His Daddy's Eyes. Debra Salonen

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      CHAPTER FOUR

      REN SCANNED THE JAM-PACKED reception area located on the second floor of the courthouse. Potential jurors milled about waiting for instructions, praying, no doubt, for a quick release. To pick Bo out of such a crowd was like looking at a Where’s Waldo? puzzle, Ren thought.

      “So, what’s the plan, Stan?” a voice asked beside him.

      Ren glanced to his right. Typical Bo. Baggy, tan canvas pants. Navy T-shirt with some engineering firm’s logo on the breast pocket. Scruffy running shoes.

      “Lunch,” Ren said shortly. “Let’s beat the mass exodus.”

      They took the stairs, hurrying past the uniformed guards at the entrance. Neither spoke until they reached the plaza.

      “Where do you want to eat?” Ren asked, jogging down the concrete steps to the street.

      Bo shrugged. “The noodle shop?”

      The thought of food made Ren queasy, but the instant the white hand appeared on the stoplight, he took off—a sprinter in street shoes. Dodging slow-moving pedestrians, he hurried toward the J-street locale, not paying attention to Bo until his friend grabbed his arm and hauled him to a stop in the shadow of the Union Bank building.

      “Slow down. Sara doesn’t get back for another hour, and we need to give her time to get Brady down for his nap. Tell me what Mason said.”

      “I gotta give him credit,” Ren answered. “He didn’t even blink when I told him about Julia.”

      Armory Mason, Ren’s lawyer, had been his father’s closest friend. Telling Armory of his affair was almost as bad as confessing to his dad.

      He’d called Bo right after the meeting with Armory. They’d discussed the timing of this upcoming confrontation, and he’d asked Bo to accompany him to smooth the way with Sara.

      “I’m a little nervous,” Ren admitted.

      “Well, duh. Who wouldn’t be? But you gotta eat.” Bo grinned. “Actually, I gotta eat. I don’t care about you. You want moral support—it’s gonna cost you lunch.”

      He started off at a more sedate pace which Ren matched. The four blocks to the café brought them closer to Sara’s bookstore, as well. Sara. He’d thought about her almost nonstop since Wednesday night. Sara…and Brady.

      Earlier, Armory had confirmed what Ren had deduced on his own. Before there could be a custody suit, they had to determine paternity. In other words, he needed a DNA test.

      “I suggest you talk to the aunt first,” Armory had told Ren. “You say Bo’s obtained the child’s medical records so you know the little boy’s blood type is O, which is the same as yours. But that’s a very common type. In fact, I’m type O, and we both know I’m not your father.”

      Ren smiled politely at Armory’s attempt at levity.

      “Perhaps if you explain the situation, she’ll be agreeable. If she’s unreasonable, I’m sure we can get a court order, but that will take time.”

      Unreasonable, Ren thought. What constituted “reasonable” when a child was involved?

      Armory looked thoughtful. “You said she’s a single mother. Do you know what her financial needs are? Maybe she’d be receptive to an offer of some sort of monetary incentive.”

      Ren knew his lawyer was only doing his job. But Armory didn’t know Sara Carsten. Of course, Ren didn’t know her, either, but he didn’t think she’d take a penny from him. The only way she might consider his request was if she believed it was in Brady’s best interest.

      At the small restaurant, both men ordered teriyaki noodle bowls—Bo’s with chicken, Ren’s with broccoli. A smiling Asian woman took Ren’s money, then told them “Number twenty-two.” After filling their drinks, they sat down at a small table. Ren chose a chair facing the large, plate-glass window. Foot traffic surged and ebbed on the sidewalk. People carried take-out meals to the park across the street.