“Mixed up in a cult, right?”
“Right. Brendan was the one who tracked her down and helped us get her home. My aunt still sends him a Christmas card every year. And a fruit cake.”
Beckett blinked at that, catching the double entendre. “Fruit cake, huh?”
His friend laughed. “Yeah, my aunt might be the only one in the family with a sense of humor.”
Beckett knew enough to know there was a dark side to William’s family. His aunt was pretty much the only relative he kept in touch with.
“I’ll give him a call,” he agreed reluctantly.
“Great. Let me send you his number.”
His phone beeped a second later, and Beckett felt the weight of yet another choice he had to make.
He and William parted ways, and he headed home, considering his options. Involving a private investigator seemed like a big step to take, and he was wary of getting false hope. But as he entered the house, he heard a squeal. He followed it to the living room where Zac and Luca were playing, Luca giggling breathlessly.
As soon as he saw his son, the answer was obvious. He couldn’t give up on Luca. Giving Zac a wave, he stepped out of the room and headed for his office to make the call.
Of all the places Beckett expected to be on a Monday morning, it wasn’t in the office of a private investigator. He didn’t feel comfortable meeting Brendan in public where anyone might overhear, or at his home where Zac was caring for Luca. The nondescript office building set him at ease since it didn’t make any attempt to advertise its purpose.
A smiling receptionist told him to take a seat, and as he waited, he noticed that the building consisted of a series of offices, at least half of which were ‘anonymous’ like his destination. He watched a few people enter and leave, some joining him in the waiting area.
“Mr. Rayne? You can go up now. Second floor, room seventeen.”
“Thanks,” he told her.
He got to his feet, straightening his clothes and heading for the elevator. It wasn’t long before he found himself outside room seventeen, his hand poised to knock. Just before he did, he faltered. Was this the best plan? His thoughts turned to Luca, and the possibility that a child of his was out there somewhere. The clinic couldn’t do much to help him, too bogged down in legalese and protecting their own asses, but maybe Brendan could.
He knocked briskly, hearing an immediate response.
“Come in.”
He opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him. The interior looked close to what he’d expected—a desk, a computer, two chairs—but the man on the other side of the desk wasn’t at all what he’d envisioned.
“Aren’t you a little young to be a private investigator?”
The other man laughed and pushed to his feet. “I get that all the time. Brendan Fairchild.” He held out a hand, and Beckett stepped forward to shake it.
“Beckett Rayne. Thanks for seeing me.”
“William called, said I might be hearing from you. Take a seat.”
Beckett sat, eying Brendan again. It wasn’t that the other alpha was young, exactly. There couldn’t have been more than a year or two between them. It was just that, when Beckett pictured a private investigator, he saw a grizzly man in his late forties, burnt out from police work but with the skills to go it alone.
“Think about it this way,” Brendan said with a knowing look. “If you find it hard to believe I’m a private investigator, so will most people. Makes working undercover a breeze. No one ever suspects.”
There wasn’t even the flicker of a smile in the other man’s expression. Was he joking?
“Now, let’s get down to it. What can I help you with?”
Beckett had to make a decision, then and there, whether he was going to trust Brendan with this. There was something about the man. He exuded an aura of quiet confidence, his piercing gaze knowing.
“My son Luca is very sick. He needs stem cells, and maybe a bone marrow transplant if he’s going to survive. My late husband and I conceived him through IVF. We had a number of embryos remaining, two of which were compatible with Luca. I engaged a surrogate to carry them. One round of IVF failed. The second round of IVF occurred five weeks ago.”
He paused, giving Brendan a chance to take it all in. The other man wrote some notes with quick scratches of pen on paper, then turned his attention back to Beckett, his pen poised on the page.
“There was a mix-up at the clinic. They confused Austin, my surrogate, with another patient and went ahead with the procedure. All I know right now is that our last embryo was implanted into a stranger.”
“Has the clinic confirmed a pregnancy resulted from the implantation?” Brendan asked.
“The clinic hasn’t even managed to get in touch with the patient. For all I know, this person isn’t even aware they could be pregnant. The procedure Austin underwent was for a contraceptive implant.”
He hadn’t learned that from the clinic, but from the distraught omega himself. Beckett felt so guilty for what he’d been put through. The mistake might not have been his, but he’d chosen the clinic, he’d trusted them to take care of both his embryo and Austin. He’d paid out the contract then and there, and he knew the clinic would be paying a lot more to compensate Austin for what they’d done. His only consolation was that the procedure Austin underwent was easily reversed. He could get pregnant again in a matter of weeks or months.
“Okay, let’s just roll this back a bit,” Brendan said. “What date did the procedure happen?”
“August eleventh.”
“And the clinic has confirmed that, on that day, Austin attended the clinic to be implanted with your embryo?”
“That’s right.”
“What time?”
“Um… he was to be there for eight o’clock, but the actual procedure didn’t happen until after nine-thirty. There were staffing issues and delays. The scheduled doctor wasn’t there.”
“Okay. And when does the clinic say that the embryo was actually implanted?”
“That same morning. Approximately the same time, just the… wrong… patient.”
“What have they told you about this other patient?”
“Nothing. They can’t breach his privacy. All they’ve said is they’re having difficulty contacting him. They’ve sent a letter.”
Brendan scoffed at that.
“Okay, next question. This is the most important one, so you should think hard before you answer it. What outcome are you looking for here?”
Beckett didn’t need to consider his answer.
“That’s all I’ve been thinking about since they told me what happened. First, I want to know if a pregnancy resulted from the implantation.”
Brendan made a note of that, nodding for Beckett to continue
“If a pregnancy has resulted, I would like the… surrogate… to be made aware of all the circumstances surrounding this. Not just that a mistake was made, but that this child is wanted, and there’s a little boy’s life at stake.”
“You’re hoping the unintentional surrogate will bring the pregnancy to term?”
“Yes, and I’d like to take custody of the child once he’s born. He’s my flesh and blood. My late husband’s child. I was always going to give Luca a sibling from the embryos that were left. Him being sick only affected which embryos we chose.”
“I’m not judging you,” Brendan assured him. “But other people might.”
“It’s easy to stand outside this and make assumptions. It’s another thing entirely to live it.”
“I hear you. Now, you said ‘he.’ Do you know for certain that it’s a boy?”
“Yes, the doctors confirmed that when they screened the embryos.”
“And the clinic didn’t give you any information at all about the recipient? Even unintentionally? Anything, no matter how small or insignificant, might help.”
Beckett recalled the meeting with Dr. Lawson and the others.
“Actually, yeah. They sa
id the two patients had similar names. And they were both scheduled to undergo procedures under sedation. That’s unusual in a clinic like that. Most procedures are done with a local anesthetic, they don’t put you under. Anything serious enough to need sedation happens at the hospital, not the clinic.”
“Austin’s last name?”
“Cleary.”
“And why might a patient have sedation? Why did Austin?”
“Austin has Type-S blood. It makes him a better choice for surrogacy but, as a precaution, they sedate him for all invasive procedures.”
“So the other patient might also be Type-S?”
“Yeah, maybe. Wait, make that probably. When I asked what the chances were that the procedure had been successful, they said fifty percent. It’s twenty-five percent for most people, thirty-five percent if you’re omega or Type-S, but closer to fifty if you’re both.”
Brendan’s pen was flying across the page.
“Okay, so here’s what we know. A Type-S omega patient with a name similar to Austin Cleary, probably in the age range of twenty to thirty-four, underwent a procedure under sedation on August eleventh between the hours of eight a.m. and twelve p.m.”
“Is that enough to go on?”
“I’ve made progress with far less,” Brendan assured him. “There’s enough information to make it easy to discount people. Like anyone who was there that morning but didn’t have sedation. It’ll take some time; I can’t exactly roll up there and ask to take a peek at their files. But there are ways and means to find out what you need to know. We’ll take it step by step. Our first step is to find out who the embryo was implanted into. Once I know that, we’ll talk again.”
He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it over. “Here’s my fee schedule. I’ll need a retainer to get started. All my hours will be documented, itemized, and emailed to you on a weekly basis. I’ll call once a week with an update, unless I make significant progress.”
“What will you do?” Beckett asked. “How will you find him?”
“I’ll talk to people. Sounds like it was a bad day at the clinic. Staff remember those kinds of days. They may not know the specifics, but word gets around. They’ll know something happened.”
“Do you think there’s a chance?”
“Of finding him? Unless he’s gone underground, I will find him. But as for the rest… if there is a pregnancy, then what’s really going to matter is the kind of person your surrogate is. There aren’t too many purely altruistic people in this world. But there are plenty who are motivated by the right incentive.”
“You mean money.”
“Makes the world go round,” Brendan said, getting to his feet and holding out a hand.
They shook on it, and Beckett left Brendan’s office feeling both encouraged and disheartened. Finding this stranger, even confirming that they were pregnant, was no guarantee of a good outcome. His only consolation was that Brendan might be right. If all the surrogate needed was some monetary incentive, he had plenty of money to leverage that.
Chapter Nine
Zac’s triumph at finishing four full days with Luca was eclipsed by trepidation when Friday came around. His nausea hadn’t lessened, but so far it hadn’t interfered with his looking after Luca. But he worried that if it got worse or didn’t go away, it would start to. Once again, he would wind up unemployable.
“Don’t look so nervous. It’s a doctor’s office, not a haunted house,” Harper chided as they walked the few blocks to the clinic. He had insisted on switching his shifts around to accompany him. As much as Zac had protested that he hadn’t needed to, he was grateful for the company.
“I think I’d prefer to visit a haunted house. Let’s do that instead.”
“How about this,” Harper bartered. “You do the appointment, and I’ll treat you to a hot chocolate at Megan’s.”
Megan’s Café had, hands-down, the nicest hot chocolate in the city. Just thinking about it made Zac’s mouth water, despite the nausea.
“Fine, you’ve got a deal,” he grumbled.
The community clinic was busy, as always. Zac had been there a handful of times when his heat had been at its most excruciating, the flu-like fevers and aches unbearable. They’d done what they could, which hadn’t been much since normal heat suppressants just didn’t work on him.
Harper checked him in at the desk, shooing Zac toward a pair of seats in the waiting room. They settled in for a long wait; doctors were few and patients were many. They were guaranteed to be seen; it was just a matter of when.
Zac leaned his head against Harper’s shoulder as the omega pulled out his phone and started reading him bits and pieces from the latest city gossip.
“The mayor was spotted having dinner with an omega who wasn’t his husband. Huh, who’d have thought?”
“Only half the city,” Zac murmured. “Didn’t he proposition you at Club Zero before?”
“Club Nero,” Harper corrected absentmindedly. “I was dating the pilot. He was super-territorial. They almost came to blows.”
“Would you have, if you hadn’t been seeing Mr. Bigshot Pilot?”
Harper gave an exaggerated shudder. “No, that guy is slimy. Thinks he’s god’s gift to omegas.”
“Your pilot wasn’t much better.”
“He actually might have been god’s gift to omegas. The things he could do with—”
“Isaac Hughes?”
He was up.
“Do you want me to come with?” Harper asked.
“I’ll be okay,” he assured him, getting to his feet, and following the nurse inside.
They had a chat about his problem as she filled in his information.
“I’ll just go talk with the doctor, and then I’ll be right with you.”
Zac was left sitting in her office, staring at the myriad of posters on the wall covering everything from pregnancy to dementia.
She bustled back into the room, followed closely by a woman with a stethoscope around her neck.
“Now, Isaac, is it? Nurse Kayleigh has been telling me you’re experiencing a lot of nausea after placement of your contraceptive implant. Is that right?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“It’s a rare side effect, and usually a sign that the hormone dosage is too high. Surprising, really, since I see from past visits that you’re not very responsive to oral hormones. You may be one of the unlucky few who’s ultra-sensitive to direct hormone therapy. But we’ll do some blood tests to confirm and take it from there. How does that sound?”
“That sounds fine, thank you. Do I need to make another appointment for the results?”
“Luckily, we’ve got one of those new-fangled blood analysis machines right here. Nurse Kayleigh will take a sample, and we’ll have the results in an hour or so. If you want to go for a walk and come back, we can discuss your results then.”
Zac agreed instantly, relieved that he was going to have answers that day. He worried, though, that the only recommendation was going to be removal or replacement of the implant. He couldn’t afford either option. Removing it would bring him back to square one, constantly at the mercy of his rampant heats.
Once the nurse had her sample, he returned to the waiting room, collecting Harper. They went for that hot chocolate, Zac trying not to stress over the results.
“Whatever happens, we’ll work something out,” Harper promised him.
“What did I ever do to deserve a friend like you?”
Harper rolled his eyes. “Don’t go getting mushy on me, duck, not with all those hormones buzzing around in there. We’ll run out of napkins.”
They dallied over their drinks, arriving back at the clinic just before the hour was up. It was busier now, filled with more agitated people, less patience, and no seats in the waiting room. It was a relief when the doctor called him back in. This time, he found himself in her office and not the nurse’s.
“Do you have my results?”
“I do, but they’re not what I expected. I�
��d like to do a scan to confirm them.” She pointed to a jug of water and a plastic cup sitting on the desk. “I want you to drink as much of that as you can. I’ll be back to you in a while.”
He made a face. “If it helps, I just drank half a gallon of hot chocolate.”
“Drink more,” she said with a smile, getting to her feet.
Zac tried to make a game out of it, watching the clock as he filled the cup and trying to drink another glass every few minutes. Having been through this once or twice before, he knew he’d feel like an unexploded water balloon soon enough.
Just when he was starting to worry, the doctor returned.
“Up on the bed for me. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
She tucked tissue in around the waistline of his pants to protect them, then squirted the cold gel onto his stomach.
“What did my blood tests show?” He put his hands over his eyes, trying not to focus on his bladder as she pressed the probe against his lower stomach.
“They did show elevated hormone levels,” she confirmed. “But not the ones you’d expect with an implant.”
“Are you saying the implant didn’t take?”
“That’s a possibility. But the tests suggested something else.”
“Like what…?” he started to ask when he heard a strange noise from the machine.
He lowered his hands and stared at the doctor, watching her face as she examined the screen.
“What is that?”
“That is a fetal heartbeat.”
Zac could barely hear her next words over the pounding of his own heart in his ears.
“It can’t be. I haven’t slept with anyone in over a year.” His torturous heats made being intimate with anyone unbearable.
“Are you sure? It only takes a minute. Less, if your partner’s very enthusiastic.”
“I’m completely sure. I’ve been constantly cycling in and out of hyper-heats. Besides, they did a pregnancy test right before they put in the implant.”
“Which was… almost six weeks ago?”
“Thirty-nine days.”
Expecting You Page 5
