LITMIR.BIZ

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from a discount-store kit, a dented file cabinet and piles of books and papers. By contrast, this room could grace a decorating magazine.

      She admired the built-in oak shelves along one wall, not to mention the ultraneat computer-printer center and the sleek desk and chair. But where was the clutter? And how could he expect her to stretch out on that flimsy yellow-and-white striped love seat?

      “This place must have come furnished.” She turned slowly, taking in the cheery decor. “A guy would never buy stuff like this.” Or else he’d get scuff marks all over it in about five minutes. “Your landlord certainly trusts you.”

      “I’m my landlord,” Kevin returned levelly. “I bought the furniture at an estate sale. They sold me a whole houseful, except for the front room. Somebody else beat me to that.”

      “You own this place?” A private detective shouldn’t reek of stability, Alli thought. She preferred the movie typecast of a grubby guy who lived in a hole in the wall and recycled his coffee grounds. Well, not too grubby; borderline shaggy would suit her fine.

      “My grandparents left me a little money. I decided to do something sensible with it.” Shrugging out of his suit jacket, Kevin draped it over the back of a chair.

      “Blowing it on a trip to Europe would be sensible,” Alli said. “You’d have memories to last a lifetime.”

      He positioned her laptop on a blotter, careful not to scratch the desk’s gleaming surface. “You mentioned you’ve got a virus. I might have some software to clean it up.”

      “It’s not exactly a virus.” As Alli plopped her suitcase beside the love seat, she decided not to complain about the inadequate sleeping accommodations. For one thing, Kevin could still change his mind about letting her stay here. Also, after making several moves with her mother, she’d learned to be flexible.

      “So what is it exactly?” He’d flipped the case open, switched on the power and begun scrolling through the computer’s innards.

      “Don’t hook it up to the Internet!” Alli said.

      “Okay, I won’t. What’s going on?”

      She found another chair and stuck it beside the desk. For heaven’s sake, she didn’t see a coffee cup or an empty potato-chip bag anywhere. How could a person function among such neatness?

      “A guy at work sneaked in a program to capture my keystrokes,” she explained. “Anything I write shows up on his computer.”

      Kevin stopped poking around, although, since the device wasn’t online, he had nothing to fear. “He stole your story?”

      “You got it.”

      “That explains why some other guy’s byline was on your story about the mayor?”

      Alli nodded.

      “Is he the reason you got fired?” he asked.

      “Bingo.” She filled him in about the assistant managing editor boosting his nephew’s cause and the managing editor wanting to put his stamp on the news operation. “Basically, they didn’t believe me because they didn’t want to.”

      “How come you don’t sound angrier?” Kevin inquired.

      “Because it wouldn’t do any good.”

      “I never thought of you as the passive type.”

      In Alli’s experience, most guys would have leaped to her defense, maybe even tried to take over her problem, or gone the opposite route and assumed she was at fault. She liked the way this man waited for her response without trying to put words in her mouth.

      “I’m not passive. I’m realistic,” she told him. “My mom spent ages being bitter after Dad dumped us.” That was a rather personal detail to reveal to someone she scarcely knew, but she’d learned that being open about the past helped take the sting out of it. “Finally she figured out that living well is the best revenge. She’s been much happier since she let go of her anger.”

      Kevin eyed her suitcase. “You call this living well?”

      “Hey, I landed in a nice place, didn’t I?” Alli quipped. “Anyway, I plan to take the laptop in tomorrow to have it debugged.”

      He tapped one finger on the desktop. “I wouldn’t be in such a hurry.”

      “Why not?”

      “We might be able to make creative use of this situation.”

      “You have a devious mind.” She grinned. “That raises all kinds of interesting possibilities.”

      “Let’s save it in case we really need it,” Kevin said. “In the meantime, I’ve got an old laptop I was keeping for spare parts. It’s slow but it still works, and I cleaned all my files out of the hard drive.”

      “You’re letting me stay in your house but you don’t trust me with your files?” she said.

      “I have a responsibility to protect my clients from unauthorized intrusions, even accidental ones.” Kevin shut her laptop and set it aside. “By the way, you should put password protection on this thing. That will keep your colleague’s paws off it in the future.”

      “He’s not my colleague anymore. And thanks. I’d love to borrow your laptop.”

      “I’ll drag it in from the garage later. Also, you should put your car in there in case our shooters decide to cruise around looking for it,” he said. “Now, let’s listen to Dr. Abernathy.”

      “Sure.” From her bag, Alli produced the minicassette and recorder. “I made a transcript if you want a copy.”

      “I’ll take one later. First I’d like to hear him for myself.” He turned on the tape.

      As Kevin listened to the recording, he half closed his eyes in concentration. At this angle, she noticed the sharpness of his cheekbones and the strength in his jaw. He looked like the kind of man a woman could depend on, or maybe the kind she believed she could depend on until push came to shove.

      Alli would never make that mistake. Not about any man.

      KEVIN LIKED THE WAY Alli handled the interview on the tape. Her supportive comments and well-thought-out questions encouraged the doctor to trust her.

      His own police-style approach had its strengths, but warming up reluctant subjects wasn’t one of them. Also, he conceded, an attractive young woman had to be more appealing to a guy.

      Alli got under way by saying she was writing a story about local people who’d adopted children from Central America, then proceeded to cite the doctor’s good reputation in the community and praise his desire to help infertile couples. Put at ease, Abernathy related how he’d never considered becoming involved with adoptions until he took on a younger partner eight years previously.

      “Dr. Graybar volunteers at the El Centro Orphanage. After we’d been partners for a while, he suggested we find homes for some of the children,” the man informed her in a deep, reassuring tone.

      The doctors had started slowly and informally. As demand increased and they began serving referrals in addition to patients, they’d hired a full-time adoptions coordinator.

      “That side of our practice just kept growing,” he said. “There’s a lot of need in our community and among the children of Costa Buena. Of course, we try to help patients have children of their own, if that’s what they’re seeking. Providing first-quality medical care has always been my primary mission.”

      Doctors Abernathy and Graybar were obstetrician-gynecologists, not fertility specialists, he explained, but they conducted initial workups and offered low-tech treatments that sometimes took care of the problem. More difficult cases were referred to nearby Doctors Circle, a women’s medical center whose staff included internationally known fertility experts.

      However, some patients decided to go straight

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