Читать книгу Lock, Stock and Secret Baby - Cassie Miles - Страница 8

Eve heard the sharp rap of knuckles against the bathroom door—a faraway sound, like pebbles being tossed down a well.

Blake called through the door, “Are you all right? Eve, answer me.”

She wasn’t all right. Too many variables swirled inside her head. Nothing made logical sense.

“I’m coming in,” Blake said.

The doorknob turned. Through a haze, she saw him come closer. He knelt beside her. His fingers rested on her throat, checking her pulse.

“Locked door,” she said. “How did you …”

“Picked the lock,” he said. “Can you sit up?”

“I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t fine. Her eyelids closed, shutting out the light and the intolerable confusion. Her mind careened wildly. How could she be pregnant when she’d never made love? She had the result without the experience. People told her sex was great, but she hadn’t tested the theory, didn’t know for sure. There was a lot she didn’t know, like how to be a mother. Would the baby look like her? A girl baby or a boy? Oh, God, what would she tell her parents?

She was aware of being lifted from the bathroom floor and carried like a little girl. If only she could go back to those more innocent times. Her childhood memories were happy. Not idyllic, but happy. Her parents had loved her, even though she had never quite fit in. She always felt different, like an alien girl who had beamed into their normal world from the planet Nerd.

When she opened her eyes, she was stretched out on the leather sofa in Dr. Ray’s office with her feet elevated on a pillow. A crocheted green-and-yellow afghan covered her. Blake pressed a cool washcloth against her forehead.

“I’m going to have a baby,” she whispered.

“I know.” His smile reached his eyes, deepening the faint, symmetrical lines that radiated from the corners. Though he had no reason to care about her, he seemed concerned. Maybe Mr. Perfect had a heart, after all.

Her hand lingered on her flat stomach. An intuitive urge to protect the baby? She couldn’t count on motherly instincts to show her the way. There were books to be read. More information was vital. She’d need a regimen of special vitamins and exercises. “I should go.”

“You’ll stay here tonight. I have an extra bedroom.”

“Is that an order?”

He arched one eyebrow, disrupting the precise balance of his features. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“I know.” She also knew that he couldn’t stop himself from being bossy. With an effort, she swung her legs down to the floor and sat up on the sofa. The washcloth fell from her forehead. She wasn’t dizzy, but an edge of darkness pressed against her peripheral vision.

He placed a bottle of water into her hand. “Drink.”

No objection from her. Rehydrating her body was a very good idea. Tipping the bottle against her lips, she took a couple of sips. The cool liquid tasted amazing. A few drops slid down her chin, and she wiped them away.

Though she didn’t feel capable of running a mile, her strength was returning. Arching her neck, she stretched.

“Does anything hurt?” Blake asked.

“Only my pride,” she said. “I’ve never keeled over like that before.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Like being pregnant.” Each and every thought circled back to that inevitable theme.

“Who were you talking to on the phone?” he asked.

“Dr. Prentice. That old toad.” She still couldn’t believe what he’d done to her. “You were right about him implanting an embryo, but here’s the kicker. He used one of my own eggs. Biologically, I’m the mother of this baby.”

“How did you reach Prentice?”

She shrugged. “I have his cell number.”

“I need to talk to him. ASAP.” His momentary compassion faded quickly. His jaw was so tense that his lips didn’t move when he talked. “I want you to arrange a meeting with Prentice.”

“After what he did to me? No way. I’m not getting within a hundred yards of Dr. Edgar Prentice.”

“I don’t expect you to come along. Set a meeting for me. A face-to-face meeting.”

“What’s going on?” She took another sip of water. “Is there some other horrible secret you haven’t told me yet?”

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.