“This is the paperwork to prove that all our surrogate mothers are working in the United States legally.”
She leaned forward trying to identify them, but she couldn’t tell if the paperwork was legitimate or not. Why would she even wonder if he was lying? Because Dream Makers was taking away SDSA’s business, she decided.
He slapped the notebook shut with unnecessary force. “As I said, these women are very special. They are trying hard to make a better life for themselves, a life other than sweating day in and day out in the agricultural fields of California. These women deserve dignity and respect for the amazing gift they offer people who can’t have children. Dream Makers supports them in their quest by operating almost as a charity so they reap the benefits, not the owners.”
Guilt tickled her conscience. “I didn’t mean any disrespect. But what about medical—”
“Of course, to grow a healthy baby, the mother must be healthy. And yes, we realize that women from Latin America may not have had the best medical care growing up. We do an extensive physical exam and a whole array of tests to be sure they’re in perfect health.”
“Are those records—”
“You may review those records when you choose a few surrogates to interview.”
Damn, she wished he’d stop interrupting her. It was an intimidation tactic, but she wasn’t going to fall for it. However, his attitude was starting to piss her off.
“During the process, does the OB-GYN of our choice monitor her health?”
“We have a superior system. Our doctors…”
She frowned. What if someone doesn’t want your doctors?
“… are specialists in this type of pregnancy. And you do want the best for your baby, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“In addition to the doctors’ very specialized skills, we also provide the surrogates with room and board before and during pregnancy to ensure their health.”
She blinked. How could they afford to do that on those fees? “What do you mean ‘room and board’?”
He looked surprised by her question. “What?”
“Don’t the women live in their own homes or with their families?”
“Dream Makers has a specially designed dormitory for our surrogates. Everything is provided free of charge.”
Holy shit, she thought, but said, “That’s… awesome.”
“Yes, it is.” Mr. Juarez checked his watch. “I have another consultation in five minutes. Do you have any more questions?”
“I’d like to meet some of your surrogates.”
His expression turned stern. “Your husband must be present for any interviews.”
Crap. Her charade had worked today with a little help from a phone call by Ben, but she doubted they would fall for it again. She’d also gotten away with her attempt to snoop around in this office since apparently there were no repercussions from being caught. But her undercover work had probably reached the end of the line.
“I understand. I’ll see when my husband will be available.”
As Mr. Juarez escorted her down the hallway, a doctor darted out of a procedure room and bumped into Amber so hard she fell against the wall.
“Lo siento mucho,” he said, helping her regain her balance. “I’m so sorry.” He extended his hand. “I’m Dr. Ortega. And you are…?”
She gaped at him, her breath catching in her throat. What in the world was going on?
His black, wavy hair hung almost to his shoulders, and long lashes most women would die for framed his dark eyes. He could’ve been Antonio Banderas, but he wasn’t.
He also wasn’t Dr. Ortega.
Chapter 15
Ben read the report about the overnight surveillance of the halfway house east of Alpine. It could be summarized in three words: no one home.
Scowling, he shoved his fingers through his hair. This was good news, right? He should feel reassured. If Loco had shown up with a truck full of illegals, the schedule they were counting on the coyote to follow would’ve been blown to hell. Yeah, it was definitely good news. However, it didn’t eliminate the possibility that the property could be abandoned at any time in favor of another location. Predictability was not a criminal’s friend.
He glanced at his watch. The one p.m. meeting to discuss his plan for the Thursday op would start in fifteen minutes. The excitement of meaningful progress in the investigation had amped up every nerve in his body. Too bad they couldn’t make a move sooner. Slow and easy wasn’t his style. He knew how to be patient when necessary, but he liked fast and furious all the way. At work, at least. Not with everything.
He grinned. Fast and furious was what Amber had wanted last night. Again and again and again. Of course, he’d been happy to oblige, but he wondered about the reason for the change of pace from their first night together.
His grin turned to a frown. Had she been trying to get her fill of him before she bolted? Possibly. At least he knew she’d been at the Dream Makers clinic today when he’d made the call she requested. Before taking his message, the receptionist had confirmed Amber was there. But keeping her appointment at the clinic didn’t mean she’d be at his apartment when he got home tonight. By then, she could be on her way to anywhere.
No, he refused to believe she’d run, not after the way she responded to him. God, she was beautiful and sexy. And he couldn’t get enough of her either. His dick stirred in agreement. Down, boy. He gave himself a mental shake. This living arrangement was strictly temporary, only until they caught Jeremy. Ben wasn’t in the market for a serious, long-term relationship. Hell, he’d just recovered from his last one with Marissa.
As if on cue, his cell sounded with her ringtone. Somehow, the coincidence didn’t surprise him.
“Hey, Gypsy.”
“Benja, Maria is in prison with many other women.” The words spilled from Marissa with no time wasted on normal greetings.
“Prison?”
“Yes. They cannot leave because of the armed guards, and they are locked in their rooms. But it does not look like a prison.”
He struggled to get on the same wavelength. “What does it look like?”
She hesitated. “A one-star hotel.”
Ben laughed. “You’re messin’ with me.”
“No, Benja, I’m serious.” Another pause. “I saw it.”
All humor and disbelief disappeared. She’d had a premonition.
“It worked, Benja, just like you hoped. Since talking to Pedro, all I could think of was how losing Maria was causing him so much pain. I wished I could help more. And then, a few minutes ago, I saw this place in my mind. It’s good, right?”
“Yeah, definitely good. Tell me more.”
She exhaled. “This prison, this place is near the ocean. The building is old, run-down. There are two floors, and the women are kept on the second story.”
“Is it a whorehouse?”
“No, no. The only men are the guards. No johns.” She paused. “Wait. There are also men in white coats.”
He frowned. “Doctors?”
“Yes, yes, doctors.”
“The women are sick?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t look like a hospital. Only regular beds. But yes, there is some medical equipment in a couple rooms on the first floor.”
“A psychiatric hospital maybe. Not that an asylum makes sense to me either. None of the men said anything about the kidnapped women having medical problems.”
“I just tell you what I see.”
“I appreciate it, Gypsy. I just don’t know how it fits into the puzzle.”
* * *
Amber took so long to recover that Dr. Ortega cocked his head while waiting. Thank goodness she’d worn a disguise, or he surely would’ve recognized her too. If she wasn’t careful, he might even recognize her voice. Wouldn’t that be awkward? Or something worse…
Putting her hand over her mouth, she coughed and cleared her throat. “I’m Amber Moore,” she croaked, stressing the fake last
name.
He peered intently into her eyes, but with the hazel contacts, he couldn’t possibly make the connection. Right?
“Good to see you, Dr. Ortega,” Mr. Juarez said. “I was just showing Mrs. Moore out.”
He took her by the arm and urged her down the hall. After saying good-bye, he left her in the reception area.
What in the world is going on? She gave her head a shake. It didn’t clear the fog, but she did have an idea.
She stepped to the receptionist’s window with a big smile. The young woman looked up, nervous as usual.
“Thank you for passing on the message from my husband. He’s in deep shit for missing this meeting.”
The receptionist’s eyes widened, and then she laughed. “Mr. Moore is in biiig trouble.”
She nodded. “I was a little rattled after the news and forgot to ask Mr. Juarez if there’s information available on the medical staff. I just met Dr. Ortega in the hallway and that reminded me.”
“Oh, sure.” She picked a glossy flyer from a stack on her desk and handed it through the window. “This only covers the two reproductive endocrinologists and the three obstetricians, not the techs and nurses.”
She glanced down at the paper and saw the handsome face of “Dr. Ortega” smiling back at her. “This is perfect. Thank you so much.”
The rest of the afternoon at SDSA passed unbearably slowly. She so wanted to share the information she’d learned at Dream Makers with her boss, especially since she knew Laura had also previously met the man now pretending to be Dr. Ortega. However, without current information on the status of the charges against him in Texas or concrete proof of any wrongdoing here, she thought better of it. Simply moving to San Diego and changing his name wasn’t a crime. But the appearance of Dr. Ortega definitely added a new element, possibly a dangerous, illegal one. Before she could form conclusions or make accusations, she needed to research him. The Internet would provide a lot of what she needed, but a few well-placed phone calls might be faster.
Of all days, she had not one cancellation the entire afternoon. No blocks of time opened up for her to pursue her quest. Finally she completed the last procedure and hurried to the employee lounge to grab her purse and sign out.
Her boss walked in just as she was preparing to leave. “Amber, could you step into my office for a minute?” Her expression bore the evidence of bad news.
Oh shit, I’m getting fired. Her heart lodged in her throat, requiring her to swallow several times before she could answer. “Sure.”
Laura led the way down the hall to the office and then closed the door behind her.
“Have a seat,” Laura said, while taking the other guest chair instead of sitting behind the desk.
Amber dropped into the seat beside her.
The “office mother” let out a long breath through pursed lips and stared at her hands. “I have bad news.”
She gulped. “It’s okay, Laura. I understand.”
“Good. Because I sure as hell don’t.” She raised glistening eyes to meet Amber’s. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am to lose you, but Friday will be your last day.”
“Not today?”
“Heavens no, honey. But if you want to use the rest of the week to look for a new job, you go right ahead. I’ll rearrange the schedule. With so many cancellations, I’m sure one of the other nurses would be available.” She managed a wan smile. “And trust me, we’ll pay you whether you’re here or not.” She let out a heavy sigh. “I feel so awful about this.”
Amber shrugged. “It’s not your fault. I may take you up on your offer, though, to use this week to look for another job.” Or to figure out how Dream Makers is putting us out of business.
Thirty minutes later, she parked on the street, instead of in the garage, and walked through the front entrance into the Coronado Beach complex as if she were a visitor instead of a resident. Before leaving SDSA, she’d pulled on jeans and a sweater over her scrubs and added the auburn wig and large sunglasses, which she’d also worn to work. On the drive home, she’d made sure she hadn’t been followed.
She stood in the shadows near the complex office, her gaze traveling slowly over the entire area, searching for any signs of Jeremy. She longed to check her door to see if it’d been tampered with, but Ben had urged her to stay away from her own apartment unless he accompanied her.
Not seeing any of Jeremy’s telltale clues, she climbed the stairs and opened Ben’s door with the spare key he’d given her last night. She immediately secured both locks and then peeked through the living room window. Nothing looked out of the ordinary.
She leaned back against the door and admired Ben’s modest and masculine living room. Last night, she’d been too upset to take much notice.
Despite the same beige carpet and white walls as her apartment, the rich dark brown and forest green of his furnishings added warmth and character. The place was neat, yet lived-in. In addition to the requisite large TV and related electronic devices, he had framed pictures of people—family, probably—on the walls and end tables. She liked that glimpse into his heart.
She drew a deep breath through her nose. Yes, the room held just a hint of his cologne. Musky, masculine, sensuous. She liked that too.
Her throat grew tight, and tears welled. If she wasn’t careful, she’d like the whole damn package too much.
* * *
Ben circled the neighborhood a second time looking for the white Jeep Cherokee that Mailbox Man, aka Jeremy, had driven after Ben chased him out of the apartment complex. Now that he knew the vehicle had a Kansas license plate, identifying it would be easier. But if the bastard was as smart as Amber thought, he would be driving a rental after being spotted. To cover that possibility, Ben also watched for anyone bearing a resemblance to the man in the picture Amber had given him.
Part of him hoped the guy was hanging around. If Ben caught him, Amber’s nightmare would be over. It would also give him a chance to teach the asshole a lesson in manners, specifically not to hassle women through stalking or otherwise. His palms itched to get a hold of Jeremy Nelson.
After his search of the neighborhood turned up nothing, he parked in the garage. Instead of heading straight to his apartment, he made a complete circuit of the property. Casual on the outside, intense on the inside, he inspected every corner, every shadow. Still, nothing.
Frustrated with no results, he stomped up the stairs and into his apartment. Mouthwatering aromas greeted him. Soft music played on the stereo he rarely used. The room was dark except for a candle flickering on the small table in the dining area. Wonder where Amber found that. Damn, it felt good not to come home to a silent, empty apartment. A blanket of contentment settled over him, and he had to squash the urge to call, Babe, I’m home.
Instead, he set his computer case on the table by the door and strolled quietly to the kitchen. He turned the corner and came face-to-face with a can of pepper spray. “Shit!”
“Jesus, Ben, were you trying to scare the crap out of me?” Amber cried, lowering her weapon. “Why didn’t you say something or call my name when you came in?”
“Maybe because I live here. Who were you expecting?”
“Jeremy, of course.”
He pulled her into his arms, hugged her tight, and buried his nose in her great-smelling hair. “If you were careful, he doesn’t know you’re here. You had both locks secured. He couldn’t have gotten in if he tried.” He nibbled on her ear. “Relax, babe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
Chapter 16
They ate at the small, wooden table with only the candle for light. The flickering flame cast a sexy glow and seductive shadows across Ben’s chiseled features. A fine layer of dark stubble gave him an air of rebellion, and the intense blue of his eyes pierced the darkness like laser beams. Amber posted the images in the scrapbook of her memory.
“This spaghetti is delicious,” he said, looking up from his plate. “You used the jar of sauce from the cupboard, so why does it ta
ste so much better than when I make it?”
“You know all those little bottles in the funny metal rack? I used a bunch of them to doctor the sauce.”
He chuckled. “Ah, so that’s what they’re for. My mom gave me that crazy thing when I got my first apartment. I never use them, because I don’t know sage from paprika. If I threw it away, though, I’m afraid she’d notice it was gone.”
Amber laughed. “You’re a good son.”
He shrugged. “They’re good parents.” He eyed her over the wine goblet. “Any news at work?”
“Yeah. Friday’s my last day. The more interesting part of today was the meeting at Dream Makers,” she added quickly to stave off any unemployment pity on his part. “Thanks again for making the call.”
He studied her a moment as if wondering why she didn’t want to discuss being laid off, but then decided against pursuing the topic. “No problem. Did it work?”
She took a sip of wine to fortify her courage. “Um, yeah. But…”
Amber hesitated so long that he set his fork down and waited for her to continue.
“What’s wrong, babe?”
The concern on his face emboldened her. “I’m not exactly sure. Well, one thing really has me worried, and the other is just something sort of odd about the surrogate mothers.”
He picked up his fork again and took a bite. “Let’s work on the ‘worried’ one first.”
She drew a deep breath. “I met one of their reproductive endocrinologists.”
“English translation, please.”
“A doctor. In this case, a specialist in in vitro fertilization—IVF, for short.”
“Okay. Continue.”
“He was introduced as Dr. Ortega, but I met him about a year ago as Dr. Raul Garcia.”
Ben sipped his wine. “You’re sure it’s the same guy?”
“Positive. He’s hard to forget because he’s drop-dead gorgeous.”
He arched his eyebrows. “Should I be jealous?”
“No. You’re drop-dead gorgeous-er.”
Hunted (FBI Heat Book 1) Page 12
