by Alexa Grace
"Oh, no. That wouldn’t be permitted."
"Who wouldn’t permit it?" Permit it? Since when does a woman need permission to keep her baby?
The girl, wide-eyed from fear, slammed the door in his face leaving him surprised and even more curious than he was before he talked to her.
He took a new tactic with the next girl. "I'd like to ask you some questions about the Forever Home Adoption Agency." She had the same reaction as the first.
Again and again, each girl went from calm and friendly to frightened in seconds. What is it about this adoption agency that is causing such fear? And why won't anyone talk to him about it?
He watched the apartment house from his car until around midnight. During all that time, there was only one person he noticed that wasn't pregnant and that was the guy mowing the lawn. Every single person who entered or left the apartment house was in some stage of pregnancy. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize the adoption agency housed its pregnant girls here. It was almost like an incubator for adoptive babies. And if the girls got free rent, food, expenses and medical care, what did F.H.A.A. get? He wanted to know more about the adoption agency so he headed back to his hotel and his laptop.
The next day, Lane Hansen sat in his unmarked black SUV with tinted windows less than a block down the street from the adoption agency satellite office in Bloomington. He had a clear view and watched pregnant women go in and out for hours. He’d already checked out there was a clinic on the first floor and the agency offices were on the second.
A gleaming black Mercedes-Benz Roadster slipped into a parking spot near him and he watched a couple get out. The car probably cost more than his annual salary times three.
The couple, who were in their forties, held hands like teenagers on a date. The woman, a statuesque blonde, wore an expensive emerald green designer suit and matching pumps with four inch heels. She seemed happy and excited about something and didn't stop chattering to the man until they disappeared through the entrance of the building. Were they here to adopt a baby? Were they here to buy a baby? Those were the million dollar questions.
He input their license plate into his laptop and watched the loading icon until information danced across the screen. It appeared the happy couple was Mr. and Mrs. Robert Crowne whose home address was in Indianapolis. They'd come a long way to discuss an adoption, he thought. Why not deal with the dozens of agencies in their home town?
He wanted to follow them in, but realized how noticeable a lone, very large male would be in the sea of pregnant women and nurses dressed in scrubs. If his partner wasn't pregnant with triplets and on bed rest, he could wander in with her as part of a couple and snoop all he wanted.
For the remainder of the day, he noted well-heeled couples enter the adoption agency building and he ran the plates for each one. Most of them were from out of town which strengthened his theory that the agency may be involved in illegal adoptions for profit. If he was right and Mandy Morris had kicked up a fuss about getting her baby back, there was a good motive for her murder.
At nightfall, his growling stomach led him to a nearby mom and pop restaurant. After he ordered dinner, he did some people-watching while he waited for his food. He noticed a couple at a table nearby. They were animatedly discussing their days at work. The woman had blonde hair and looked nothing like Frankie; but she reminded him how much he had screwed up and how determined he was to get Frankie back.
After dinner, he checked into his hotel room and answered emails and phone calls. He called his boss to give him an update. He also looked up the home address of Dr. Eric Caine, who owned the Forever Home Adoption Agency. He waited for nightfall then slipped into a black hooded sweatshirt and running pants along with his black Nikes.
Around ten o'clock, Lane sat in his SUV plugging in Dr. Caine's home address into his GPS. Soon he was on Headley Road going north leaving the city lights behind. He passed the 1200 acre Griffy Lake Nature Preserve with 1.2 miles to go. Soon he rolled to a stop in front of a huge red-brick home set off the road in the midst of a couple of acres of land thick with trees. It matched the photo he'd obtained from the Internet. It seems Dr. Caine bought the house two years ago for 2.5 million dollars. It had six bedrooms, a theatre room, two-story library, billiards room, three fireplaces, exercise room, and a finished basement with a wine cellar. This guy was making serious bucks. He knew some sports pros whose homes weren't this nice.
He did a quick check of the area from the car. A white security gate prevented him from getting closer. The lack of road lights and the dense woods surrounding the house made the area very dark. He drove down the road a bit, made a U-turn then found a dirt road leading into a pasture on the opposite side of the road from the house. He backed his SUV onto a corner of the pasture and turned off the ignition and rolled down a window. He waited until his eyes adjusted to the darkness then pulled out the night-vision goggles head gear he'd bought from a friend on the SWAT team and aimed toward the house.
Though there were lights on in various rooms in the house, but no cars in the driveway. He started to get out of the vehicle but heard the hum of a car motor approaching. He slipped back inside in time to see a red Ferrari Enzo turn into the drive and stop in front the white gate. The car window went down and someone punched in the security code, then the car sped through the open gate toward the house.
Damn. Talk about money. The Ferrari Enzo was one of Lane's dream cars and he knew it didn't sell for under $650,000. The expensive car and the 2.5 million dollar home pissed him off. Medical doctors make good money but not this much. Selling babies must be more profitable than he thought. And Lane wouldn’t stop fighting for Mandy until the bastard went down.
Lane considered the thick woods on either side of the house for cover before he decided to get a closer look. He crouched along a line of trees less than a hundred yards from the house. A light flipped on in an upstairs window and he could see that the good doctor had a lady friend in the bedroom with him. Though she wore scrubs, he could tell she was shapely. She pulled the elastic from her ponytail and her golden hair flowed about her shoulders. In no time, the doctor had his arms around her waist and lifted her shirt over her head.
A black Lincoln Town Car pulled in the drive. A tall man with shaggy, blonde hair got out of the car then walked to the front door and slammed his hand on the door bell.
Upstairs, Lane could see the doctor left his lady friend on the bed and rushed out of the room.
The front door flew open and a very angry Dr. Eric Caine came outside. They began shouting.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
"I figured you'd want to know about it as soon as possible."
"Don't you know how to use a cell phone?"
Caine closed the front door and joined the man on the front porch. They lit cigarettes and talked. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but it seemed as if the visitor was doing some back peddling. He kept wiping his brow with his hand and nervously raking his fingers through his hair. His body language indicated he was trying to calm the doctor down. His efforts didn't work because the doctor was still angry, yelling and waving his arms. They ended their conversation and blonde-haired man got back into the Lincoln Town Car and left.
Staying in the wooded areas of the property, Lane moved around the house until he'd covered all sides. He wanted to see if there was a separate entrance to the basement level. There wasn't. As he lowered himself to a more comfortable position, he heard a pop and bark burst from the tree he was beneath, possibly four to five inches from his head. What the hell! He dove and flattened himself to the ground. Someone had just shot at him. A shot that could have blown his head off had missed him by mere inches.
Lane looked carefully in all directions as he pulled out his Glock. Judging from the gouge in the tree, the shot came from an area directly across from him in a section of thick trees. He focused on the area and saw nothing until the moon emerged from a drifting cloud. A figure ran toward the road, cr
unching leaves and branches under his feet as he ran. Lane flew after him. He reached the road in time to see the dark Lincoln Town Car racing in the direction of town until it blended in with the inky-black of the night.
Two things were clear. Dr. Eric Caine had hired protection, but why? The second thing was Caine would soon know someone was watching him. Caine just didn't know who.
Chapter Three
Lane Hansen headed for his supervisor's office for the tenth time in two weeks. He was on a mission. Lane had debriefed his boss about his interviews with Mandy Morris's friends, his suspicions about Dr. Eric Caine and his Forever Home Adoption Agency. But his boss was still pondering Lane's idea for an undercover op.
Lane had explained to him the case was a heavy hitter that involved a well-known physician who was suspected of running a shady adoption agency. He'd learned that Eric Caine had powerful political ties in the state so there was an element of risk for his boss, who had just been elected to the sheriff position. But it was a risk Lane wanted him to take to put this baby-selling and victimizing, murdering agency out of business and get justice for Mandy Morris.
Lane had suggested that he and a female partner go undercover posing as a couple interested in adopting a baby to get inside Frank's operation to solve Mandy's murder as well as expose a possible baby-trafficking ring.
“Lane, I know you think you're ready to do undercover work, but with this case I need two cops who can pose as a married couple. Unfortunately, we’ve got three women on the team. One is built like a linebacker and the other two are pregnant. So we have no one to play the wife role in your scenario."
“Sir, for this case, why don’t we go outside the department? I know a private investigator who can handle herself on a job like this."
Sheriff Tim Brennan’s brows drew together. “What’s the P.I.’s name?”
“Frankie Douglas. I worked with her last year on the Charles Beatty serial killer case. She’s a former sharpshooter for the Army.”
“Is this the same Frankie Douglas you shot?”
Lane’s face flushed with the guilt he still felt about the shooting. “Yes, sir. It was an accident. We were heading down the stairs of Beatty’s cellar to apprehend him when one of the steps gave way. When I fell, my gun went off and the bullet hit Frankie.”
“Has Frankie Douglas done police work before?”
“I heard she’s a former detective so undoubtedly she's done undercover.”
“I think I’ve heard about her. Isn’t she a pretty, tall blonde woman?”
“Oh, she’s more than pretty. Think Victoria Secret hot.” Lust shot through him as a vision of Frankie appeared in his mind.
“Is that right? Do you have a personal thing going with Ms. Douglas?” The sheriff asked the questions with a raised brow and clenched jaw.
“No, sir. Strictly professional.” Of course, if given a chance, he’d make it personal in 2.5 seconds. But did his boss need to know that? Nope.
Brennan glared at Lane then picked up his phone and pushed a number on his speed dial. “Hello, Frankie. This is Uncle Tim. I may have a job for you. Would you please drop by my office sometime this week?”
Lane slumped down in his chair and wished for a hole he could crawl in. Damn it. How was he to know his new boss was Frankie's uncle?
Brennan hung up the phone and glared at Lane for what seemed like an eternity. He pushed back in his chair, and said, "I'm Frankie's uncle and I'm also kind of a stand-in dad since her father died when she was fourteen."
"Sir, I meant no disrespect."
"That's good news, Lane. Because if you choose to mess with Frankie in any way, I will personally kick your ass and you can find another place to be detective. Do you understand?"
"I believe so."
"And when I talk to her about the undercover job, if she has any reservations whatsoever about doing this with you, it's off. And if she does agree to do it, you damn well better make sure your relationship with her on the job stays professional. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"There's this saying, 'You don't screw with your partner and your partner won't screw with you.' Understand?"
"I believe so." Lane nodded as he stood, then slowly walked back to his desk. Ideas were swirling in his mind like a mixer in cake batter. There was only one thing he could do. He'd have to convince Frankie that it was a good, if not a great idea, to go undercover with him. He could behave himself and keep things on a professional basis. Couldn't he?
Frankie tapped her long fingernails on the steering wheel. The Monday after a long weekend was never her favorite time for surveillance, but the money was good. Just last night she realized her private investigation company was in the black for the first time in two years. So she wasn't going to whine about being bored and tired.
Finally two hours later, after tracking her for three long weeks, she had "Church Lady" in her sights. The woman approached the Marriott at noon with a tall, dark and handsome man who was definitely not her husband, whose photo lay on her dashboard. Church Lady was the nickname her partner, Ted, had given their newest client's wife, Beverly, because her excuses to her husband for being out at all hours of the night and unavailable many times during the day was that she was preparing Sunday school lessons.
Frankie took five photos of the happy, clinging couple entering the hotel. That was an hour ago and Frankie couldn't wait a second more. She flew out of her car and ran into the hotel lobby to use their ladies' room.
Lane Hansen found Frankie's car after threatening her partner, Ted, with a speeding ticket if he didn't give him her location. Unfortunately, Frankie was not in the car. Since it was unlocked with the windows down, he made himself at home in the passenger seat. He had waited ten minutes and had gotten bored, so he snagged her backpack from the back and pulled it into the front seat to have a look. He rummaged inside, pulling out a makeup kit, a stun gun, pepper spray, tape recorder, binoculars, her Glock 21, a plastic bag filled with homemade chocolate chip cookies, and a thermos. He knew Frankie was a huge Starbucks fan and was obviously on a stakeout for a client so he opened the thermos to discover the fragrant, delicious aroma of hot Espresso with a double shot — his favorite. He was in the midst of pouring himself a cup, when in the distance Frankie came out of the Marriott Hotel.
He watched her as she strode toward him. Their gazes locked, causing her face to twist into a distrustful expression. Long flowing hair, whiskey brown eyes, peaches and cream skin, she was gorgeous as ever. He got turned on just looking at her.
"Lane Hansen, what are you doing in my car?” She eyed the thermos in his hand and then shifted her glare to his wide grin. “Besides drinking my Espresso and snagging a chocolate chip cookie from my backpack?" She snatched the backpack out of his lap and tossed it in the back seat.
"Is that any kind of a welcome?" He sipped the Espresso then bit a chunk out of the cookie. "Did you make these cookies? They're pretty good."
"Those were left on my car during the night by a psychotic stalker I've been trying ditch. Last time the fool left food, he left brownies with chunks of laxative baked in." She grinned as she watched his expression as the lie sunk in and he shoved the cookie back in the bag.
"There's something we need to discuss."
"And I'm interested, why?"
"I'm serious, Frankie. Did you hear about that young woman that was murdered and dumped in the woods near Kramer?"
"Actually, I did. I think that's an odd place to dump a body unless you're from the area."
"Yeah, I thought so too. Her murder is my case. Her name was Mandy Morris and she was a nineteen year old student at I.U. When I saw you in Bloomington that day, I was there interviewing her friends. Turns out she gave birth about six weeks before she was killed. I think the adoption agency she was associated with may be trafficking babies and someone at the agency murdered her."
"You're kidding."
"I wish I were."
"So I went to the sheriff and propose
d an undercover operation." Okay, here comes the hard part. Talking her into joining the op.
"Good for you. Hope you catch the bastards."
Apparently, she hadn't spoken with her Uncle Tim yet. Lane cleared his throat and chose his words carefully. "Well, you see, the plan includes a couple posing as a husband and wife who are trying to adopt a baby."
"God bless the female deputy or detective who has to set up house with you. May she have nerves of steel and the patience of a saint."
"Actually, that's where I've run into a little problem. Unfortunately, we’ve got three women on the team. None of them fit the part. So we have no one to play the wife role in our scenario."
“You can’t be suggesting…”
Lane noted her icy glare and felt a gut punch to his stomach. Okay, he knew this wasn't going to be easy, and he surged ahead.
