Charles didn't answer that. At one time, he could make that a.s.sertion. But now ...

Up until now, he'd had a threat. He'd had a control that he had used mercilessly, partly because his wife had never loved him. He had loved 'her', enough in fact to sacrifice all his ambitions. But she had spent years telling him in so many ways that she was with him out of necessity rather than love. Perhaps she'd even stayed to punish him.

And she had. Nearly every day of their lives.

Never once had she told him she loved him. He couldn't bear to see her now, a shadow of the vibrant girl she'd once been. He knew he had been responsible for the fading of colors. And now she was dying, withering away as a malignant disease rampaged through her body, and still the rejection was in her eyes.

"She's dying, for G.o.d's sake."

"Fix the problem," came the voice with the chilling threat.

The phone went dead.

Charles replaced the receiver in the cradle and sat still for a moment. What if he had told Marguerite years ago where her daughter was? He knew the answer only too well. She never would have stopped trying to get her back.

He'd sold his soul to the devil a long time ago, and it was far too late to repent.

Now he had placed his own daughter in jeopardy. Unless he could stop her from continuing this d.a.m.ned quest.

A knock on the door.

"Come in."

His young a.s.sociate entered. "It's time, sir."

Charles looked at his watch. He pasted on his confident smile for the benefit of young Hart. The case had not been going well. He knew it. His firm was defending a chemical company that had taken shortcuts in a small community east of New Orleans and dumped dangerous chemicals near a stream. People had sickened. One child had died.

He could read juries. It had always been his strength. He saw the verdict already in their faces--the way their expressions tightened when they looked at him and softened as they looked at the defendants.

The defense was that rogue employees had done the illegal dumping on their own. Two men even admitted it and had been arrested. The question was the company's culpability.

The company was his law firm's largest client. He'd been steadily losing clients, and the loss of this one would mean he would have to dismiss several a.s.sociates.

He wasn't going to let Braden Hart know that. The young man was the brightest of his a.s.sociates. Charles had even once hoped that Meredith might become interested in him.

But neither Meredith nor Hart had seemed interested in each other.

Dammit, but Meredith had become one h.e.l.l of a stubborn woman, totally unlike the girl who had craved his approval as a child. He had wanted a son, but a complication with Meredith's birth had prevented Marguerite from having another child even if she had been willing. He'd then tried to make Meredith into his son. She had been compliant until a few years ago.

He still didn't know why she'd turned away from his tutelage.

In recent years, she had discarded all his plans for her. She'd quit her position with the DA's office. The DA's office was the fastest way to be noticed in legal circles. But just as she'd acquired a reputation as a real corner, she'd quit. Her clients now included the down and out, the dregs of society.

He suspected she did it to spite him. He had pushed too hard.

He'd lost her.

"Let's go," he said to Hart, turning his thoughts to the next few hours. He would be cross-examining one of the men who said he had, on his own, dumped the chemicals. That he had been told to take them to a regulated site.

If the man was to be believed, it would put the onus on him. He would be liable, and he had nothing.

'If' was a big word.

As he strode from his office, he tried to concentrate and not think of Marguerite. There was nothing he could do for her. The doctors said she would probably not come out of the coma.

Even so, he hesitated to visit. He was, he knew, the last person she'd want to see.

Why had she opened Pandora's box now?

Revenge? Had what happened so many years ago festered inside even more than he'd ever wanted to believe?

He only knew he had to do something to stop his daughter before she destroyed them all.

*Chapter Four*

'NEW ORLEANS'.

Sarah, Meredith's paralegal, was in her own cubicle when Meredith arrived at her office.

Sarah's face creased with concern when she saw her. "You look beat."

"I slept on a cot in my mother's room last night and stopped to have breakfast with my father this morning."

Surprise widened Sarah's eyes, but thankfully she made no comment about the breakfast. "How 'is' your mother?"

"She slipped into a coma yesterday. The doctor doesn't seem to think she'll come out of it."

"What can I do to help?"

"A personal favor?"

"Anything. You know that, boss."

"What about robbing a bank?"

"Un-huh. Miss Law and Order asking that? I don't think so. So what call I do?" A widow and the sole support of two children, Sarah had previously worked in the district attorney's office. Meredith had stolen her when she left.

An attorney on her or his own needed a great paralegal, and Sarah had been the best one in the DA's office. She'd given up a safe job with health benefits to go with Meredith. In turn, Meredith had given Sarah the flexibility to be with her children when necessary.

Sarah would sometimes work at home, and that was fine with Meredith. The electronic age made it possible.

The kicker in wooing Sarah away had been Meredith's promise to make law school possible for Sarah through flexible hours, salary advances and recommendations. She intended to see that promise kept.

The only other permanent member of her staff was Becky Thomas, who served as bookkeeper and general secretary.

"Where's Becky?"

"She called in. A flat tire. She'll be late."

Meredith nodded. Becky, too, was a jewel. She had been one of Meredith's first clients and had testified against her boss. She'd lost her job, and Meredith had s.n.a.t.c.hed her up. They were both very happy with the arrangement.

"The favor?" Sarah prompted.

Meredith didn't answer directly. "Any calls this morning?"

"Nothing urgent. You have the women's shelter this afternoon. I cancelled everything but that."

Meredith nodded. The shelter was a commitment she intended to keep. "And you?"

"Mrs. Evans's will. I wanted it ready for you to look at, then we can call her in. I'll work with Mrs. Abbot on compiling a list of marital a.s.sets. She believes her husband is hiding some. Mary Golden called to say she won't press charges against her husband. And we need more information on the wife in the Keyeses' custody battle. Want to call Doug in?"

Doug Evers was an investigator they used now and then. He was a former cop who was competent enough, though she continually had to warn him not to use illegal means in her cases. He'd never learned to recognize the line he shouldn't cross.

"I'll talk to Robert Keyes and see if he can afford it," Meredith said.

She hesitated, then added, "The favor... it's a personal matter."

Sarah waited.

Meredith started hesitantly, "Before she lapsed into a coma yesterday, my mother told me that she'd had another child. A girl. She was born in Memphis in February 1970. She asked me to find her."

"My G.o.d," Sarah said. "You didn't know?"

"I had no idea."

"But why now?"

"She wants the two of us to share the trust."

"Wow. That must have been a blow."

"Not the way you think. I inherited my house from my grandmother and I have a fairly good income from this practice. The blow came in discovering that she cared so much ... and never let me know. I could have helped her then. Now there is so little information."

"What are you going to do?"

"Try to find her."

A pause. Then, "What can I do to help?"

"Search for a birth certificate for a daughter born of Marguerite Thibadeau."

"The father?"

"I don't know," Meredith admitted. "I'm hoping this will be easy and something helpful might be on the birth certificate. Try to find any records of an adoption. If you can't locate any, give me a list of adoption agencies in and around Memphis as well as attorneys who were known to handle private adoptions."

"I can do that," Sarah said.

"I know you can," Meredith said, looking down at her hands. They were clenched. She hoped Sarah didn't notice. "You're a treasure."

Sarah grinned. "You pay me to be a treasure. What does your dad know about the baby?" Sarah asked, suddenly changing the subject.

"He says I shouldn't 'rummage around in the past' and destroy my mother's reputation. He also says it's none of my business, that I should let it go. He thought I should worry about my own inheritance."

"Most people would," Sarah said.

"I would rather have a sister."

"So you think we can eliminate your father as the father of the child?" Sarah said.

"Most definitely."

"But he knows something about it."

"Yes."

"Would your grandfather have been involved?"

"Most certainly. She was only seventeen. She said she was sent somewhere in Memphis."

"Do you have any relatives in that area?"

"A great-aunt used to live there. She died three years ago."

"Was she married?"

"Yes, but I think her husband died before her."

"Do you have an address?"

"I can probably find it in my mother's address book or ... somewhere." She stopped suddenly, realizing that she had no idea how her mother kept that kind of information. "The name was Warren, I think. Sylvia Warren. I think her husband's name was Bob."

"Probably Robert then. What did he do?"

"I think he was a builder. I never met him. I met my aunt when she came to my grandmother's funeral."

"That's a little strange, don't you think? That you didn't see more of her. New Orleans isn't that far from Memphis."

"I never really thought of it. I remember hiking her when I met her, but I never questioned why we didn't see her again. It was my mother's aunt and I had the impression my father didn't care for her. In any event, he was never strong on family or sentimentality."

Sarah nodded. She knew Charles Rawson's reputation. And her employer's reticence on the subject spoke volumes.

"Did they have children? If so, they might remember something if your mother did stay with her aunt."