“It usually is.”
Petra unloaded some of her equipment on a long countertop against the back wall. In addition to her medical supplies, she had incense and candles, herbal tea, cozy wool socks, a pair of scrubs for herself, a soft blanket for the mom and a player for digital music. The whole idea was to nurture Dee and help her relax into the natural process.
“It’s not his baby,” Dee said.
Petra needed to be careful about what she said. Even though they seemed to be alone, this room could be bugged. “It’s okay, Dee. The only thing you need to think about is having this baby.”
“My baby. Mine. It’s my egg.”
That was an odd phrase. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
“I don’t even know the father.” The whining tone was back in her voice. “I’m a surrogate.”
* * *
BEING UNDERCOVER WAS one thing. Not using the resources available to him as an FBI agent was another. In his art studio at the house, Brady hooked up his laptop computer with a wide screen monitor and a laser printer as he considered his options. He could call for a chopper or request backup, thereby ending their undercover operation.
Electronic surveillance was more subtle. If he’d been thinking more clearly this morning, he would have taken a bug with him to leave in Francine’s office or fitted Petra with a two-way communication device that allowed him to hear every word she said. Who was she talking to? What was she saying? Did they suspect her? His gut wrenched when he thought of her inside that place, alone.
How much longer before his two o’clock appointment with Francine? He automatically checked his wrist. No watch, damn it. He logged on to the computer to check the time stamp. Ten thirty-five. Three and a half hours from now until he’d return to the Lost Lamb.
Fighting his rising tension, he inhaled and exhaled a couple of deep breaths, catching a whiff of the burned sage she used in smudging. If anything bad happened to her…
Focus on the positive. He had three and a half hours, plenty of time to do something. Maybe he should go on foot and explore the terrain surrounding the ranch in case they needed escape routes. But skulking around was risky; Robert or one of the other handymen might notice him. If he was seen, his cover was blown.
Thus far, their plan had worked to perfection. Getting invited into Lost Lamb had been easy. Too easy? Were they falling into a trap? Realistically, he doubted it. Francine had no reason to suspect that she was being investigated. When he and Petra showed up, they appeared to be newcomers to the area who were looking for work. Their story about inheriting a house was believable, and the FBI paperwork validating his ownership would stand up to computer scrutiny.
Brady knew that his plan to introduce a midwife into a supposed home for unwed mothers was solid. Francine wanted to believe Petra was who she said she was—Patty Gilliam, his wife.
When Margaret showed up this morning, he realized that their house didn’t exactly fit the cover story. She’d noticed that he didn’t have sketches of Petra—a lapse on his part. He should have thought of that. And they didn’t have photos of themselves together. No wedding photos.
A task presented itself. He wasn’t a computer genius, but he could photoshop digital pictures to create a composite of their life together. Without too much effort, he hacked into Petra’s personal files and started going through her photos.
Lucky for him, there were several pictures of her in San Francisco from a recent trip to visit her family. She wasn’t always laughing or smiling in these snapshots, but her presence was compelling. His eye went directly to her.
One picture caught his eye. She stood alone on a rocky beach. The wind blew her hair back, and her delicate profile was outlined against the dark waters of the Pacific. She seemed to be seeing something remarkable. Carefully, he added a photo of himself to the setting, creating a memory that didn’t really exist.
When his cell phone rang, he jumped. The caller ID said Patty. He answered quickly but was careful to keep his voice calm. “Hi, there, darlin’. How are you doing?”
“Just fine.” She matched his fake calm with her own brand of easygoing serenity. “I wanted to let you know about Dee. She’s twenty percent effaced and dilated to three centimeters.”
He didn’t know if that was good news or bad. “How long until the baby comes?”
“That’s something I need to talk to her about.”
He heard music in the background. Hello, Dolly? “Sounds like you’re having a party.”
“You know me,” she said. “Bringing a new life into the world is cause for celebration.”
“I’m going to be there at two. Is there anything I can bring for you?”
“As a matter of fact, there is. Because we don’t have much food in the house, you should go to the diner in Kirkland for lunch. Hold on a second.”
He heard her conferring with Dee.
Petra came back on the phone. “The diner is called Royal Burger. And Dee wants a strawberry milkshake. Could you pick one up and bring it back here?”
“No problem.”
Dee was talking in the background, interrupting. Petra responded to her before she said, “Somebody told Dee that women in labor aren’t supposed to eat anything. Recent studies indicate that it doesn’t make a difference. I mean, I wouldn’t recommend a T-bone and fries, but a milkshake is okay.”
He fought the urge to yell. Are you all right? Are you safe? The latest midwife bulletin on diet and birthing wasn’t something he gave a damn about. “See you later,” he muttered.
“Take care, darlin’.”
His frustration at standing outside and watching Petra take all the risk was killing him. Undercover work wasn’t his thing. He needed a straightforward course of action with a clear objective. He needed to be in charge.
Before he left the house, he gathered up the necessary art supplies for his sitting with Francine. In the secret pocket of his backpack, he hid electronic devices—bugs, mini-cams and GPS trackers. Do I have a plan for what I’ll do with these things? Not a clue, but at least I’m prepared.
Grabbing the keys to the truck, he proceeded onward to his assignment. Go to Royal Burger and get a strawberry milkshake. What a total waste of his FBI training and eight years of experience as a special agent.
The drive to Kirkland took less than fifteen minutes. Although Royal Burger wasn’t on the main drag, he found it easily. A tour of the entire town wouldn’t take more than ten minutes.
Several other vehicles were parked out front. This was his chance to meet the locals. I’m Brady Gilliam, laid-back artist and car mechanic. With his stubble, jeans and faded Giants T-shirt, he ought to fit right in.
As soon as he walked through the door, he spotted someone he’d already met. The mountain of a man known as Robert sat at a table with two other guys. Brady waved and went toward him. This trip might prove useful after all.
Chapter Eleven
Petra didn’t know what to make of Dee. After her dramatic announcement that she was a surrogate, she’d clammed up—feigning a desperate need for attention and leaving Petra with a lot of questions. If surrogacy was involved in the baby trafficking operation, Francine was working on a more sophisticated level than they’d originally thought. The fees charged for surrogates could be astronomical, and the legality in some states was questionable. As soon as possible, Brady needed to question the lawyer in Durango who handled Lost Lamb’s business.
In the meantime, Dee was the main source of information, and she was too busy whining to be useful. Petra helped her into the shower and changed the sheets on her bed and found the show tunes music she’d said she liked. After Dee was cozy and calm, Petra did a standard examination. That was when she discovered that Dee the Diva was a liar.
After fluffing the pillows behind Dee’s back, Petra asked, “When was your last contraction?”
“A little while ago.”
“Was it when I was checking your baby’s heartbeat with the fetal monitor?”
>
“Right.”
She was pretty when she smiled. Her full cheeks were rosy, and her eyes were a compelling though somewhat vapid blue. If the choice of egg donor was based on attractiveness and health, Dee made a good candidate. Intelligence was another matter. She wasn’t even clever enough to lie successfully.
“If the contraction came when I was touching you,” Petra said, “I should have felt it. And I didn’t.”
“Well, it might have been a different time. Like when I was in the shower.”
“Did you hear what I said to Brady on the phone?”
“About my milkshake?”
“About your examination. You’re ten percent effaced and dilated to three centimeters.”
Dee shrugged. “What does that mean?”
“You’re not in labor.”
“Oh, yes, I am.”
“Labor doesn’t really get started until you’re around five centimeters. Hard labor comes when you’re eight to ten. And you need to be one-hundred-percent effaced to deliver. And, by the way, your water hasn’t broken.”
“You can tell that?”
“Here’s a bit of free advice,” Petra said. “If you’re going to lie, you need to know the facts. You haven’t even bothered to learn the basics of pregnancy and delivery.”
“I should be in labor.” Her hands drew into tight little fists. Petulant as a child, she pounded the covers. “My due date was four days ago.”
“Why should I believe you? Everything you’ve told me is phony.” Digging for information, she said, “And you expect me to believe you’re a surrogate? Ha!”
“That’s true,” Dee protested.
“Prove it. Tell me how you got pregnant.”
“My boyfriend signed me up, and we got paid two hundred dollars. I took these pills that made me produce extra eggs, and then I went to this doctor and he gave me a pelvic exam and harvested the eggs.” She paused for a proud smile. “He said I was one of the most fertile women he’d ever seen.”
She continued with a description of in vitro insemination that was accurate enough to convince Petra that Dee had gone through the process. According to her, she and her boyfriend had been paid two thousand dollars so far. After the baby was delivered, she’d be paid another three thousand. The payoff was pathetic, considering that the typical cost for a surrogate birth was twenty times that much.
Petra asked, “Why did you tell me all those other lies?”
“When I met you and Brady on the road, I just wanted to get Margaret off my back. She’s been pestering me to hurry up and have the baby. That’s why I faked having my water break.”
“How did you pull that off?”
“Nothing to it,” Dee said. “When you were all looking the other way, I emptied a water bottle between my legs. I was already planning to do it with Margaret. Having you and Brady show up was icing on the cupcake.”
“Didn’t you know that once the water broke, you’d be expected to start labor?”
“Don’t be mad at me.” She flopped back against the pillows. “You’re the only person who has been nice. And I liked what you said about having a baby. It makes me special. I want to do it right. The natural way.”
“Even if it hurts?”
“There aren’t many things I’m good at,” Dee said. “But I’m super-fertile and had an easy pregnancy. I might have a talent for this birth stuff.”
Petra didn’t want to be sympathetic to this lying little diva, but her need to be special was both sad and touching. “I’m sure you’ll be a star.”
“I can maybe even be a good mom,” Dee said. “I don’t have any family except for my boyfriend. I haven’t heard from him since I got here.”
“When was that?”
“Three weeks ago.” Her lower lip pushed out in a pout. “Francine took my cell phone away. She said it was better if I didn’t talk to anybody until after the baby was born.”
Cutting off communication was probably a tactic designed to give Francine control over her herd of pregnant women. They wouldn’t have anyone else giving them advice or suggesting that they didn’t want to give their babies up for adoption. Francine was the boss, and Petra needed to remember that. Even though she hated the idea of a baby factory, devoid of nurturing for mother or child, she had to stay on Francine’s good side. Her undercover job was to deliver the babies. Her investigation was to save them.
And she needed to act fast. Dee wasn’t in labor yet, but she would be soon. As would the other women. Petra couldn’t stand by and watch while these helpless infants were drawn into unknown circumstances.
The door to the birthing suite swung open, and a bald man with tinted glasses stepped inside. There was nothing unusual about him except for the pristine white lab coat he wore over his khaki trousers and cotton shirt. “I’m Dr. Smith.”
He smirked when he said his name. Dr. Smith? Might as well call him Doc Anonymous. Petra suspected it was an alias. “I’m surprised to see you, Doctor. I was told that you only showed up in the last stages of labor.”
“I came to meet you.”
Petra held out her hand. “Patty Gilliam.”
His handshake was quick, as though he was protecting his clean, soft hands. And his skin was cold, almost reptilian. “You’re a midwife. Correct?”
“A licensed, certified nurse-midwife.”
He gestured toward Dee. “Tell me about this one.”
“Why don’t we step outside for a moment?” She glanced toward Dee. “We’ll be right back.”
Standing on the asphalt outside the bunkhouse, she pasted a complacent expression on her face. She needed to make nice with Dr. Smith. He was an important part of the investigation—an integral part. He was the one who delivered the babies. Was he a real doctor? An OB-GYN? If so, what happened to his Hippocratic oath to “first do no harm”? Petra was certain that Smith knew about the baby smuggling. Otherwise he wouldn’t be using a fake name.
“Do you have a problem?” he asked.
“Me? Not at all.” She had to convince him that she wasn’t a threat. More than that, she wanted him to trust her enough to put her on retainer so she’d have full and unlimited access to Lost Lamb.
“Why did we come outside to talk?”
“I couldn’t speak freely in front of Dee. Here’s the thing. She isn’t really in labor. I examined her. She’s ten percent effaced and dilated three centimeters.”
“Coming here was a waste of my time.” His skin was pale. His bald head shone as white as a skull. “Damn these girls.”
If Petra had been acting like herself, she would have argued that every part of the birthing process—including the to-be-expected weirdness from the mother—deserved attention. But she wouldn’t argue with Smith. “You’re absolutely right. You shouldn’t have been called. I know how important a doctor’s time is. That’s one of the best reasons for using a midwife.”
“Like you?” He managed to imbue those two words with an icy sneer.
“Exactly like me.” She lifted a shoulder and tilted her head so she wouldn’t appear confrontational. Her body language should be telling him that she was cooperative. “I’d like to work here on a regular basis.”
“Tell me about yourself. I suppose you prefer natural childbirth methods.”
No way could she lie about this. “I do.”
“It’s not my preferred method, but there are advantages. With vaginal delivery, the recovery process is more efficient.” His tinted lenses darkened in the direct sunlight making it difficult to read his expression. “Did Dee mention that she’s a surrogate?”
“As a matter of fact, she did.” Petra knew she should tread lightly on this topic. “And I think it’s wonderful. A healthy young woman like Dee is an excellent choice for surrogacy. Her blood pressure is normal. The baby’s heartbeat is strong. Barring any unforeseen complication, she ought to have a healthy baby.”
“And you can deliver the baby without my assistance?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Between you and me,” she said with a conspiratorial grin, “she was feeling sorry for herself and wanted to be pampered.”
“How do you handle that attitude?”
“By paying a bit of attention to her. I called my husband and asked him to pick up Dee’s favorite food—a strawberry milkshake. After she has the milkshake, I’ll get her out of bed. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to check on her a couple of times a day. That way you won’t have to waste your valuable time.”
He took a step closer to her. His voice lowered to a whisper so cold that she shivered. “You understand, Patty, that our work here is confidential.”
“Absolutely. I might not be a doctor, but I respect patient privilege. I won’t talk to anyone.” Except the FBI and maybe local law enforcement. “May I be honest, Dr. Smith?”
He gave a nod.
“Being so close to the Lost Lamb is like hitting the jackpot for a midwife. From the looks of things, you’ve got enough pregnant ladies to provide me with steady work. We sure could use the money.”
“I don’t handle the finances.”
Of course not. He wouldn’t want to get his delicate hands dirty. “But I’ll bet Francine listens to your opinion.”
“Yes.”
“If you put me on retainer, I could save you a lot of time,” she said. “I’m good at my job, and I’m willing to do just about anything to fit in.”
“When Dee goes into labor, you’ll be called to deliver the baby. If that goes well, we’ll consider using your services on a regular basis.”
It wasn’t as wide an opening as she’d hoped for, but she’d take it. “Thanks so much.”
“Carry on,” he said.
As he started back toward the house, she spotted Brady coming down the road-size path toward them. Robert was escorting him, and she had the feeling that her milkshake plan had gone sour. All she’d wanted was to see Brady for a couple of minutes to give him an update. Why was Robert tagging along?
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