Still in his suit, Parker sat in an armchair staring out the window at the skyline. “I can’t believe Donna kept that from me.” He glanced back at the laptop he’d abandoned on the coffee table. “Why didn’t she tell me her sister and Clarence had been to a fertility clinic?”
Translation, why couldn’t I get the information out of her? Normally Parker could coax a confession out of a bullfrog. But this was different. This was willful suppression of the facts.
“Donna Jacobs lied to you on purpose, Parker. Or at least she hid what she knew. She blames Clarence for her sister’s death. She hates him for the way he treated her. There was no way she was going to give you an edge.”
“Why admit it now?”
“Maybe because Wesson and I are female. Maybe she connected with Wesson. Did you know she ran a boutique in LA?”
Parker came out of his thoughts to consult his memory bank on his employees. “Yes, I knew that. Before she came to the Agency.”
Miranda paced to the window side of the bookshelf, thinking of all the personal stories there’d been in the media about her. “Maybe Donna thought I’d understand how she felt and call you off the investigation.”
Parker shook his head decisively. “She thinks it’s too late to do anything to save Clarence.”
“Maybe. I know she resents your helping the doctor. She said as much. If it weren’t for all the money you’ve spent there all these years, she’d probably kick you out of her shop.” Standing at the far edge of the sofa, she spun around. “Can we get her on obstruction of justice?”
Parker’s brow rose. “Possibly. But we need talk to Dr. Xavier first and get his side of it.”
He was being cautious. Miranda paced over to the bookshelf. “And why was Dr. Boudreaux keeping this from us, arguing about it? It’s as if he wants us to fail.”
“Perhaps he feels a measure of guilt over Charmaine’s death. If only he hadn’t lost his temper, if only he hadn’t pushed her so hard. If only they’d spent more time together.”
He was echoing his own feelings about Sylvia, she knew. And the young girl he lost when he was a teen. His first love, Laura.
Parker rose and returned to the couch and his laptop. “Here’s what I’ve found on Xavier.”
She came up behind the sofa to peer over his shoulder.
He had the Institute’s website up with the curriculum vitae of its director, Dr. Lawrence Xavier.
Dressed in a white lab coat over a sea-blue shirt, he seemed tall and muscular. Looked like he worked out regularly. His wavy dark gray hair was swept to the side, accenting a longish nose in an oblong face, and piercing, close-set hazel eyes.
“Reproductive endocrinologist, huh?”
“And founder of the Xavier Fertility Institute, of course.”
“Real humble guy, naming the place after himself.”
“His background is impressive. He graduated from Emory Medical School with honors and went on to John Hopkins, returned to Emory to teach. He’s board certified in Obstetrics and Gynecology, Reproductive Endocrinology and Infertility, has won several awards.”
“Hmm.”
She took the mouse and clicked a link full of photos of the staff. Xavier had several other Reproductive endocrinologist, embriologists, and RNs working for him, as well as financial and admin people. Every face seemed warm and welcoming. She skimmed through the well-scrubbed verbiage.
“Highly trained staff,” blah blah blah, “patient education,” blah blah blah, “answer all your questions,” blah blah blah. She clicked another link. “Here we are.”
“Yes,” Parker said, his voice ominous. “They do cryopreservation on site.”
“A sperm bank.”
“And egg freezing.”
A jilted lover who was practiced in artificial insemination, with access to Dr. Boudreaux’s sperm. She thought of the video Parker had shown her from the hotel. Was Dr. Xavier the mysterious man at the bar? The one who might have spiked Clarence Boudreaux’s drink?
Her stomach began to churn. “Did you get his home address? We should go over there tonight and bust his chops.”
“It will be better to confront him at the clinic tomorrow.”
“Right.” Where the evidence was stored.
Rubbing her arms, she crossed back to the opposite sofa and stood tapping her foot on the mahogany floor. She wasn’t going to sleep tonight.
“Relax.” Parker rose, came up behind her, and pressed his strong fingers into her shoulder muscles.
“Oh, that feels good.”
“Exactly why I’m doing it.” He brushed her temple with his lips. “I heard you had lunch with Joan today.”
“Yeah, it was nice.”
He worked his way down her cheek to her neck, sending chills up her spine. Miranda tried to let herself go, to lose herself in the sensation, which usually wasn’t hard with Parker’s skill.
But suddenly a vision of billowy gray smoke clouded her mind, and her daughter laughing with that boy in the dirty clothes. She laid her hand along Parker’s cheek and thought about the professor they’d met the other day, Dr. Boudreaux’s intellectual neighbor.
“What do you think of nature versus nurture?”
She felt his lips smile against her neck. Not the usual comment she’d utter at this point. “As a concept?”
“Yeah.”
His lips traveled down to her clavicle, his hands up her arms. “Given my Presbyterian background, I’m inclined toward nature.” He stopped stroking and turned her to face him. “You’re not talking about Xavier, are you?”
“No. I’m talking about Mackenzie.”
“What about Mackenzie?”
She threw her head back and groaned. “I got Fanuzzi to go over to the school with me today. I saw her outside with a guy.”
“You spied on her?” There was no recrimination in his tone.
“A little parental investigation.”
“And what did you discover?”
“The boy looked like a loser. Gangsta clothes, dirty jeans—Fanuzzi called them ‘mud jeans.’ Said they’re the latest rage. Charlie even wanted a pair. She said no way, of course.”
“Good Lord. But you don’t know if Mackenzie’s dating the boy. Oliver and Colby would have screened him first.”
“It wasn’t that.” Though that was another concern.
“What, then?” He held her arms gently.
“It’s what she was doing with him. Vaping.”
“Vaping?”
His frown deepened. “That’s disturbing.”
She was glad she didn’t have to explain the fad to him. “Fanuzzi offered to tell Colby so I wouldn’t look like the snitch.”
“That was generous of her.”
“Yeah, but I said I’d do it, and I will. I’m her mother, after all. But I can’t stop worrying about her, Parker.”
His grip grew firm. “It doesn’t mean she knows about her father.”
Didn’t it?
For months Mackenzie had been looking for her father behind everyone’s back. She must have been hoping the man had been rehabilitated. Miranda could imagine the stories she must have told herself. He’d seen the error of his ways, turned his life around. He’d become a social worker or a counselor in a sincere desire to help others and amend for the crime he’d committed against Miranda all those years ago.
No one could have guessed what a sick psycho he turned out to be. And if Mackenzie knew? Vaping would be only the first self-destructive act she might do.
Parker took her chin in his hand. “Is that why you asked about nature versus nurture?”
“I guess I need something to cling to.”
“And Tannenburg was horribly abused as a child.”
“So it was what happened to him that made him snap, not the genetic makeup of his DNA.”
“As far as we know.”
“But other people who are abused as children don’t become vicious killers.”
“True.”
“And t
here are criminals who come from perfectly normal homes.”
“True again. And you think those are the kinds of thoughts running through Mackenzie’s mind?”
“Some version of them. If she knows.”
“If she knows,” he repeated. He held her close and kissed her forehead. “After this case is over, we’ll talk to Oliver and Colby together.”
“That would be good.” She closed her eyes and let the comfort of his arms soothe her.
“We’ve got an early day tomorrow. Let’s try to get some sleep.”
“Good idea.”
He was right. They needed to be alert. She needed to focus on this case. If it broke tomorrow, it would be over and she could give Mackenzie the attention she deserved. If her daughter let her.
She indulged in another long, luxurious kiss. Then she let Parker take her hand and lead her up the spiral staircase to the bedroom.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Xavier Fertility Institute was housed in a complex of tall shiny medical buildings off Johnson Ferry Road near the Perimeter. Early the next morning, as she and Parker rolled down the serene tree-lined entrance past the rows of pink-and-white flowers that led to the parking lot, the same army of ants that had marched around in Miranda’s stomach all last night reemerged.
They tramped in lockstep with her while she got out of the car and headed for the building. As she and Parker rode up the elevator to the fifth floor, they were closing ranks.
Fighting down the nerves, Miranda reached for Parker’s hand. “This has got to be it,” she murmured quietly.
“We’re about to find out.”
On the way to the Institute, Miranda had called Wesson and told her to tell the team to sit tight at the office. She’d sent over the data Parker had found on Xavier last night and gave them the task of digging deeper into his background. She told them to be on standby.
For what, she wasn’t certain.
When the elevator opened, she and Parker walked down a nicely wallpapered hall to a tall smoky glass door labeled “The Xavier Fertility Institute” in silver letters. Parker held the door and they stepped into the waiting room.
The space was done in a modern, quiet blue décor with mauve accents. Several couples were already seated on soft couches with daisy-covered throw pillows and ottomans. Paintings of ocean scenes hung on the muted walls. Relaxing music came from somewhere, while water gurgled over an artificial waterfall in a corner niche. It reminded Miranda of the one in the master bedroom of the Parker bedroom. Not the thought she wanted in her head at the moment.
As if they were here for a consultation, Parker ushered her up to the reception desk.
A friendly looking woman with a round face greeted them. “Good morning. Please sign in.” She pushed a clipboard toward Parker, her smile growing brighter as she took in his good looks.
Parker pushed the clipboard back to her. “We’re here to see Dr. Xavier about a personal matter.”
“Everyone’s here for a personal matter, sir.”
“A personal matter to him.”
She cocked her head with a frown. “I’m sorry?”
“My name is Wade Parker and this is my partner Miranda Steele. We’re from the Parker Investigative Agency.” He handed her a card.
Wide-eyed, she stared down at it. Suddenly recognition dawned on her face. “Wade Parker and Miranda Steele. I’ve seen you on the news.” She handed the card back. “I don’t know what to tell you. Dr. Xavier is seeing patients this morning.”
Parker took her hand and pressed the card into her palm. “I don’t think he’ll mind taking a few minutes to see us. Tell him it’s about Dr. Charmaine Boudreaux.”
“Dr. Charmaine Boudreaux?” Obviously she had never heard the name.
“That’s correct.” Parker’s voice was low, hypnotic, persuasive.
“I—I’ll see what I can do.” And she hurried through a door behind the station.
It didn’t take long for her to reappear at another door. “Mr. Parker, Ms. Steele,” she called as if they were ordinary patients. “I’ll take you back to the consultation room now.”
Passing a young man who gave them a dirty look for being called first, Miranda followed the woman down the hall.
Dr. Xavier’s office matched the décor of the waiting room with serene colors and landscapes designed to lower the blood pressure, mixed with the clean sterile scent of a medical facility.
White vinyl guest chairs bordered a large clean desk with no drawers. Behind the desk in a high-backed white leather chair sat Dr. Xavier in his white lab coat.
Middle-aged, with the same wavy iron gray hair she’d seen in his photo last night, he seemed more foreboding in person. Seated in his fancy chair he didn’t look as tall, but he was authoritative. She assumed he had to work at not scaring the clients who were already nervous about the procedures he was going to perform on them.
As soon as they entered the room, the doctor was on his feet, extending a hand. “Mr. Parker. Ms. Steele. I must say, I’m rather shocked by this visit. It’s about Charmaine Boudreaux?”
His voice was soft, his accent cultured Southern. Not as low as Parker’s but resonant. A soothing sound for his patients. Perhaps it had been for Charmaine, as well, at times. Like after a fight with her husband.
Parker gestured toward the chairs. “May we sit down?”
“Certainly. Certainly.”
They all settled into their places.
Dr. Xavier rubbed his forehead. “I’m sure you know Charmaine passed away a number of years ago.”
Parker steepled his hands. “A little over a decade ago. We’re re-investigating the circumstances of her death.”
His eyes widened. “Oh. As I understand, her husband was responsible for that. At least, that’s what I heard on the news at the time.”
Miranda sat back, crossed her legs and looked around the room. “Nice place. Very...soothing.”
For a moment Dr. Xavier fixed her with his close-set hazel eyes, then he relaxed into a professional smile. “We try to keep things calm here. Tension is anathema to fertility.”
Right.
“How well did you know Charmaine?” Parker said, his timing perfect.
Dr. Xavier shifted in his seat and scratched the side of his rectangular face. “We were acquainted. We went to school together.”
“So you didn’t know her well.”
Again he shifted and rubbed his long nose. “We had some classes together.”
Miranda uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “Doctor, Charmaine’s sister told me yesterday you were lovers.”
The crease between his brows deepened as he studied her. “That was true, but it’s personal information. Not something I’d divulge to someone who just strolled off the street into my office.”
Private investigators who strolled off the street. Private investigators looking into his ex-girlfriend’s death.
Miranda forced a smile. “You dated through high school and college. You were planning to marry her, weren’t you?”
His lips thinned. “You seem to already know the answer.”
“Why don’t you tell us about it?” Parker suggested.
Avoiding Parker’s gaze Dr. Xavier sat back, polished the edge of his desk with his fingertips. “Very well. We started dating in high school. I was a sophomore, she was a freshman.”
“She was younger than you.”
“She was fourteen. I was fifteen. I was ahead of her, but she zoomed ahead of me and everyone else in the class. She graduated before me, with honors,” he said with a wistful smile. “When I got to Emory she was the sophomore and I was the freshman. We broke up after my fourth year of medical school.”
“When she met Dr. Boudreaux.”
“Yes. I went on to John Hopkins and returned to Atlanta after my residency. I didn’t see Charmaine again.”
“Until she came to you for a consultation approximately ten years ago,” Parker said flatly.
The doctor huffed ou
t a breath. “Yes, she came to see me as a patient then.”
“Was her husband with her?”
Dr. Xavier’s jaw twitched. “We always encourage couples to come together for their first appointment. And before you ask, I didn’t see Charmaine until she came in.”
Parker was silent.
He waited a moment, then continued the line of questioning. “Doctor, as I’m sure you know, Clarence Boudreaux was convicted because his DNA was found inside his wife. Fresh seminal fluid, not more than a few hours old at the time it was collected.”
Fluid that would have been just as fresh if it had been frozen.
His straight brows drew closer together. “And what does that have to do with me?”
“The jury deduced there was only one source of that fluid, Dr. Boudreaux himself. But now it seems there’s another source, in a manner of speaking.”
“What are you accusing me of?”
Miranda tapped her fingers against her cheek. “Oh, let’s see. Here’s a man practiced at inserting seminal fluid into women’s cervixes. One day the woman who jilted him comes to him and asks for help conceiving a baby with the man who stole her from him. That must have been insulting. But then you think about it and realize she just handed you a way to get even and pin it on her husband. Pretty sweet.”
His mouth dropped open. “Are you accusing me of—of what happened to Charmaine?”
Miranda shot up and moved to his desk, leaning over it. “It was a statement, wasn’t it? An ironic one. You thought, ‘Okay, honey. You want to rub your new relationship in my face? Well, here’s my treatment’.”
Xavier stared up at her as if she had two heads. “You must be out of your mind. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Ignoring the request, Miranda spotted a framed photo of a pretty auburn-haired woman and two boys on the doctor’s desk. She picked it up. “Are you married, doctor?”
“Yes, I am. Nine years now. We have an eight-year-old son and another in college from my wife’s previous marriage. What of it?”
“Would be a shame for them to learn about this sordid past.”
He snatched the photo out of her hands and set it back on the desk. “There was nothing sordid about my relationship with Charmaine. We—” He covered his face with his hand. Something that sounded like a cry of anguish caught in his throat.
Snakebit Page 13
