LITMIR.BIZ

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       April

      “Here’s the final report.” Ben Abercrombie slid the folder across the desk. “I know it took longer than originally anticipated, but you know adoption records are hard to access. Here’s what I found out. Your son was adopted by T. J. and Susan Johnson of New York City. I’ve located Mrs. Johnson, the husband has since died. Killed by a drunk driver two years ago.”

      Zack Morgan reached out for the folder and flipped it open. The first thing he saw was a picture of a small child. It was not a close up, but he could tell the boy had dark hair. He looked so little. Was he small for his age? Zack had no idea how big four-year-olds should be.

      Ben frowned as he glanced at the paperwork. “So how did you want this handled? Just show up one day and ask to meet your son?”

      Zack shook his head. “Despite what you may think, I have some feelings for the child and the situation. The last thing I would do is give any reason to rock his security.” He thought briefly of the different families he’d lived with. He never knew how long he’d stay. He couldn’t imagine deliberately causing that kind of panic and uncertainty to anyone, much less a little boy.

      “I just want to know he’s okay. That he’s loved and the family life he has is good.”

      The detective leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands. “Mother appears to be doing the best she can. It was a comedown from the lifestyle they enjoyed when the husband was alive. He was an attorney and made a good income. Since his death, they’ve moved to a less affluent neighborhood. She’s gone back to work. Still, from what I could see, the mother takes good care of the child and he seems happy enough. Quiet, not as boisterous as other little kids I’ve seen. But, hey, everyone has a different personality.”

      “But he’s got a good mother, right?” Zack couldn’t remember his own mother. The best foster mom had been Allie Zumwalt. He hoped Daniel had a mother as sweet as Allie.

      Ben nodded. “Doing the best she can.”

      “What do you mean by that?” Zack asked quickly.

      “She has to work, leaves the child with an older woman in their building. The apartment building is old, a bit run-down. The neighborhood’s not the best place to be after dark.”

      “Should they move?”

      “Takes money to live where they did before. New York’s not a cheap city.”

      The one thing Zack had was money. He spent little, had amassed a small fortune working overseas with the extra hardship pay. Judicial investments had the money growing steadily. The detective had delivered, and the cost had been nothing Zack wouldn’t have paid three times over or more to find out about his son.

      He looked at the photograph again. Would he recognize the child if he tripped over him in a crowd somewhere? Shouldn’t there be some kind of tie between biological parents and children? Some sort of instant connection? To Zack, there was nothing but wonder that he could have fathered this little boy.

      Railing silently against Alesia once again, he closed the folder and stood. “Thank you,” he said, offering his hand.

      “I’ll be here if you want anything else,” the detective said.

      Zack carried the folder out with him. He was staying in a small hotel near Central Park while he finished recuperating. He could walk without the limp as long as he didn’t overdo it. His shoulder was still stiff. Maybe he needed to get back to work to loosen those muscles. But he was on medical leave and still doing his physical therapy routine each day.

      When he reached his room, he settled down to read every word in the report the detective had compiled. Even if he never got to meet him, Zack knew he’d left a legacy to the future. Thinking about it, he could do more. On Monday, he’d make an appointment with an attorney to leave his estate to his son. They may never meet, but someday Daniel would know his father had cared about him.

      CHAPTER ONE

      SUSAN JOHNSON was frantic. She could scarcely think as she rushed down the crowded New York sidewalk, dodging pedestrians, searching for her son. How could one small boy disappear so quickly. Why wasn’t someone looking for his mother? When she found him, she’d never let him out of her sight again!

      Of course that was impossible, but she was so scared she couldn’t think straight. Where was Danny?

      “Please, God, let me find my baby,” she prayed as she searched the crowded sidewalk in front of her.

      “Do you think he’d try to cross the street alone?” the teacher’s aide next to her asked, already puffing slightly from the fast pace Susan set.

      “No. I don’t know. If he thought he saw his father across the street he might, though I’m always careful to make sure we stop and look both ways even when the light is green. But he’s only four.” And always after tall dark haired men thinking they were his daddy. Ever since Tom had died, Danny had been searching. Children his age didn’t understand death, she’d been told.

      How could the preschool have let him get away? The play yard was fenced and the front gate should have either been latched so a little child couldn’t open it, or monitored by an adult. Had the teacher turned her back? For how long? Where was Danny?

      Were they going in the wrong direction? Had he turned right when exiting the preschool? Or left? She’d opted for left because it was in the direction of their apartment. Familiar territory to a little boy. But what if he’d gone the other way? If he’d darted out to follow some stranger, he wouldn’t have cared for direction—only his goal to find his father. She could be increasing the distance between them, not closing it. Panic closed her throat. Fear seized her heart. Her precious son was out on the streets of NewYork and could get into who knew what kind of trouble.

      Susan stopped and looked ahead, then behind her. Indecision. Seconds were ticking by. Where was her child? Fear increased. New York was a dangerous city. And her son was adorable. What if someone snatched him up? What if she never saw him again?

      She moaned softly at the thought.

      Her child was missing. Was there anything worse for a parent to face?

      “What?” the aide asked.

      “I’m thinking he could have gone the other way. Tell me again how long ago it was until you noticed he was missing?” Susan had been given all that information when she had arrived at the preschool. But she’d scarcely listened, dashing out to try to find her son.

      “Less than five minutes before you showed up. Mrs. Savalack was busy with the little boy who had a bloody nose. She didn’t know Danny would leave before you arrived. She went the other direction as soon as one of the other teachers came to watch her children. She’ll find him if he went that way.”

      “Maybe,” Susan said, her eyes searching. She didn’t see a child anywhere.

      Glancing around, she noticed a man walking slowly along the street. He looked out of place in the midday crowd—ambling along when everyone else was walking briskly, with places to go. Tall, with dark hair and a deep tan, he looked competent and reliable. His casual attire blended in with the men and women on the sidewalk at the lunch hour, but were of higher quality than the cheaper clothing more common in this neighborhood. What a stupid thing to notice, she thought as she approached him.

      “Excuse me. Have you seen a little boy? He’s four and should not be out on his own. We don’t know if he came this way, but we need to find him!”

      He shook his head. “I haven’t seen any kids. Wouldn’t they be in school at this time of day?”

      “He’s in a preschool and wandered away.” Susan bit her lip, her heart pounded, fear increasing with every heartbeat. “Maybe I’m going the wrong way.”

      “Which way is that?” he asked, glancing at the aide and then scanning the sidewalk behind him.

      “No

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