Cause for Alarm

by Erica Spindler

  "Yes," she whispered.

  "Get rid of it tomorrow, or I'll do it myself."

  And then he was gone.

  Julianna's breath caught on a sob of despair, her thoughts racing back to the present. She realized she was huddled into a ball of misery on her bathroom floor, that she was sobbing. Cold and hurting.

  John was the man her mother told her he was. A CIA assassin. The monster Clark Russell had described. The one who had killed those people in the photographs, and many others, according to Clark.

  And he would kill her, too. If he ever caught up with her.

  He wouldn't, she promised herself, using the edge of the counter for support and dragging herself unsteadily to her feet. She would stay a step ahead of him, even if she had to run for the rest of her life.

  4

  Julianna found a doctor through the New Orleans yellow pages. She had called a half a dozen obstetricians before she found one who would see her even though she didn't have insurance. The receptionist had explained that Julianna would be required to pay her bill in full after services were rendered.

  Julianna's heart had sunk when she learned what the visit would cost. One hundred and thirty-five dollars-barring any unforeseen problems that might require special tests. Almost ten percent of what she had left of the ten thousand dollars her mother had given her. For one visit to a doctor.

  But worth it, she decided. She didn't care how desperate she was, she simply could not bear the free clinic. She had taken one look inside and turned around and walked back out. It had been crowded with all manner of humanity, crammed one on top of the other in the hot, grungy-looking waiting room.

  In stark contrast, Dr. Samuel's office was bright, sweet smelling and comfortable. The waiting room had been populated by a handful of other respectable-looking women, all noticeably pregnant.

  Though everyone had gone out of their way to make her feel comfortable, she was nervous. Her palms were sweating, her heart beating fast. She didn't know what to expect; wondered what Dr. Samuel would be like and how he would take her request.

  Julianna shifted on the examining table and the white paper beneath her crackled. Hurry, Doc. Let's get this over with.

  She closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose. After today, she reminded herself, she wouldn't need any more doctor visits. It would be over. She shook her head. What had she been thinking for all these months? Being pregnant was a mistake. A big mistake.

  The door opened and a man wearing a white coat walked through, the nurse who had taken Julianna's blood pressure, weighed her and given her a cup to urinate in, right behind him. He smiled and held out a hand. "I'm Dr. Samuel."

  She took it. He was youngish and almost attractive, with a thin face and round, wire-rimmed glasses. He looked like someone who would be a good doctor-smart and kind. She relaxed a bit, slightly reassured. "Julianna Starr."

  "Nice to meet you." He dropped her hand and turned to the nurse. She handed him a folder, no doubt the questionnaire she had filled out in the waiting room. "Blood pressure and weight look good. Urine checked out." He flipped forward a page. "No drinking? Drugs?"

  "No, doctor."

  "And you don't smoke. That's good." He smiled briefly. "Calculating from the date of your last menstrual cycle, you're 25 weeks, 3 days. That makes your due date May 11." He looked at her. "That sound about right?"

  "I guess."

  "Why don't you lie back and we'll take a look at how you're progressing."

  Julianna did, and he measured her belly, from pubis to navel, manually examined her abdomen and breasts, then using what he called a Doppler, found and listened to the baby's heartbeat. It sounded like a tiny jackhammer inside her.

  "Could be a girl," he murmured. "Girls' heartbeats are faster." He held out a hand to help her back into a sitting position.

  "That's it?" she asked, surprised.

  He smiled again and the nurse chuckled. "You want more? Most of my patients can't wait to get out of here."

  "I just…I just thought there'd be…that you'd do more."

  He glanced at her chart again. "You're young and healthy. It says here that money is an issue, and since I don't see any reason to do an ultrasound, I won't. They're expensive."

  He met her eyes. "You're not having any problems you haven't mentioned, are you? Any bleeding? Pain? Anything like that?"

  Julianna glanced at the nurse, then back at him. She wetted her lips, nervous again. "No, nothing like that." "Good. Go ahead and get dressed, then meet me in my office. We'll talk about where we go from here."

  Julianna nodded, grateful not to have to spill her guts in front of the nurse. There was something grandmotherly about the woman, and Julianna didn't know if she could have been completely honest in front of her.

  Ten minutes later, Julianna was dressed and sitting across from Dr. Samuel.

  "It says here that you're new in town?"

  "That's right."

  "We need to have your records sent to us. You don't list an obstetrician on the questionnaire."

  "I don't have one." She looked at her hands, working to find the courage to say what she had to. "I went to my regular doctor for the pregnancy test and…and-"

  "You haven't seen anyone since." She nodded. "So, I take it you're not taking prenatal vitamins?"

  "No. I-"

  "Not to worry, we'll get you on those right away." He took out a prescription pad and began to write.

  "I want an abortion."

  The doctor lifted his head. "Pardon me?"

  "I don't want this baby. It was a mistake. The whole thing was a mistake."

  For a moment he was silent, then he cleared his throat. "What about the father?"

  "He's…no longer a part of my life. And he…he made it plain from the beginning that he didn't want this baby."

  Dr. Samuel folded his hands on the desk in front of him. "Then you have a problem, young lady. First off, I don't perform abortions. Personally, I became an obstetrician to bring lives into the world, not to end them."

  "But couldn't you refer me to someone who-"

  He cut her off. "Secondly, you're no longer able to make that decision. An abortion isn't an option for you."

  Her heart dropped. "I don't understand."

  "You're too far along." She gazed blankly at him, and he shook his head. "In your pregnancy. The law allows abortions up until the twenty-fourth week after the date of the last menstrual cycle. You're past that. By a week and three days."

  A week and three days. Hardly anything. Julianna shook her head, barely comprehending what he was telling her. It couldn't be. Her eyes filled with tears. "But you don't understand…I don't…I don't have…anybody. I can't take care of a baby, I don't know how." Her voice rose. "This was a mistake, you see. The whole thing was a mistake!"

  "I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do."

  He started to stand; she caught his hand and clutched frantically at it. "Couldn't someone…someone who does do abortions, just…fudge a little on the dates? I mean, don't they just suck it out with a little vacuum, or something?"

  Color crept up the physician's cheeks, and he extricated his hand from hers, his dislike obvious. "You'd be asking a doctor to lie, Ms. Starr. To break the law. To put his or her medical license on the line. Not only that-" He made a sound of annoyance and checked his watch. "Let me show you something."

  He crossed to his bookcase, selected a hardcover text and brought it back to her. He flipped it open, thumbed through, then set it open on the desk in front of her. It was a photograph of a baby in a womb.

  "See that? That's two months' development." Julianna gazed at the photograph. It looked like every picture of an unborn fetus she had ever seen-like a little alien creature, with an oversize head and a network of spidery red veins showing through its translucent skin. Although humanlike, it was creepy looking. Foreign.

  He flipped forward several pages, then stopped. "Here's your baby."

  Julianna stared at the image,
her heart in her throat. It was a baby. Not a nonrecognizable thing. Not an alien. It had hands complete with fingers, feet complete with toes. A face. It was sucking its thumb. She brought a hand to her abdomen even as she lifted her eyes to the doctor's. "Are you…sure? I mean, that I'm…that it's-"

  "Positive." He cleared his throat. "Babies at this stage recognize their mother's voices from inside the womb, they respond to light and sound. You're far enough along that if you had this baby today, there's a slight chance it could survive outside your womb."

  "I…didn't know." She lowered her gaze to the image once more. "I just…I thought…" Tears welled in her eyes, then spilled down her cheeks. "What am I going to do, Dr. Samuel? What am I going to do?"

  He handed her a box of tissue, his expression softening. "Julianna, you say you can't care for this child, that you don't want to. Are you certain of that? When you see and hold your baby-"

  "No," she said. "No, I don't want it. And I won't change my mind, I know I won't."

  "Have you considered giving this baby up for adoption?"

  "Adoption?" she repeated, knowing she sounded like an idiot. Feeling like one "No. I mean, I haven't…thought about much of anything but…"

  But John. And about surviving.

  The physician sat across from her once more. "There are thousands of infertile couples in this country, couples who are desperate to adopt healthy infants. These are nice, solid people. Committed couples. They would give this baby a good home, a loving family."

  He leaned toward her, his expression serious, earnest. "You're already into your third trimester, Julianna. You don't even have that far to go. You've admitted you don't have the means or desire to care for a child. Abortion at this stage is out of the question. Adoption is the ideal solution."

  Julianna thought for a moment about what he was saying to her. "But how…I mean, where would I find them? These couples?"

  "There are several reputable agencies in the area as well as quite a number of lawyers who specialize in adoption. I work with one of the agencies, the finest, in my opinion. Citywide Charities."

  She hesitated a moment, then shook her head. "I don't know."

  "It's a loving solution, Julianna. Your baby gets a wonderful life, parents who will adore and dote on him or her." He smiled. "I should know, I'm an adoptive parent."

  He swung around and took a framed photo from his desk and handed it to her. "My wife and I adopted all three of our children through Citywide."

  He named them, a girl and twin boys.

  Julianna gazed at them, heart beginning to thunder. They were such cute kids; they looked so happy. So healthy.

  "They're the light of our lives."

  Her eyes filled with tears again. "I don't know what to do. I just thought…I thought that you…that after today…" Her voice trailed off miserably.

  "Think about it. Take a little time." He stood, went around the desk and took a business card from his center drawer. "Here's a card with Citywide's number. Ask for Ellen. She can answer any questions you might have."

  Julianna took the card and stood. "I will. Thank you, Dr. Samuel."

  "I want to see you back here in three weeks." He must have seen by her expression that she had no intention of coming back, and he shook his head. "You need medical care, Julianna, insurance or not. You're not only putting the baby at risk, but yourself, too."

  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. "I know. It's just that it costs so much."

  "If you do choose adoption, Citywide can help you with both your medical and living costs."

  "You mean, they'll pay for my doctor visits and stuff?"

  He smiled and stood. "And stuff. They base the amount of support on individual need, so I can't quote you exactly what they'll do for you. But I promise you this, you won't have to worry about any medical expenses. And, if you choose, you can continue to see me."

  He walked her to the door. "Promise me you'll at least think about it."

  She promised, then paid her bill and left the office, head spinning with what he had told her. As she did, she acknowledged that promise was one she would have no trouble keeping.

  Part III. Luke

  5

  Houston , Texas , January 1999

  Luke Dallas waited in a secluded booth of a dark, smoky bar. Over the drunken posturings of would-be cowboys, Tammy Wynette whined about true love with a untrue man. From the bar's far corner came the distinctive crack of pool balls connecting and the occasional throaty laughter of the big-haired women who circled the table, watching their men play.

  Luke's lips lifted. The bar had been his contact's choice, but he rather liked it. It had a certain kind of style. An undeniable "Texas, Every Man," atmosphere. He could imagine his Alex Lawson at the pool table, pissing the local boys off by taking not only their money but their women as well. And not giving a shit that all hell was about to break loose.

  That's what he loved about Alex, the character he had created in Running Dead, his first published novel. He had balls. He was arrogant, too smart for his own good and deeply scarred from a nightmare childhood. He was a man's man, but one women could love.

  His editor had been so taken with Alex Lawson and his nemesis Trevor Mann, that she'd had him change the ending of Running Dead and reprise both men for his next novel. That had been three books, three consecutive runs on the New York Times bestseller list and a major motion picture deal ago.

  Luke Dallas was publishing's new golden boy. His backlist was being repackaged and rereleased; his agent had scored him a fat new multibook contract and subrights agents were in bidding wars for both his new and old work.

  Not bad for a guy who'd been tending bar to keep food in his belly and power flowing to his computer. Not bad at all.

  Luke took a swallow of his tepid beer, turning his thoughts to his new novel, its new protagonist-and the reason he was waiting in this out-of-the-way, redneck bar for a man who might or might not show.

  His new novel's main character was a former CIA assassin turned vigilante, antihero. Luke had turned to Tom Morris, a contact he'd made at the Agency for some nobullshit information. Tom Morris was a director of the Operations branch of the CIA, a man impressed by Luke's bestseller status and his Hollywood connections.

  At first Tom had denied the existence of government assassins-laughable in the wake of documented accounts of the Agency's attempts to end the lives of political adversaries, including the many, infamous plots against Castro.

  The documented cases weren't what interested Luke. No, what interested him was speculation. The things people talked and wrote about that were unacknowledged, undocumented and unadmitted by the Agency. Things even the president had no knowledge of-for his own good, of course. Mentions of The Farm. Of elite killing machines who served a specific, deadly purpose, who kept their country safe and on top through the process of eliminating ones enemies.

  Luke was enough of a cynic to believe the speculation.

  Finally, Morris had admitted the past existence of government assassins and the now defunct Farm. He'd insisted both had been the product of a now dead political climate-of the cold war and conservative, defense-minded administrations.

  Luke thought that was bullshit, but he didn't argue. That was the great thing about fiction, he didn't have to prove something was true, only have the ability to make people believe it was.

  Morris had agreed to set Luke up with a former Agency mechanic, code name Condor, though he had made no promises that the man would show. These guys were a special breed-loners, secretive-men who lived by their own code and on the fringes.

  Condor. Luke brought his beer to his mouth once more. A bird of prey. Fearsome, majestic. A hunter.

  A creature on the verge of extinction.

  This man could provide Luke with a wealth of information-into the psyche of a paid assassin, a man who not only killed for a living, but for his country. A man who was a refugee of the CIA Farm, the elite training ground for government assa
ssins.

  In real life this man had been in the same spiritual place as Luke's fictional character. He had committed the same acts, had perhaps thought and felt the same things.

  Perhaps. That's what Luke hoped to learn.

  Luke checked his watch. Condor was late. Luke acknowledged a moment of anxiety. This meeting was a lucky break. Guys like Condor were near-impossible to find-there were damn few roaming the streets and even fewer willing to talk to a writer. He wanted this meeting to happen in a big way.

  "Kate! Over here!"

  In an instinctive reaction, Luke swung in the direction of the voice, his thoughts filled with her. His Kate. The woman he had once loved, the woman he had convinced himself loved him. Loved him enough to take a chance on a guy with nothing but his dreams and his belief in himself and his future.

  Thoughts of Kate brought ones of Richard as well. Of the friendship which had degenerated into an ugly rivalry for Kate's affections. Of their last encounters, ones that had had nothing of the easiness and laughter they'd once shared, but were heavy with secrets, suspicion and resentments over things like social class and affluence. Things that shouldn't have mattered, that hadn't mattered to them once upon a time.

  The better man had won, apparently. The one who could give Kate all her heart desired. The one who could make all her dreams come true. Or so Richard had said to him, that last morning, as Luke had stood in the cold sunshine in front of the student center, waiting to meet Kate. He had planned to tell her once and for all what she meant to him and to ask her to take a chance on him. To believe in him.

  Richard had laughed at that.

  The better man. Luke turned back to his beer, rolling the glass between his palms. The one with the money, the family connections and pedigree. The one with all the things Kate had never had. Not the would-be novelist intent on chasing an impossible and childish dream.

  Not so impossible, after all. His lips lifted into a grim smile. Not so childish. He wondered what she thought of his success. And of her choice. Did she ever wonder if she had made a mistake?