When he entered the baby room, he found Birdie in the arms of a girl with strawberry blond hair, freckled skin the color of milk, and a tattoo on her neck. She sat in a rocking chair, gently patting Birdie’s back. Unsmiling, she looked Gabe over. “This your kid?”
Gabe nodded, reaching for the baby.
The girl narrowed her eyes and hissed, “Chill. I just got her to sleep. I’m going to put her down, then go to my next class. You work in here this period?”
“No, I’m just checking on her.”
“Then get your ass out of here. She’s fine.”
The second part of the plan—the skulking part—didn’t go as planned either. A dozen girls stood in a tight group at the back of the small classroom adjoining the childcare facility. When they spotted him, they stopped talking and silently tracked his journey to the teacher’s desk, not unlike a pack of feral dogs waiting to attack. Gabe tried to remember . . . eye contact or no eye contact with feral dogs?
After a nervous glance in their direction, he was almost relieved when the silence was broken with raucous laughter and raunchy comments. “Hey, Busted Rubber, did Baby Mama hit the road?” “Lemee guess. You’re breast feeding . . . not!”
Strangely, the teacher, Barbara Newcomb, did nothing to stop the behavior. She reached for his schedule with trembling hands and whispered, “Sit wherever you want.” It soon became obvious who was in control of the class, and it wasn’t Miss Newcomb. When she tried to get everyone in their seats so she could take roll, it was like a gnat trying to herd buffalo.
Finally Patti Sifuentes stood and yelled, “Sit your asses down and shut the fuck up! Shit, you guys have already run off two parenting teachers. Let’s see if we can keep this one around for a while.” Muttering complaints, the other girls straggled to their desks.
Gabe’s mouth dropped open. He could hardly believe Miss Newcomb’s lack of reaction to the string of profanities. The tips of her ears turned bright red, but she played deaf and kept right on checking roll. In any other classroom, the F bomb alone would have been cause for a visit to the vice principal’s office and detention.
Patti plopped down directly behind Gabe and poked him in the ribs, a little harder than necessary. “Hey, Stud. You got a cute kid.”
Whoa, Patti Sifuentes thought Birdie was cute? Gabe’s confused brain struggled to collate and analyze the data. Birdie’s first sincere, unsolicited compliment had come from the toughest girl in Maple Grove H.S., a girl who seemed to hate him and take great pleasure in causing him grief. Was this a set-up or was she trying to be friendly? He didn’t have a clue, so he went with friendly.
Gabe turned around and smiled. “Thanks.”
Patti muttered, “No problem,” tapping her long, black fingernails on the desk.
“What happened to the others?”
Patti stopped tapping and scowled at him. “What others?”
“The other parenting teachers.”
“They quit. Couldn’t handle it, I guess.”
“What about her?” Gabe whispered, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Miss Newcomb.
“Too soon to tell. When she gets upset, she shuts herself in the closet and cries.”
Gabe shook his head slowly, “Oh, man, that’s just sad. What . . .” Before he could finish the thought, Miss Newcomb cleared her throat and said, “Okay, class, today, we’ll be watching a DVD about potty training.”
At her words, a loud, collective groan swept through the classroom. Gabe raised his hand.
“Yes, Gabe?”
“My baby’s too young for potty training. Could I go the library and study?”
After a moment of shocked silence, the classroom erupted. “Hey, Newcomb! My baby’s only seven months old. I want to go to the library, too.”
“Yeah, if he gets to go, the rest of us should get to go.”
“Just because he’s a guy doesn’t mean he gets special privileges.”
Patti leaned forward and spoke directly into his right ear. “Wrong question, dumb ass. Look what you started.”
Blinking rapidly, Miss Newcomb stood, flapped her hands and squeaked, “Nobody’s going to the library. Some day your baby will . . .”
The door flew open and Mrs. Wachsmith stepped in. “Gabe Delgado, come with me, please.”
Chapter Seven
WTF? HAD SOMETHING happened to Birdie? Had Tattoo Neck dropped her? Had Patti’s son sneaked into the baby room and chomped down on her leg?
Gabe leaped out of chair. “What? What?”
“Relax, Mr. Delgado. The baby’s fine. Come with me. Bring your things.”
Gabe grabbed his backpack and followed Mrs. Wachsmith through the door that connected the parenting classroom to the childcare section. Passing by the baby room, he took a quick peek through the window and spotted Birdie in one of the cribs. She’d flipped onto her belly and was sleeping soundly, her butt in the air. Gabe let out the breath he’d been holding.
Mrs. Wachsmith led him to her office where a short, plump brunette with a briefcase stood, gazing out the window. The woman turned when they entered and extended a hand. “Gabe Delgado?”
“Yes.”
She smiled, revealing large, square teeth. “I’m Paula McMillan. I work with a state agency that facilitates legal adoption.” She flashed an ID badge. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Same here.” Gabe noted her smile didn’t quite reach the woman’s pale blue eyes. When he took her hand, he found it was clammy with perspiration. When he released it, he fought the urge to wipe his own hand on his jeans.
Mrs. Wachsmith said, “I’ll leave you two to chat,” and left the room.
Chat? What the hell did he have to chat about with this woman? Maybe a DVD about potty training wasn’t so bad after all.
The woman settled into a chair and opened her briefcase. “I had a little peek at your daughter, Gabe. Such gorgeous red hair.”
Gabe didn’t respond because he was visualizing the woman standing over his defenseless, sleeping baby. Why would a watchdog like Mrs. Wachsmith allow a stranger into the nursery? Didn’t make sense.
McMillan pointed at the other chair. “Sit, please.”
Instead of sitting as ordered, Gabe said, “Ms. McMillan, I don’t know why you’re here. I’m keeping the baby. Who called you?”
With a casual wave of the hand, she totally ignored the question. “I’m not here to convince you to consider adoption. I just want to make sure you’re aware of all your options. After all, you’re taking on a huge responsibility. My agency wants to make sure the baby will have all her needs met. We would appreciate your cooperation.”
Despite her smile, Gabe sensed a veiled threat in her words. Did she have the power to take Birdie away from him? Maybe it would be smart to play along for a while. He put his backpack on the floor and sat.
McMillan beamed at him and began rummaging through her briefcase. She pulled out some glossy flyers and wad of papers. She extracted a single sheet of paper and studied it for a moment. “I understand your mother is no longer in the family.”
Startled, Gabe blurted, “So what? We do just fine without her.”
McMillan leaned over and patted his arm. “No reason to get defensive, dear. I was merely making a point. Little girls need a woman in their lives. Your household consists of four males. Is that correct?”
The hostility provoked by Paula McMillan suddenly morphed into fear. Could the state remove Birdie from their home simply because she had two X chromosomes?
Gabe stammered, “Yeah, we’re all guys, but we have lots of woman relatives, ya know? It’s not like she wouldn’t be around girls. We have girl neighbors. I have girlfriends that come to the house, not a whole bunch of course, but there would be women in her life and . . .”
Gabe knew he was babbling and was gra
teful when she interrupted. “Relax, Gabe. I’m not here to judge you. This is really different for me. I usually talk to the mothers-to-be about their choices. But, I understand you knew nothing about the baby until she landed on your front porch Friday night.”
Gabe snapped his mouth shut and listened to the warning bells clanging inside his skull. “Who told you that?”
“Doesn’t matter. The important thing is your precious little girl. The state’s only interest is her welfare. Have you really thought this through, Gabe? Are you ready to give up your social life and devote yourself to being a father?”
Gabe stood. “I already told you I’ve made my decision. I have the support of my family. Other people, too. Female people.”
“How can you be sure she’s your child?”
Gabe stared down at her. “She has the Delgado birthmark. We all have it.”
With a flirtatious wink, McMillan said, “Apparently it’s in a place that doesn’t show. I bet it’s on her cute little bum.”
Gabe was tempted to drop his pants, bend over and give her an up-close and personal look at the blue rose. Instead, he said, “Yeah, it is. Are we done?”
She sighed. “Oh, Gabe, I’m afraid we got off on the wrong foot. I’m not urging you to do something you don’t want to do. I just want you to know there’s help available if taking care of a baby becomes too much for you.”
“It won’t.”
McMillan stood and held out a brochure. “We have respite care available. Let’s say you need a break. We have wonderful, caring people in our system, willing to take care of Birdie for a few days.”
Gabe hesitated for a moment and then took the brochure. Featured in the front was a grandmotherly-looking woman smiling down at the baby in her arms. He folded the brochure into thirds and stuffed it in his jeans pocket. “Okay then, nice to meet you.”
He grabbed his backpack and swung it onto his shoulders. When he reached the door, McMillan said, “About the mother . . .”
Gabe stopped. “What about her?”
“Do you know who she is?”
Gabe shook his head.
“Really? No idea? It’s pretty obvious when a girl turns up pregnant. And, the baby was born . . . when?”
Gabe struggled to remember the date on Birdie’s fake birth certificate. He’d better get it right because, no doubt, this woman knew exactly what it was. “Um, it was June 2nd.”
“Which means the mother of your child would have been hugely pregnant at the end of school. You’re sure nobody told you she was pregnant?”
Geez, this woman was getting on his last nerve. “I think I’d remember something like that.”
“All I’m saying, Gabe, is if you don’t remember who you had sex with, that scenario is possible.”
Gabe felt his face grow hot. “No, it’s not possible. I wasn’t that out of it.”
“You do realize if the mother turns up, there will be custody issues.”
“All the more reason Birdie shouldn’t be adopted,” Gabe snapped.
McMillan frowned. “If you had allowed me to explain the options, you’d know there’s some degree of flexibility in the system.”
“Yeah, like foster care,” Gabe said. “My kid’s not going to a foster home.”
“There are other options.”
“Sorry, I need to get back to class.”
On the way back to Parenting, Gabe slipped into the baby room. He tiptoed to Birdie’s crib, leaned close, and inhaled her sweet baby scent. He whispered, “You’re a huge pain in the butt, and I don’t know jack shit about babies, but you’re stuck with me. Okay?”
As he stepped back into the parenting classroom, it struck him. Paula McMillan had skillfully avoided answering his questions, so he had no idea how she knew Birdie had turned up on his front porch. And, when he’d asked McMillan who’d invited her to come to the school, she blew him off. What the heck was going on?
Bad people want her. I can’t keep her safe. You and your family can. That’s what the note said. But, could they? Keep her safe? A sudden chill slithered down Gabe’s spine. He needed answers and as soon as he got home, he would see what he could find out about Paula McMillan and her organization.
APPROXIMATELY 750 miles south of Seattle, Samantha Worthington, President and CEO of The Scientific Academy of Merit, raked long, scarlet fingernails through her smooth, blond bob as she barked into the phone, “Are we sure this is the right kid? There’s no screw-up like last time?”
The woman’s voice on the other end of the line said, “That was an unfortunate mistake.”
Samantha scowled. “That’s what you call it? An unfortunate mistake? Do you know how much that little mistake cost me? By the time I paid people off, fed anonymous information to the press, and the missing kid turned up safe and sound, it was close to $250,000.”
“Not my fault. You do realize there’s more than one red-haired baby in Maple Grove. Anyway, I’m sure this is the right kid. She has red hair and a birthmark on her butt, just like you said she would. Her name is Birdie Delgado. The dad’s name is Gabe.”
“The mother’s out of the picture?”
“Yeah, Gabe said he didn’t know who she was, but I don’t believe him. How could he not know who he screwed around with?”
Samantha tapped her front tooth with a fingernail. “Teenage father with an infant? That could make it a lot easier for us.”
“That’s how I see it, too. It’s just a matter of time before he gets tired of missing all the action.”
“Is everyone in place?”
“We met last night. Everyone’s ready to move. We just have to wait for the opportunity to present itself.”
Samantha said, “Keep me posted,” and slammed down the phone. She inhaled and exhaled slowly, willing her racing heart to slow down before it burst from her chest. Was it finally happening? She stood and walked to the window, gazing out at the beautifully landscaped grounds and the row of low buildings beyond. Thanks to her late husband, Bryce, and his real estate fortune, she had built a state-of-the-art facility. Conveniently, she’d been Bryce’s only beneficiary. If only he had shared her vision. Unfortunately (for him) his ethics got in the way. Samantha shook her head sadly. It would be nice to have someone to share the spotlight with when her creation stunned the world.
Turning off her troublesome emotions, she thought about the red-haired baby girl in the Pacific Northwest and dared to imagine the future. Birdie Delgado was the missing piece in a very important puzzle. If everything went as planned, the baby, with her unique DNA, would soon be here at the lab. Samantha’s dream of furthering her DNA experiments would become a reality. The end result? Hopefully a superior being gifted with unique capabilities. Along with a shitload of money. She’d already sent her people to other countries to judge their interest, and it was huge. Of course it was. Who wouldn’t want an army of genetically altered beings who could stop an incoming missile mid-flight and turn it back on the sender using telekinesis? Or, imagine an enemy who could shape shift into a carnivore? Or vanish completely.
She strode to the desk, picked up the phone and punched in a number. When a man answered, she said, “Make sure the nursery’s ready. Looks like they’ve found the baby.”
With an exasperated sigh, the man said, “We’ve been ready forever, Sam. Just get the kid here.”
“Soon.” Samantha allowed herself a brief smile. “Very soon.”
Chapter Eight
JUST WHEN GABE thought things couldn’t get worse, lunch happened. Rather than risking the curious glances from his so-called buddies in the cafeteria, Gabe trudged back to the child care building carrying his lunch tray in his left hand, Birdie clutched in the other. He’d barely taken a bite when Birdie smiled angelically and spewed the entire contents of her stomach onto Gabe’s last clean shirt.
&n
bsp; His new peer group, Patti and her foul-mouthed friends, howled with laughter. Gabe grabbed a dishtowel from the sink and began mopping up the mess. He muttered, “Jesus H. Christ, how can six ounces of formula turn into a gallon of puke?”
Patti said, “Dude, you gotta burp the kid after you feed her if you don’t want her to puke.”
“But I didn’t feed her. I was in class.”
Patti stood and glared at each girl in turn. “Okay, which one of you retards fed his kid?”
Gabe wondered exactly when Patti Sifuentes had become his advocate. Good thing or bad thing? Too soon to tell.
One of the girls—a pretty blonde, who sat away from the others—stared at the floor.
Patti, with the instincts of a hungry lioness, pounced. “Hah, figured it was you, Angie. Little Miss Perfect who, until she got screwed over by her boyfriend, never made a mistake in her life. I guess burping a baby wasn’t on your ‘to do’ list.”
Possibly a bad thing.
Angie’s eyes narrowed and she tilted a chin in defiance. “Burping a baby doesn’t give you an ironclad guarantee they won’t spit up. If you don’t believe me, ask Wachsmith. And, by the way, his kid burped three times, so get out of my face.”
Fearful the hostilities might turn physical, Gabe jumped in. “Hey, no problem, ladies. My dad told me it’s just what babies do, so get used to it. He calls it the three P’s. Poop. Pee. Puke.”
Catastrophe averted, Gabe barely had time to clean off his shirt, change Birdie from the skin out, and grab a few bites before heading for his Current World Problems class. Who needed current world problems? Gabe already had a butt load of current personal problems. The world would have to soldier on without his help.
Head down, he trudged into Mr. Rogers’ classroom just as the bell sounded. He chose not to glance over at Kevin and his rowdy buddies, sitting in their usual spot on the right side of the room, directly behind the hottest chicks in the class. One of the girls, Heather Kingman, shot eye daggers at him. What was that about?
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