The Baby Scheme

Alli dodged behind a parked truck. Keeping low, she and Kevin made their way between the rows of cars.

The van continued to prowl. Passing several vacant spaces, it came relentlessly in their direction.

When the glare of a lamp illuminated the interior, she saw two men in the front seat. Pairs of men didn’t generally cruise around swanky hotels in the middle of the evening, passing up available spaces.

Unless they were looking for someone.

Kevin kept darting in a stop-and-go pattern, homing in on his car. At last they reached the sedan and he opened the door with a key.

“The next part’s going to be tricky,” he said. “Keep your head down in case they start shooting.”

“Maybe we should call the cops….”

Dear Reader,

As a former newspaper and Associated Press reporter, I enjoy reliving the excitement—and the sometimes sharp mix of personalities—that one finds in a newsroom. I may lack Alli’s disregard for danger, and I never suffered a backstabber on the order of Payne Jacobson, but if fiction didn’t heighten our experiences, it would be dull indeed!

Kevin Vickers isn’t based on any individual police officer or detective I’ve known, but in my single days, visiting the police station was the highlight of the morning. After reading the log, I’d chat with lieutenants and sergeants in the detective, patrol and traffic bureaus. Some of them definitely fit the bill as hunks! Most proved patient and quite helpful. I’m glad to say that, unlike the stereotype of the antagonistic reporter, I sometimes managed to repay the favor in my articles by encouraging witnesses to come forward.

So there’s a bit of nostalgia for me in this tale, but Alli and Kevin ran away with the story and made everything fresh again. I hope you feel that way, too!

If you enjoy the book, please e-mail me at jdiamondfriends@aol.com and visit my Web site at www.jacquelinediamond.com.

Best wishes,

The Baby Scheme

Jacqueline Diamond

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A former Associated Press reporter, Jacqueline Diamond has written more than sixty novels and received a Career Achievement Award from Romantic Times magazine. Jackie lives in Southern California with her husband, two sons and two cats.

Books by Jacqueline Diamond

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

913—THE IMPROPERLY PREGNANT PRINCESS

962—DIAGNOSIS: EXPECTING BOSS’S BABY

971—PRESCRIPTION: MARRY HER IMMEDIATELY

978—PROGNOSIS: A BABY? MAYBE

1046—THE BABY’S BODYGUARD

For Kurt

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter One

Alli Gardner had just arrived at her newsroom desk on Thursday morning when she spotted the startling front-page headline. As she sank down and read the story, her feeling of shock shifted to outrage.

The allegation that the recently named mayor of Serene Beach, California, had run backroom gambling tournaments to benefit his computer stores didn’t surprise her. After all, she’d done the research and written the story.

The problem was, it didn’t carry her byline.

She read the first few paragraphs again. Those weren’t only her facts—they were her words. Yet she hadn’t quite finished the exposé the previous night and therefore hadn’t submitted it, although the assistant managing editor had known she was working on it.

The byline belonged to Payne Jacobson, the assistant managing editor’s nephew.

In her five years with the Orange Coast Outlook, Alli had never considered the possibility that someone might raid her computer. That is, not until Payne joined the staff six months ago.

After he’d twice written articles based on her research and quotes, she’d complained to his uncle that he must have found a way to access her computer files. But not only had Ned Jacobson sided with his nephew, he’d hinted that Alli feared competition.

This time, she’d deliberately kept all the notes on her personal laptop to prevent Payne from accessing them through the newspaper’s networked computer system. She’d taken the laptop home at night, too, but she’d left it unattended on her desk several times during the past few days.

The jerk couldn’t have read her files last night. That meant he must have installed spy software.

Alli felt as though steam were pouring out of her ears. If that weasel thought she was going to sit still over this, she had news for him—the kind of news he wouldn’t want to steal.

She flipped open the laptop and typed in “You little thief!” then added a few more colorful insults for good measure. As she saved the file, she glanced across a group of desks to where the twenty-three-year-old sat smirking while typing on his keyboard.

His blond, designer haircut and trendy suit couldn’t offset the thinness of his face or the deceitful cast of his small eyes. Of course, she wasn’t exactly an unbiased observer.

As she waited for his spyware to steal her latest keystrokes, Alli reflected on how hard she’d worked to earn her reporter’s job, while Payne had waltzed into it, courtesy of his connections. After completing journalism school, she’d labored for two years as a writer in a public relations office, then spent three years at a weekly before landing this position against stiff competition.

Even so, she wouldn’t object if Payne were honest and did good work. But his writing—when he did any of his own—had a clunky, amateurish quality despite Ned’s editing. In addition, according to his annoyed interviewees, he often misquoted them. Surely anyone other than a doting relative could tell that he hadn’t written this exposé.

Across the room, she saw Payne’s cheeks flush and his gaze flick toward her. Insult received. She’d proved her point about the spyware.

Beyond him, behind a glass office window, J. J. Morosco stood up and stretched. Despite the early hour, the short, rotund managing editor had been at work for quite a while.

A forty-something go-getter, J.J. had stepped on more than a few toes during his first year at the Orange Coast Outlook. Hired from a newspaper in the San Francisco Bay area, he’d revamped the sports and entertainment sections, turning them into showpieces that the publisher trumpeted in TV ads. The result had been an increase in subscriptions and newsstand sales.

Alli hated to bother him with an intramural quarrel. But how could anyone tolerate having stories stolen? Besides, this act of plagiarism threw the newspaper’s ethical stance into question.

After unfolding her five-foot-nine-inch frame from behind the desk, she marched across the linoleum. Reporters nudged one another and turned to watch, probably expecting a showdown. She’d made no secret of her allegations about Payne.

The sight of her reflection in the glass made Alli pause. Where she’d stuck a pen in her shirt pocket, a telltale spot of ink revealed that she’d forgotten to cap it. The way her skirt had swiveled around her hips didn’t improve her appearance, either.

What a mess, and at only nine o’clock in the morning. She lacked the patience to repair to the ladies’ room, however, especially since she could do nothing about the inkblot.

After hiking her skirt into place, Alli realized she’d done so in full view of the managing editor. With a sigh, she resumed her approach. She couldn’t back down now.

When she stepped into his office, J.J. rose out of courtesy. Noticing that she loomed over him, she quickly found a chair.

“I’m here about the story in this morning’s paper,” she said. “The one concerning Mayor LeMott.”

“Ned tells me you were working on something similar.” J.J. eased into his seat. “He says Payne warned him you might have a complaint.”

“It wasn’t similar. This is my story,” Alli told him. “Word for word.”

“But you hadn’t filed it yet.”

“I’d written it, but I was holding off so I could double-check a couple of points,” she explained. “And there’s a side-bar I didn’t have time to complete. Mr. Morosco, Payne’s planted spyware in my laptop. He stole every bit of that piece from me.”

The editor’s forehead wrinkled. He’d been putting in such long hours that he’d begun to lose his tan and had gained a few pounds, she noted.

“The two of you have never gotten along, have you? He’d only been here a month when you accused him of stealing your notebook.”

“It disappeared from my desk right after he passed by, and the next day he turned in a story based on my research!”

“A guard found your notebook outside that afternoon, right next to where you usually park,” the M.E. replied.

“I didn’t drop it. I’m not that careless.” Alli hated being put on the defensive. “Look, you can talk to any of the people I quoted in today’s story and they’ll confirm who did the reporting.”

“Except that most of your sources spoke anonymously,” he pointed out.

“I was going to identify them to Ned when I handed in the piece!” That was standard procedure. “Also, since when does this paper assign two people to the same story?”

She’d heard of a few big papers that ran their operations in such a cutthroat manner, but the Outlook couldn’t afford such a waste of staff time. Besides, that kind of competition did horrible things to morale.

“He says Payne asked if he could pursue the same subject. He decided to let the kid show what he could do, and he beat you to the punch.”

How could she win when the assistant managing editor was stabbing her in the back? If she were in J.J.’s seat, she probably wouldn’t believe her accusation, either.

“Give Payne his own assignment, something he can’t steal from anyone else,” she said. “He’ll blow it.”

“As it happens, he’s going to have plenty of chances.” J.J. fiddled with some papers. “I’m sure you’re aware that I’ve streamlined two other sections. In the meantime, the publisher and Ned and I have been tossing around ideas for the news operation. I’m about to put those proposals into effect.”

Why was he telling her this? Allie wondered uneasily. And why was he avoiding her gaze?

“The publisher believes we’ve got too much duplication and dead wood,” he went on. “Some of the older staff members will be asked to take early retirement, but I’ll have to cut deeper. After careful consideration, I’m afraid we have to let you go.”

“What?” Alli stared at him in disbelief.

Until six months ago, she’d been one of the Outlook’s stars, a feat she’d accomplished through hard work, drive and an instinct for news. Despite her abilities, she knew as well as anyone how few jobs opened up in the newspaper business. Being laid off might mean banishment from the career she loved.

“I was going to wait a few more days, but this seems as good a time as any,” J.J. said. “It’s best if you clean out your desk and leave immediately. Naturally, you’ll be eligible for unemployment, and we’ll give you two weeks’ severance pay.”

“You can’t—” She stopped. Of course he could lay her off if he wanted to. But it was so unreasonable! “Was this your idea, the publisher’s or Ned’s?”

Ignoring the question, he began to talk about issuing her last paycheck. Alli didn’t ask again because she was too busy trying to absorb the awful news that she’d just been fired.

A minute later, when she emerged into the newsroom, a hush fell over the place. Even through the glass, people must have realized what was happening. Payne buried his face inside that day’s paper.

Alli ignored him. Obnoxious as he was, he’d never have gotten away with this thievery if his uncle hadn’t condoned it.

She walked over to Ned Jacobson. Swiveling in his computer chair, he peered at her from beneath a shock of graying hair.

Keeping her pitch low, Alli said, “I always respected you. You had high standards and you taught me a lot. I don’t understand why you don’t apply those standards to your own family.”

She strode away with her head high. There was a lot more she wanted to add, but hurling insults would reflect worse on her than on him.

After reaching her desk, Alli couldn’t think what to do. She’d never been fired. She had no idea where to start.

The newsroom secretary scurried over with an empty box. “I guess you’ll be needing this,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Alli nodded in response and bit her lower lip. Thirty was too old to cry, and besides, she prided herself on her toughness.

From the drawers, she scrounged a few personal items and discarded an assortment of candy wrappers, sandwich boxes and plastic spoons. A clipping fluttered to the floor. When she picked it up, the dark, brooding eyes of Detective Kevin Vickers seemed to fix on her.

The article, which dated back three years, announced that he’d left the police department to start his own agency. She couldn’t remember why she’d saved it, except that he was probably the hunkiest guy who’d ever booted her out of his office.

She and Kevin had butted heads frequently when he worked for the PD. Unlike larger police departments, Serene Beach’s didn’t restrict reporters to dealing with a public-information officer, unless that reporter proved unreliable.

Most cops had cooperated once they got to know Alli, but not Detective Uptight. He’d refused to answer all but the most obvious questions about his cases, and she hated taking no for an answer.

She’d been relieved when he left. Well, not entirely. The picture captured his intense gaze and thick brown hair, reminding her how much aesthetic pleasure she’d taken in their encounters. She’d imagined they might run into each other again after he went out on his own, but so far that hadn’t happened.

And, obviously, it wasn’t going to. If she did land a new reporting job, it would have to be somewhere else. Maybe another state.

Without thinking, Alli tossed the clipping into the box, then added some documents she’d dug up about the mayor. Not that she had any use for them, but she wasn’t going to leave them for Payne’s follow-up.

He had to sink or swim on his own now. She wondered when he would realize that and what he’d do about it. Probably steal from somebody else.

Larry Corman, a young photographer Alli hung around with, approached with a glum expression on his round face. “I can’t believe what I heard. They laid you off?”

She nodded.

“It stinks.”

“You’re not kidding.” The rasp in her voice embarrassed her. Alli had always been the strong one in the family, bucking up her mom after her father left them and whenever they hit rough financial waters. “I’ll survive.”

“Everybody knows Payne’s a lousy reporter,” he muttered. “This is going to hurt the whole paper.”

Hearing him say so made Alli feel better. “Guess what he did? He bugged my laptop.”

Larry pushed his round glasses higher on his nose. “Take it to the High Tech Emporium, their main store near the mall. There’s a guy named Brett who can clean it up.”

How ironic, Alli thought. The emporium chain belonged to Klaus LeMott, the man whose shady dealings and political ambitions she’d been investigating. “I’m not sure I’d trust anyone there.”

“I went to high school with Brett. He’s okay,” Larry said.

“Thanks.” Right now, Alli wasn’t sure she could afford to pay anybody to do anything. How much did unemployment compensation pay, anyway?

“Just because you’re leaving doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends,” he added.

She would have hugged him if so many people hadn’t been watching. “Of course.”

“I’ve got your phone number. And you’ve got mine. And you’ll probably land a job in no time…aw, phooey.” He hurried off, his eyes misty.

When her phone rang, Alli nearly ignored it, but her instincts wouldn’t let her. Besides, the call might be personal.

“Hi. This is Alli,” she said into the mouthpiece.

“Allison Gardner?” a woman asked. “My name’s Rita Hernandez. You don’t know me, but I read your articles all the time. Something’s happened that I think you should look into.”

Alli hated to explain that she didn’t work here anymore. Why not hear the woman out and, if it proved to be a non-story as so often happened, at least let her down easily?

“Go ahead.” Alli listened, at first out of politeness and then with growing curiosity. From habit, she almost began typing into the computer; then, remembering the lack of privacy, she pulled out a notepad, instead.

As the source talked, she scribbled rapidly. Rita Hernandez had stumbled onto something interesting, all right, and Alli didn’t intend to hand it over to Payne or anyone else at the Orange Coast Outlook.

The woman had become the victim of a crime she didn’t dare report to authorities. Alli made a snap decision to investigate on her own, no matter how impractical that might seem.

“I appreciate the call, Mrs. Hernandez,” she said when the woman finished. “I’ll work on this and get back in touch. Let me give you my cell-phone number. It’s the best way to reach me.”

“Thank you so much!”

After she rang off, she saw Ned regarding her curiously. “What was that about?” he asked.

“Wrong number,” she responded, and was pleased to hear a few chuckles. Before he could quiz her, an intercom query from the back shop distracted him, and then a woman from Accounting showed up with her check.

Alli pocketed it, grabbed the box and her laptop and scooted out the door. Maybe she’d sell the story to a magazine, or she might use it as leverage to find a job at a bigger paper. One way or the other, she was going to help Mrs. Hernandez and her career at the same time.

Let Payne Jacobson dig up his own stories. She hoped he dug his own grave while he was at it.

ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON, KevinVickers drove slowly past a two-story house, noting the fresh paint job and elegant landscaping. The location, just off San Michel Way, in a neighborhood only a step down from a nearby row of mansions, was pretty much what he’d expected for a well-to-do retired obstetrician.

A few days earlier, a young widow named Mary Conners had arrived at his office after receiving a blackmail demand for twenty thousand dollars. She couldn’t pay, she’d told him in tears, and she didn’t want to lose her little boy.

She and her late husband, unable to conceive, had tried in vain to adopt a child in the United States. Agencies had rejected them because of a drunk-driving arrest on her husband’s record.

It had seemed like a miracle when her gynecologist and his partner had offered to help them adopt a baby through an orphanage they knew of in the CentralAmerican country of Costa Buena. Three years ago, they’d joyfully welcomed their son.

Now, less than a year after her husband had died from an aneurysm, an unidentified phone caller had informed Mary that the orphanage illegally bought and sold babies and falsified documents. If she didn’t pay up, she’d be reported to the authorities, who might deport her son.

Mary had confirmed via the Internet that the orphanage was being probed by its home country. She’d spotted Vickers Investigations in the phone book and asked him to find the extortionist. At first, she’d only wanted to persuade the man to accept a lesser amount because of her financial status, but he had pointed out that if she yielded once, more demands might follow.

He’d suggested contacting the police and putting a trace on her line, but she’d refused, even though he’d assured her the police had neither the authority nor the desire to take away the baby. She’d become so distraught that he hadn’t pressed the issue. Besides, the blackmailer, who’d been smart enough to scramble his voice, would almost certainly be using an untraceable phone.

Instead, Mary had begged Kevin to try to track down the blackmailer by other means and threaten him with prosecution. He’d agreed, although he’d warned that if the call had originated from another country, there wasn’t much he could do.

The extortionist had allowed her until Friday to come up with the funds. That made for a week to catch him.

Kevin had quoted Mary the lowest rate on his pay scale; he always gave people a break if they won his sympathy. He’d also been known to bill a little extra on occasion for a bad attitude.

She’d insisted that under no circumstances should he notify the authorities. Kevin had agreed, as long as he didn’t have to violate any laws.

He’d decided to start his fieldwork by paying a surprise visit to Dr. Joseph Abernathy, now retired as a gynecologist, to ask about his still-practicing partner, Dr. Randolph Graybar, and their involvement in the baby ring. He hoped to find out how the blackmailer might have gained access to information about adoptive families.

He circled the block, alert for any suspicious activity. Even in an apparently peaceable community, taking heed of details could mean the difference between life and death.

Kevin had no illusions about the potential for danger. Thanks to California’s stiff restrictions on concealed-gun permits, he was about to walk unarmed into a meeting with a man who might be either an innocent bystander or a blackmailing baby seller. He hadn’t even been able to arrange for backup. Although his agency was profitable enough to bring in a second detective, he’d had no luck finding anyone qualified.

As he made a second circuit of the block, a gray van passed him going the other way. The bright June sunlight showed two shapes in the front seat, but Kevin couldn’t make out any details.

He parked half a block beyond the house to avoid attracting attention. His midpriced white sedan contrasted with the expensive models around it, but at least he’d had the car washed and detailed.

When he got out, he could smell the ocean less than a mile away. He heard a dog barking and noted that it was too far off to pose a threat.

On the short walk to Abernathy’s house, a red sports car with a bent antenna and a back seat crammed with junk caught Kevin’s eye. He guessed it belonged to a kid home from college, although not the doctor’s. According to his bio on the Web, his two children had long ago reached adulthood.

The walkway that bisected Dr. Abernathy’s lawn ascended in a series of steps past flowering bushes to an entrance secluded beneath an arched cover. About to mount the porch, Kevin froze at the scraping sound of the latch opening. He’d come too close to duck out of sight. He’d have to brazen it out.

“I’m grateful to you for talking to me and I’m sorry if you took it the wrong way,” said a smoky female voice that stroked his sensibilities like black velvet. He’d heard the voice before. “I assure you, I have no intention of printing anything until I learn all the facts.”

Onto the porch emerged a willowy figure he had no trouble identifying even though he hadn’t seen her in several years. A breeze fanned her chestnut hair and, although she was glancing back at someone, he knew her eyes appeared slate-colored indoors but jade in sunlight.