by Lola White
Lola White
Stolen Goods
She just wants a baby… But he wants it all
FBI agent Nolan Findley is on the hunt. There is a woman out there who just might be pregnant with his child. Possibly. He’ll do whatever it takes to find her, learning everything he can about her past regardless of how it impacts her future.
Weslyn Moon just wants a baby—not a man. But it’s hard to deny her attraction when Agent Findley shows up at her motel room and manhandles her back to the scene of one of her many crimes…the reproductive center where she stole his sperm.
Stolen Goods © 2016 by Lola White
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older. This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers.
1
“I must be insane. I really must be.”
“What about the cameras?” Weslyn Moon glanced up at the small, black box hunkering in the corner, but didn’t see any tell-tale red light to get a clue as to its working order.
Her current partner in crime jerked and flinched. “They’re just dummies. Not real. Jesus, I’m insane.”
“How many times are you going to repeat yourself?” Pausing out of pure reflex, Weslyn looked down a dark, deserted hallway. Nobody there, nobody anywhere, except Doctor George Milliken who was ready to have kittens on the floor of the Barre Birth and Reproductive Center. Which, all things considered, seemed fitting.
Weslyn was just a little creeped out by the nighttime hush of the clinic. Used to living as anonymously as possible, predominantly in cities where people went unnoticed by law enforcement every day, she’d been unprepared for the quiet she’d found in Vermont. She didn’t like it all. Silence made her feel exposed and George’s choppy breathing was making her paranoid, but this was where the man worked, so Weslyn had little choice in facilities.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” George muttered.
“Ooh, variety. Nice. Much better than repeating yourself incessantly.” Weslyn tiptoed behind the doctor, following as he made a sharp left into a bland office decorated with a table, a chair and an oversized, dull and lifeless beach-view watercolor that made her heart break into a thousand pieces. “You know, with my eyes closed, I could paint you something way better than that monstrosity.”
“That’s how we got into this mess in the first place,” George snapped. Without giving Weslyn a chance to set his delusions straight—because she was about to point out that he’d definitely had a starring role in the prequel to that night’s caper—he threw a heavy binder onto the desk. “Here, look through this and pick someone out.”
“Wow. Made to order, huh?”
“Not exactly. You get whichever specimen you choose, but anything that goes wrong is on you.” George suddenly gripped his hair. “This is just going much faster than it should and—”
“I took the medicine you sent. It’ll be okay.”
“Yeah? Great, wonderful.” Doctor George shook his head. “One fucking secret and it all comes down to this. Look, Moon, I’m just telling you upfront that I have no control over the outcome, and the way you’re going about all this—”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first twenty times you told me. It might not work.”
“And I’m not at fault! You can’t come back here thinking to do this again.”
Weslyn cocked her head and took a long look at the doctor. His eyes were wide and his skin was pasty in the glow of the few overheads he’d dared to keep on. George was a step away from total meltdown, more paranoid than even Weslyn, sweaty and shaking, his breathing a touch too fast and his pulse pounding hard in his neck.
Poor guy—not that Weslyn felt all that sorry for him. After all, he gave her the tools for his own downfall. She wished him well and hoped he didn’t get busted, but only because him getting caught would probably get her caught, too.
“We’re straight, George,” she finally said. “I won’t come back here looking for your help again, and I won’t have to. This is going to work.”
“Nineteen percent—”
“I know the odds.” She waved off his warning. “You’ve told me a hundred times. I got it, George, I really do. Now, let me pick out a baby daddy already.”
The doctor glanced at his extremely expensive watch. “Hurry. We don’t have much time.”
“We’ve got all night, George.”
“The security makes rounds, Moon. Plus I have to thaw the sperm, fertilize your egg and implant—Jesus! Just get on with it!”
Rolling her eyes, Weslyn turned back to the binder and started paging through. Each thin section was devoted to a single man and fronted by a facial close-up in full color of the donor in question, followed by a black and white photo of their whole body. Reports of the testing the clinic had done came next, complete with genome charts and medical histories No names on any of the pages. There was nothing to guarantee the outcome of a pregnancy, but Weslyn figured that sort of promise was impossible anyway, and settled down to make her decision as quickly as she could. She focused on appearance rather than medical history or educational status—after all, poor health precluded men from donating and anyone with enough money could buy an education, so neither were important markers for successful pregnancy.
Some donors were too old, some too young. Considering that the guidelines of ideal candidacy kept every contributor around the same general age, it wasn’t a rational reason to reject a man, but little was rational about the situation anyway. Weslyn didn’t like this one’s mouth or that one’s nose, some had a jaw that she found unappealing, others had a chin too pointed for her taste. Page after page, section after section, donor after donor.
And then she found him.
Dark hair. Hazel eyes somewhere between silver and green in the photo, so warm with a spark of kindness shining within and surrounded by a faint network of laugh lines. He looked happy, and for a wild moment, Weslyn felt happy looking at him. His ears were well-sized, his jaw square and strong without being bullish, his nose long but not large, his cheekbones high and sharp enough to slice cheese. His mouth would give any woman a whole slew of dirty fantasies—even a woman like Weslyn, who would rather gnaw off her own lips than have another’s pressed against her, anywhere.
She turned the page. Male beauty, laid out in black and white. Broad shoulders, nice hands and still that sparkle could be seen in the man’s eyes. Weslyn tamped down the sliver of anxiety worming through her at the thought of how big the guy looked in comparison to the medical equipment next to him. It wasn’t as if she’d ever meet him, and if she had a boy that turned out just as big as his biological father… Well, Weslyn would have raised him right, and he would love his mother unconditionally, and would therefore never even think of hurting her.
She ran through the whole checklist again, and came to the conclusion that the genes of the donor in question would make a beautiful baby. The man was attractive, strong and compelling. He seemed nice, from his picture, and she really was taken with the look in his eye, the laughter she imagined he must experience every day. The rest of his file wasn’t as complete as the others had been,
but the date at the top also marked his donation as the oldest in the facility. Two years, and no takers for the single sample they had left in storage.
You snooze, you lose, she thought. All in all, the donor was perfect.
“This one, George.” Weslyn tapped the photo with a confidence that echoed in her gut. She knew that feeling—she’d been living by it for years now. Everything within her went prickly with excitement, but also still with assurance that she was on the right track. “Donor A-00176.”
2
Nolan answered the phone on the second ring. “Findley.”
“Agent Nolan Findley?”
“Yeah.”
“Good afternoon, sir. My name is Sarah Long and I’m calling from the Barre Birth and Reproductive Center. In Barre, Vermont?”
Searing anger followed on the heels of disbelief. Just the name of the place that had become Nolan’s private hell was enough to have him seeing red, and the utter gall of the woman to call him up—
“I paid that bill,” he snapped. “Two years ago, in fact, right before my wife left me. I have my receipts to prove it.”
“Oh no, sir, that’s not why I’m calling. Well, you see, I’m the assistant to Doctor Trentham, the new director of the clinic? Well, it has recently come to our attention…”
Nolan gritted his teeth, prayed for patience and glared at the clock, silently condemning it for not moving faster. It had been a hellish day, and though there was precious little to go home to in his apartment, he’d like to at least get the fuck out of the stale air of the dismal office the FBI had assigned him to.
Why Buffalo, anyway? Why couldn’t he have scored big with a transfer to Florida? Jesus, he couldn’t take another winter like the one he’d just lived through.
“And now it’s gone, Agent Findley. We’re so sorry, but we do assure you that every measure is being taken to increase security.”
“Whoa!” Nolan shook his head, realizing he’d missed something extremely important in Sarah Long’s rambling explanation. “What did you just say?”
“Your semen sample is gone. We have contacted the police, of course, but, quite frankly, we don’t expect them to contact you, considering the…sensitivity of the…donation. I wouldn’t think they’d contact you, at least—”
“Stop. Go back.” Nolan rubbed his eyes, hoping if he did it hard enough his brain would jump-start to the appropriate focal point. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The missing samples.” Sarah’s sweetly regretful voice took on the bite of annoyance. “Agent Findley, I just told you—”
“Are you reporting a crime? This is the Buffalo office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, ma’am. If you’re trying to report a theft in Vermont—”
“We did.” Sarah was definitely getting snappy. “And we took measures to solve that crime, only to end up with another one!”
Nolan worked his jaw, counted to ten—though he should have counted much slower—and breathed deeply. “Look, Miss Long, it’s the end of a very long day. Exactly what is the problem?”
“It is the end of a very long day for me, too, Agent Findley. As I’ve just explained, we’ve spent a lot of time going over our video surveillance footage of an illegal in-vitro fertilization attempt of an unknown woman. Yours is one of the samples that’s missing, therefore—”
“See, and that’s where you keep losing me, Miss Long. I don’t have a sample in storage at your clinic.”
“Not anymore,” she agreed. “We believe your deposit was used to potentially impregnate our little criminal.”
“But that’s impossible.” Nolan felt as if his head were about to float away from his shoulders. “I’ve never donated a sample to your clinic, Miss Long. The only reason I was ever even in your clinic was to get a sperm count done to satisfy my ex-wife’s need to blame anything other than her own medical issues for our lack of children.”
“Please, sir, there is no need to…exaggerate. Please don’t feel embarrassed, we have many donors on record and I assure you, your name is never associated with your sample except in a password-protected file on Doctor Trentham’s computer. Until this…event, we have guaranteed anonymity and efficient practices and I assure you that, in future, we will be increasing our security measures.”
“I have never—”
“Sir. I am looking at your paperwork as we speak. Really, you should have informed us when you changed address, but your old office gave us the number for your current place of employment. You have signed all the necessary documents for storage of your semen sample, as well as permission for your spouse to use it at a later date should she so desire.”
Nolan grew dizzy. “Permission?”
“She has permission to use your sample, yes,” Sarah Long said brusquely. “It is, of course, the only reason I’m contacting you directly. Your sample is gone. Would you care to replace it?”
“No.” Nolan shook his head. His throat closed around the rising sickness and his heart did its best to kick through his ribs. His fingers ached with the grip he used on the phone and he shot to his feet on shaking legs. “You tell Director Trentham I want to speak to her. Right now.”
“She’s busy with the police chief. He’s taking her statement.”
“Statement for what?”
“For the illegal procedure Doctor George Milliken performed last week. We are almost certain yours was the sample used, though we’re double-checking the details of his confession. Haven’t you been paying attention? The doctor was caught on camera—”
“My sample?” Nolan’s brain finally kicked into gear. “You have video footage from security cameras? You have clear images of the procedure performed? Can you identify the people involved?”
Nolan grabbed for his notepad and started scribbling Sarah’s answers. Another thirty minutes of conversation with her gave him all the adrenaline he needed to get him through the coming night. He added up the mileage in his head as he listened to her, multitasking efficiently, mentally plotting his route and estimating that the drive would take him nearly eight hours—still faster than a bus or a train and he didn’t have the tolerance to take a plane just then. No telling how long he’d be in Vermont, so he’d have to pack a bag and grab something to eat, too. A glance at the clock told him he had just enough time to inform his supervisor of his plans before they all went home for the night.
“You tell your boss I’ll be there first thing in morning,” he warned Sarah. “I’ll want to see the security footage, and the paperwork I supposedly signed.”
His hand shook around his coffee cup as caffeine battled adrenaline and came out the loser. Nolan was beyond exhausted, bleary-eyed and angry all at the same time. He felt certain he’d have no molars left after his impromptu trip back to the place he’d hated above all others—he ground his teeth almost constantly while listening to Doctor Trentham drone on and on with patently false sympathy.
He glanced at the police chief, who at least had the decency to sit still and expressionless in the chair next to Trentham’s. The man adequately represented everything Nolan hated about Vermont—the silence, the stoicism, the underhanded nosiness of ‘well-meaning’ neighbors and the tolerance for breaking the law that all-too often led to lax punishments or outright forgiveness for criminals Nolan would sooner see rot in jail. Like Doctor Milliken and his unidentified female patient. Unfortunately for Nolan’s peace of mind, the jail Milliken would end up in was more like a country club, and the woman would disappear into thin air, with no one but him concerned enough to look for her.
Director Trentham, a well-put together woman of indeterminate years, pursed her lips until faint lines could be seen around them. “I’m fairly new here, but within weeks of my arrival, I noticed the disappearance of semen samples. Not so many to cause an uproar, until I demanded a complete accounting of our inventory. For too long, this clinic was poorly run, and I aim to change that.”
“Looks like an uphill battle, from where I’m standing.” Impatie
nce hardened the edges of Nolan’s temper, but he fought to remain calm and in control. He struggled to listen to every word through his shock and rage…and fear.
God, the fear was tearing him apart. He couldn’t understand his own emotions beyond the negative reactions crowding his chest, but somewhere in the back of the strange mix heating his blood was a thread of what-if.
What if the woman had been hired by his ex-wife as a surrogate? What if the woman was successfully fertilized with Nolan’s sperm? What if they came to him, looking for financial assistance, child support, college funds…
What if the pregnancy was viable, went all the way and produced a tiny little person Nolan could physically hold, hug and care for? God knows, he’d gone through hell to have a child with his ex-wife, but it clearly hadn’t been meant to be.
Feeling like he was breathing underwater, Nolan got to his feet and tried to expend the restlessness in his legs by pacing before Trentham’s desk. “Right. The sample count was off, the current inventory different than the records you had in your personal files.”
“I knew immediately that something underhanded was happening,” Trentham agreed.
Nolan saluted her with his coffee cup. “I bet you did.”
Doctor Trentham adjusted her posture and cleared her throat. “Without informing the staff of anything—after all, we do have signs posted warning that the premises are under surveillance—I had the real cameras installed.”
“Hidden behind the dummy ones you’ve got strewn about this place. The staff never knew the difference.” Nolan pointed to the fake recording device bolted to the top of the wall in the corner behind the doctor. “You hoped to figure out who had been stealing semen samples, but instead caught an illegal IVF procedure?”
The police chief nodded a single time. “Doctor Milliken is in custody. He claims the procedure was the first he’s performed outside proper protocol, and he says he was blackmailed by the patient.”
“Did he now?” Nolan’s fingers clenched, causing real damage to his paper cup. He willed his grip to ease before he spilled his coffee.
