She reached for the paper and ripped it from Randall's grasp, her eyes searching out the date. November 17, 1974. She'd been born in August the following year. Mentally, she tallied the months, her heart filling with dread.
She looked up to find both men staring-at her, knowledge spread across their faces like dirt. They know, she thought. Jack dropped his gaze to the computer screen in front of him. Randall held her gaze and gently worked the paper from her clenched fist.
"This doesn't mean anything, Addison," he said gently.
'The hell it doesn't." She wanted to scream in outrage. She wanted to shout that this was not how her life had begun. That she had not been conceived in an act of violence. “The timing is right.”
"Don't jump to conclusions."
"Don't tell me how to feel."
Before she could turn away, Randall caught her arm. "Don't do this to yourself."
His voice cut through the sea of raging emotions. She tried to shake off his grip, but he held her securely. She raised a trembling hand to her face, rubbing the spot on her forehead where a headache had broken through.
"Don't do what? Say out loud what we're all thinking?" she snapped.
"You don't know anything for certain at this point."
“There's a very strong possibility that I was conceived through an act of rape, and we both know it."
He stared back at her, saying nothing. Addison knew him well enough to know he wouldn't lie to her. Not now. Not after everything they'd shared. She would have lost respect for him had he tried.
Randall shook the paper. "You may not like it, but this is exactly the kind of information we were looking for. We're going to use it to find the son of a bitch who tried to kill you. Don't lose sight of that, Addison, because you can't change the past. You can't change what's done."
She blinked at him, wondering for the first time if she really wanted to take this any further, if she really wanted to know her roots. "That paper doesn't tell us who the bastard was."
"If the police were notified, somebody made a report."
Jack pulled his chair closer to the computer and his fingers danced across the keyboard. "There's more information out there. I've got another search ready to go. I’ll need a couple of hours or so to finish writing code. There are places I haven't even tried to access."
Shaking loose of Randall's grip, Addison turned to Jack. She felt as if she'd been forcefully knocked off balance by the news. "Was Jim Bernstein the attorney who handled the adoption?"
"His name came up a few times," Jack said.
She felt as if a giant piece of the puzzle had just fallen into place. "This ties everything together."
Jack nodded.
"And we're one step closer to finding the son of a bitch responsible," Randall reminded her.
Glancing up from the keyboard, Jack caught her gaze and winked. "And I'm just getting warmed up."
*
Randall watched the rearview mirror as he sped along the side streets of a residential neighborhood on the way to her apartment. Beside him, Addison gazed pensively through the window, her hands lying motionless in her lap.
She hadn't spoken to him since leaving the office. He supposed she was trying to find a way to deal with the information Jack had thrown at her like a bucket of cold water.
He didn't like the way things were working out. Not with the case. Certainly not with Addison. While the case was progressing much too slowly, their relationship was barreling along at the speed of light. Christ, he hadn't intended for things to go this far. But he'd been too caught up in the moment to stop the magic that had happened between them the night before. He'd taken her virginity without so much as a thought to what the repercussions might be. Without considering her feelings. Never imagining that his own could get in the way, too. He hadn't stopped to think of how a single night might affect the way he felt about her. Or how it would affect the way he handled a case that was becoming increasingly dangerous.
The last thing he needed in his life was a relationship, especially with a complex woman who wielded the power to turn him inside out with nothing more than a look. The last thing she needed in her life was a man on the edge. He'd come to Denver to be alone, to recoup, to pull the broken pieces of his life back together. He hadn't bargained for Addison Fox getting inside his head. He sure as hell hadn't planned on her getting anywhere near his heart.
So much for best-laid plans.
What they'd shared in the cabin was an experience that would forever have its place in his heart. It had been his responsibility to draw boundaries, and make those boundaries clear to her. As usual, he'd ignored his responsibilities and taken the easy way out.
"You can park there."
Randall checked the rearview mirror, pulled the Jeep curbside, and cut the engine. Without speaking, he reached across her and pulled his Beretta from the glove box and shoved it into his shoulder holster.
"You've got five minutes to pack," he said.
Addison frowned at him as she slid out of the passenger door. "You're crazy if you think I'm going anywhere without a shower."