The Cradle Will Fall

by Maggie Price

  “Actually?” Grace asked.

  “I’m afraid our lunch plans for tomorrow have hit a snag,” he said. “Urgent business in the form of a conference call. It’s slated to take several hours.” He rubbed his thumb lightly against the frown line that had formed between Grace’s brows. “I’m sorry, darling.”

  He sent Iris a look. “Ever see a man slide into the dog house so efficiently?”

  Iris wrinkled her nose. “The way you did that was pretty good.”

  Nodding, he looked back at Grace. “I have an idea that might win me a reprieve.”

  “It had better be a good one, Calhoun.”

  “It is.” He shifted his gaze between both women. “And it involves both of you, if Iris is free. How about I arrange for a limousine to pick you up when you’re done at the spa?”

  “Pick us up and take us where?” Grace asked.

  “To the restaurant of your choice for lunch.”

  “Then?” Grace prodded.

  Chuckling, he nudged a finger beneath her chin. Anyone watching them would buy it, Mark thought as he gazed down into her dark eyes. Willingly accept that he and Grace were devoted to each other, totally in lust. In love. “Shopping, darling. A full afternoon of shopping.”

  Grace slid Davenport a look. “What about your schedule, Iris? Can you fit me in?”

  The woman sent them both a smooth smile. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “I’m buying,” Iris said late the following afternoon when she and Grace settled at a table in one of the Gold Palace’s lounges.

  “Not necessary,” Grace said. “But appreciated,” she added while checking their surroundings. The lounge resembled a dark, masculine study with leather chairs grouped around tables that had some age and weight to them. Overhead were huge oak beams; across the room a fireplace on a raised hearth held a blazing fire. In one corner stood a massive Christmas tree decorated with white twinkle lights and ornate golden bulbs and bows. An ocean of white poinsettias sprouted beneath the tree.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Grace noted a man in a gray suit slide onto a stool at the brass-railed bar. He was the FBI agent assigned to tail Iris when she left the lounge.

  “I appreciated the limo ride and lunch your husband supplied,” Iris said, smoothing the short, white wool jacket that matched her slacks. With her red hair swept into a loose chignon and her skin glowing, Iris looked like a model.

  Grace slipped off her heels and sighed with relief. “My feet went numb about two hours ago.”

  Iris chuckled. “Mine, too. Why is it that something as enjoyable as shopping can render such pain?”

  “You’ve got me,” Grace said. She gave thought to the mountain of shopping bags the bell captain had unloaded from the limo for delivery to the suite. After the investigation closed, all the expensive clothing and accessories she’d charged to the gold card supplied by the FBI would be returned unused to the stores. Talk about pain.

  When a waiter approached, Iris ordered champagne. “I hope that’s okay with you,” she said after the man left the table. “Since my time in Vegas is winding down, I want to make the most of it.”

  “Champagne’s fine,” Grace said, feeling a fist of apprehension tighten her stomach. Iris had mentioned several times that her vacation was nearing an end. Grace and Mark still had no hard evidence linking the nurse to the two murders and kidnappings of the missing infants. Iris hadn’t brought up the Calhouns’ inability to have a child during their shopping spree. If she didn’t mention the subject soon, Grace would have to scramble to find an opening.

  “In fact, I love champagne,” Grace added, then tilted her head. “Do we have something to celebrate?”

  “Maybe,” Iris said, just as the waiter returned with their order. He made quick work of popping the bottle’s cork and filling crystal flutes with a gush of bubbly champagne.

  Iris retrieved her purse, saying, “I’ll just take care of the bill.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  The waiter presented Iris with a small leather folder. She checked the amount, then pulled some items out of her purse in her search for her wallet. Grace kept her face expressionless when she identified one of those items as a thin, disposable cell phone. The background checks run on Iris had proved disappointing when no cell phone account was found, which shut the door on using that angle to track an accomplice. The disposable phones were new on the market—Grace had first seen one a few months ago when she’d taken it off a juvie first-degree burglar. The phones, sold in convenience stores, were a bane to law enforcement since users didn’t have to establish an account and could remain anonymous. With no records maintained on the phones, there was no way to track calls made and received.

  Iris dispensed with the waiter, slid her belongings back into her purse, then picked up her flute. “Grace, I want to ask you a question. I’ll warn you ahead of time that it’s personal.” Iris eased out a breath. “To be honest, I’ve spent the entire day trying to muster my courage to bring up this subject. I just hope you’ll keep in mind that I have your best interests at heart.”

  Grace infused a wary look into her eyes at the comment. She hoped to hell Iris was about to make her grand play. In case she was, Grace leaned forward minutely, ensuring that the transmitter sewn into the lapel of her tobacco-colored suede jacket picked up Iris’s voice clearly. “All right,” Grace said, lifting her glass. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “I gather from everything you’ve said that the chances of you and Mark having your own biological child aren’t good. Am I right?”

  “After this last failure at in-vitro, the doctors don’t hold out much hope.” Grace lowered her glass. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m wondering if you and Mark have ever considered adoption?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ve lost count of the number of agencies we’ve contacted. Mark and I are on so many waiting lists.” She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “The last agency we talked to said their normal waiting period is ten years. Ten years.”

  “Hearing things like that must be dreadful for you,” Iris said. “And I know personally about all the hoops and hurdles involved in working with adoption agencies.” Reaching across the table, Iris patted Grace’s hand. “You remember I said I work at a clinic?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s operated by the state, so we see all age groups of people. Most of the girls who come in for prenatal care are single and in their teens. The majority are runaways who don’t even give us their real name. Some of those girls have no idea how to care for themselves, much less their babies, so they give them up for adoption. Usually the babies go to agencies that have contracts with the state.”

  Dropping her gaze to her glass, Grace stared into the champagne’s pale gold fizz. “Like I said, Mark and I have our names on so many lists.”

  “That’s good because you want to keep every option open. But some of the young mothers who come to the clinic are more discriminating. They don’t trust an agency mired in paperwork to place their baby in the best home possible. Those girls prefer to go through an attorney for what’s called a private adoption.”

  And if they change their mind about doing so, you kill them, Grace thought, feeling adrenaline surge through her system. All of her instincts told her the investigation had finally shifted, the prime suspect had taken the bait.

  Grace held up a hand, making sure it trembled slightly. “Mark and I tried going that route about a year ago.” As if to steady herself, she took a sip of champagne that slid down her throat like liquid gold. “We even met a young pregnant girl about a month away from her delivery date who wanted to give up her baby. She told the attorney she thought Mark and I would be perfect parents for her child. We paid her medical and living expenses, and gave the attorney a substantial retainer. We were so thrilled. Excited. We even chose wallpaper and fabric for a nursery. Picked out names. And then the baby was born and the mother backed out.” Grace shook her head. “Mark and I… Well,
neither of us has the heart to go through that again.”

  “How awful for you.”

  “It was.”

  “I don’t blame you for not wanting to open yourself up to the possibility of that happening again. It’s just that through my job I deal with a lot of social workers. More than one has mentioned an attorney whose expertise is private adoptions. Grace, the social workers make this guy sound like the superhero of adoptions. His success rate of placing infants with couples unable to have their own child is one of the highest in the entire country. Something like ninety-eight percent.”

  “So high?” Grace asked, infusing a hopeful tone into her voice. “This attorney, is he in Oklahoma City?”

  “I don’t think so.” Iris pursed her red-glossed lips. “Close by, maybe, but not in the city itself.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  “I’ve been trying to recall it all day. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but it just won’t come. I could have called one of the social workers to get it, but I didn’t want to make any inquiries until I talked to you.” Iris paused, a hint of a frown marring her smooth forehead. “I have no way of knowing, of course, but with a reputation like that, the attorney fees involved are probably substantial. Not to mention those for the biological mother.”

  Big shock. “The amount of money involved isn’t really a…concern for us. Having a baby is.” Grace placed a hand against her throat. “A superhero,” she repeated in a ragged whisper. “It sounds so tempting, Iris. So hopeful. I just don’t know if Mark or I can open ourselves up for another possible disappointment.”

  “I understand.” Iris gave Grace’s hand a second pat, then eased back in her chair. “I wouldn’t have brought this up if I hadn’t seen you and Mark together yesterday evening.”

  “Really? Did we do something remarkable?”

  “Just looked at each other like you were madly in love, is all.”

  “Well, we are married,” Grace said lightly. If she were working with any other cop, she would have taken Iris’s comment merely as affirmation of the acting skills she’d honed during various undercover assignments. But Mark wasn’t just any cop. He was foremost a man who had once been her lover. Had very nearly become her lover again yesterday. Grace was very afraid the emotional responses Iris had witnessed on Mrs. Calhoun’s part had been more than just an act.

  “These days, being married isn’t necessarily an indication of how a couple really feels about each other.” Iris retrieved the champagne bottle from the silver bucket near her chair and topped off their glasses. “But where you and Mark are concerned, believe me, it’s obvious you’re crazy about each other.”

  “We have our moments,” Grace murmured, feeling a tiny catch in her heart. She and Mark did indeed have their moments in time. Every six years, or so. Even then, whatever emotion lingered between them was incidental. Mark had come back for a case, not because he needed her or missed her. And now that the investigation seemed close to shifting into high gear, he would no doubt be gone in a matter of days.

  “Well, Grace, in my book you’re a very lucky woman. If I could find your husband’s twin, I’d grab him and never let go.” Pausing, Iris tapped a red-slicked fingernail against her champagne flute. “The point is, it’s clear you and Mark will make great parents. I’d like to help you if I can.” She took a long, slow sip. “I won’t bring the subject up again, you have my word. Just think about what I’ve said. Talk to Mark. If you decide you want to meet with this super attorney, let me know. I’ll find out what arrangements need to be made.”

  “Thank you. I’ll talk to Mark as soon as I get back to the suite.” Grace gripped Iris’s hand, aware she was holding herself back from squeezing hard enough to break a couple of bones. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’d offer to do this for us.”

  “It’s nothing.” Iris tapped the rim of her glass against Grace’s, letting the crystal sing. “I just hope everything works out for the best.”

  “Yes,” Grace agreed, picturing Iris in a bright orange prison jumpsuit. “You and me both.”

  Chapter 7

  Two mornings later Iris Davenport stood in a hotel room registered to a pharmaceutical salesman from Orlando. Because the morning air carried a nip, she’d tugged the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around her, toga style.

  The room was twenty-eight floors up; through the glass door off the balcony, Iris had a view of the azure dawn spreading across the desert landscape. Behind her, the closed bathroom door muffled the rhythm of the shower that mixed with the salesman’s voice, currently booming out a slightly off-key rock tune.

  Her mouth forming a smug curve, Iris glanced at the rumpled comforter and pillows spread across the mattress while she punched a series of numbers into her disposable cell phone. It sure as hell wasn’t Troy Pacer’s singing ability that had kept her in his bed all night.

  She had caught sight of him the previous evening while they both gambled at the same roulette table in the Gold Palace’s casino. He had beautiful dark, thick hair and wonderful shoulders, and his brown eyes were so expressive that when he looked up and met her gaze, she’d felt her legs go weak. The man had the most exquisitely masculine hands, big, competent looking, with clean, square nails. Even as he’d leaned over the table to make another roll of the dice, Iris had wagered those hands would be on her before the night was over.

  She’d won that bet.

  “Hello?”

  She blinked when her partner answered her phone call on the second ring. “I told Grace Calhoun you were the superhero of adoptions,” she said.

  “Superhero, huh? Did she buy it?”

  “Oh, yeah—you should have seen her face light up. She’s so desperate to have a child, she grasps at any straw.”

  “Lucky thing for her we provide a lot more than straws. If the Calhouns are willing to pay enough money, they’ll get a kid.”

  “They’re willing. And the financial check we ran on them confirmed they’ve got money available to just toss away. I spent an afternoon with Grace while she did her best to max out her husband’s gold card. Then, while she and I were in the lounge drinking champagne, Mark Calhoun strides in and slides this jeweler’s box into her hands.”

  “What was inside?”

  “A solid-gold bracelet encrusted with rubies.”

  A low whistle came across the phone line. “The shopping spree you were a part of and the bracelet are just additional confirmation that the guy’s loaded.”

  The picture of Grace Calhoun that formed in Iris’s mind had her frowning. With her dark, thick hair and sculpted, high-boned features, the woman was certainly a looker. And the curve-hugging spandex she wore at the spa showed off a killer figure. But Grace’s desperation to have a kid made her seem excessively vulnerable; pitifully clingy. Iris shrugged. The woman was just damn lucky she’d landed a man who found all that neediness attractive. One who looked at her as if she was the beginning and end of everything. A once-in-a-lifetime kind of guy who happened to be rich and gorgeous to boot, Iris thought. Even the perpetual weariness around Mark Calhoun’s eyes seemed to add a fascinating depth to him.

  “From all our checks on them and considering everything I’ve observed, I’m convinced the Calhouns are a sure thing,” Iris said. “Since I’m the one who found them in the first place, I want a finder’s fee.”

  The silence coming across the line pressed like fingers against Iris’s eardrums.

  “That isn’t our deal,” her partner said finally.

  “Right. Our deal is that I supply the babies and you find the couples who’ll pay to adopt them. In this instance, I’ve done both. You want to make your usual amount on the transaction, fine. Just tack it onto the Calhoun’s tab.”

  “You don’t think they’ll try to negotiate for a lower price?”

  “Maybe.” Iris thought back to what Mark had said about gambling: he didn’t toss his money away. When he made an investment, he knew beforehand what potential profits could be involved
. “Probably,” she amended. “You have to figure the husband didn’t get rich by paying top dollar for things, so it’s a good bet he’ll try to get the price down. He’ll give in, though, because he loves his wife and she’s desperate to be a mother. He knows she won’t be happy until she’s changing diapers full-time. All you have to do is stand firm. Make noises you’ve got another couple in the wings willing to pay any price for the baby. Do that, and you’ll get whatever amount you quote him.”

  “If you’re sure about this.”

  “Positive.” She pursed her mouth. “In fact, I may drop that little tidbit on Mark Calhoun. Start him thinking about what it will do to his wife if he allows someone else to outmaneuver him. When you mention that other couple later on, it’ll add to the pressure he feels.”

  “Works for me. Have you checked on the biological mother?”

  “I called yesterday. Everything’s fine. She’ll probably deliver toward the end of next week. I need to wrap up this vacation and get back to the clinic. Like I said, I’m taking care of everything.”

  A brief pause came on the line. “All right, Iris, I’ll give you a finder’s fee. This one time. The next adoption we do, we go back to the old way. Status quo. After all, except for the two unfortunate…events, we’ve operated without any glitches.”

  His comment reminded Iris of their last face-to-face meeting, during which he had referred to the events as murders. The nurse in her wouldn’t allow her to think of them that way. Instead, she considered what she’d done more abstractly, as the solution to otherwise intractable problems. In both instances a certain issue had arisen, and she’d found a solution.

  Granted, she’d been caught off guard the first time the issue had arisen. When DeeDee Wyman changed her mind about adopting out her baby while she was in the throes of labor, Iris had shoved back a sense of panic and reasoned it was just the teenager’s hormones talking. If Wyman felt too sick and weak to take care of her child, then she would come to her senses and go ahead with the adoption.