Page 25 of 2nd Strike

“Don’t panic.” I hold up a hand. “You came up as a cousin to the boy who was kidnapped. We’re starting from the beginning.”

“Wait. Is he still missing?”

“It’s complicated,” Matt says. “A boy was recovered eight years ago. DNA analysis confirms he’s not who we thought he was. Basically, the wrong child was returned. Now we’re trying to find his biological family, as well as locate the missing boy.”

Jerry gives his head a hard shake. I don’t blame him. “So, like, a switched at birth thing?”

“Not quite,” I say. “But the boy was an infant.”

“Holy crap.”

He could say that again.

Jerry blinks at me, then again. “And I’m a match? Like, he’s my kid? No way.”

Poor guy. He’s starting to freak out and we need him focused. “Mr. Caldren, we didn’t say that. He’s coming up as a familial match.”

“Lady, what the hell does that mean? Do I need a lawyer or something?”

Whoopsie. That’s one word we don’t necessarily want to hear.

I peer at Matt hoping he’ll do something, maybe exchange some kind of male mental telepathy that’ll help calm Jerry.

Matt holds his hands palm down. “Relax. You came up as a cousin. We found your profile in the GenCo database.”

Jerry tips his head back and lets out a long breath. “Oh. That thing. Yeah. My wife gave me one of those DNA kits as a gift. I tried it. I knew every one of my matches though.”

“That’s because we just loaded our client’s info. He wasn’t in there until this week. Now you’re coming up as a paternal match. Do any of your cousins on your father’s side have sons around fifteen?”

“I have a bunch on his side. There’s gotta be forty of them.”

Forty.

Terrific.

I roll one hand. “Can you narrow it down for us. Any with teenagers?”

He tips his head one way then the other. “Sure. I’ve lost touch with half though.”

“Can you give us a list?”

His head lops forward again. “Of family members? Are you kidding?”

Dude, I wish I was.“I know this sounds crazy. But anything you can tell us would help. We have a young man who’s just found out the people he calls mom and dad are not his biological parents.”

“Daddy!”

Jerry looks over my shoulder, peering out to the street. Matt and I turn. There’s a young girl with curly dark hair riding her bike along the sidewalk, waving one hand frantically.

“Hi, baby.” Jerry hollers. “Both hands!”

Nodding, she grips the handlebars then rides down the alley separating Jerry’s house from the neighbor’s.

I smile. “Your daughter?”

“Yeah. She’s ten. Son is twelve.”

“That’s nice.”