Lock, Stock and Secret Baby Page 2

  “Yes,” he said curtly.

  Her fear returned with a vengeance. What did Blake know? Had he pulled her aside because he had bad news? She might have been poisoned by a childhood exposure, might have some awful disease. Her cells could be turning against her at this very moment. “Why did you say that you needed to talk to me?”

  “Pull over.”

  This had to be bad news. “Why?”

  He touched her arm, and she recoiled as if he’d poked her with a cattle prod. She wanted nothing more to do with Mr. Perfect. He was toying with her, asking inane questions and hinting at dire circumstances.

  She yanked the steering wheel and made a hard right onto a side street with wood-frame houses, skimpy trees and sidewalks that blended into the curb. Halfway down the block, she parked and turned off the engine. Eve preferred facts to innuendo. She wanted the truth, no matter how horrible.

  “All right, Blake, I’m parked. If you have something to tell me, get on with it.”

  His eyes flicked as if he was searching her face, trying to gauge her reaction. “It might be better if I gave you more information. Set the framework.”

  “Just spit it out.” She braced herself. “Am I dying?”

  He cleared his throat. “Eve, I have reason to believe that you’re pregnant.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  She was a virgin.

  Chapter Two

  Blake watched her reaction, looking for a sign that Eve Weathers had been complicit in Prentice’s scheme. He saw nothing of the kind.

  His information had shocked her. She gasped, loudly and repeatedly. Her eyes opened wide. Pupils dilated. She was on the verge of hyperventilation. Her chest heaved against the seat belt. “I can’t be pregnant.”

  “I said it was a possibility.”

  “Why would you say such a thing? And how the hell would you know?”

  “Before he was murdered, my father sent me an e-mail.” At the moment the e-mail was sent, Blake had been in a debriefing meeting at the Pentagon. He didn’t read the message until two hours later. By then, it was too late. His father was dead.

  “What did it say?”

  Too much for him to explain right now. Blake cut to the pertinent facts. “My father received information that Dr. Prentice had implanted you with an embryo.”

  “During the examination? While I was unconscious?” She dragged her fingers through her pale blond hair. “That’s sickening. Disgusting.”

  When she grasped the key in the ignition, he stayed her hand. Gently, he said, “Maybe you should let me drive.”

  She yanked away from him. “My car. I drive.”

  “You don’t look so good,” he said.

  “Thanks so much.”

  “Not an insult.” He liked her looks. “I meant that you appear to be in shock. I don’t want you to pass out.”

  “Oh, I’m way too angry to faint.” She started the car. “You want out?”

  “No.” He couldn’t let her drive off by herself. In his e-mail, Dad had told Blake to take care of Eve Weathers. That last request could not be ignored.

  She punched the accelerator and squealed away from the curb. Halfway down the street, she whipped a U-turn, barely missing a van parked at the curb.

  His right foot pushed down on an invisible brake on the passenger-side floorboard. “If you let me drive, we can be at my father’s house in ten minutes.”

  “That’s not where we’re going.”

  At the corner, she made an aggressive merge into traffic. Her tension showed in her white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, but she wasn’t reckless. She checked her mirrors before changing lanes and stayed within the speed limit. With a sudden swerve, she drove into the parking lot outside a convenience store.

  Without a word, she threw off her seat belt and left the car. He trailed behind her. Inside the store, he asked, “You mind telling me what we’re doing here?”

  “Maybe I wanted a donut.”

  Her sarcasm was preferable to the moment of shock when he’d mentioned pregnancy. He should have been more careful, should have expected her reaction, but he wasn’t operating at peak efficiency. Eve’s problems weren’t his primary concern.

  His focus was on his father’s murder. The cops were satisfied with the lame explanation that a burglar did the crime. Like hell. This killing wasn’t a random act of violence. Blake was determined to find the son of a bitch who pulled the trigger and the men who sent him.

  He stood behind Eve as she stared at shelves packed with an array of over-the-counter medicines. When she spied the pregnancy tests, she grabbed three of them. “Damn, I left my purse in the car.”

  “I’ll pay,” he said.

  At the counter, the clerk gave them a knowing smirk as he rang up the purchase.

  Eve added a pack of gum. “And two jerky sticks and one of these pecan things.”

  “There’s food at the house,” he said.

  “I have a craving. Isn’t that what pregnant women do?”

  When she plucked a magazine off the rack below the counter, she set down her car keys. He snatched them. “I’m driving. It’s easier than giving you directions.”

  “Fine,” she growled. “You drive.”

  Back in the car, he adjusted the driver’s seat for his long legs and headed toward his father’s house while Eve tore open the packaging on the pregnancy tests and read the instructions. “When we get to the house,” she said, “I’d appreciate being shown to the nearest bathroom.”

  He nodded.

  “I won’t make a scene,” she assured him. “I respect your father’s memory.”

  Several other vehicles were already parked on the street outside the long ranch-style house that his mother had loved so much. When they had first moved here fifteen years ago, there had been few other houses in the area. Development had crept closer, but his father’s house still commanded an outstanding view. To the south, Pikes Peak was visible on a clear day like today.

  No matter where in the world he was stationed, he treasured the memory of home—of translucent, Colorado skies and distant, snowcapped peaks. This vision was his solace and the basis for his daily meditation.

  As they went up the sidewalk to the house, he pocketed her keys, not wanting her to have easy access to an escape until she calmed down.

  Inside, he skirted the living room where people had gathered and escorted her down a long hallway that bisected the left half of the house. At the end of the hall, he opened the door to his dad’s office. Unlike the rest of this well-maintained residence, this room looked like the aftermath of a tornado. In addition to the papers and magazines, a fine coating of fingerprint dust from the police investigation covered many of the surfaces. The supposedly secret safe in the bookshelves hung open in its hinges. His father’s blood stained the Persian carpet behind the desk.

  When he closed the door, Eve stood very still. “Is this where it happened?”

  “Yes.”

  “You haven’t cleaned up.”

  “Not yet.” Valuable information could be hidden somewhere in this room. He’d already searched, but he would search again and again and again, until he found the killer.

  IN THE PRIVACY OF THE bathroom, Eve almost yielded to the overwhelming pressure of anger and fear. If ever there had been a time in her life when she wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, this was it. She didn’t want to be pregnant. Not now, possibly not ever. Having a baby wasn’t on her agenda.

  She knew that she’d skipped her last period but hadn’t worried because Dr. Prentice told her she might be irregular after her testing. Prentice, that bastard. Why had she believed him? With good reason, damn it. She had twenty-five years of good faith; Prentice and Dr. Ray had been part of her life since birth.

  Setting her purse on the counter, she took out the kits from the convenience store: three different brands. Two of the kits had two tests inside the box, and she set the extras aside.

  She followed the simple instructions and arr
ayed the three test sticks on the counter beside the sink. Then, she waited, counting the seconds.

  Each test had a different indicator. One showed a plus sign in the window to indicate a positive. Another showed a pink line. The third would turn blue.

  Though counting didn’t make time go faster, reciting numerical progressions had always soothed her. As a child, she learned to count prime numbers all the way up to 3,571—the first five hundred primes. Five hundred unique numbers, divisible only by themselves and one.

  The last time she had seen Dr. Ray over dinner, she’d talked about prime. He had suggested—in his kindly way—that she might want to pursue deeper interpersonal relationships. Make friends, join groups, go on dates, blah, blah, blah.

  She had told him that she was happy just as she was. Some people needed others to make them complete, but she was unique. Like a prime number, she was divisible only by herself. Singular.

  If she was pregnant, she’d never be alone again.

  One of the tests required only one minute to show results. She could look down right now and see. But the others needed five minutes, and she didn’t want to peek until all the results were in and could be verified against each other.

  But she couldn’t wait. She looked down. The first test showed a positive.

  Could she trust a kit from a convenience store? It hardly seemed scientific in spite of the claim on the box of ninety-nine percent accuracy in detecting a pregnancy hormone, hCG, released into the body by the placenta.

  The second test repeated the positive. And the third.

  She was pregnant, pregnant and pregnant.

  Tentatively, she touched her lower abdomen. Hello, in there. Can you hear me? An absurd question. At this point in development, the fetus wouldn’t have ears. But they shared the same body, the same blood. The food she ate nurtured the tiny being that grew within her. The miracle of life. Amazing. Infuriating.

  Damn it, this couldn’t be happening! She dug into her purse and found her cell phone. Dr. Prentice’s private cell phone number was in the memory.

  He answered after the fourth ring. “I’ve been expecting to hear from you, Eve.”

  “How could you do this to me?”

  “I assume you’re aware of—”

  “I’m aware, damn you. I just took a pregnancy test.”

  “You’re upset.”

  A mild description of her outrage. “You might as well have raped me.”

  “Not at all the same thing. Rape is an act of violence. You received the highest quality medical care. My intentions were for your own good. I could have hired a surrogate, you know.”

  “A what?”

  “A surrogate mother. Some women rent out their wombs like cheap motels.”

  “I know what a surrogate is.”

  Her voice was louder than she intended. Blake knocked on the bathroom door. “Eve? Are you all right?”

  She didn’t want to deal with him. This wasn’t his problem. Lowering her voice, she demanded, “Why, Dr. Prentice? Why would you do this?”

  “Ray’s research indicated the optimum condition for development comes when the biological mother carries the fetus and bonds with the infant.”

  Biological mother? Bonding? None of what he’d just said made sense. “I ought to hire a lawyer and sue you.”

  “Don’t bother. When you came for your examination, you signed a consent form.”

  With a jolt, she remembered being handed several documents on a clipboard. “You told me it was a routine medical procedure.”

  “If you like, I can fax you a copy.”

  He knew her too well, knew that she wouldn’t bother to read the fine print. She had trusted him. “I have to know why.”

  “To create the second generation.”

  “Second generation of what?”

  From outside the bathroom door, she heard Blake. “Who are you talking to, Eve?”

  “I’m fine,” she told him.

  “Unlock the damn door,” Blake said.

  “In a minute.”

  She moved to the farthest wall of the bathroom beside the toilet. A magazine stand held back issues of Psychology Today. Guest towels with a teal-blue border hung from a pewter rack. She spoke into the phone. “Signed consent form or not, this was wrong.”

  “What’s done is done,” he said.

  “I’m not ready to be a mother.” Everything in her life would have to change. She’d have to find a way to juggle work and child care. There was so much to learn, an overwhelming amount of research. How could she manage? “Maybe I should give the baby up for adoption.”

  “That would be a mistake.”

  “It’s not your call, Dr. Prentice.”

  “Let me give you something else to consider. Do you remember five years ago when I had you on medication?”

  The earlier scare about possible radiation poisoning. “Another lie?”

  “I’m a scientist,” he said archly. “I don’t deal in ethics. Five years ago, the medication I gave you was actually a fertility drug that encouraged ovulation. You produced several eggs which I then harvested during your physical exam. I used those eggs to create embryos.”

  “My egg?” The impact of this new information hit her hard. “You implanted me with my own egg?”

  “The fetus you’re carrying is biologically your own.”

  My baby. Her hand rested protectively on her stomach. She felt a deep, immediate connection. This is my baby.

  “This entire process would have been far less complicated,” Dr. Prentice said, “if Ray had agreed to facilitate. He had a decent grasp on your psychological development and could have convinced you that having this baby was a good idea. Brilliant, in fact. You’re lucky to take part in—”

  The room started to spin. Eve never fainted. But her knees went weak. I’m having a baby. She collapsed with a thud. The phone fell from her limp hand onto the tiled bathroom floor.

  Chapter Three

  Eve heard the sharp rap of knuckles against the bathroom door—a faraway sound, like pebbles being tossed down a well.

  Blake called through the door, “Are you all right? Eve, answer me.”

  She wasn’t all right. Too many variables swirled inside her head. Nothing made logical sense.

  “I’m coming in,” Blake said.

  The doorknob turned. Through a haze, she saw him come closer. He knelt beside her. His fingers rested on her throat, checking her pulse.

  “Locked door,” she said. “How did you…”

  “Picked the lock,” he said. “Can you sit up?”

  “I’m fine.”

  But she wasn’t fine. Her eyelids closed, shutting out the light and the intolerable confusion. Her mind careened wildly. How could she be pregnant when she’d never made love? She had the result without the experience. People told her sex was great, but she hadn’t tested the theory, didn’t know for sure. There was a lot she didn’t know, like how to be a mother. Would the baby look like her? A girl baby or a boy? Oh, God, what would she tell her parents?

  She was aware of being lifted from the bathroom floor and carried like a little girl. If only she could go back to those more innocent times. Her childhood memories were happy. Not idyllic, but happy. Her parents had loved her, even though she had never quite fit in. She always felt different, like an alien girl who had beamed into their normal world from the planet Nerd.

  When she opened her eyes, she was stretched out on the leather sofa in Dr. Ray’s office with her feet elevated on a pillow. A crocheted green-and-yellow afghan covered her. Blake pressed a cool washcloth against her forehead.

  “I’m going to have a baby,” she whispered.

  “I know.” His smile reached his eyes, deepening the faint, symmetrical lines that radiated from the corners. Though he had no reason to care about her, he seemed concerned. Maybe Mr. Perfect had a heart, after all.

  Her hand lingered on her flat stomach. An intuitive urge to protect the baby? She couldn’t count on motherly instin
cts to show her the way. There were books to be read. More information was vital. She’d need a regimen of special vitamins and exercises. “I should go.”

  “You’ll stay here tonight. I have an extra bedroom.”

  “Is that an order?”

  He arched one eyebrow, disrupting the precise balance of his features. “That isn’t what I meant.”

  “I know.” She also knew that he couldn’t stop himself from being bossy. With an effort, she swung her legs down to the floor and sat up on the sofa. The washcloth fell from her forehead. She wasn’t dizzy, but an edge of darkness pressed against her peripheral vision.

  He placed a bottle of water into her hand. “Drink.”

  No objection from her. Rehydrating her body was a very good idea. Tipping the bottle against her lips, she took a couple of sips. The cool liquid tasted amazing. A few drops slid down her chin, and she wiped them away.

  Though she didn’t feel capable of running a mile, her strength was returning. Arching her neck, she stretched.

  “Does anything hurt?” Blake asked.

  “Only my pride,” she said. “I’ve never keeled over like that before.”

  “There’s a first time for everything.”

  “Like being pregnant.” Each and every thought circled back to that inevitable theme.

  “Who were you talking to on the phone?” he asked.

  “Dr. Prentice. That old toad.” She still couldn’t believe what he’d done to her. “You were right about him implanting an embryo, but here’s the kicker. He used one of my own eggs. Biologically, I’m the mother of this baby.”

  “How did you reach Prentice?”

  She shrugged. “I have his cell number.”

  “I need to talk to him. ASAP.” His momentary compassion faded quickly. His jaw was so tense that his lips didn’t move when he talked. “I want you to arrange a meeting with Prentice.”

  “After what he did to me? No way. I’m not getting within a hundred yards of Dr. Edgar Prentice.”

  “I don’t expect you to come along. Set a meeting for me. A face-to-face meeting.”

  “What’s going on?” She took another sip of water. “Is there some other horrible secret you haven’t told me yet?”