but not in little Westbrook.
Was this the private investigator she’d called? Kristin was about to stand when her cell phone rang, the soft version of “Ein Kleine Nachtmusik” barely heard in the busy café. Turning away from the man, she answered it.
On the other end was an unexpected caller, Jackson McGraw. “I—I was just thinking of you,” she said to him shyly.
“Really? Kristin, I have something that needs your attention.”
Hope flared in her. “You’ve found my mother?”
A distinct pause followed. “No. I’m sorry. I’ve told you all I know. I haven’t learned anything new since that day I last saw your mother. She left that night.”
Sagging, Kristin raked her fingers through her hair, then quickly smoothed the right side down carefully, as she always did. Beneath the straight brown hair that was cut in such a way to conceal it, lay a thick scar, long and white, devoid of hair. Jackson had told her how she acquired the scar, but for now, she set that thought aside.
“I wish I had better news for you.”
Disappointment bit at her, and she blinked back the subsequent tears. “Then why are you calling? I got the impression that we wouldn’t contact each other again because Witness Protection made everything too dangerous.”
“It does, Kristin. I personally have no access to the program. It belongs to the Department of Justice and the U.S. Marshal’s Office. Organized crime investigation comes under my jurisdiction. But I’ve received some new information that you need to know.”
“What is it?” She had nothing to do with organized crime. And her biological mother had been hidden for years, after testifying against one Mafia member.
“It seems that the Martino family has learned you live in Montana. We believe that they are searching for you.” His words sounded guarded, as if he weighed each one carefully to ensure a balance of gentleness and warning.
“You mean that man my mother testified against?”
“I mean the whole crime family. As a tribute to Salvatore Martino, the rest of the Martino family and their associates want to get to your mother, but we believe that they want you, too. Or they want you to lead them to your mother. Or both.”
She gasped, hunkered over the phone further and set her forehead into her left palm. “I don’t understand. Why would they be after me?”
“Hurt you, hurt your mother. They’re looking to honor Salvatore Martino, not to make any sense. What we need you to do is stop your search for your mother. We believe it may have sparked some interest in you.”
Tears welled up again, causing a knot to tighten around her throat. She couldn’t look for her mother? It didn’t seem fair. “How do they know I’m in Montana?”
“We’re not sure yet. They’ve learned that your mother gave you up for adoption and that you live in Montana. They know your first name was Kristin years ago, but that’s all they know.”
Her heart tripped slightly. “Do you think they’d break in to your office and steal my address?”
“No, they won’t,” he answered tersely. “Even if they could break in, they wouldn’t find it because last night I shredded all the info I had on you.”
So he must have committed her phone number to memory. So much to do for just her, she thought. Why?
“But if they’ve discovered you’re in Montana,” he continued, “they could find out more.”
She gasped. “Then they could find my mother, too!”
“Not if I can help it.” The grit in his words abraded through her cell phone. He’d do anything, she realized. Odd to have such determination, but since Jackson was the only FBI agent she’d ever met, maybe they were all that dogged. He just seemed so…concerned for her and her mother.
She lifted her head and straightened. “So what should I do? I want to find my mother. I need to find her. I have no one,” she said, her voice cracking. The wounds of her parents’ deaths were still too raw. It had only been four and a half months. “And I…just don’t want to go through my life with no one. Do you understand?”
Jackson McGraw didn’t speak right away. But when his answer came, his voice had softened. “I do understand. But for now, I need you to trust me, Kristin. Someone is after you, too, and if that person or persons find you, they may wait until you’ve located your mother. Or they may not wait and hope your death draws out your mother.”
There was static on the line. “I’m stuck in Chicago right now and can’t get out to see you in person, nor do I want to just yet, for your own safety. I’m asking you to suspend your search. Information is being leaked out to the Martino family, so I wouldn’t trust anyone at this point. I mean no one.”
“But no one here knows I’m adopted, not even the man who opened the safe for me. There are a few older people in Billings, but that’s it. Really, only you and your brother know.”
She paused, her thoughts skittering from Jackson to Micah McGraw, his younger brother who she’d first contacted because he was a U.S. Marshal in Billings. He’d introduced her to Jackson. Then her thoughts moved to the private investigator she’d hired. All she’d said to Zane Black was she was looking for a woman. She’d planned to explain everything when she met him today. But now, considering what Jackson had said…should she even say anything at all?
“I’m working as fast as I can to locate your mother, Kristin,” Jackson continued, “but in the meantime, please be very vigilant and don’t say a word to anyone, not even the police. Not just for your own sake, but your mother’s, too.”
His tone changed with that last sentence, sounding the same as when he’d told her about that night in the safe house twenty years ago. The night when Eloise had fled.
It had been the middle of the night and as a baby, Kristin had cried out, awakening Jackson. When her complaints went unanswered, he rose, and found her alone in her crib, a note shoved onto the mobile dangling high above her. He scooped her into his arms, and she stopped crying. When he read the note, the one he eventually gave to her adoptive parents, the one Kristin found in her father’s safe after her parents died, Jackson knew Eloise believed her life was no longer safe. She’d left because the Mob had found her, even at that safe house—
“Kristin?”
She started, coming back to the moment. “Yes?”
“Don’t tell anyone about this conversation, and say nothing about your mother. We’ll find her, rest assured of that, but we don’t want you to lead the Martino family to her first. You’ll both end up dead.”
Kristin wet her lips. Dead? She swallowed. “I—I’ll be very careful.”
She disconnected, and with a shaky sigh, set her phone down on the table. Not find her mother? Give up her search? That was easy for Jackson McGraw to say. He wasn’t dealing with the loss she had right now. He didn’t hurt inside the way she hurt.
She should call Jackson back and tell him he had no right to order her not to find her mother.
Toying with her small phone, she squared her shoulders and flipped it open.
Then, she jumped.
That tall man who had strode in a few moments ago, the one she’d believed to be the P.I. she’d hired, now towered over her tiny table. She ran her gaze up his tall length, until she found piercing blue eyes drilling into her.
“Kristin Perry, I assume?”
Zane Black knew Kristin immediately. On Friday, she’d called him, her soft, lilting voice giving him a clear impression of what she looked like, clearer than he’d ever had before with a client. Some people looked the opposite of how they sounded, but not Kristin Perry.
Wide,