Birthright

Mr. Carlyle was a reputable lawyer. We wouldn’t have gone through anyone we didn’t absolutely trust. My own obstetrician recommended him. These men were—are—compassionate, ethical men. Hardly involved in some sort of black-market baby ring.”
    “Do you know what coincidence is, Mom? It’s fate breaking a lock so you can open a door. This woman’s baby was stolen on December twelfth. Three days after that, your lawyer calls and says he has a baby girl for you. The next day, you sign papers, write checks and bring me home.”
    “You don’t know her baby was stolen,” Vivian insisted.
    “No, but that’s easy enough to verify. I have to do this. The way my parents raised me makes it impossible for me to do otherwise.”
    “If you confirm the kidnapping”—Elliot’s heart shuddered as he spoke—“there are tests that can be run to determine if . . . if there’s a biological connection.”
    “I know. I’ll take that step if it’s necessary.”
    “I can expedite that, cut through the red tape so you’ll have the results quickly.”
    “Thanks.”
    “What will you do if . . .” Vivian couldn’t finish the sentence.
    “I don’t know.” Callie blew out a breath. “I don’t know. I’ll do what comes next. You’re my mother. Nothing changes that. Dad, I need to take the paperwork. I need to start checking out everyone who was involved. Dr. Simpson, Carlyle. Did you get the name of the nurse who brought me to his office?”
    “No.” He shook his head. “Not that I remember. I can track down Simpson for you. It would be easier for me. I’ll make some calls.”
    “Let me know as soon as you find out. You’ve got mycell phone number, and I’ll leave you the number at my motel in Maryland.”
    “You’re going back?” Vivian demanded. “Oh, Callie, can’t you stay?”
    “I can’t. I’m sorry. I love you. Whatever we find out, I’m still going to love you. But there’s a woman who’s in considerable pain over the loss of a child. She deserves some answers.”
    D oug didn’t know the last time he’d been so angry. There was no talking to his mother—he’d given that up. It was like beating your head against the iron wall that was her will.
    He was getting no help from his grandfather either. Reality, reason, reminders of the dozens of disappointments in the past did nothing to budge either of them an inch.
    And to find out that his mother had gone to this Callie Dunbrook. Actually gone to her motel room—with family pictures, yet. Humiliating herself, tearing open scars, dragging an outsider into a personal family tragedy.
    The way Woodsboro worked, it wasn’t going to take long for the Cullen family history to be dug up, sifted through and discussed endlessly all over again.
    So he was going to see Callie Dunbrook himself. To ask her not to speak of his mother’s visit with anyone—if it wasn’t too late for that. To apologize for it.
    He wasn’t going to get a better look at her, he assured himself. As far as he was concerned Jessica was gone. Long gone, and no amount of wishing or searching or hoping was going to bring her back.
    And if she did come back, what was the point? She wasn’t Jessica now. If she was still alive, she was a different person, a grown woman with a life of her own that had nothing to do with the baby they’d lost.
    Whatever way it worked, it was only more heartache for his mother. Nothing he said or did could convince her of that. Jessica was her Holy Grail, the quest of her life.
    He pulled over to the side of the road by the construction fence.
    He remembered this spot—the soft ground of the field, the exciting paths through the woods. He’d gone swimming in Simon’s Hole. Had once skinny-dipped there on a moon-drenched night with Laurie Worrell and had very nearly talked her out of her virginity in the cool, dark water.
    Now there were holes in the field, mounds of dirt and rope lines strung everywhere.
    He’d never understand why people couldn’t leave well enough alone.
    As he stepped out of the car to head toward the fence, a short man in mud-brown attire broke away from a group and walked to meet him.
    “How’s it going?” Doug said for lack of anything else.
    “Very well. Are you interested in the project?” Leo asked him.
    “Well . . .”
    “It probably looks a bit confusing right now, but in fact, it’s the early days of a very organized archaeological dig. The initial survey produced artifacts that we’ve