She could still feel the blows, the fear, the disbelief. But the helplessness was the worst. In that moment, she swore she’d learn to protect herself. The last thing she remembered before passing out was Jeremy saying, “Don’t ever cheat on me again, bitch!”
And then she sobbed herself into oblivion.
“Amber, babe, wake up,” Ben said. “It’s just a bad dream.”
His soothing voice pierced the panicky nightmare, more reality than dream.
She woke up gasping.
He brushed the sweaty strands of hair off her forehead. “Jeremy?”
She nodded.
Pushing aside the sheet, he slid his warm, naked body next to hers. He cocooned her in his strong arms. “Did something happen tonight?”
“No. Just memories.”
“Look, babe, as soon as I finish this op, I’ll take time off to help you get rid of this guy. Can you hang on for two more days?”
“Yes. I just feel him getting closer.”
“Then be alert all the time. Don’t leave this apartment unless you’re with me or with someone I send for you. Got it?”
“Yeah. No problem.”
* * *
Ben held Amber until she fell back to sleep. He ached to make love to her, to show her how much he cared, but she was too vulnerable. If she thought he was taking advantage of her in any way, he might lose her trust. And he needed her to trust him, 100 percent.
At least Jeremy hadn’t made a move on her. He and Amber were convinced that her stalker had found the Coronado Beach complex but hadn’t been able to identify her specific unit. She’d explained how careful she was to keep that detail out of any computer system he might hack. Lisa and everyone in the rental office knew never to give out her apartment number or allow access without Amber’s prior approval.
Jeremy’s last option would be to surveil the property day and night, watching for his prey. The disguises were essential.
Ben sighed and tried to relax, but guilt knotted his nerves. Amber had wanted to leave town, to run again, to play it safe. He’d persuaded her to stay. What a selfish bastard I am.
If she got hurt because of him, he’d never forgive himself.
Chapter 22
Wednesday morning dawned clear and warm, a perfect day for the beach. But there would be no fun in the sun today. Apparently, there would be no fun of any kind because Ben refused even to let her stay home to sunbathe on his balcony and read a book until it was time for the Dream Makers appointment. Insisting he needed to keep an eye on her for her own safety, he convinced her to come with him to the office.
How could she say no when Ben was so concerned?
Once again, she dressed up as Mrs. Moore, brunette wig and hazel contacts, heavy on the makeup. She was really getting sick of this disguise. She was used to mixing and matching, and the same look for so many outings grated on her nerves. She understood the necessity, but disliked it anyway. Would she ever get to just be herself again?
Ensconced in a small room, Ben worked with her for a couple of hours, the prep for the surrogate interviews being a two-way street. Amber coached him on appropriate questions from a prospective father and on how one would behave. He gave her tips on maintaining a calm demeanor under severe stress. To avoid any unintentional slips of information, he cautioned her to think carefully before saying anything.
Although Ben was obviously worried about a civilian participating in the operation, his boss was far less diplomatic about it. Rex Kelley stopped in several times to see how she was doing. Maybe he was trying to figure out if they could switch the disguise to that female agent, Staci, and get away with it.
After the prep session, Ben disappeared. Without his calming influence, anxiety began to build. By the time he brought her lunch, she’d wound herself into a bundle of nerves. None of his reassurances seemed to work this time. The pressure mushroomed until she thought she’d explode when they stood outside the downtown office building housing Dream Makers.
“Relax, babe, you’re going to do fine,” Ben said soothingly.
“Bullshit,” she snapped. She wasn’t going to be fine; she was going to fall apart. And only partly because she was trembling like a fool.
He laughed. “That’s a good attitude. Just direct it at the bad guys not me.”
“Seriously, Ben, I don’t know if I can do this.”
He framed her face with his hands and kissed her. His body pressed against her, delivering warmth and strength and calm. Resting his forehead on hers, he smiled. “You did great when we were here before.”
“Yeah, but then I didn’t know all the crap that was going on. I thought I was trying to save my job. Today we’re working to save Maria and all those other women. And now I know we’re dealing with kidnappers and drug lords, not just a fugitive doctor using a fake identity. I am so out of my league, I’m not even in the ballpark.”
“Babe, look at me.”
His incredible, intense blue gaze bored into her. He seemed to see all her weaknesses, all her fears, all her dreams. All the crap that was her life. And still, he cared. That was even more incredible than his eyes.
His fingers caressed her cheeks. “You’re one of the strongest women I’ve ever met. Think about how you’ve dealt with Jeremy all by yourself. This interview is nothing compared to those battles.”
“I only had to take care of me. Other people are counting on me not to screw this up. Other people’s lives depend on this working. How do you handle that kind of responsibility day after day?”
“I believe the good guys have to win in this world. Otherwise, it all goes to shit.”
She pressed her face against his chest and felt the strong, steady beat of his heart. “You’re right. Failure is not an option.”
“That’s my girl. Let’s go meet Maria.”
He stepped away, said something into his mic, and then took her hand to lead her into the lion’s den.
Minutes later, they stood in front of the receptionist’s window, speaking to Daniela. Once again, the young woman seemed flustered by him.
“The s-surrogates should be here any minute. Mrs. Flores handles all our surrogate interviews, and she’s setting up the room now.”
Or spying on us. Amber couldn’t control the urge to glance at the camera in the corner of the ceiling. Ben squeezed her hand as a reminder not to look. Then he led her to a pair of chairs set apart from the others.
“Act natural,” he murmured.
They both picked up magazines from the end table and pretended to read.
A few minutes later, Ben said under his breath, “Copy that.” Then he leaned over, pointed to a page in his magazine, and whispered, “They just spotted the van arriving with the surrogates. We have the key to the dormitory.”
Amber wanted to cheer, but pressed her lips together instead. So far, so good. Unfortunately, her stomach wasn’t convinced enough to stop threatening to riot.
Ten more minutes passed before a woman opened the door to the clinic hallway. “Mr. and Mrs. Moore, we’re ready for you,” she said with a broad smile. “I’m Mrs. Flores. So nice to meet you. Right this way.”
As they passed the woman in the doorway, Amber recognized her. She’d seen Mrs. Flores on her first visit to Dream Makers. That day, the older woman had been scolding four young Hispanic girls, one of them in tears. Then, witnessing the confrontation had been unsettling; now, it made her angry. With informed hindsight, she could only imagine how afraid those poor surrogates had been.
Mrs. Flores led Ben and Amber to the same room in which that incident had occurred. This time, there were five surrogates sitting at the large table. Three sat along one side plus one at each end. Maria was in the end spot nearest the door, so Ben pulled out the closest chair for Amber. He claimed the seat in the middle, and Mrs. Flores was stuck with the last chair on that side, farthest from the door. She seemed miffed at his choice of seating arrangement.
The young Hispanic women wore stiff smiles and watched Mrs. Flor
es warily as she laid a bio sheet, written in Spanish instead of English, in front of each corresponding surrogate. Were those cheat sheets in case the surrogate forgot her made-up past? They were dressed in matching white blouses and black slacks, reminding Amber of a generic waitress uniform.
Mrs. Flores rattled off something in Spanish. Amber caught only Señor y Señora Moore. The stiff smiles disappeared, replaced by anxious caution. Amber’s heart squeezed with compassion for the frightened women.
“You may begin whenever you are ready,” Mrs. Flores said.
As planned, Ben took the lead. “Muchas gracias for coming to talk with us today.”
Amber’s jaw clenched. As if they had a choice.
When he paused, Mrs. Flores translated, but none of the surrogates even glanced at her.
“My wife, Amber, and I are so grateful for this opportunity to have our dream of a baby come true. You don’t know how much this means to us. You are truly the dream makers.”
All five broke into genuine smiles before Mrs. Flores started translating. Their instant reaction confirmed what Amber had suspected. The surrogates understood English. The older woman was a guard, not a translator. Her own anxiety ratcheted up a notch.
“I’d like each of you to tell us why you want to be a surrogate mother,” Ben said.
One by one, they gave an obviously practiced answer in Spanish, which was automatically translated. When Carmen stuttered and stammered hers, she received an admonishing glare from Mrs. Flores.
After Ben asked a few more questions, Amber spoke up. “Have you been pregnant before?”
One of the women stared at her lap and sniffled as she answered no. Damn, I bet she has children. Somewhere. Wondering why their mother has disappeared. Rage began to bubble beneath Amber’s calm façade.
As if sensing her distress, Ben found her hand under the table and gave it a squeeze. “Babe, why don’t we show them the pictures?”
She feigned surprise. “Right. I almost forgot.” She pulled the photos from her purse. “This is the nursery we’ve already decorated for our baby.” She handed the two pictures of them by Mandy’s crib to Ben, who passed them to Mrs. Flores.
“My wife was so clever to use yellow and green…,” he said, leaning forward to partially block her view, “… so the gender of the baby…”
As he continued to engage the woman in conversation, Amber held the picture of Pedro out to Maria. Like Ben, she leaned forward to block Mrs. Flores’s line of sight. “You look so much like our neighbor. Her husband bought these signs for us. Isn’t he a sweetie?”
Halfheartedly, Maria took the picture without waiting for Mrs. Flores’s translation, which Amber knew from Pedro she definitely didn’t need. She glanced down at the picture and gasped. Amber reached under the table and patted her leg. The young woman raised wide, disbelieving eyes to meet her gaze. Amber nodded slightly and tapped her index finger against her lips. Maria stared for a moment and then nodded once in return.
“What’s that picture?” Mrs. Flores asked.
Amber and Maria froze.
Ben reached across and took the photo from Maria’s trembling fingers. He gave a subtle nod to the stunned girl.
“This young man and his wife are our neighbors. He thought it would be funny to put both signs out now instead of waiting nine months. He’s…”
While Ben distracted Mrs. Flores, Amber pulled Pedro’s note from her purse. As she stretched her arm beneath the table to pass it to Maria, the office door opened. Startled, Maria jumped, bumping Amber’s hand. The small piece of paper fluttered from her fingers to the floor. Amber held her breath as the person glanced down.
“Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Moore. I heard you were doing interviews today,” Dr. Ortega said. “I see you’re getting acquainted with some of our wonderful surrogates.”
Her brain and mouth not cooperating, Amber sat like a mute. How was she going to let Ben know she’d screwed up?
Fortunately, he responded normally. “These women are definitely wonderful, Dr. Ortega. It’s going to be hard to choose one.”
The doctor smiled. “As it should be.” He withdrew something from his lab coat pocket. “Your back pain I witnessed yesterday has me worried, Mr. Moore. I’ve written you a prescription for OxyContin.” He directed a meaningful look to Ben. “To avoid any problems, you should have it filled at the pharmacy I’ve noted on the back. Let me know when you need refills.”
“I don’t know what to say. Thanks, Dr. Ortega. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”
Ironically, Ben was telling the truth. The written prescription must be crucial evidence, because Amber sensed the excitement radiating off him. But the positive development didn’t keep her from panicking about the exposed note on the floor. She fought the urge to check exactly where the paper had fallen. If it was near her foot, and the doctor remained focused on Ben, maybe she could retrieve it stealthily or at least hide it with her shoe.
If she could just take a quick peek…
“You’re welcome. Good luck with your surrogate decision.” Dr. Ortega stepped backward toward the door. And stopped.
So did Amber’s breathing.
Chapter 23
Her mouth as dry as baby powder, Amber swallowed a whimper when the doctor bent down. Amazingly, her survivor instinct took over as he straightened with the paper in his hand.
“Darn, I must’ve dropped my grocery list when I took the photos out of my purse.” Without waiting for a response, she snatched the note from his hand before he turned it over. “Thanks, Doctor. I would’ve gone crazy looking for this later.” She stuffed it in her purse with shaky fingers.
Ben’s warm, comforting hand gave her shoulder a gentle pat. “Yeah, that would’ve been a major panic. But no harm done, babe.”
Dr. Ortega chuckled. “A practical reminder of why I’m not married.”
Only when he closed the door without another word did Amber breathe normally again.
“Do you have any more questions for the surrogates?” Mrs. Flores asked, handing the three photos back to Ben. She hadn’t bothered to share them with the other women.
“I think we’re done. Do they have plans for this afternoon or could we take them out for ice cream or something?”
Mrs. Flores’s eyes widened in surprise. “What? No, they can’t. They need to get home,” she added, softening her response. She stood up, and the surrogates followed her lead. “When do you think you’ll make a decision?”
He turned to Amber. “Soon, right, babe?”
“Uh, yeah, soon.” Right now, all she wanted was to get out of the clinic so her heart could quit beating like a damn drum.
Ben grasped her arm and lifted her from the chair. Proof of the near catastrophe, her legs wobbled beneath her. A strong arm snaked around her waist for support.
Mrs. Flores opened the door to the hallway. “You know your way out?”
“Sure do. Muchas gracias, ladies.”
“Yeah, muchas gracias,” she managed with a smile directly at Maria. The poor girl still appeared stunned and confused. If seeing the photo of Pedro rattled her this much, how would she react during the raid?
Moments later, Ben steered Amber down the hallway.
“I didn’t—”
“I know. Not now,” he whispered.
When they rounded the corner into the next hallway, she glanced behind them toward Dr. Ortega’s office. He stood just outside his door, his arms around a petite, slightly gray-haired woman. Just as the couple started to turn toward them, Ben nudged Amber along.
“Hurry.”
* * *
Ben knew Amber had reached her limit, but he couldn’t let her recover until they exited the building. After depositing her on a concrete bench outside, he pulled the mic up from beneath his shirt and adjusted his earbud. “We’re out. Status?”
“Teams in place. Eyes in the sky,” Dillon reported.
“Target?”
“Van still in the garage. Driver prese
nt, outside the vehicle. He never walked away from the van, so we couldn’t plant the tracking device.”
“Damn. Okay. Copy. Stay sharp.” Turning, he found Amber with her face buried in her hands. He covered the mic. “Hey, babe, everything’s fine.”
She shook her head.
He sat beside her and pulled her to him. “Ah, c’mon. It’s not that bad.”
“I-I screwed up. I could’ve ruined the whole thing.”
“But you didn’t. You recovered like a pro. Grocery list. Good thinking.”
“Now Maria won’t know—”
“Let it go. Not my brightest idea. I just keep thinking how freaked out she must be.”
Amber stared at him long and hard, her face puckered up like she might cry. “You’re a good man, Charlie Brown.”
“Not my choice of heroic figures, but thanks, I think.” He kissed her, hoping to forestall the tears. “I need to get back to the office to monitor the tailing of the van. They couldn’t install the tracking device, so it all rests on human eyeballs. You okay to go now?”
She nodded.
He helped her up, and they walked as quickly as she could manage to where he’d parked the Beemer.
“Women leaving garage elevator,” an agent reported.
“Stay sharp, people,” Ben ordered.
“Women entering van.” A few minutes passed. “Van exiting garage.”
“Eyes on suspect vehicle. Tail in process,” Dillon reported.
“We’re one vehicle ahead of the van,” Staci said from the other car.
“Eyes on target.” Conrad checked in from the chopper.
“Don’t lose them,” Ben said. “Remember, we don’t have electronic backup.”
“Appears to be heading to Interstate 5.” Dillon again.
“North or south?” Ben asked.
“Can’t tell.”
“Fall back, Staci.”
“Done.”
“South,” Dillon reported.
Hunted (FBI Heat Book 1) Page 17
