Hunted (FBI Heat Book 1)

by Marissa Garner

  “You’re from Kansas?”

  “Yeah. I’m a country girl at heart, but I’ve seen a lot of big cities since then.” She raised her hand and counted with her fingers. “First, I went to Chicago. Jeremy found me in three months. Then I tried LA. That lasted two months. New York City, two months. Dallas, three months. Boston, three, Seattle, two. Back to Chicago for three more. Miami for three, and now I’ve been in San Diego for two months.”

  “Good Lord, how the hell does he find you?”

  “He’s an obsessed stalker. He finds ways. Jeremy’s a whiz kid with computers, so I think that’s a lot of it. Unfortunately, he knows I refuse to give up my career with surrogacy clinics because of him. I’m sure that helps narrow his search even though I warn employers every time not to give out any information about me to anyone. I know for a fact that he’s hacked into the personnel records of at least three clinics to find me. I think he was able to get into some state computer networks and find my new driver’s licenses until I decided to just keep the one from Massachusetts until it expires. He’s really smart and clever. Or devious, I guess.”

  “And the cops haven’t helped?”

  “They try, but they can’t give me full-time protection.” She huffed. “I even legally changed my name about a year ago, and Jeremy still found me.”

  “And you took self-defense classes and learned to shoot.”

  “Yeah.”

  He angled a glance at the boxes and then back at her. “And packing means you’re preparing to run again?”

  She shrugged. “It’s about time. It sounds silly, but I start sensing things, seeing clues that he’s around, watching. Terrorizing me has become a game to him.”

  “An illegal game.” He studied her. “What happened today?”

  She told him about the roses. “A single red rose is one of his clues.”

  “And you’re convinced he’s Casanova.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “You know, Casanova could be a married guy with a girlfriend who doesn’t want his name on record at a florist. And Jane Reynolds could’ve been smart enough to give the cheater a fake name and address.”

  “Could be. Sometimes I feel like being hunted is making me paranoid. But you know that saying: Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you. So I wear crazy disguises, take different routes to and from work, use a PO Box instead of the apartment mailbox, and carry a damn gun. Do I sound paranoid to you?”

  Ben barely heard her last few words. His brain latched onto her comment about the apartment mailbox. Holy shit.

  * * *

  A shadow passed across Ben’s face, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. “I want you to come live with me.”

  Amber pulled back and blinked at him. “What?”

  “You need to stay at my place until Jeremy’s caught.”

  Warmth spread through her. Ben cared. But she really couldn’t let him get involved. “Thanks. That’s really sweet, but I can take care of myself.”

  His gaze shot to the packed boxes and back. “By running… again?”

  She sat up straight and shifted away. He had no right to judge her. “Yes. It’s fight or flight. Every time I screw up and it ends in a fight, I lose. And it affects not just me. Sometimes, people I care about get hurt.”

  “Jeremy needs to be stopped.”

  “You don’t think I know that?” She stood up and marched several steps away from the couch. Her eyes stung, but she would not cry. “I’ve used law enforcement to try to stop him. My folks hired a PI when I lived in LA, but he could never catch up with Jeremy. Believe me. I’ve tried everything.”

  Ben stood up also and hung his thumbs in his front pockets. “You’ve never tried me.”

  Her eyes made a leisurely tour of his whole body. God, I’m going to miss him. She sighed. “Thanks again, but I’ll just be ready to leave in a heartbeat when I know he’s getting close.”

  Ben’s eyes hardened. “He’s already here.”

  Icy fingers of fear crawled down her spine. Goose bumps rose on her arms. “How would you know? You have no idea what Jeremy looks like.”

  “Average height. On the lean side.”

  “That describes half the men in San Diego.”

  “Likes to wear a gray hoodie and jeans.”

  She gulped. “Like many men under thirty.”

  “Was reading the names on the apartment mailboxes with a flashlight at two o’clock Wednesday morning.”

  The bottom fell out of her stomach. Ben’s arms closed around her as her knees buckled. She buried her face against his shoulder. “That was four days ago. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Seriously? You’ve never once told me what you’re afraid of. I only reported the incident to the office because the guy damaged a couple of the boxes. I didn’t know until a few minutes ago that Jeremy existed.”

  Could he feel her heart hammering like it wanted to burst from her chest? Could he feel the tremors rolling through her? Could he feel how much she wanted him to be wrong about Jeremy already being here?

  Oh God, she didn’t want to move again. She didn’t want to leave SDSA as long as she had a job. She didn’t want to leave San Diego. She loved its warm, sunny weather. And mostly, she didn’t want to leave Ben. She felt something for him that was new and fresh and like nothing before. Something that gave her hope for a future, a real, normal future. Was he thawing her heart from the block of ice that had encased it since Jeremy?

  “I-I’m sorry. I don’t like to talk about him,” she said and clung to his shirt. She filled her nose with his masculine scent, let the heat of his skin penetrate the disabling chill of Jeremy’s proximity. She wanted something more with this man. How much more she didn’t know yet. But now there wouldn’t be time to find out. “I-I should pack.”

  One of his large hands furrowed through her hair. His lips came down decisively on hers and stole her breath with a demanding kiss. Then he rested his chin against her forehead. “Don’t leave. I don’t want you to go.”

  “We barely know each other. Why does it matter?”

  “You matter, that’s why. I think…” He sighed. “I feel the beginning of… something good. Don’t you?” he said gruffly.

  “Jeremy will ruin everything.”

  “Only if you let him. If we let him. I’ll help you.”

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. I’m such an idiot. Why had she let Ben into her life? Why had she slept with him? Why was she feeling emotions she shouldn’t?

  “Jeremy is violent. I don’t want you to get hurt,” she whispered.

  “He won’t hurt me, but your leaving will.”

  His confidence sounded so reassuring. And his strong body molded against hers reinforced his message.

  “What would you do?” she asked.

  “We can talk about it at my place. You pack a suitcase while I reconnoiter the complex and make sure the asshole isn’t hanging around. Do you have a picture, a close-up of his face?”

  Should she or shouldn’t she? It had been so long since anyone had helped her fight the battle that the idea was foreign. Finally she let out a resigned sigh.

  “Yes, I have several copies of ones I’ve given to the cops and my employers.”

  “I just need one right now.”

  She returned from the bedroom a few minutes later with a wallet-sized photo. She could hardly stand to look at the picture of the man who hunted her. Dark blond hair, just long enough to tuck behind his ears. Gray eyes as cold as concrete. Cleft chin. Narrow nose with a bump from a previous break.

  “You can keep it,” she said, handing it to Ben. “I should warn you that Jeremy uses disguises also.”

  “Not surprised.” He studied the image and then raised his eyes to hers. “We’ll get him this time, Amber. Trust me.”

  Chapter 14

  Just before noon on Monday, wearing her short brunette wig and hazel contacts, Amber opened the door to Dream Makers. What was she doing here? After hearing Ben’s story abo
ut Mailbox Man, she’d agreed that Jeremy was already in San Diego. More importantly, he knew, or at least suspected, she lived in the Coronado Beach complex. Why he hadn’t figured out her specific apartment was a mystery and a blessing.

  The bottom line was that she should be driving to Phoenix right now instead of walking into this clinic. Would she live to regret Ben’s convincing her to stay with him while they plotted a way to stop Jeremy—together? Was she a fool to think it was possible after all this time? Ben could probably make her believe anything was possible with his take-no-prisoners attitude.

  And the way he made love to her was icing on the cake. Slow and tender their first night. Fast and furious last night. Climax after climax until she curled up next to him and slept the best she had in two years. Could she ever get enough of him?

  She forced thoughts of Ben out of her head as she approached the reception desk. “Hi. I’m Amber Moore. I… my husband and I have a consultation appointment with Ms. Rodriguez.”

  Wearing a stiff smile, Daniela greeted her and checked the appointment book. “Uh, Ms. Rodriguez is out sick today. Mr. Juarez will be meeting with you.” She looked past Amber and frowned. “Is Mr. Moore coming?”

  “He’s on his way from work.” She held her breath.

  Nervously, the young woman glanced over her shoulder at a colleague talking on the phone at another desk. “Well, okay. Have a seat.”

  Amber selected a magazine from the rack before sitting down in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. Not that she intended to read; she just needed something to do with her fidgety hands.

  A middle-aged man and woman were the only other occupants in the drab waiting room. They glanced at her and smiled. A twinge of resentment reminded Amber that she might not get any more information than she had on her first visit since she still lacked a husband or partner. But meeting with Mr. Juarez, instead of Ms. Rodriguez, might actually work to her advantage. She opened the magazine and pretended to read, but her mind was actually rehearsing her charade.

  “Mrs. Moore, come with me, please.”

  For a few seconds, Amber forgot she was Mrs. Moore and didn’t respond, but the receptionist didn’t seem to notice her hesitation.

  Instead, Daniela scanned the room for the missing Mr. Moore. “Where’s your husband?”

  Amber scooted into the hallway before the receptionist could change her mind about admitting her. “He should be here any minute.”

  Uncertainty crossed the young woman’s face. Her gaze darted from Amber to the door to the hall. She seemed genuinely distressed by the situation. After a moment, mumbling something under her breath, she led Amber to the same room where the disappointing meeting with Ms. Rodriguez had taken place two days ago.

  Daniela waved Amber inside. “Mr. Juarez had to make a call. He shouldn’t be delayed more than ten minutes.” She pulled the door closed without waiting for a reply.

  Amber looked at the unoccupied desk, back at the door, and again at the desk. Ten minutes. What were the chances that any information about Dream Makers’ business strategy regarding fees would be stored in this office? Not likely, but what could it hurt to take a quick peek? She drew a deep breath. It would only hurt if she got caught.

  After another glance at the door, she dropped her purse beside a chair and moved around the desk. First, she studied the binders on the bookshelves on the wall. None bore a label referencing fees. She checked her watch. Plenty of time. Turning to the desk, she leaned down and reached for a drawer.

  The office door swung open.

  Amber jerked upright.

  A heavyset, older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a large mustache stood in the doorway. His eyes narrowed. “Mrs. Moore, may I help you?” he asked in a tone dripping with suspicion.

  “Uh… Mr. Juarez, I presume.” Her heart pounding, she pasted on a smile. “I… uh… thought I’d find a pen and paper to jot down some questions while I waited for you.”

  He hesitated and glanced up at a corner near the ceiling.

  Following his gaze, Amber spotted a tiny security camera. Unease raced up her spine. Oh shit.

  After an endless moment, his eyes shifted back to her. “I’m here now, so that won’t be necessary.” He gestured toward a chair.

  She scurried from behind the desk and dropped into the seat. Her throat tightened. If they had been spying on her, what did they think? Had her actions seemed harmless? If not, it probably wouldn’t be long before she was escorted out. Her heartbeat counted off the passing seconds.

  Slowly, Mr. Juarez closed the door. He stared at her half a minute more and then took his place at the desk. “I understand Mr. Moore will be joining us.”

  She gulped. “Oh yes. I scheduled this appointment specifically so he could come during his lunch hour.”

  He seemed to consider her answer before he spoke. “I see you’ve already met with Ms. Rodriguez.” The words sounded like a warning not to waste his time as she had his colleague’s.

  “Yes, but she couldn’t answer most of my questions because… um… my husband wasn’t here. Since we’re really interested in Dream Makers, I wanted to try again.” She smiled. Showtime. “Ben should be along any minute. But I’d hate to make you late for your next appointment so why don’t we go ahead and start.”

  Mr. Juarez looked ready to argue. Amber held her breath.

  “All right,” he said with a resigned sigh and handed her the same pamphlet she’d been given on Saturday. He rattled off a prepared sales spiel and then glanced at his watch.

  “The flyer I received said you charge tens of thousands of dollars less. Ben and I think that’s incredible, but we’re wondering how you can do that and stay in business,” she said hurriedly so he didn’t have time to question the absence of her husband again.

  The door opened before he could answer.

  “Uh, Mrs. Moore, your husband just called. He said he couldn’t reach you on your cell,” the nervous receptionist said.

  “I turned it off for the meeting. What does he want?” She widened her eyes for effect. “Oh dear, is something wrong?” Her gaze darted to the phone on the desk. “Is he…?”

  “Mr. Moore couldn’t hold, but said to tell you that he was in a little car accident. He’s okay, but he’s not going to be able to get here for the meeting. He’s… uh… sorry.” She bowed out of the room and shut the door.

  An awkward silence followed.

  Amber wrung her hands and then splayed them over her face. She faked a sob and worked hard on faux tears. Her shoulders shook with imaginary crying.

  “Um, Mrs. Moore, it’s… it’s okay. We’ll reschedule,” Mr. Juarez said. His voice betrayed the discomfort Amber was counting on.

  “I… I can’t. Ben will be angry I didn’t get any more information than before. He’ll decide this surrogacy thing isn’t going to work.” She dropped her hands when she finally managed to produce a tear. After making a dramatic production of wiping it away, she rummaged for a tissue in her purse. “I… we… we’re never going to have a baby.” She covered her face again and lapsed into loud sobbing.

  “Now, now, Mrs. Moore. I… I’m not going to let that happen. I’m willing to finish this meeting… if you are.”

  She wiped her eyes, sniffled, and blew her nose. “Really? You’d do that for me?” She hoped she wasn’t overplaying her role.

  “Yes, of course. Now, what are your questions?”

  She found another tissue and dabbed at her eyes a few more times. “We—really it’s Ben—would like to see a list of your fees. We got one at the other two clinics.”

  He hesitated and then opened a drawer. “Here you go,” he said, sliding a sheet of paper across to her.

  Bingo! She grabbed it and held it in her lap as if he might attempt to take it back. Studying the numbers briefly, she frowned. Impossible. They can’t survive charging this little. “These are incredible prices. How do you do it?” she blurted out.

  Pleased at her reaction, he smiled broadly. “We hav
e very special surrogate mothers.”

  So special they must be willing to work for free. The business part of her brain eliminated that impossibility. She stuffed the price list in her purse. “I… I would love to meet them. Are any of them here today?”

  His smile faltered. “Uh, not today.”

  “The other clinics have notebooks with bios on the surrogates. Do you have anything like that?” Blinking, she lowered her gaze. Keep it together. I can do this. She sniffled and made her lips quiver. “It was just so neat to see pictures of the wonderful women willing to help couples like us.”

  He studied her for a few moments. “Of course, we have bios on all our fabulous surrogates.” Smile back in place, he produced a binder from another drawer.

  Amber pulled it across the desk and opened it in a flash. She leafed through several pages, glancing at the pictures and skimming the personal information. After about a dozen pages, she stopped, flipped back to the beginning, and started over. Her first reaction had been correct: All the women were Hispanic.

  If she hadn’t worked in the industry, she probably wouldn’t have noticed. Race or ethnicity didn’t really matter to potential parents unless the surrogate’s eggs were going to be used for the embryo. In those cases, most parents preferred the egg come from a woman of their own race or ethnicity. But at every clinic where she’d worked, Hispanic surrogates were rare. How was Dream Makers able to convince so many to work for it?

  When she finished reviewing the approximately forty bios, she looked up to find Mr. Juarez watching her intently.

  “Um, they… uh… look… like healthy young women,” she stammered.

  He smiled like a wise grandfather. “But you’re worried they are all Latina.” He shook his head. “Nothing to be concerned about. If you are using your own eggs, there is no transfer of genes from the surrogate to the baby.”

  “I know that. But—”

  “Are they legal?” he said with definite defensiveness. He spun his chair around and pulled a large binder from the shelf behind him. Facing her, he fanned through dozens of pages of photocopied, official-looking documents of various kinds.