. The place has since been let to someone else.”
He shook his head. “I wish that I’d kept in touch with June. For a while after we separated we kept up a correspondence. I sent her postcards from my travels and every Christmas she mailed a card to me care of my mother’s address. But after a few years, that stopped. I hadn’t heard from her in years. Until this.”
“So now you want to talk to Stephen Stone?”
“Yes. Only I have no idea where to find him. The letter didn’t provide any contact information.” He unfolded two sheets of paper that looked as if they had been read over many times.
“May I read that?”
He hesitated, then passed it over. “I’m not even sure her son lives in Manhattan. As I mentioned, he left the apartment he lived in with his mother. I also phoned the funeral home listed in the obituary, but they couldn’t help me.”
Nadine glanced up from June Stone’s handwritten lines. “I assume you checked the phone listings?”
He nodded. “I called every S. Stone I could find. And I searched the Internet, including Facebook. I can’t find him anywhere.”
“That’s unusual, for someone his age, though he could be using a nickname on Facebook. Some kids do.”
“Yeah. That’s what I figured. I’m kind of at a dead end here and I don’t have much time, since I’m on a tight deadline with my next book. Do you think you can help?”
He looked her straight in the eyes, and Nadine could see that he wasn’t totally convinced that he’d come to the right person.
Keeping her gaze direct and confident, she nodded. “Like I said earlier, finding missing persons is a specialty of our firm. As it happens, I’m between cases right now and I could start on this immediately.”
Okay, technically that was a lie, but Nadine told herself it wouldn’t matter, not as long as she found Patrick’s son for him. Which she was determined to do.
Patrick’s eyes held hers a moment longer, and then he nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it. What’s the first step?”
She struggled to keep her excitement contained. “We sign a standard contract and you pay a retainer.” She mentioned the base amount, figuring this case probably wouldn’t take very long. When Patrick indicated his agreement, she asked him to wait while she drew up the papers.
“Too bad your receptionist isn’t here to do that,” Patrick commented.
She was halfway to the door when he said that. She paused briefly and glanced back at him.
From his expression it seemed there had been no double meaning to his words, so she smiled and nodded. “That’s okay. It won’t take me long.”
Fifteen minutes later, the business between them was concluded. “I’ll call you in a couple of days and let you know how things are progressing,” she promised as she passed him his copy of their agreement.
His chest expanded on a full breath. “Okay. So…any idea how long it will take to find Stephen?”
“That depends on several factors. But normally, in a case like this, we have results in three or four days.”
She could see the relief on his face and knew she’d finally won him over.
“Great,” he said. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you then.”
One last time their gazes connected, and she felt again the power of his presence. She sensed he had a mental toughness to match the physical perfection of his athletic body. But this letter from his old girlfriend had exposed a hint of vulnerability in him, too. And oddly it was that element about him that she found most appealing.
Following the example she’d seen set many times by the other partners at Fox & Fisher, Nadine escorted Patrick to the door. With a final confident handshake, she saw him on his way, and only once the door was firmly closed and she was alone again, did she allow herself to believe what had finally happened.
She’d done it! She’d signed her first client.
HALF AN HOUR LATER, KATE called to say that her doctor’s appointment was over. “I’m going to stop by the office for some files, then call it a day. Did anything interesting come up this afternoon?”
“Not really.” Nadine’s conscience squirmed at the fib. As soon as she got off the line, she rearranged her files, so that her nameplate was visible again. That had been her only mistake, she thought, that she hadn’t noticed quickly enough that the sign was in view. Fortunately, Patrick didn’t seem to have noticed.
Then she went to the conference room to clear away the used coffee mugs. That was when she noticed that he’d forgotten his book. She took it with her to her desk, where she sat and studied the author photo on the back.
