‘Except Lucy,’ he murmured automatically. Then frowned. ‘What is this about?’
‘You,’ she said.
She stepped back to the desk and swivelled the monitor toward him.
‘The reason I keep checking the Kowalski cluster is to see if any closer matches turn up. When someone new does a DNA test and their profile overlaps closely enough, the system flags it.’
He leaned in, squinting at the screen. ‘Right. So what you’re trying to tell me is that the house belongs to someone else now. Yet another person to get involved in this mess.’
‘That’s right.’
‘So what’s so good about that? It hardly matters whether it belongs to one Kowalski or a Greek person or their nieces, nephews, sisters or brothers. The salient point is that it doesn’t belong to Mum.’
‘Ah, I’m glad we’ve moved on to the salient point.’ She shot him a grin which could only have been described as mischievous.
He tilted his head and scrunched his eyes in query.
‘You did a test,’ she said.
He blinked. ‘What?’
‘You did an Ancestry DNA test,’ she said gently. ‘Recently.’
‘Oh.’ He frowned. ‘Yes, actually, I did. Some time ago. Come to think of it, they emailed me the results but I haven’t got round to looking at them yet. Besides, I assume the results will just tell me I’m Irish, English, with a bit of Maori.’
‘Possibly,’ she said. ‘With a bit of Polish thrown in.’
He recoiled. ‘Polish? Why Polish?’
She smiled. ‘Not such a curve ball with a surname like Kowalski. Especially northern Poland. Do you know how close that is to Denmark and Sweden?’
He shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
She laughed. ‘Presumably the proximity to Scandinavia gave rise to a lot of blondes there.’
‘What the hell?’
She took a breath.
‘It’s your results that triggered the alert. You showed up as a close match.’
His mouth opened. No sound came out.
‘To John Kowalski,’ she finished softly.
He stared at her.
Then she laughed again — harder this time — because the answer had been right in front of them all along. Every time she looked at him, the laughter bubbled up again.
Dan’s expression shifted from confusion to alarm. He dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands on her thighs, searching her face. ‘Augustini. Love. Please tell me you haven’t lost your mind.’
She wiped her eyes, breathless. ‘Don’t you see?’ She cupped his face. ‘It’s you. Or rather, it’s your mother. It’s Kate. She’s the closest living relative to John Kowalski.’
His breath caught.
‘So… MacLeod’s Cottage is hers?’ His voice was hoarse, as if the words themselves were fragile.
‘Yes.’
