Setting the cup on his desk, Randall noticed the manila folder. He reached for it, flipped it open, and found himself looking at a copy of a birth certificate, letters from a local attorney, and handwritten notes. The name Addison Fox drew his gaze, and an uncomfortable sense of guilt settled over him.
She'd caught him off guard. Not hard to do after a bottle of whiskey and three hours of sleep, he thought sourly. Not that his general frame of mind was a plus these days. He'd acted like a loser, and she'd treated him accordingly.
Randall wasn't proud of what he'd become, and he felt the loss of his personal integrity like a stake through his heart. A man had hit bottom when he started making mistakes like the one he'd made this morning. He'd cost his brother a client and, in the process, his own self-respect had slipped another notch.
A business card with the depiction of a steaming cup of coffee was clipped to the front of the folder. Frowning, he plucked it off and realized she owned the upscale coffee shop on the corner a few blocks down. He wondered why she needed a private detective.
He stared at the card, taking in the faint scent of her perfume, trying in vain to ignore the tug of shame that drifted over him. Something about her had him thinking about the sorry state of his life. She'd looked young and wholesome and undamaged by the same world that had nearly destroyed him.
He considered stopping in at the Coffee Cup but doubted she would be receptive to an apology so soon. Might be best to let her cool off a couple of days. As he walked out the door, Randall realized he was looking forward to seeing her again. Next time, under different circumstances.
*
Addison wanted to break something, preferably Randall Talbot's skull. She was still furious when she arrived back at the shop. Not even the brisk walk or the sight of the falling snow had cooled her anger. Talbot was a crude, unethical man who had the nerve to call himself a professional, then prey on unsuspecting people in need.
It only disgusted her further that her body hadn't noticed.
As much as she didn't want to admit it, she couldn't remember ever being so physically aware of a man. She'd never been one to ogle biceps or tight jeans or other such superficial attributes. It grated against her sense of propriety that her hormones had gone into overdrive for a crass, mean spirited jerk like Talbot. .
Gretchen was right. There were shady private investigation firms out there just waiting for the unsuspecting client to happen by. The thought made her feel gullible and she hated it. Next time, she'd be more cautious.
It took every ounce of control she possessed not to slam the door behind her when she entered the shop through the alley. She stood in the storage room for a full minute, shaking, trying to get her pulse rate down so she could face Gretchen. It wouldn't do her a bit of good to bite her friend's head off, then face her lunch customers when she couldn't even muster a smile.
A moment later, the door swung open and Gretchen approached her with a tray containing a cup of coffee, a powdered scone, and the cordless telephone. "I thought I heard the bell." She set the tray atop a small stool. "How did your meeting go?"
Addison reached for the scone and coffee simultaneously, ignoring the phone. "Let's just say he wasn't Tom Selleck in a Hawaiian shirt."
''That bad, huh?"
She bit into the scone. "Unscrupulous doesn't begin to cover it."
"Oh, my." Frowning, Gretchen looked down at the phone. "You can tell me all about it after you take this call."
The scone stopped in midair. "Who is it?" Addison asked suspiciously. If it was Talbot, she would simply excuse herself, step out into the alley, and let loose with the long string of expletives she'd thought up during her walk back to the shop.
"It's Jim Bernstein."
Addison's stomach tightened. Her attorney never called unless it was important. Unwittingly, she'd stepped back on the emotional roller coaster, she realized. She told herself it was probably nothing. It was her way of mentally bracing. If she didn't get her hopes up, she couldn't be disappointed.
She reached for the phone. "Hello, Jim."
"Are you sitting down?" he asked.
Her heart stuttered. "Have you found something?"
"You might say that. I've located your birth mother."
Chapter 3
Jim Bernstein’s office was a short distance from the shop in an affluent section of lower downtown, nestled among upscale cafes, trendy shops, and tastefully refurbished warehouses. Needing the time to gather her thoughts, Addison decided to walk.