She carefully pinned the small drawing on the corkboard over her desk, where she could gaze at it as she worked. It would give her pleasure.

But pinning the drawing up wasn't enough. Impulsively, she picked up her mobile phone. She'd never done anything like this. It was late to her, after midnight.

To give Jacob enough time to return home to his apartment, she waited twenty more minutes, watching the old battery-powered clock tick away the seconds on the side table beside her bed. Her nerves jumpy, she got up and washed her face, then changed out of her clothes and into warm flannel pajamas.

It was time. She climbed into bed with the pillows propped up behind her. So many evenings she'd spent studying into the night like this. Calling Jacob would be more fun.

Before she could second-guess herself, she pressed the b.u.t.ton. She'd already programmed his name and phone number into her phone.

"h.e.l.lo?" Jacob's low, rough voice sent a thrill through her.

"It's Isabel." She had his phone number, but he didn't have hers. "I just...wanted to say thank-you for the drawing." She hesitated. "I really like it."

"I'm...glad." He seemed awkward, not quite himself. Then again, they were in new territory. They'd been at odds ever since they'd been back in Manhattan, and tonight was a fresh intimacy.

"Well, I just wanted to say, you have talent, Jacob. I'm lying in bed looking at the sketch over my desk."

"Yeah. I don't sleep well, either." He laughed somewhat.

"Why not?" she asked.

"I don't know." He paused. "It's always been like that." He paused again. "Sucks, really."

"I know what you mean." She slid down, deeper under the covers, shifting the phone as she lay on her side. "I hate it, too. I usually just stay up late, working, until I finally fall asleep."

"But not tonight? It's Friday."

"Doesn't matter. My coursework is difficult. I usually have to work weekends, too. But tonight...I'm just thinking, taking the night off. You have nice friends, by the way."

"Yeah, they're good. But, Isabel..." There was a pause and his voice sounded farther away, as if he was doing something in the background, moving around as he spoke.

Maybe he was taking off his clothes. She bit the side of her cheek and held back the happy giggle that wanted to come out.

"...You should see the city while you're here, too. Too much work isn't good for anybody."

"Says the man who works weekends himself," she said lightly.

"Yeah, well, did Donna also tell you that tomorrow morning I'm supposed to go out to Long Island and help her and Eddie start packing up their things for the big move?"

"Ouch," she said softly. That had to be hard since they were leaving for Washington and he wasn't.

"Yeah, I've got to be out of here by seven."

She hadn't meant that the time was hard, though that was true, too. "Well, don't ask me for a wake-up call, because I'm terrible. I was late so often my first semester that I made a point to schedule no more of those eight o'clock cla.s.ses."

He chuckled. "d.a.m.n, I don't blame you for that."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." She sighed, gazing across the room at her pencil sketch. "And thanks again for the drawing. n.o.body has ever done that for me before, and I find I quite like it."

"It was my pleasure, Isabel," he said in that low, gruff voice.

"Kiss Alden for me tomorrow. He's a cutie, that one is."

"Will do. Good night, Isabel."

As she hung up the phone, smiling, she realized that she'd shared more in her short conversations with Jacob tonight than she'd shared with Alex these past few years. Then again, Alex hadn't shared much with her, either.

Jacob had.

CHAPTER NINE.

MONDAY MORNING, JACOB headed over for his appointment with Diane, the department psychologist. The weekend spent helping Eddie move his stuff had upped the urgency for him. He needed to get this transfer rolling, to convince Diane he was on the right track with his plans for Scotland.

But when Jacob arrived at the appointed time, Diane was on the phone, so he stood in her doorway, silently observing.

Cardboard boxes were stacked on the floor. She must have brought in some personal belongings but hadn't yet unpacked them. In one box, laid on top of a row of books, were three framed diplomas.

He tilted his head to get a better look. Her name was on all of them-Diane was seriously educated. He didn't know whether to be grateful or worried.

Finally, she hung up the phone and stared up at him over the top of her reading gla.s.ses. "Thank you for coming in. Sit down, please, Jacob."

He approached the chair in front of her and sat, handing her the folder containing his paperwork. He looked her in the eye.

"I want you to know, Diane, I took some steps to get the bigger information we discussed last time we met. I've set up an appointment in Scotland, and I'm taking a week there over Christmas. I'll interview people who knew my father and his work, and I'll see about the information you requested to process my transfer. Then, I'll write a report and have it on your desk by the first of the year. How does that sound to you?"

Diane gazed across the desk at him. "A trip to Scotland is excellent. That's a good start."

A start? He got a sinking feeling in his chest. But he forced out a nod.

"I understand that you never met your father," she said, folding her hands and gazing directly at him across the desk. "Did anyone ever speak to you about him when you were growing up?"

"Yes," he said tersely. "Of course they did."

She waited for him to say more.

He tapped his fingers against his knee. "Aren't you going to look at my paperwork?" He gestured to the folder he'd brought. He'd gone to a lot of trouble to put it together for her-as she'd directed.

"Would you like me to?" she murmured.

"What I would really love is for you to sign my transfer papers," he cracked.

She didn't smile. She gazed at him quietly.

He pressed his hands against his pants. This wasn't going well.

"The last time we met," she said in a steady, neutral voice, "we talked about your mother moving from Scotland to New York with you when you were still a baby. Then-" she checked her notes "-she married a schoolteacher, I believe."

Jacob nodded, not seeing why this was relevant.

"How did your mother characterize your father to you, Jacob? His job as a police officer?"

"Ah...she didn't talk about him, really."

Diane waited for him to continue.

He cleared his throat. "My mom doesn't talk about him because the divorce was painful to her. And I respect that because I protect her. I've always protected her." His voice rose.

Almost imperceptibly, Diane's eyes widened.

He clamped his mouth shut. Ratchet it down, Jake, Eddie would say.

He didn't want to turn her against him. He didn't want to jeopardize this.

"So..." Diane continued in that neutral tone, "you're protecting your mom by being a Secret Service agent? The same sort of job that your father held when he was killed in the line of duty?"

"No," he said hotly. She was totally misunderstanding him. And she was venturing on territory that shouldn't be crossed.

He changed the subject. "My mother realizes I'm a grown man and I make my own decisions. She has three other children-my half siblings-to worry about now."

Another almost imperceptible widening of Diane's eyes. "Is that why you chose law enforcement as a career-to break away from your family?"

"No, I chose law enforcement because I'm drawn to it," he said, irritated. "It's important. It matters."

"Like your father's death mattered to you?" she said softly.

Where was she going with this?

"Can you tell me about the day you first told your mom you were joining the NYPD?" Diane asked.

That day was seared in his memory. It had been their one and only blowup argument. Daniel had jumped in, of course, warning Jacob off. Even his siblings had been present, and they'd been frightened by the harsh words exchanged.

"No, sorry, I don't remember," Jacob said. Because he wasn't tearing open that ugly wound for Diane, someone he didn't even know.

This was private. The relationship he had with his family wasn't relevant to his work.

He was a d.a.m.n good special agent. He belonged in the PPD. Everybody who mattered said so.

"Jacob, what did your mom say about you joining the police force?" Diane asked gently.

It was clear she wasn't going to let this go. He could tell her the truth-that his mom had screamed at him that one time, blowing up in anger. She'd said that his father had abandoned them. That his real dad didn't care about them, and that Jacob shouldn't try to be like him.

Jacob had been stunned-scared, even-because it was the most she'd ever said about his father, and he hadn't wanted to see her so upset. He'd always tried to avoid her grief by protecting her from reminders of anything unpleasant.

"Jacob?"

Diane wasn't videotaping him. She didn't have him hooked up to a lie-detector test. Lying would be easy. To protect his mom from pain, he'd lied to her all his life about all sorts of innocuous things-grades at school, boyhood indiscretions-because he'd had to in order to keep her happy.

"My mom was proud of me," he said to Diane. "She respects what I do, and I want her to be happy, too."

Only the last part was true. He did want her to be happy. And these days, he accomplished that by not mentioning his job.

Diane stared at him for a long time. Her lips pressed together, she turned to his paperwork. She perused the pages. Took off her reading gla.s.ses and looked at him.

It appeared she believed him.

"Where is the copy of your original birth certificate that I asked for?"

It figured. She'd zeroed in on the one doc.u.ment that Jacob couldn't gather. "I don't have it," he said. "And they didn't ask for it in the original security clearance, so..."

She closed the folder and looked at him. "Jacob, I know you've already been through the full security clearance for special agent status, but if you want PPD, it will take more than that to satisfy me."

Obviously-she'd made that clear. But he kept his patience.

"As I said to you the last time we met, there are red flags in your background," she continued. "The psychological effects your father's death had on you are a concern to us, and we want to dig into why you want this particular a.s.signment, given that fact.

"But before we can begin to do that work together, I need you to complete a homework a.s.signment for me. Going to Scotland and conducting interviews is very important, yes, but so is my request for you to bring me your birth certificate."

"It doesn't exist anymore," he protested. "I was adopted even before Donald Ross-before my father died. At my adoption, the state generated a new birth certificate for me-which is my legal certificate-and that's the certificate I continue to use today. The old certificate is no longer valid."

"Yes, I understand the law regarding adoptions and birth certificates. I am asking you for a copy of your original, Scottish birth certificate."

He just sat there. He knew d.a.m.n well who he was born as. He also knew that what she asked for was impossible.

She tapped her pen on the desk. "Jacob, you're asking for a higher level of clearance and responsibility, which I have to sign off on. You need to humor me. Trust where I'm going with this."

Her trust wasn't a matter of consideration to him. What was important was finding the d.a.m.n thing. Where could he get this doc.u.ment quickly? Scotland? He didn't know what their rules or bureaucracy might be like. The lawyer in Connecticut who'd prepared the original adoption? But there were rules about a minor's adoption....

"I might need a court order to retrieve it," he mused aloud.

Diane looked at him sharply. "No one in your family has an original copy? How about your mother? Isn't she the obvious person to see?"

He remained silent.

"Perhaps you should ask her where it is," Diane pressed. "Initiate a discussion with her."

"She's in Connecticut."

"You could go there today."

"I don't think that's a good idea," he said. His real father was dead. What was the point in reopening old wounds?

Diane stared directly at him. She appeared to have a point she wanted to hammer home. "If you prefer to stay in the field office, avoiding my a.s.signments, then I'll let it go. But I can't in good conscience recommend you for promotion to any of the presidential or vice presidential details if you don't cooperate with me."