After she had waited ten minutes, Craig Michaelson came out to the reception area himself and personally escorted her into his private office. He was a tall man in his early sixties, with a big frame and slightly sloping shoulders. His full head of hair, more dark gray than silver, looked as though he might have just left the barber. His dark gray suit was well cut, and his tie was a subdued gray-and-blue print. Everything about his appearance as well as the tasteful furnishings and paintings in his office suggested a reserved and conservative man.

Jean realized that she was not sure if that wasn't the worst possible scenario. If Craig Michaelson was not involved in Lily's adoption, then this was going to be another dead end in her search to find her.

She looked directly at the lawyer as she told him about Lily and showed him the copies of the faxes and the DNA report. She sketched out her own background, reluctantly emphasizing her academic standing, the honors and awards she had received, and the fact that because of her best-selling book her financial success was a matter of public record.

Michaelson never took his eyes off her face except when he examined the faxes. She knew he was sizing her up, trying to decide if what she was telling him was the truth or just an elaborate hoax.

"Because of Dr. Connors' nurse, Peggy Kimball, I know that some of the adoptions the doctor arranged were illegal," she said. "What I need to know, what I beg you to tell me, is this: Did you handle my child's adoption yourself, or do you know who adopted her?"

"Dr. Sheridan, let me start by telling you that I never had any part in an adoption that was not handled to the strictest letter of the law. If at any time Dr. Connors was bypassing the law, he did so without my knowledge or involvement."

"Then if you did handle my baby's adoption, are you telling me that it was registered with my name as the mother and the name of Carroll Reed Thornton as the father?"

"I am saying that any adoption I handled was legal."

Years of teaching students, a small percentage of whom had been adept at dissembling and half-truths, had made Jean feel capable of spotting that practice whenever she encountered it. She knew she was encountering it now.

"Mr. Michaelson, a nineteen-and-a-half-year-old girl may be in danger. If you handled the adoption, you know who adopted her. You could try to protect her now. In fact, in my opinion, you have a moral obligation to try to protect her."

It was the wrong thing to say. Behind silver-framed glasses, Craig Michaelson's eyes turned frosty. "Dr. Sheridan, you have demanded that I see you today. You have come in with a story for the truth of which I have only your word. You have virtually suggested that I might have broken the law in the past, and now you are demanding that I break the law in order to help you. There are legal ways to have birth records released. You should go to the district attorney's office. I believe that they would petition the court to open those records. I can assure you that is the only way you should be going about this inquiry. As you yourself point out, it is possible that at the time you were expecting the baby someone might have seen you in Dr. Connors' office and somehow got into your file. You also pointed out that this may be all about money. Frankly, my guess is that you're right. Someone knows who your daughter is and suspects you will pay for the knowledge."

He stood up.

For a moment Jean remained seated. "Mr. Michaelson, I have pretty good instincts, and my instinct is that you handled my daughter's adoption and that you probably did it legally. My other very strong instinct is that whoever is writing to me and is close enough to Lily to steal her hairbrush is dangerous. I am going to go to court to try to get the records released. The fact remains, though, that in the interval, something might happen to my child because you are stonewalling me now. If it does, and I find out about it, I don't think I'll be responsible for what I'll do to you."

Jean could not control the tears that were spilling from her eyes. She turned and hurried from the room, not caring that the receptionist and several people in the reception area looked up at her in astonishment as she ran past them. When she reached her car, she flung open the door, got in, and buried her face in her hands.

And then she went deadly cold. As clearly as though Laura were in the car with her, she could hear her voice pleading, "Jean, help me! Please, Jean, help me!"

55

From the front window of his office, his face drawn with concern, Craig Michaelson watched Jean Sheridan as she rushed to her car. She's on the level, he thought. This isn't about a woman obsessed to find her child and fabricating a wild story. Should I warn Charles and Gano? If anything happened to Meredith, it would destroy them both.

He would not, could not, reveal Jean Sheridan's identity to them, but he could at least make Charles aware of the threats to his adopted daughter. It should be his decision as to what he might tell Meredith or how he might try to protect her. If the story about the hairbrush was true, maybe Meredith would remember where she was when she mislaid it or lost it. It might be one way to try to trace the sender of the faxes.

Jean Sheridan had said that if anything happened to her daughter, something I could have prevented, she wouldn't be responsible for what she would do to me, he recalled. Charles and Gano would feel exactly the same way.

His decision made, Craig Michaelson went to his desk and picked up the phone. He did not need to look up the number. Crazy coincidence, he thought as he dialed. Jean Sheridan doesn't live far from Charles and Gano. She's in Alexandria. They're in Chevy Chase.

The phone was picked up on the first ring. "General Buckley's office," a crisp voice said.

"This is Craig Michaelson, a close friend of General Buckley. I need to speak to him on a matter of great importance. Is he there?"

"I'm sorry, sir. The General is abroad on official business. Can someone else help you?"

"No, I'm afraid not. Will you be hearing from the General?"

"Yes, sir. The office is in touch with him regularly."

"Then tell him it is most urgent that he call me as soon as possible." Craig spelled his name and gave the number of his cell phone as well as his office number. He hesitated, then decided not to say that it concerned Meredith. Charles would respond to an urgent message as soon as he received it-he was confident of that.

And, anyhow, Craig Michaelson thought as he replaced the receiver, Meredith is safer at West Point than she would be almost anyplace else.

Then the unwelcome thought came to him that even being at West Point had not been enough to prevent the death of Meredith's natural father, Cadet Carroll Reed Thornton, Jr.