He wasn’t just attracted to her. He was falling in love with her. Had probably been halfway in love with her for a really long time, only he’d been too stupid to see it. And he didn’t know what the hell to do with that information because his lungs suddenly weren’t working and it felt as if a thousand daggers were piercing his chest from every side.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Kelsey’s head swiveled toward the lobby of the law offices, and she squared her shoulders as she released his hand. “Go-time. Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
His head felt as if it were floating in a fog as he watched her step off the elevator and cross the immaculate lobby toward the high, sleek counter on the far side. A receptionist, seated in front of a waterfall held back by a wall of glass etched with the words Lange, Hanson & Associates, looked up and smiled.
Hunt’s heart raced as he stepped off the elevator and Kelsey quietly spoke to the receptionist. He couldn’t hear what they were saying. All he could hear was the rapid pounding of his pulse and that little voice in the back of his head that was screaming he was playing with fire. Liking her and loving her were two very different things. Liking her was safe. Loving her made him vulnerable. It also made her a weakness he could never completely keep safe.
He swallowed hard as he stilled in the middle of the lobby and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Yeah, security was his business, and yes, he was confident he could protect her from whoever was harassing her, but he hadn’t been able to stop what had happened to his mom. His dad hadn’t been able to stop it. No one could. No matter what he did, he couldn’t protect Kelsey from everyday dangers, and there were a shit-ton of them in today’s world. Which meant, at some point, he was going to lose her, regardless of what he did and how much he loved her. And he already knew that would gut him. Knew because just the thought of it was already burning a hole right in the center of his chest. He just didn’t know if he’d be able to survive it a year, five years, or even twenty years down the line if let himself fall all the way in love with her the way he wanted.
“Yes,” Kelsey said to the receptionist. “Two o’clock.”
Footsteps sounded close, and Hunt blinked, focusing on Kelsey’s silky blonde hair and her gorgeous face drawing near.
“It’ll just be a few minutes,” Kelsey said to him. “He’s in a meeting right now.” A frown pulled at her lips as she shot a glance over her shoulder, then looked back at his face. “The secretary eyed me like I had a giant wart on the end of my nose. I don’t have something on my face, do I?”
Emotions closed his throat. Unable to speak, unconcerned with who could see, he wrapped both arms around her shoulders, pulled her up against him, and lowered his mouth to hers.
She tensed, then relaxed as she always did when he kissed her, and he drank it in. Drank her in. Kissed her with everything he had in him, never wanting to let her go, scared to death at the same time because he suddenly didn’t trust himself. He wanted this. He wanted her. But he was suddenly terrified if he didn’t let her go soon, if he pushed this relationship further and something bad happened to spook him, it might cause him pull back completely. And that wouldn’t just hurt her, it would amplify all the rejection he already knew she struggled with and shake the foundation on which she stood.
When he finally drew back from her mouth, she blinked up at him with soft, sweet, trusting eyes that only made that lump in his throat grow even bigger. God, he didn’t want to hurt her. He’d hate himself forever if he hurt her.
“What was that for?” she whispered.
He didn’t have an answer. Couldn’t make his lips form one. All he wanted to do was kiss her again and hold on tight until he was forced to let go.
“Hunt?” Kelsey’s brows drew together. “Are you all right?” Drawing her hand from his waist, she pressed her palm against his forehead. “You look pale. Are you sick?”
He closed his eyes, soaking in the heat of her hand against his head. No, I’m not sick. He breathed deep, fighting to slow his pulse. I’m head over heels in love with you, and I don’t have a fucking clue what to do now.
“Ms. McClane?”
A male voice rang out to his left. At his front, Kelsey dropped her hand from his forehead and said, “Yes?”
“My God.”
Footsteps echoed across the floor, then stopped. And as a heartbeat and another passed in silence, Hunt forced his eyes open and blinked, searching for the person who’d pulled Kelsey’s attention away from him.
A sixtysomething man with thinning gray hair and a pudgy build stared at Kelsey with wide eyes. “I can’t believe it. The similarity is completely uncanny.”
Kelsey shot Hunt a nervous look, one that snapped his attention away from his turbulent emotions and back to the reason they were here. Straightening, he cleared his throat, hoping it would snap the suit out of whatever trance he seemed to have fallen into.
The man gave his head a quick shake and held out his hand. “I’m sorry. I’ve completely forgotten my manners. I’m Charles Lange. It’s good to meet you.”
“Thanks. I’m Kelsey McClane. This is Hunter O’Donnell. I think he spoke with your assistant on the phone earlier.”
“Yes, of course.” Charles Lange shook Hunt’s hand, then held his arm out, indicating the open office door. “Please, this way.” As Kelsey and Hunt moved in that direction, Lange said to his secretary, “Hold all calls for the next two hours. We’re not to be disturbed unless it’s you-know-who. And send David in right away.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Lange.”
Hunt followed Kelsey into the office, but he didn’t miss the nervous look she shot his way, and all those emotions tightened in his chest with the urge to close his hand around hers and reassure her everything would be okay.
He resisted, though. Not because he wasn’t desperate to touch her, but because he didn’t totally trust himself at the moment. His emotions were dangerously close to the surface, and he wasn’t sure what might set him off. As much as he ached to hold on to any part of her he could reach, he didn’t want to trip back into that fog and do something stupid that would embarrass her in front of these lawyers, like grab her and kiss her and never let go.
So he settled for placing a hand at the small of her back as she moved through the doorway in front of him. Then wished like hell they were alone so he could strip off her slim-fitting slacks, toss her up on that desk, and devour her with his mouth until the taste of her consumed his mind and shoved aside all that shit still swirling in his head.
Lange closed the office door at his back and motioned toward a sitting area to the left where two couches were separated by a low coffee table. “Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?”
Hunt shook his head and lowered himself to the couch that faced a wall of windows and the view of LA’s high-rises in the distance. Sitting next to him, Kelsey said, “No, thanks. We’re fine.”
With a sigh, Lange sat across from them, unbuttoning his suit jacket in the process. Perching one Armani shoe on his opposite knee, he leaned back in his seat and smiled with a shake of his head. “It really is amazing. When my secretary, Melanie, told me you wanted to meet today, I thought this was another dead end. I looked you up online, Ms. McClane. Your picture doesn’t do you justice.”
Kelsey’s back tightened. It was a subtle move, but now that Hunt’s brain was working again, he caught it. “Thank you,” she said, clearly not knowing how to take that comment.
“Terrible incident up in Portland. The news reports said you were caught in that blast. How are you feeling?”
Kelsey shot Hunt a nervous look before refocusing on Lange. “Fine. A little sore, but it could have been much worse. I consider myself lucky.”
“As you should.”
“We both were.”
This time, when Kelsey looked at Hunt, Lange noticed. He shifted his gaze to Hunt. “You were there as well?”
“Yeah. Long story.” And one he didn’t particularly wa
nt to get into right now.
Questions lurked in Lange’s eyes, but Hunt sidestepped them by saying, “We appreciate you seeing us today. We’re actually here because we’re investigating whether there was any link between your client, Vivienne Armstrong, and a man named Graham Fost—”
A door on the far side of the office opened, and a tall man in his late fifties with jet-black hair graying at the temples stepped into the room with a file folder in his hand. “I’m sorry to keep you all waiting. I—”
He stopped in his tracks when Kelsey glanced his direction. “My God.”
Lange chuckled and shot to his feet. “I’m not the only one bowled over by the resemblance. Ms. McClane, Mr. O’Donnell, this is my associate, David Hanson.”
Kelsey and Hunt both pushed to their feet and shook the man’s hand as he drew close. When he only continued to stare the way Lange had, Kelsey looked back at Hunt and rolled her eyes. And that one simple action eased some of the tension inside Hunt. At least enough so he could reach for her hand and not feel like he was about to lose his shit.
Hanson sat next to Lange on the couch across from them and flipped the file folder open on the table. “My apologies. I saw your picture online earlier; it’s just way more obvious in person.”
Lange propped his foot on his knee again, leaning back with a grin as wide as the cat that swallowed the canary. “Incredible, isn’t it? We almost don’t need to know her background to call the lab.”
“The lab?” Kelsey blinked.
“Routine, my dear.” Lange waved his hand. “We’ve had a number of women claiming to be Vivienne’s long-lost daughter ever since her memoir was published. After her death, you can only imagine how many opportunists came out of the woodwork, seeking fame and fortune.”
“I’m not seeking fame and fortune, trust me. I’m just here to get some information.”
“Which makes you all the more intriguing to us,” Hanson said. “You’re already quite successful with your design business.”
Kelsey glanced Hunt’s way. They’d done their research.
Lange dropped his foot to the floor. “Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell us how you wound up here today?”
Starting at the beginning seemed logical, so Hunt explained how their investigation into Kelsey’s cell phone messages had brought them to California, looking for Graham Foster.
For their parts, Lange and Hanson didn’t say much, just listened intently as he and Kelsey relayed the story. At one point, Lange pushed to his feet and brought a pen and pad of legal paper back to his seat where he jotted notes as they spoke, but aside from nodding, neither interrupted, and neither asked any questions. Not until Hunt said, “And that brought us here.”
“Forgive me if this is an insensitive question considering the circumstances.” Hanson removed his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose before sliding them back on. “Have you seen a photograph of Mr. Foster, Ms. McClane?”
“Yes. The police showed me one when they were questioning me.”
“And did you recognize him?”
“Not at all. I’ve never met him.”
“The cops put out an APB on him,” Hunt said, “but as of this morning they still have no lead on his whereabouts.”
Lange made another note. “We’ll call over and see what we can find out.” He looked up at Kelsey. “The online bio you published for your business says you were adopted.”
“I was.”
“Tell us about that. How old were you? And do you have any memory of your birth mother?”
Kelsey glanced once at Hunt. Knowing she was nervous, he squeezed her hand, but he knew she didn’t really need it. She was solid steel whether she believed it or not.
“There’s not much to tell, I’m afraid. I don’t remember my birth mother at all. I wasn’t even two when I was placed in foster care. From what my parents told me—the McClanes,” she clarified when the attorney began jotting notes again, “that was somewhere in southern Oregon. Klamath Falls, I believe. I was relocated several times. By the time I was eight I’d already been with three different families, and I was living in Ashland. But I was about to be moved to a new family.”
“And why was that?” Hanson asked.
“Because I was termed difficult. I don’t think anyone really knew the reason at the time. I was small for my age, but I was also socially behind other kids my age. I had trouble expressing myself. When I’d get mad, I’d have emotional outbursts and trouble controlling my reactions. I also didn’t always understand cause and effect, which made it hard for me to assimilate into my foster families.”
“But you were eventually adopted,” Lange said. “By the McClanes. How did that come about?”
Kelsey shifted next to Hunt, clearly uncomfortable but not about to back down. “The year I was eight was the year Oregon had that really wet spring. You might remember it from the news. Rivers in the southern part of the state were all above flood stage because of the unrelenting rain, and there was so much damage that the governor finally declared the area a state of emergency. Hannah McClane, my mother, is an ER doctor in Portland. She volunteered to help during the disaster relief. The house I was living in at the time was within the evacuation zone, and my foster family was relocated to a shelter. Hannah was at the shelter, providing medical aid, while we were there. I didn’t realize it at the time, but my caseworker was there one day, arguing with my foster mother because they didn’t want to keep me anymore, and Hannah overheard them. She came over, sat next to me, and talked to me for a while, then she went and spoke with both of them. It all kind of happened really fast. The next thing I knew, I was going home with Hannah and Michael McClane.”
“A little unorthodox,” Lange said.
“Very.” Kelsey smirked. “But the McClanes are like that. I have three older brothers, all adopted when they were twelve or thirteen years old, and a younger brother, also adopted, who’s still in high school. We’ve each come from some rough and troubled backgrounds, but the McClanes gave us a chance for a permanent home and a real family, and I don’t know, somehow it worked. Shouldn’t have.” She smiled. “But it did.”
“Sounds like a movie script.” Hanson shot Lange a mischievous look, then glanced back at Kelsey.
“Maybe.” Her expression grew serious once more. “But it wasn’t all unicorns and rainbows by any means. It was a lot of work. I was lucky. My parents are also both medical doctors. It’s because of them I’m where I am now. I’ve never been officially diagnosed because no one examined me after I was born, but both of my parents suspect my delays are linked to mild fetal alcohol syndrome, or, since I didn’t have the facial abnormalities FAS kids have, ARND—Alcohol-Related Neurodevelopmental Disorder. Whatever you want to call it, my struggles were related to my birth mother’s prenatal drinking. And had the McClanes not adopted me, put me in therapy, and gotten me the help I needed, I’d probably be living on the streets and struggling to hold down a job today.”
A somber look passed over Lange’s face. “I’m going to guess for that reason, you never tried to look for your birth mother.”
“Your guess would be right. I don’t expect either of you to believe this, but I’m not here for publicity or fame or money. I don’t care about any of those things. I’m only here because I’m trying to figure out who Graham Foster is and how he’s connected to me. That’s it.”
Silence settled over the room. The two attorneys glanced at each other and conversed in that nonspeaking way attorneys do. Long seconds later, Lange finally sighed and tossed his notepad on the table in front of him. “Graham Foster was Vivienne’s high school sweetheart. He was a few years older than her. They dated on and off for about three years when she was a teenager in Klamath Falls and lived together for roughly six months after she graduated from high school.”
Kelsey’s face paled. “Are you sure it was Foster? His name wasn’t in her memoir.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Hanson said. “And I’m sure. She kept
his name out of the book intentionally. The split wasn’t amicable. Foster wasn’t happy when she left for Hollywood. Told her she’d never make it as an actress. I think part of her hated him for that. At the same time, it motivated her to prove him wrong. Sadly, he never forgave her for that.”
“Foster had a pattern of harassing her,” Lange continued. “He moved to the LA area just after she hit it big in film and tried to force a reconciliation. Vivienne wasn’t interested at that point. Foster didn’t listen, and over the years Vivienne filed multiple restraining orders against him in the hopes he would leave her alone. According to him, they were meant to be together. He was never violent, but he was mentally unstable, and twice he was admitted for psychiatric evaluation. The last five or so years of Vivienne’s life, Foster was mostly quiet. A letter now and then, but he didn’t try to see her.”
Kelsey reached for Hunt’s hand on the sofa between them and squeezed tight. “She wrote in the book that the child she’d been trying to locate for so long was from a different relationship. Was that true? Or a lie?”
“No, it was true,” Lange answered.
Kelsey released her tight grip on Hunt’s hand.
“Vivienne’s daughter was born about three years after she moved to LA.” Lange went on. “Vivienne had a brief relationship with a man who moved into her apartment complex for a short time when he separated from his wife. It didn’t last long, and as far as we know, he was out of Vivienne’s life rather quickly. But Graham Foster was most definitely not her daughter’s father.”
Kelsey exhaled and glanced at Hunt with half grin. And though he wanted to share her relief, he couldn’t. Not quite yet.
Focusing on the attorneys, he said, “What about Armstrong’s death? I remember seeing tabloid articles claiming it wasn’t really an overdose.”
Both attorneys stiffened. It was the first time Hunt had seen them flinch all day. Even when they’d seen Kelsey for the first time, they hadn’t seemed uncomfortable, but they definitely were now.