Chapter 12

Mel met Harriet Breezeport twice more over the next two days, once for tea and again at a party. If it hadn’t been for her faith in Sebastian, Mel would have laughed at the idea of the whispery-voiced matron as the head of a criminal organization.

But she did have faith in him, so she watched, and played her part.

It was Devereaux who fed them the information that neither Harriet nor Ethan Breezeport owned a condo in Tahoe. Nor, in fact, was there any record that either party existed.

Still, when the contact came, it came from neither of them, but from a tanned young man with a tennis racket. Mel had just finished a match with Linda and was waiting over a glass of iced tea for Sebastian to complete a round of golf with Gumm. The man approached, wearing tennis whites and a dazzling smile.

“Mrs. Ryan?”

“Yes?”

“I’m John Silbey. A mutual acquaintance pointed you out. I wonder if I could have a word with you?”

Mel hesitated, as she imagined a happily married woman might when approached by a strange man. “All right.”

He sat, laying the tennis racket across his tanned knees. “I realize this is a bit unorthodox, Mrs. Ryan, but, as I said, we have mutual acquaintances. I’ve been told you and your husband might be interested in my services.”

“Really?” She arched a brow coolly, but her heart was picking up rhythm. “You don’t look like a gardener, Mr. Silbey, though my husband and I are quite desperate for one.”

“No, indeed.” He laughed heartily. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there. I’m a lawyer, Mrs. Ryan.”

“Oh?” She tried for hopeful confusion, and apparently pulled it off. Silbey leaned a little closer and spoke gently.

“This isn’t the usual way I solicit clients, but when you were pointed out to me just now, I thought it might be a good opportunity for us to become acquainted. I’m told you and your husband are interested in a private adoption.”

She moistened her lips and rattled the ice in her glass for good measure. “I … We’ve hoped,” she said slowly. “We’ve tried. It’s been very difficult. All the agencies we’ve tried have such long waiting lists.”

“I understand.”

And she could see that he did, and that he was very pleased to find her emotional, desperate, and primed. He touched her hand in sympathy.

“We tried going through a lawyer before, but the whole thing fell through at the last minute.” She pressed her lips together, as if to steady them. “I’m not sure I could handle that kind of disappointment again.”