LITMIR.BIZ

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a firm date for surgery, but I know what it’s been like for you since Ruth disappeared with the baby. Where did you locate them finally?”

      “Right here in Sydney. They were practically under my nose the whole time and I never knew it,” James said grimly.

      “Does Ruth know you’re on to her?”

      A shadow darkened James’s features. “Ruth’s dead. Sailing accident in the harbor.”

      Bill didn’t waste his breath on platitudes. Any love his friend had known for his wife had been extinguished the day she ran away with their child. After working in the security business in the Middle East where she and James met, Ruth had known how to cover her tracks well. Only a handful of close friends, Bill among them, knew what hell James had endured because of Ruth. He hardly dared to ask, “What about your daughter?”

      James reached into his briefcase and pulled out a folder, opening it on the doctor’s desk. “I got this two hours ago.” On top lay a black-and-white photograph, the edges slightly blurred as if it had been taken covertly from some distance away, which was probably the case. “This woman was taking care of Genevieve for Ruth when she died. The P.I. is certain the child with her is my daughter.” His voice dipped huskily as he shoved the photo across the desk.

      Bill studied the picture. It showed a tiny girl about four or five years old astride a pony at the beach. The child’s delight fairly leapt off the page at him. At the pony’s head stood an equally compelling-looking woman. About five foot six, the doctor estimated, and ideally proportioned for her height. The only excessive thing about her seemed to be the mass of curls tumbling to her shoulders.

      Margolin found himself smiling involuntarily as the woman’s sunlit pleasure communicated itself to him through the grainy photograph. She looked windblown but happy, her heart-shaped face mirroring the child’s pleasure. All her attention was focused on the child astride the pony, as if nothing else mattered in the world. As a father himself, the doctor knew how that felt.

      He glanced at James in concern. His friend’s eyes were fixed on the photo, the hunger in them almost palpable. “What are you going to do?” Bill asked quietly, feeling his chest tighten. If this turned out to be another false lead, it was going to hit James hard.

      His friend dragged his eyes away from the picture as if the effort cost him a great deal. The look he turned on Bill burned with purpose. “By the time I get back to my office, I’ll have absolute confirmation that she’s my daughter. Then I want to see her, find out how she’s been living since she was taken away. This woman, Zoe Holden, apparently fostered her when her family couldn’t be traced.”

      “So she doesn’t know who the child belongs to?” A sigh gusted past Bill’s lips as James shook his head. “This will come as quite a shock to her.”

      James’s hands balled into fists before he made an obvious effort to relax them. “I’m well aware of how it’s going to feel. I’ve been there, remember?”

      “Maybe you should let the authorities handle the initial approach,” Bill suggested, knowing it was futile as soon as James flashed him a fierce look.

      “If I’d left this to the authorities, I’d still be waiting,” he said. “This time I’ll handle it my way.” He flicked the folder closed. “Zoe Holden is a property manager with a local real estate agency. As it happens, my firm has been looking for somewhere to house executives visiting from overseas and her agency has been advertising a suitable place. I’ve arranged to inspect the property. It will give me the perfect opportunity to find out what this Zoe Holden is like and what sort of home she’s been providing for Genevieve.”

      Bill whistled soundlessly. “Sounds a bit cloak-and-dagger to me, but it’s one way to check her out without tipping your hand. When will you see her?”

      James consulted the gold Rolex gleaming on his tanned wrist. “I have an appointment with her this afternoon. As you’ve spent the morning drumming into me, I don’t have the luxury of time to waste. The sooner I get my daughter back, the sooner you can operate. Do we have a deal?”

      The doctor frowned. “You can’t bargain with your health, but if you follow my orders and take things easy, maybe you can postpone the operation a little longer. Lord knows, you’re stubborn enough. And if there is a chance of getting Genevieve back, I can’t stand in your way. Now get out of here. I have sick people waiting who are willing to let me help them.”

      In spite of a lingering headache courtesy of the doctor’s poking and prodding, James managed to whistle as he strode through the waiting rooms and headed for the elevator that would deliver him to the underground car park.

      Back in his car again he reached for the photo supplied by the private investigator. He must have studied it a hundred times since it was delivered until every detail was burned into his memory, but he still hadn’t tired of it. After eighteen months of enduring a wrenching sense of loss every time he set eyes on a four-year-old, he was entitled to feel elated at the sight of this particular child. From her huge dark eyes to a smile that could light up a room by itself, everything about her screamed a rightness he could feel deep inside. This was his daughter. He knew it.

      But this time he found his eyes drawn to the woman holding the pony and a different kind of awareness clawed through him, astonishing him with its power and unexpectedness. She was beautiful. Not the kind of beauty you saw on magazine covers, but rather more natural, with a vibrancy that invited attention. Unaware she was being photographed, she looked relaxed and happy, dressed for the beach in figure-hugging shorts and a skimpy T-shirt. James had a momentary vision of himself clasping her around that incredibly slender waist and whirling her around into the air, just to find out if her laugh was as silvery as her smile promised.

      Nerves leapt along his spine, aggravating the tender spot where the bullet was lodged in the side of his neck and the jolt of pain brought him back to reality. He took deep, steadying breaths until the pain passed, telling himself all the while that his reaction to the woman was a result of seeing her with his child. That was all it was and all it could ever be. Because once she found out who he was and what he wanted she would sooner cut out his heart than waste a smile on James Langford.

      Chapter One

      The child planted tiny fists on small hips. “Mummy, what’s a spitting image?”

      Zoe looked up from the property brief she was studying and suppressed a smile. “It means a person who looks very much like somebody else. Where did you hear that?”

      Genie frowned. “Simon’s mummy says he’s the spitting image of his daddy.” She paused, wrinkling her face in concentration. “Am I the spitting image of you?”

      Zoe fought to keep her feelings from registering on her face. Genie was far from being her spitting image. The child was as dark as she herself was fair. Genie’s eyes, fixed expectantly on her, were a vivid blue in contrast to her own eyes, which were the color of autumn leaves.

      A heart-wrenching rush of love for those self-same features tore through Zoe, making her eyes blur with tears of happiness and gratitude. She was blessed to have the chance to be a mother to a child as beautiful both in looks and nature as Genie. They didn’t have to look alike to share a bond she could feel like a steel filament stretching between them.

      To cover the torrent of emotions flooding through her, she ruffled Genie’s thick chestnut hair, so unlike her own tangle of straw-colored curls. “You don’t need to be anyone’s spitting image, sweetheart. You’re a beautiful, precious one-of-a-kind.”

      Genie sighed heavily. “I don’t want a mummy who went away. I want to be borned your little girl so I could be your spitting image.”

      Zoe felt another jolt deep inside her even as she masked the reaction with a loving smile. Genie so seldom mentioned her real mother that it came as a shock to be reminded of the reality.

      She was annoyed with herself for reacting badly to the reminder now, instead of counting her blessings. A child was one blessing her ill-fated marriage

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