The Perfect Victim

"My god." She stood abruptly. "Jesus."

 

He'd expected the news to shock her, but hadn't foreseen how badly. It had been a long time since he'd cared enough about someone else to worry about what they might be feeling. "Hey, Addison ..."

 

Crossing her arms protectively at her chest, she turned away from him. "Are you sure?"

 

"There's no mistake." He'd never been good at cushioning the truth, he realized, except perhaps for himself.

 

"A prostitute. Oh, God."

 

Before he could stop himself, Randall was on his feet. He reached for her and made her face him. "It doesn't mean anything." It was suddenly very important to him to make her believe the news didn't change who she was or lessen his respect for her in any way.

 

She raised dark, shimmering eyes to his. "Where did I come from? Who am I?"

 

"You're the same person you've always been. Those two people who raised you are the ones who shaped your life and made you who you are." Though he believed the words, he realized he had ventured into an area where even the doctors disagreed on whether traits were inherited or learned.

 

"Nothing that happens today or tomorrow can change who you are, who you've always been."

 

Realizing he was gripping her wrists, he released her. The sudden loss of contact made him acutely aware of how warm her skin was, how badly he'd wanted to touch her. She was standing so close he could smell her hair, that exotic mix of citrus and musk that made him dizzy every time he was near her. It was a crazy thought, but he suddenly wanted to bury his hands in that dark, wild hair, draw her to him, and kiss away the pain in her eyes.

 

Unaware of the war raging inside him, Addison swept a trembling hand across her forehead and let out a shaky breath. "Where does this leave us, for God's sake? How does this tie in with what happened to her? With what happened to Jim?"

 

"Jim—this lawyer—do you know if he handled your adoption?" he asked.

 

"I don't know. There was no mention of an attorney on any of the documents I've seen."

 

"If he did, then his murder ties in with your adoption."

 

"But why would he keep something like that from me when he knew I was looking?"

 

"I think .the answer to that question is locked away in a file sealed by adoption and confidentiality laws. A file someone doesn't want you to find." Randall studied her face, liking what he saw, wanting badly to touch her, but knowing it would only lead to disaster. "A file that contains information someone is willing to go to great lengths to keep from coming to light."

 

"Information worth killing two innocent people for?" she asked.

 

"Maybe. It looks that way."

 

"Who?"

 

He shrugged. "That's what we need to find out."

 

She pressed her hand against her stomach, "My biological father?"

 

"That was my initial reaction. We have to take the possibility seriously." The thought of someone wanting to hurt her sent a quiver through his gut. For the first time, he wondered just how wise it was for her to continue this search. She was a decent person who still believed people were basically good. He didn't want to see that belief tarnished. He didn't want to see her hurt. He sure as hell didn't want anything to do with the lofty task of keeping her safe.

 

The notion that he was starting to care about what happened to her made him want to pull back and recoup. Even as he felt himself spiraling toward her, drawn by the most fundamental of needs, another side of him struggled for distance. Caring for a woman in Denver was dangerous business when he would be moving back to D.C. in a few short weeks. Especially when her eyes knocked him for a loop every time she looked at him.

 

Randall had always prided himself .on his ability to keep his male instincts in check. So what if he was attracted to her? He could handle his hormones. He wasn't the kind of man a woman like Addison Fox would consider a relationship with, anyway. He didn't have relationships. He didn't get emotionally involved. Certainly not with a woman who did most of her thinking with her heart.

 

Unless, of course, it was just sex.

 

"Sit down," he said. “We need to talk."

 

Her eyes swept to his, and she studied him from beneath long lashes. "Look, Talbot, if you're trying to bow out gracefully, now is the time. I don't need you to finish this."

 

He guided her to the loveseat. "I hate to undermine that unscrupulous image you've drawn of me, but I'm not going anywhere until this is finished."

 

Lowering herself to the cushion, she drew her legs beneath her and curled like a cat. "I can't afford you indefinitely."

 

"I'll work for expenses." The words tumbled out before he could stop them. Damaging words his brother would probably kill him for later. But it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that money had absolutely nothing to do with his reasons for wanting to help her.

 

"Can you find the person responsible for this?" she asked.

 

"I can try. But I'll need your cooperation. Do you think you can handle that?"

 

"Coming from you, I'm sure that's a trick question."

 

"You'll have to agree to my terms."

 

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