Lock, Stock and Secret Baby

by Cassie Miles

  Instead of responding, he rose to his feet. “You’re feeling better. You should eat something.”

  His quick change of subject worried her. Eve wasn’t usually good at reading other people’s expressions, but she had a weird connection with Blake. She could tell that he was holding back. “If there’s something else, I want to know.”

  He headed toward the door. “I’ll bring a sandwich from the buffet table.”

  Before she could stop him, he left the office. Moving fast, he almost seemed to be fleeing from her, abandoning her. So much for counting on Blake for support.

  Slowly, she rose from the sofa. Her legs steadied as she walked to the bathroom. On the countertop, the three pregnancy test sticks lined up to mock her. She shoved them into the trash and washed her hands. After splashing cold water on her face, she felt more alert, more aware and more certain that Blake was hiding something. What else could be wrong? Was this something to do with the father of her baby? She hadn’t even considered that huge question. Prentice had chosen someone as a sperm donor. But who? Oh, God, do I even want to know?

  She couldn’t take much more. Finding out that she was pregnant had been devastating enough. She’d shattered like protons in a super collider. Could she take another life-changing jolt?

  There was no other choice. I need to know everything. It was time to pull herself together. She picked up her cell phone and tucked it into her purse. She needed answers.

  When she returned to the sofa, Blake slipped back into the office with a plate of fruit and a ham sandwich. The sight of food momentarily eclipsed her other concerns. She wolfed down half the sandwich in huge bites. Not the most ladylike behavior but she needed her strength.

  “Eating for two?” he asked.

  “Apparently so.” She swallowed. “I should thank you for helping me when I fainted. You’re good at taking care of people.”

  “I have paramedic training.”

  The way he’d treated her—elevating her feet, covering her with a blanket and giving her water—was standard procedure for shock. “Your dad mentioned that you’re in the military.”

  “Correct.”

  “I was an army brat, so I know all about you guys. Let me guess. You’re in Special Forces.”

  “Good guess.”

  “You’re one of those scary dudes who can take out ten armed terrorists with a spoon and a paper clip.”

  He shrugged. “Not ten. Maybe six.”

  “I appreciate your ferociousness. I really do. But what I need from you right now doesn’t involve physical mayhem. I want answers. There’s something you’re holding back, something else you haven’t told me.”

  His reluctance showed when he paced away from her and went to the window—putting physical distance between them. “I’m not sure you can handle the truth.”

  “You’re not saying that right. In the movie, it was like this.” She made a fist and did a bad Jack Nicholson impression. “You can’t handle the truth.”

  “I loved when he did that.”

  “Me, too.” Laughing, she realized that she was as comfortable with Blake as she was with the guys in the lab. Who would have thought that an antisocial mathematician like her would get along with Mr. Perfect? “Tell me, Blake.”

  Blake looked down at her from his superior height. He’d shed his suit jacket and necktie. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to the elbow, revealing muscular forearms. “I don’t know where to start.”

  “The beginning?” Biting into an apple slice, she chewed with deliberation, refusing to be distracted by his masculine gorgeousness.

  “Before he died, my dad sent me an e-mail. It was like a confession. He’d done something he regretted deeply.”

  “With Dr. Prentice?”

  Blake paced on the worn Persian carpet in front of the desk. “Twenty-six years ago, on that army base near Roswell, Prentice was experimenting with frozen embryos. My mom was in her late thirties and thought she’d never have a baby. Prentice offered my father a solution.”

  He paused to pick up a framed photograph on the desk. “My mom never knew the truth about me. Biologically, I wasn’t her child. I’m the result of an embryo created from two outstanding donors—people with high IQs and exceptional physical ability.”

  “Genetic engineering.” That explained why Blake was so perfect. “Prentice was trying to create superbabies.”

  “Though he had ethical reservations, my dad agreed to monitor the experiment.” He set down the photo and returned to the chair beside the sofa. “He measured the intellectual and psychological development of the supposed superbabies. Using subjects like you.”

  “Me?” she squeaked.

  “You’re highly intelligent. Your health is excellent.”

  “But I’m not perfect. All I have to do is look in a mirror to see that my mouth is too big. My nose has a weird curve at the tip. Besides, if I’m so genetically attractive, why don’t I have a slew of boyfriends?”

  “You’ve put all your energy into your intellect,” he said. “When other girls were dating, you were studying.”

  She waved her hands to erase the memory of herself peering out from behind a stack of books to watch the other teenagers flirting and kissing in the library. Not that she’d been a recluse. She had gotten along well with guys and had had boyfriends. But there had always been something that got in the way. Her romantic life had been complicated to the point of nonexistence. “A truly superior specimen should be able to have it all.”

  “That’s the part that fascinated my dad—the effects of nurturing and environment on subjects who started life with a genetic advantage.”

  “Wait.” She hadn’t even considered this angle. “If I was genetically engineered, the people who raised me aren’t my biological parents. Did they know?”

  “None of the parents knew. That was part of the study.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against his father’s desk. “You seem to be taking this well.”

  “In a sick way, it makes sense. Why not help nature along in the selection process? Why not make sure the most highly evolved people produce offspring?”

  “Because it’s wrong to manipulate people.”

  “It’s morally shady,” she said. “It’s fraud.”

  “But logical,” she said. “Now I understand why Prentice impregnated me. He wants to create a second generation.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  All she wanted was to get home, surround herself with silence and figure out how to restructure her life to accommodate a child.

  Outside the office door, she heard other mourners arriving. They’d be eating, drinking and sharing memories of Dr. Ray, seeking solace in the company of others. Blake should be out there with his father’s friends and colleagues. On the day of his father’s funeral, he deserved closure.

  She stood and straightened her shoulders. “I’m glad you told me, Blake. I don’t blame your father. Not in the least. Dr. Ray was a good man.”

  “I know.”

  “Can I have my car keys? I need to go home.”

  He looked surprised. “I thought you were staying here tonight.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather be alone.”

  “What about Prentice? I need to get in touch with him.”

  She took her cell phone from her purse, scanned her contacts and gave him the number for Dr. Prentice’s private cell phone. “That’s the best I can do.”

  As he handed over the keys, their hands touched. A spark of static electricity raced up her arm. She wondered if she’d ever see him again.

  BLAKE STOOD ON THE PORCH and watched her drive away. He understood her need to be alone. When he had read the e-mail informing him that he wasn’t biologically his father’s son, Blake had felt as if somebody had punched him in the gut. Eve had a lot more to deal with. Finding out that she was pregnant without her consent or knowledge had to be a hell of a shock. Her life wasn�
��t any of his business, but he hoped she wasn’t considering adoption.

  A couple of years ago, when he had been in college, his girlfriend had thought she might be pregnant. She’d knocked him for a loop. The only comparable feeling was when he had parachuted for the first time from fifteen thousand feet into enemy territory. He had known his life would be forever changed. That realization had been followed by an irrational sense of awe. Creating a new life? A miracle! When it had turned out to be a false alarm, his relief had mingled with deep regret.

  He hoped that Eve would come to see her pregnancy in a positive light. No matter what she decided, he wouldn’t abandon her. His dad’s dying wish had been for him to take care of her.

  Aunt Jean came out to the porch. “Are you coming inside?”

  “I need to make a phone call first.”

  “Well, hurry up. People are asking about you.”

  His aunt meant well, as did his father’s old friends. But Blake didn’t see the point in mourning, not while the killer went free. That was why he needed to contact Prentice.

  The cops had no leads in solving his dad’s murder. They’d found no fingerprints or trace evidence. Because the burglar alarm had been expertly disabled and the safe robbed, they suspected a professional burglar.

  Though Blake hadn’t revealed the contents of his dad’s e-mail, he had mentioned Prentice as a person with a grudge against his father. At his insistence, the homicide detective had spoken to Dr. Edgar Prentice—founder of the world-renowned Aspen IVF and Genetics Clinic in the mountains. Prentice’s alibi was airtight; he’d been out of state at the time of the murder.

  Of course, he’d cover his butt. Prentice would hire someone else to do his dirty work.

  On his military cell phone that wouldn’t give away his identity, Blake called the number Eve had given him. Prentice answered immediately. “Who is this?”

  “Blake Jantzen. We need to talk.”

  “How did you get this number?”

  “From Eve.”

  “Thank God you’re with her.”

  Blake hadn’t expected that response. The old bastard sounded as if he was concerned about Eve. “Why do you say that?”

  “I might have inadvertently put her in danger. Stay with her, Blake. Your father would have wanted—”

  “Don’t talk to me about my father.” Unless you want to confess to his murder.

  “I should have called, should have made it to the funeral. I’m sorry. Sorry for your loss.”

  “Where are you?” Blake demanded. “I want to see you.”

  “That’s not possible,” Prentice said. “Stay with Eve. Make sure she’s safe.”

  The call was disconnected.

  Blake stared at his cell phone as if this piece of plastic and circuitry could tell him the truth. Either Prentice was lying to manipulate him or Eve was truly in danger. He couldn’t take chances with her safety.

  He ran down the driveway into the cul-de-sac where his father’s station wagon was parked across the street. No time to waste. He started the engine.

  Earlier, he’d planted a GPS locator on Eve’s car in case he needed to find her. It’d be easy to follow her route on the hand-held tracking device he took from his pocket. Activating the system, he saw a reassuring blip. She was taking the back road to Boulder, avoiding traffic on the highway. Would she go to the lab where she worked? Or to her home?

  His dad’s station wagon wasn’t a high performance vehicle, but after he got out of the burbs, he made good time on the two-lane road that ran parallel to the foothills. He passed a pickup and an SUV.

  He never should have let her go, should have insisted that she stay at his house. If anything happened to her…

  He passed a sedan that was already going over the speed limit. When he hit Boulder, the traffic slowed him down, but he was within a mile of her location when the tracking device showed that she’d parked.

  The car in front of him at the stoplight rolled slowly forward. Blake wanted to honk, but he was back in mellow Colorado where car horns were seldom used. He turned right at the next corner and zipped the last few blocks to Eve’s house.

  Her car was parked at the curb in front of a yellow brick bungalow with a long front yard and mature shade trees on either side. Her unkempt shrubbery—spreading juniper and prickly clumps of potentilla—were good for xeriscaping but too plain for his taste. He preferred his mother’s neatly pruned rose garden.

  As soon as he opened his car door, he heard a scream.

  Chapter Four

  Eight minutes ago, Eve had unlocked her front door and entered her house, glad to be home. Her familiar surroundings had greeted her like old, faithful friends. The oversize wingback chair where she did most of her reading had beckoned, and she’d decided to curl up in its cozy embrace and have a cup of tea while her mind wrapped around the complications of being pregnant.

  On the way to the kitchen to put on the hot water to boil, she’d patted the back of the comfy sofa with its multicolored throw pillows. She’d passed the round dining-room table.

  In the doorway to the kitchen, she froze.

  Two men, dressed in suits and neckties, stood between the sink and the refrigerator. Except for their sunglasses, they looked like businessmen at a sales meeting. She desperately wanted to believe that there was a logical reason for them to be here.

  Holding her purse in front of her like a shield, she asked, “Who are you? How did you get into my house?”

  “The back door was open.”

  That was probably true. She often forgot to lock up after leaving food for the feral cats that lived in the alley. Still, an unlocked door didn’t constitute an invitation to enter. “What do you want?”

  “Our employer wants to meet with you.”

  Were they talking about Prentice? “Who do you work for?”

  With a cool smile, the taller man took a step toward her. If he lunged, he could grab her easily. That was when the reality of the situation hit her. These men were a threat.

  “It’s all right,” he reassured her. “We aren’t going to hurt you.”

  Liar! She was in severe danger, and she knew it. Her panicked instincts told her to run, but the men were bigger than she was. Faster. Stronger.

  She had to be smarter.

  Her mind cleared. She saw the problem as a geometric equation. Her kitchen was a rectangle with the two men in the center. She stood one step inside the doorway. To her left was a table and chairs. To her right, a cabinet jutted into the room. The distance between the corner of the cabinet and the corner of the kitchen table was approximately three feet. If she could block that space, she’d create an obstacle which would slow their pursuit and allow her to escape.

  “Come with us, Eve.” The tall man spoke in silky tones. “Everything will be explained to your satisfaction.”

  It took all her self-control to play along with his false civility. “This isn’t convenient. Perhaps your employer could call me and make an appointment.”

  The second man drew a gun from a holster inside his jacket. “Enough playing around. Get over here.”

  A gun. Oh, God, he had a gun. “Don’t shoot me.”

  Abruptly, she raised one hand over her head. When she lifted the other hand, she swung her arm wide. The tall man was forced to step back or be smacked by her purse. As he shifted his weight, she dropped both hands and yanked a chair from the table to block the three-foot space.

  She pivoted and ran. Though she hadn’t planned to scream, she heard herself wailing like a siren. Logic told her that she couldn’t go faster than a bullet. Would they start shooting? Were they coming after her? She whipped open the front door—fortunately unlocked—and dashed outside. One step from the front stoop, she ran smack into Blake.

  Though she was sprinting at full speed, she didn’t knock him over. He staggered as he absorbed her velocity. “Are you all right?”

  “Two men. One has a gun,” she blurted. “We’ve got to get away.”

&nb
sp; He reacted forcefully. His left arm wrapped around her midsection, and he yanked her along with him. They were moving back toward the front door. Wrong way! They should be fleeing.

  “He has a gun,” she repeated.

  “Heard you the first time.”

  His calm tone reminded her that he was a commando—specially trained to face danger. She could trust him. Though her pulse pounded and her nerve endings sizzled with fear, she forced herself to stand beside him on the porch instead of running willy-nilly toward her car. “What’s next?” she asked.

  “Stay.”

  “You mean, stay here?” She pointed to the concrete of the stoop. “Right here?”

  Ignoring her, he was already on the move. He tore open the door to her house and charged inside, directly into the line of fire. His aggressive approach shocked her. He didn’t have a weapon. How did he intend to overcome a man with a gun? He’s Special Forces, she reminded herself. His aggressive assault must be some sort of tactic.

  She pressed her back against the wall beside the mailbox and clutched her purse against her chest. Stay. It was a simple, unambiguous command. But what if the men in suits left her kitchen and circled around to the front? What if Blake was shot? What if…

  Oh, damn. She darted into the house behind him. In her clunky sandals, there was no way she could move stealthily, but she tried not to plod like a rhino. She went right—toward the bookshelves beside the fireplace where she grabbed a poker to use as a weapon. Then she hid behind her wingback reading chair. Peering around the arm, she saw no one. She heard no gunfire.

  When Blake entered from the kitchen, his movements were as swift and efficient as a mountain lion on the prowl.

  She popped up. “Are they gone?”

  He went into attack mode. For a moment, she thought he was going to launch himself at her like a missile. Instead, he waved her toward him. “Come with me. Hurry.”

  Another quick command, spoken with authority. She jumped to obey. “I couldn’t stay on the porch because—”

  He grasped her arm and propelled her through the front door, off the porch and across the yard toward a station wagon. He ran around to the driver’s side. “Get in.”