During his stay at his temporary headquarters while pushing the deal with Griffin Oceanic, Karim had needed very little effort to familiarize himself with the area, and to begin finding his way around. How many weeks—months—had he been residing in the penthouse of the Wilshire Reef Hotel? Certainly, the time in between the usual business meetings and conference calls had allowed him to explore.

Such beauty, in the City of Brotherly Love. Such history. Were he a betting man, Karim might lay wagers that he had visited more sites, toured more museums, and investigated more ancestral cemeteries and moldering old buildings than nearly any Philadelphian native.

All this was not just to fill empty hours. He truly enjoyed the freedom to wander, to poke his nose into strange little hidey-holes. How better to learn about this vast land, that stretched so many thousands of miles, and encompassed such incredible variety? How better to learn about its people, its noisy, exasperating, generous, short-tempered, welcoming people?

Karim had been blessed (or cursed) with an insatiable curiosity. Wherever in the world he had landed, his curiosity had drawn him out into the byways like a magnet. It was an admirable characteristic, curiosity, he’d been told. However, this one trait had driven his father to distraction.

“Simply say and do,” the older sheikh had often urged. “It is not necessary to know the reason why, or the personalities of those involved.”

But Karim begged to differ. In his opinion, the personalities of those involved were exactly what made a certain transaction interesting. Worth looking into. Worth fighting for. Or not.

Since early that morning, Karim had been walking the empty city streets in an effort to slow his restless heartbeat and calm his scurrying thoughts. The details of last night’s momentous dinner were still rattling around in his brain and sitting very untidily in the pit of his stomach.

He had made an utter idiot of himself! Oh, not so anyone would notice. Suave and urbane as always, he had played along with his monstrous lie, simply because he’d been too caught up in it to back out. And no simple answer to the dilemma came to mind.

The easiest solution—contact an agency that specialized in tricky assignments, and hire actors to play the parts of his wife and son—jarred with the rigid standards by which he tried to live his life. What, then? Where could he go from here?

Well. He glanced at the gleaming platinum watch on his left wrist. The time was already after three, and he’d had no lunch. Perhaps a cup of espresso and one of those insanely heavyweight bagels—which always reminded him of a life preserver in size and shape—might help clear his mind.

And a coffee shop stood conveniently just across the tree-shaded street. It seemed a decent enough place, given location and appearance. Neat and attractive, without that overdone ‘indie’ look common to so many new establishments. Catchy name, as well.

It was as he set foot inside the wood-framed front door that his ears perked up and his nostrils flared slightly, like a wolf scenting danger. Noise. Commotion. A low rumble of uncomfortable, uneasy hubbub that underlay the sociable atmosphere.

Enough customers were milling about the spacious room to keep servers busy but not swamped, enough to ensure business would be around for another day.

But the mood was unhappy. Turbulent, even.

In the corner, a young woman was doing her best to quiet a screaming baby, while fumbling for the multitude of supplies which any small child requires. Her efforts were not being well received by others around her.

In fact, Karim could see pointed glances, hear muttered comments, all directed toward this one hapless, apparently helpless, overwhelmed mother who was all alone.

“All right, I think my eardrums have just split in two,” complained one short-tempered elderly man, in a voice meant to be heard.

“Just take the kid outside already,” grumbled another.

No patience whatsoever with the trials and tribulations of someone struggling against the tide.

“I sure don’t need to listen to this shrieking. Can’t she go somewhere else?”

“So give the kid an aspirin or something. He’s just throwing a tantrum.”

“A good slap on the bottom would work better. They can’t start to learn discipline too young.”

Karim, standing stunned just inside the door, was aghast. What had happened to the warm, good-natured citizens about whom he had just been thinking such benevolent thoughts? No one was offering sympathy. Or compassion. Or even extending the hand of assistance.

Karim could. And he would.

“Miss, is there anything I can do to help?”

Even poised beside her, he wasn’t sure she could hear his quiet question above the noise the baby continued to make with some quite outstanding lung power.

Confused and flustered, she looked up.

What a lovely creature she was, Karim realized with surprise. Despite the fact that the child had clearly, in his writhings and wrestlings, wreaked havoc upon her person—glossy brown hair completely disarrayed, cheeks reddened in frustration, thick lashes damp with the beginning of tears—she was, indeed, a picture of attractive young motherhood.

“I—it’s—hush, Aaron, please, darling—”

“Aaron, you said? Is he ill?”

The blush deepened as she continued to fight the infant for control. His strong little body was contorted with outrage, and he was flinging himself around in her arms like a demon trying to do severe damage.

“No,” she confessed. “He’s—well, I hate to admit it, but those people who are grumbling…they may have a point about the temper tantrum. Or, it could just be a tummy ache.”

“Oh?” They were still attempting to speak above Aaron’s screams. “And, in that case, might there be a remedy that would help quiet him down?”

“Shh, Aaron, sweetheart.”

She had tried replacing him in the stroller; she had tried holding him carefully; she had tried gently bouncing him as a distraction. Nothing seemed to work.

“Perhaps a different position, or a move out-of-doors—?”

“Don’t you think,” said the woman now, with some irritation, “that if I knew what would help him, I’d do it?”

Karim managed to look sheepish while also subtly paying for the young woman’s check, handing a nearby server a bill that covered the cost of her tab, nearly ten times over. She shot him an appreciative—albeit shocked—look for a second before her attention was pulled back to her wailing son. Finally, she turned the child slightly—though not deliberately—so that Karim caught a glimpse of his contorted little face.

He reacted with a sudden sense of shock. So much so that the hairs on his arms lifted, with a tiny electric tingle, and he had to work to keep his breathing steady and unaffected.

For, this baby—discovered purely by chance in an out-of-the-way coffee shop somewhere on the side streets of town—couldn’t have looked more like the image of that son he had mentally pictured last night, at the Griffins’ dinner, than if he had drawn up the specifications himself.

“Aaron!” he whispered, with dawning realization.

A plan was already forming in the nimble cells of his brain.