Midwife Cover - Cassie Miles

by Intrigue Romance

  “Absolutely.”

  She went to the counter to prepare a fresh pot. “Figure out all the plans you want.”

  He opened the sketchbook on the table in front of him and wrote the number 1.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I want to talk about Dee first,” Petra said. “Can we put her name under number one?”

  “She’s not our top priority.”

  “For me, her baby is the most important thing.”

  “There’s a broader goal,” Brady reminded her.

  Petra wasn’t big on planning; she usually went with her feelings. Right now, her heart was telling her to save Dee’s unborn child. As she measured grounds into the basket filter of the coffeemaker, she tried to explain. “I understand what you’re saying. If we arrest the bosses, we can shut down the entire operation. But if—”

  “Arrest the top guys, and we rescue dozens of babies and their mothers and all the others who are funneled through the human traffic pipeline.”

  She turned the coffeemaker on, went to the kitchen table and sat across from him. “Obviously, that’s the greater good.”

  He leaned forward to study her. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed his fingers against the stubble that outlined his firm jaw. “You don’t like my reasoning.”

  “If going after the bosses means that we stay undercover and watch while Dee’s baby is taken, I can’t do it. I can’t sacrifice one, even if it means saving many others.”

  His gray eyes shone with empathy. “We’ll have to do both.”

  “There’s not much time. Dee could go into labor at any given moment.”

  “Moving fast requires efficiency and organization. Yes?”

  She nodded. “We’re on the same page.”

  He gave her hand a squeeze, and then he wrote “Dee” on the sketchpad. Under the name, he wrote “surrogate,” then he asked, “What else?”

  “She was recruited into the surrogate program and is being paid for her services.” Petra remembered their conversation. “For the in vitro process, they used Dee’s eggs. She’s healthy and attractive, which makes her a good donor.”

  “Did Dr. Smith do the in vitro?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “Where was it done?”

  “I don’t know.” Disappointed in herself, she frowned. “I guess I didn’t do a very good job of interrogating Dee.”

  “You established trust,” he said. “That’s a necessary step before you dig for more information. If she thinks you’re her friend, she’s more likely to tell the truth.”

  “Dee’s quite the little liar. She faked having her water break and pretended to be in labor so Margaret would quit bugging her.”

  “Would you say she’s childish?”

  “Very.”

  “Easily manipulated?”

  “Yes.” She watched him make notes on the sketchpad. “Why are you asking these questions?”

  “I want to determine if Dee will follow our instructions. Easily manipulated means we can’t trust her, can’t tell her that we’re undercover. But do you think you can convince her to do what you say?”

  “If it means getting what she wants, she’ll do it. She’s self-centered and needy.” Petra pointed to the sketchpad. “Here’s another observation. Robert is kind of in love with Dee.”

  Brady made a note. “Robert isn’t a bad guy. He’s loyal to Francine because that’s his job, but if he saw Dee or any of the other girls being threatened, he might take our side.”

  The need for action pulsed through her. She’d been marking time for two hours while he did his sitting with Francine, and she needed to be active. Rising from the table, she paced around the counter and back again.

  The aroma of brewed coffee wafted through the kitchen. Caffeine probably wasn’t a good idea. Not for her. She already had enough nervous energy to run a marathon. “How is this information helping us plan?”

  “We need to have an idea how these people will react in a confrontation. Here’s an example. If Robert is ordered to come after us, we need to remind him of Dee and the other girls who need his protection.”

  “Got it.” Even though the coffee wasn’t done, she pulled out the pot and filled a mug for him. “I think we can assume that dear little Margaret will do anything you say, but she’d love to throw me under the bus.”

  He wrote Margaret’s name. “Her son is another source of motivation for her. She’ll protect him.”

  “And the other people at Lost Lamb?”

  “A couple of cowboys, they’re henchmen for Francine. Not including Dee, I’ve seen five pregnant women.” On the sketchpad, he wrote a note about missing persons. “One of them matched the photo of the woman who disappeared off the street in Denver.”

  Petra was shocked. “Is she all right?”

  “She’s not being held against her will. In fact, she looked content.”

  “How can that be?”

  He took a sip of the coffee. “I didn’t think of this until you mentioned that Dee was recruited as a surrogate. We assumed that the missing woman was forcibly grabbed, but she might have come along willingly. Somebody might have convinced her that Lost Lamb was the answer to all her problems.”

  “Interesting theory,” she said. “And you figured that out from the information I got from Dee?”

  “Right.”

  “So my talk with her was useful after all.”

  “We’re partners,” he said. “That’s how it works.”

  She liked being his partner and his undercover wife. That fake wedding photo surprised her, mostly because they looked so natural together. When she’d first met Brady, she would have guessed that they had nothing in common. He had seemed like the kind of guy that her law-and-order family would adore. Brady fit her father’s description of a good man—a man worthy of his daughter. Usually, that was enough to make her run in the opposite direction. Not that there was anything wrong with the men her father chose for her…except, possibly, that they might bore her into a coma.

  But Brady wasn’t like that. He was artistic, creative and open-minded. He actually had a sense of humor.

  On his sketchpad, he wrote “Dr. Smith.”

  “Yes,” she said, “he’s very suspicious.”

  “Your impressions?”

  “He has the bedside manner of a mortician. When he came into the birthing suite, he barely looked at Dee, and he made it clear that he thought women in labor were a nuisance.”

  “How did he feel about having you work at Lost Lamb?”

  “He likes the idea of having a midwife so he won’t be bothered with delivering babies. Do you think he’s one of the bosses?”

  “We’ll soon find out.” Brady raised his coffee cup to his lips and took another sip. “I planted a GPS tracking device on his SUV. I traced him as far as Durango, but I had to leave for my appointment with Francine.”

  “I wondered how long it would take you to start acting like a fed.”

  “Hey, you have your smudge sticks. I have my surveillance technology.”

  “And I like that about you.” Finally, they had something more to do than sit around and wait. “Why are we sitting here? We should be following his route.”

  “Patience,” he said. “We’ll go after nightfall when we won’t be so obvious.”

  In capital letters, he wrote Francine’s name on the sketchpad. Petra immediately pictured the stern, black-haired woman with the Cleopatra eyes. This was her opportunity to get back at Brady for his earlier teasing. “Ah, yes. You and Francine. Tell me, Picasso, did she want to pose in the nude?”

  “She wanted something with a horse, but I talked her out of it. This is going to be a tame portrait except for the cleavage and the riding crop.”

  He frowned into his coffee mug. His uneasiness was evident, and she noticed that he’d underlined Francine. The pressure he used to write her name made the printing darker than his other notes. “You think she’s important.”

  “Maybe.” He looked down at his sk
etchbook as though he hoped to see the words coalesce into an answer. “Francine is in charge at Lost Lamb, but I’m not sure where she fits into the overall operation. Over ninety percent of the traffickers I’ve come into contact with are men, and they’re vicious. I don’t see these guys taking orders from a woman.”

  “Sexism aside, Francine isn’t a typical lady. She’s tough and has a prison record.”

  “She served less than two years for various charges related to the time when she was a madam.”

  Petra pointed out, “Running a house of prostitution is a form of trafficking.”

  “It’s not the same.” He leaned back in the kitchen chair and stretched his long legs out straight in front of him. “About three months ago, we picked up a guy in San Diego who was transporting women overseas as sex slaves. He lived in a mansion in the hills with marble floors and three swimming pools. Gold was his trademark. He wore gold earrings. His four front teeth were solid gold.”

  “Charming,” she said.

  “While we were holding him in jail, he gouged out the eyes of the man in the cell next to him. He said that’s what would happen to anyone who testified against him. Those witnesses would be blinded.”

  “Did you make the charges stick?”

  “We got him on racketeering charges for bringing aliens into the country, kidnapping and extortion. He’s in solitary in a super-max penitentiary.” Brady slowly sipped his coffee. “How do you think Francine would handle a man like that?”

  “A person like that…” A trickle of fear oozed down her spine. If Brady had meant to remind her that they were dealing with dangerous people, he’d succeeded. “A person like that can’t be controlled by anyone or anything. He’s like an inferno, unstoppable until he burns himself out. Who turned him in?”

  “There were no witnesses. We picked up one of his trucks and traced the ownership. Once he was on our radar, evidence wasn’t hard to compile.”

  “I’m guessing he had a front, some kind of legitimate business.”

  “You see things like a cop.” His voice held a note of surprise. “I keep forgetting your background. Yeah, he had businesses. A couple of nightclubs.”

  “Francine has Lost Lamb.” Petra reached forward and traced the letters on the sketchpad with the tip of her finger. “You wrote her name bigger and heavier than anything else on the page. Whether you have evidence, your intuition is telling you that she’s important.”

  “Intuition?”

  “What would you call it? Gut reaction?”

  “Let’s go with subconscious response. That makes you right and lets me think I’m still being rational.”

  She grinned. “You’re cute when you compromise.”

  He stood and picked up his sketchpad. “How about if we see what Francine has to say for herself. I planted a bug in her office.”

  * * *

  BRADY’S ART STUDIO ON the second floor fascinated Petra. While she was alone at the house and he was at Lost Lamb, she’d crept inside like a trespasser, even though he hadn’t told her that his space was off-limits. As she explored, she’d become more comfortable, much the way she’d been with Brady himself. His studio was a reflection of the man.

  His organization was spectacular. All the supplies and artworks were arranged in a neat, precise manner. Drop cloths covered the hardwood floor under the easel. Boxes with pencils and charcoal lined the space beside the drafting table. Acrylic paints were grouped by colors. His paintbrushes were in containers, ranging in size from a tiny swab to a three-inch-wide brush. She had no doubt that he knew the exact location of each and every item.

  Contrasting this neatness were the portraits with their intense sensitivity and wild, unfettered creativity. In his sketches and paintings, he used a wide variety of subjects—men and women, young and old, beautiful and grotesque. There was a man with a weak chin, an easy smile and dark, scary eyes. Brady had drawn him repeatedly, always emphasizing the eyes.

  Brady escorted her into his studio. “I assume you’ve looked around because you found the fake wedding photo.”

  She drew up short. “Should I have asked permission?”

  “Not at all. I don’t keep secrets from my fake wife.” He crossed to the high stool in front of the drafting table. “Any questions?”

  She went to the bin where the sketches of the man with scary eyes were kept and pulled one out. “I’m guessing this is someone you arrested.”

  “I wasn’t the arresting agent, but I interviewed him a half dozen times. He’d be a nice guy if he wasn’t a serial killer.”

  “I knew there was something crazy about him.”

  “Sick,” he said, “not crazy.”

  She went to a painting of a woman with gray eyes and a high forehead who was thoughtfully arranging flowers. “This has to be your twin sister.”

  “You’re right. That’s Barbara.”

  Petra couldn’t say why or what technique he’d used, but the painting radiated warmth and love. “It’s obvious how much you care about her.”

  “You’ve got to love a twin. If you don’t, it’s like hating yourself.”

  He turned to his drafting table. The wooden top was hinged so it could be raised to an angle when he was sketching. He lifted the top and completely removed it. Inside was a flat surface—a drawer about four inches deep where he kept his surveillance electronics. In the back corner, she spotted his Beretta.

  “Very slick,” she said.

  “You didn’t notice it was here?”

  “No, but I wasn’t looking.”

  Underneath the table was another compartment. He reached down and took out another automatic handgun. “It’s loaded and ready to go. There’s another ammo clip behind it.”

  There was only one reason he’d be showing her the weapons. “Do you expect to be attacked here at the house?”

  “I want to be prepared for anything.” He returned the gun to the cache. Reaching inside the desk, he flipped the switch on a rectangular black box with four dials. “This is the receiver for the bug I planted in Francine’s office. The dials are for volume. That bug is number one. I have capability for four.”

  He turned up the volume. There was the sound of shuffling papers but no voices.

  She asked, “Does it only play in real time?”

  “There’s a six-hour loop which is automatically downloaded. Push the reverse button and it plays back from the start of the six hours.”

  She peered over his shoulder. “And this is fast forward.”

  “Let’s back it up and find out if Francine said anything about my session with her.”

  He manipulated the transmitter to play back a conversation that took place less than an hour ago. Apparently, Francine was on the phone, and they only heard her side.

  “About this midwife,” she said. “If she does well with Dee, I might put her on retainer. Smith agrees. He’s tired of wasting his time with these pregnant women.”

  There was a pause while she listened.

  Then she said, “I have no reason to trust her other than she’s motivated by money. You should have seen the look on her face when her husband offered to paint my portrait for free.”

  Brady shot her a glance. “You didn’t approve?”

  “You were selling yourself short.”

  Francine continued, “If she demands too much I won’t use her. That’s simple enough. Even you ought to be able to understand that.”

  She paused again to listen. When she spoke, her tone was curt. “I’m not taking a risk. There’s no reason for the midwife to be suspicious. She won’t see any of your paperwork. Smith can still sign the birth certificates.”

  Another pause.

  “I know you’re just doing your job,” Francine said, “a job I pay you very well to do. May I remind you that there are plenty of other lawyers I could hire?”

  Petra squeezed Brady’s arm and whispered the name of the lawyer in Durango. “Stan Mancuso.”

  “Fine,” Francine said. “You can s
top by tomorrow at ten. If the midwife and her husband prove to be a problem, we can always arrange for an accident.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Francine’s threat echoed through Brady’s mind. From the start, he’d known that their undercover operation had an element of danger, but actually hearing the threat brought the message home to him. They could be hurt. He wanted Petra out of there.

  “An accident?” She scoffed. “As if I’d stand back and let that happen.”

  “We have to take Francine seriously.”

  “You bet we do. She was talking to that lawyer as if she was his boss. Tomorrow, when we listen in on her chat with Mancuso, we’re going to find out a lot.”

  In her clear blue eyes, he saw anger and determination. Not a trace of fear. “It might be time to pull the plug.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “This isn’t your job, Petra. You’re not an agent. I have no right to put you in harm’s way.”

  “It’s my decision, and I’m not ready to back down.”

  “Your safety is my number one responsibility.” It had taken some fast talking on his part to get approval to use a civilian on this undercover operation. “If this assignment goes haywire, it’s my judgment that will be called into question.”

  “Are you telling me that you want to end this project because of your reputation?”

  “My career is…important to me.”

  “More important than Dee’s baby?”

  As he looked down at the surveillance electronics he’d hidden in the drafting table, he exhaled a weary sigh. His life had been easier before he met this woman. Before Petra, his objective had been clear—promotion to the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Each step he took was designed to lead him closer to that goal.

  Knowing her had changed his focus. He couldn’t lie to himself, couldn’t pretend that he was concerned about her for purely professional reasons. Francine’s threat scared the hell out of him. He couldn’t allow Petra to leap into danger without considering the consequences. He cared about her, cared more deeply than he wanted to acknowledge.

  “I can’t put you in danger,” he said.

  “Don’t treat me like I’m helpless.” She turned her back on him, paced to the door and came back at him. “You saw my scores from the training at Quantico. I’m expert at hand-to-hand combat.”