Against the Law (2 page)

He stood waiting as she descended the front porch steps. “See you tomorrow, Lark Delaney.”

She looked back at him. “See you tomorrow, Dev
Raines.” And as she headed for her sister's car, she realized she was looking forward to the meeting far more than she should have been.

 

Dev stepped back inside the house and closed the door, his mind on Lark Delaney. She was nothing like the women he dated, most of them content with the nonrelationship they shared as long as he bought them presents and took them to expensive places.

He had a feeling if he tried that same approach with Lark, she would laugh in his face.

Dev smiled as he continued down the hall to his office. Unlike the rest of the house, which was done in a contemporary southwestern style, his office was sleek and modern, and everything inside was first-class. A butter-soft tan leather sofa sat across from a gas fireplace built into a teakwood-paneled wall that hid a well-stocked wet bar.

A round teakwood table and four tan leather chairs sat in the corner for consultations. A big teakwood desk with a thirty-inch monitor sat in front of a matching credenza with another big screen. A high-powered Mac Pro served as his primary computer with a fully loaded quad core HP as his secondary.

The credenza also held the Mac Book he used as a backup and took with him whenever he traveled. All were linked together and wireless.

He sat down in front of the Mac Pro and entered Lark Delaney's name as a search term, watched a long list of hits pop up. Scrolling past unconnected references like
The Pheasant and the Lark
by Jonathan Swift, he
pulled up articles from countries around the world. She was good at what she did, he saw, well-respected in the fashion industry.

Which didn't really surprise him. Though thinking of the flashy young woman who had walked through his door, maybe it should.

With her wispy, cherry cola hair, sassy makeup, and come-screw-me shoes, she should have come off as an airhead, but from the start, he had sensed the intelligence behind those cat eyes, along with an iron resolve and fierce determination that didn't fit her sexy, modish appearance.

Which only made her more intriguing.

He clicked on www.LARK.com, her company home-page, and a sophisticated website popped up, with video trailers displaying the bags she designed as well as links to the various department-store locations where they could be purchased. There was a company history, photos of the design studio and shots of some of the team members at work.

Returning to Google, he clicked on a newspaper article that mentioned the death of her parents, the owners of a chain of Delaney's Bar and Grill restaurants located across most of the western states. The couple had died in a violent car accident, and Lark and her sister had inherited a bundle of money.

In an attempt to go into business for herself, Lark had lost most of it right out of college. She had gone to work for the designer Michael Kors, then went on her own again, and the second time she made it.

Dev inwardly smiled. It appeared Lark Delaney could
well afford his rates, though for Madman's sake, he had no intention of sending the lady a bill.

He read a more recent article in a local paper that mentioned her sister's death and how Lark had nursed Heather Delaney through the final days of her life at her home here in Phoenix. There was nothing that mentioned Lark's current project—her quest to find her sister's four-year-old daughter.

Once they located the adoption agency, the address of the adoptive parents should be easy enough to find. Assuming the agency people could be persuaded to give up the information.

Since all Lark wanted was assurance the child was in good hands, he believed there was a good chance they would agree.

There was only one fly in the ointment.

It was his strict policy never to mix business with pleasure. He had never been involved with a client and as tempting as Lark Delaney was he didn't intend to start now.

In view of his considerable attraction to her, the best thing he could do was find the child, send Lark on her way and get himself back to work.

Maybe that was the problem. For a guy like him, early retirement probably wasn't a good idea. He needed to find something to do besides bask in the sun and spend the money he had earned from Wildcat Oil, a company his brother, Jackson, had worked for as a geologist. The investment each of the three Raines brothers had made in the fledgling oil exploration company had paid off beyond their highest expectations.

Jackson had returned to their hometown of Wind Canyon, Wyoming, and bought the ranch he had always wanted. Gabe had become a real estate developer in Dallas. Dev had gone on to invest even more in the market right before the big escalation and sold just before the crash.

He had all the money he could spend. Still, he needed to find something more to do than travel from resort to resort and screw himself blind with women whose names he couldn't remember.

An image of Lark Delaney flashed through his head, tall and sexy, a vibrant force that made him want to reach out and just grab hold.

Since that wasn't going to happen, it was the perfect time for him to reform his wicked ways.

Or at least give it a try.

Dev bit back a sigh.

“Promise me, Lark. Promise me you'll do it!” Heather lay, pale and emaciated, a small shrunken figure in the rented hospital bed in her living room. Her hand tightened for a moment around Lark's fingers.

A thick lump swelled in Lark's throat. “You know I will, sweetheart. I'll find her, no matter what it takes. I won't stop until I do.”

Heather managed a last sweet smile, then her eyes slowly closed. A soft breath whispered past her lips and the lines of pain in her face eased away. A look of peace settled over her pretty features, now ravaged by the illness that had stolen her young life.

“I'll find her,” Lark repeated, the ache in her throat so fierce she could barely speak. “I won't let you down again.” Leaning over, she pressed a final soft kiss on her sister's forehead and allowed the tears she had been fighting to cascade down her cheeks.

A knock at her door jolted Lark awake. She blinked
owlishly, surprised to discover she had fallen asleep on the sofa in her hotel room. She took a deep breath, steadied herself as the dream faded away, and rose from the sofa.

Yesterday, after leaving the investigator's house, she had driven over to her sister's condo. It was past time she dealt with Heather's belongings but the memories of those last final weeks had simply been too painful.

Perhaps it was talking to Dev about Heather, or maybe taking the first steps in the search for her sister's daughter that had given Lark the push she needed. Whatever the reason, she felt ready at last to begin getting past her grief.

Thankfully the rented hospital equipment had all been taken away. Lark had spent the afternoon sorting through Heather's clothes, bagging them up for Goodwill; boxing up the rarely used pots and pans; going through old photos, crying as she worked, and feeling a strangely comforting connection to her sister.

She had worked till well past midnight, then returned to her hotel room. This morning she had ordered coffee, sat down on the sofa to wait for its delivery and fallen asleep. Another knock sounded. She yawned as she crossed to the door, stepped back to let the room service waiter into the room with coffee and croissants.

She was staying at the Biltmore in Scottsdale, a beautiful old hotel designed by a student of Frank Lloyd Wright. She loved the art-deco architecture and her big, beautiful room overlooking the vast green sprawl of manicured lawns that stretched all the way to the foot of the rugged Arizona hills.

She could afford to stay anywhere she wanted, but the graceful hotel was a favorite and it had been redone several times so that it was completely modern. And the landscaped grounds were incredible.

She checked the time. It was seven o'clock. As soon as the waiter left, she poured herself a cup of coffee and carried it into the bathroom to shower and dress for her meeting with Devlin Raines.

She was excited to get started. And working with a good-looking man didn't hurt, either. She hadn't dated in months. She liked men, liked sex with the right man, but lately none of them seemed appealing.

She couldn't say the same for Dev Raines. She hadn't felt such a jolt of attraction in years. Maybe never. He was single, she knew. She wondered if their relationship would progress beyond client-investigator. Kind of hoped it would. Just for a bit of fun. She wasn't interested in any sort of serious relationship.

Not with the plans she had for expanding the company and her goals already in place.

Still, the days ahead could be…interesting. As long as Raines did his job and helped her find Heather's baby.

 

Lark arrived fifteen minutes late. Dev wasn't surprised. He was a little unnerved by the rush of lust that hit him when she walked into his office, cherry cola hair fluttering beside her cheeks, long legs moving with determination. For an instant, he imagined those long legs wrapped around his waist, imagined cupping that amazing ass in his hands as he drove into her.

He shook his head, forced his imagination back behind
the zipper of his jeans and reminded himself to concentrate on business.

“You brought the adoption information?” he asked, spotting the manila folder she carried beneath her arm.

“I brought what I had. I'm afraid there isn't that much.”

He opened the file, began to thumb through the pages. She was right, there wasn't much. The name of the agency, Loving Home Adoption, the name of the people who ran it, Evan and Martha Olcott and an address off the 101 on Shea Avenue. A copy of the baby's birth certificate was attached. It listed Heather Delaney as the mother, Baby Delaney as the child's name. No father's name. Nothing that looked the least bit useful.

“As I said, the agency is no longer at the address listed on the papers.” Lark walked over and poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot on the wet bar. “Want a refill?”

“I'll get it.”

As he walked toward the counter, she carried her mug over to the round teakwood table and sat down in one of the chairs. “I drove down there last week. There was a for-lease sign in the window. I talked to people in the office next door, but they didn't know anything. No one had a forwarding address for the agency and nobody knew where the Olcotts went after the office closed down.”

Dev poured some of the fresh brew into his cup, carried it over and sat down across from her. “According to these papers, it was a closed adoption.” Dev skimmed the
pages. “The name of the couple who adopted the baby was kept secret at their request.”

“Heather was only sixteen. I remember Gran saying the couple didn't want any problems when Heather got older.”

“No father's name is listed on the birth certificate.”

“Heather refused to tell my grandparents who he was.”

“She was trying to protect him?”

“I think she was ashamed she had ever had anything to do with him.”

He studied the papers. “How much did your grandparents know about the people who wanted to adopt? What made them decide these people would make good parents?”

She took a sip of her coffee. “My grandmother trusted Martha Olcott. Mrs. Olcott said the couple was young and had plenty of money and they wanted a baby very badly. She said they would provide a loving home and my grandmother was satisfied with that. I think she just wanted the problem to go away.”

“Did your sister ever meet the perspective parents?”

“No, but Martha Olcott was very persuasive. She gave Heather her word the couple would take good care of her baby. Heather finally agreed.”

Dev got up from the table and carried his coffee cup over to the computer on his desk. He sat down and clicked his mouse. When Google popped up, he typed in
Loving Home Adoptions
and was surprised at how little came up.

“I don't see anything in general about the agency, no
website, no contact information, nothing but a couple of minor mentions in other agency articles.”

“They were very discreet. That was one of the things my grandmother liked. At the time, I was busy in Los Angeles and I didn't get involved much in the process. I trusted Grandma's judgment. I never met Mrs. Olcott or her husband, but Grandma said they seemed extremely knowledgeable.”

“And trustworthy?” he asked as she walked up beside him.

“She thought so, yes.” She leaned over his shoulder to study the monitor. “You don't…you don't think something might be wrong with the adoption?”

He tried to ignore the fact she was standing so close, ignore the energy that seemed to vibrate from every curve in her body. He tried to ignore the scent of her perfume but it wound around him like an invisible thread. “No reason to think that. Not yet.”

She straightened away from him. “But it's possible?”

“Anything's possible.” He typed in
Martha Olcott
but nothing interesting came up. There were hits for an Evan Olcott who was the coach of a high-school football team in Sunnyvale, California, but it didn't appear to be the right man.

“I read that an agency has to be licensed by the state in which it does business,” Lark said.

He looked down at the screen, typed in
licensed private adoption agencies Arizona.
A government site popped up, www.children.az.gov. and he clicked his mouse on it. It took a while to navigate the site, but
eventually he found the list of licensed agencies for the state.

“I don't see it listed.”

“Maybe the license expired, or they moved to another state.”

“We'll find out. If we can't find the agency, we'll find the Olcotts.”

Lark's features brightened. “Can we? Aside from looking on the internet, I wouldn't know where to begin.”

“Internet's still our best bet. I've got a friend who's an expert at this kind of thing. Name's Charles Denton. Chaz can make a computer smoke. If the Olcotts are still in business somewhere, he'll find them. If they aren't, he'll find them anyway.”

Lark's smile was dazzling, and when those full lips curved, it made her eyes tilt at the corners. Dev felt a rush of heat that went straight to his groin.

Clenching his jaw, he glanced away, hoping Chaz would succeed with his usual efficiency, they would find the adoptive parents and all would be well. Then he could send Lark Delaney on her way and end this unwelcome lust that went far beyond anything he had expected.

It occurred to him that if they found the little girl fast enough, Lark would become his ex-client and he had no rules about that. An intriguing possibility. Still, there was Madman to consider and the fact she was his wife Molly's friend. It was better if the job was finished and Lark went back to L.A.

“What do we do next?” she asked.

Dev released a slow breath and pulled his gaze away from the sweet curve of her breasts beneath the sleeveless
red handkerchief blouse she wore with another pair of form-fitting jeans.

“I'll give Chaz a call. I think the best thing is just to go see him. We'll take what little we have, see what he can do with it.”

“Sounds good.”

He walked back over to the table and picked up the paperwork Lark had brought with her. He was glad to see she'd been smart enough to bring a couple of extra copies. “We've got what we need. Let's go.”

Lark grabbed her oversized purse and followed, but instead of leading her out front, he turned down the hall, led her through the utility room into the garage, and pressed the button for the automatic door opener.

Lark surveyed the interior of the garage and one of her dark eyebrows went up. “Nice combination. A Porsche, a Suburban and a Harley.”

He shrugged. “I like my toys. Besides, you never know which one might come in handy.”

“In your line of work, I suppose that's true.”

He guided her toward his shiny red Porsche Carerra, opened the passenger door, waited until she settled herself inside and fastened her seat belt, then went around to the driver's side door.

In minutes they were flying down the Alma School Parkway, turning onto Pima, then taking the 101. Chaz had an apartment on Hayden Road and it didn't take long to get there.

At least it wouldn't have seemed so long if it weren't for the distracting presence of the woman in the passen
ger seat and the urge to pull over and plant a hot wet kiss on those full pink lips.

Dev inwardly sighed. The next few days were going to be a whole lot harder than he had thought. He shifted against the bulge beneath the fly of his jeans and fought not to smile at the pun.

 

There was no living room in Chaz Denton's apartment, Lark noticed. Well, there was, but it was so full of computer equipment it seemed nonexistent. Chaz didn't seem to care.

A young man late twenties, Chaz had shoulder-length light brown hair and sparse chin whiskers that looked more like he'd spilled his lunch. Computers were obviously his world and though Lark hadn't the foggiest notion what most of the equipment was, she hoped Chaz knew how to use it to find Martha and Evan Olcott and help locate Heather's child.

“Hey, man, good to see you.” Chaz greeted Dev as he walked toward them, his shoulders slightly rounded as if he spent too much time at his computer, which he clearly did.

“You, too, buddy.” The men bumped fists then did one of those weird handshake things. “This is my client, Lark Delaney. We're hoping you can help us.”

“Lark.” Chaz stuck out his fist. Lark held out her hand and Chaz shook it, looking a little embarrassed. “Pleased to meet you.”

“You, too, Chaz.”

Dev had given his friend the basics on the phone as they drove over. He handed Chaz the paperwork and the
man sat down to study the document in front of one of the many monitors, one even bigger than Dev's, at least forty inches. A few minutes later, he set the paperwork aside and began to type, his fingers flying over the keys so rapidly they were nothing but a blur.

He didn't use Google but instead went to a search engine called Dogpile Search and Rescue, then hit Web Crawler. Bing, Yahoo, Ask.com, Lycos and AltaVista followed with such speed Lark lost track.

“Not much here,” Chaz said, starting over in another direction. Lark watched in awe and even Dev seemed fascinated by his friend's expertise. Chaz studied the copy of the documents Dev had given him and returned to his rapid typing, which brought up a list of hits. “You were right about the license. No record of one in Arizona.”

Lark didn't like the sound of that. “Are you saying the agency never had one?”

“Not in Arizona.”

“What about another state?” Lark asked.

“That'll take a little work. I'll get around to it in a minute.” His fingers flew. He worked for a while, completely absorbed in his task.

Finally he sat back in his chair. “I may have something on the stationery.” He pointed to the logo at the top of the front page, then the image on the screen. The emblem of Loving Home Adoptions was a small house enclosed by a little picket fence. Chaz had found a printing company that showed the logo among examples of some of its work.