Lock, Stock and Secret Baby

It took all her self-control to play along with his false civility. “This isn’t convenient. Perhaps your employer could call me and make an appointment.”

The second man drew a gun from a holster inside his jacket. “Enough playing around. Get over here.”

A gun. Oh, God, he had a gun. “Don’t shoot me.”

Abruptly, she raised one hand over her head. When she lifted the other hand, she swung her arm wide. The tall man was forced to step back or be smacked by her purse. As he shifted his weight, she dropped both hands and yanked a chair from the table to block the three-foot space.

She pivoted and ran. Though she hadn’t planned to scream, she heard herself wailing like a siren. Logic told her that she couldn’t go faster than a bullet. Would they start shooting? Were they coming after her? She whipped open the front door—fortunately unlocked—and dashed outside. One step from the front stoop, she ran smack into Blake.

Though she was sprinting at full speed, she didn’t knock him over. He staggered as he absorbed her velocity. “Are you all right?”

“Two men. One has a gun,” she blurted. “We’ve got to get away.”

He reacted forcefully. His left arm wrapped around her midsection, and he yanked her along with him. They were moving back toward the front door. Wrong way! They should be fleeing.

“He has a gun,” she repeated.

“Heard you the first time.”

His calm tone reminded her that he was a commando— specially trained to face danger. She could trust him. Though her pulse pounded and her nerve endings sizzled with fear, she forced herself to stand beside him on the porch instead of running willy-nilly toward her car. “What’s next?” she asked.

“Stay.”

“You mean, stay here?” She pointed to the concrete of the stoop. “Right here?”

Ignoring her, he was already on the move. He tore open the door to her house and charged inside, directly into the line of fire. His aggressive approach shocked her. He didn’t have a weapon. How did he intend to overcome a man with a gun? He’s Special Forces, she reminded herself. His aggressive assault must be some sort of tactic.

She pressed her back against the wall beside the mailbox and clutched her purse against her chest. Stay. It was a simple, unambiguous command. But what if the men in suits left her kitchen and circled around to the front? What if Blake was shot? What if …

Oh, damn. She darted into the house behind him. In her clunky sandals, there was no way she could move stealthily, but she tried not to plod like a rhino. She went right—toward the bookshelves beside the fireplace where she grabbed a poker to use as a weapon. Then she hid behind her wingback reading chair. Peering around the arm, she saw no one. She heard no gunfire.

When Blake entered from the kitchen, his movements were as swift and efficient as a mountain lion on the prowl.

She popped up. “Are they gone?”

He went into attack mode. For a moment, she thought he was going to launch himself at her like a missile. Instead, he waved her toward him. “Come with me. Hurry.”

Another quick command, spoken with authority. She jumped to obey. “I couldn’t stay on the porch because—”

He grasped her arm and propelled her through the front door, off the porch and across the yard toward a station wagon. He ran around to the driver’s side. “Get in.”

She barely had time to fasten her seat belt before he was behind the wheel. He flipped the key in the ignition, and the station wagon roared down her quiet residential street like a tank.

“Keep your eyes open,” he said. “Look for a black SUV with tinted windows.”

“Where were they parked?”

“In the alley behind your house. I saw them pull away.”

They were safe. She exhaled slowly, hoping to ease the tension that clenched every muscle in her body. That brief encounter in her kitchen might have been the scariest thing that had ever happened to her. Though the confrontation only lasted eight minutes, it had felt like hours. According to Einstein, time was relative. Her fear made everything move in slow motion.

She reached into her purse and took out her cell phone. “I should call 911.”

“Don’t bother,” he said. “Getting the cops involved is a waste of time.”

Though she had no prior experience with intruders or guns being pointed at her, she was pretty sure he was wrong. “This is a job for the police.”

“Did the intruders steal anything?”

“They weren’t robbers.”

“How do you know?”

“They knew my name and asked me to come with them.”

“Not typical of burglars,” he said.

“And they were wearing suits and neckties.” She shuddered at the memory. “And gloves. The kind of throwaway latex gloves we wear in the lab if we’re handling sensitive material.”

“Did they break in?”

She frowned. “It wasn’t exactly breaking and entering because my back door was unlocked, but they could be charged with … entering.”

“You weren’t harmed,” he said. “What crime would you report to the police?”

“That guy pointed a gun at me. He’s dangerous.”

“You’re right about that.” He focused on the road, driving fast through a maze of residential streets. “They could be the men who killed my father.”

The unexpectedness of his statement stunned her. The air squeezed out of her lungs, and she felt herself gasping like a trout out of water. Those men? Murderers? She had it fixed in her mind that Dr. Ray was the victim of a burglary gone wrong—being in the wrong place at the wrong time. “You’re saying that your father was targeted. That the murderer came after him on purpose. It was premeditated.”

“Yes.”

She waited for him to explain, but he was too busy watching in all directions and driving too fast. “Could you possibly be more terse?”

“No.”

The tires squealed as Blake rounded a corner. “That’s them. That’s their vehicle.”

At the foot of the hill in front of them, about two blocks away, she saw a black SUV. It made a left turn and disappeared from sight, thank goodness. Unless the bad guys doubled back, they were safe.

In a purely counterintuitive manner, Blake zoomed toward the other car. She shouted, “What are you doing?”

“Going after them.”

He’d just acknowledged that those men were possibly murderers. “Are you crazy?”

“My dad was murdered. I have few leads and no evidence. Those guys might know something.”

“Or they might kill us.”

“Try to get the number on their license plate.”

He hit the brakes to avoid a collision with a car pulling out of a driveway. At the corner, he had to stop again for schoolkids with backpacks crossing the street.

Finally reaching the corner, he turned in the direction the SUV had headed. This street fed into a main thoroughfare, and the other vehicle had already disappeared in traffic.

“Damn.” Blake’s right hand clenched into a fist which he pressed against his forehead. His jaw was tight. He winced, and the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes deepened.

She sensed the depth of his frustration. Though she had no desire to ever see either one of those men again, she said, “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

Dozens of questions popped inside her head. Usually, Eve was good at sorting out variables and assigning rational values, but she didn’t have enough information. “Why did you come to my house? Did you know I was in danger?”

“If I’d known, I never would have let you leave. I would never knowingly put you in harm’s way.”

His military phrasing reassured her; he sounded a bit like her father. “You must have had a reason for showing up on my doorstep.”

He made another left turn and drove in the direction of her house. “I called Prentice to set up a meet, and he told me that he might have accidentally put you in danger.”

“There are no accidents,” she said darkly. If she hadn’t been so confused, she would have been furious. Dr. Prentice was at the center of this tornado that had thrown her life into chaos. “Do you think Prentice is involved in your dad’s murder?”

“I don’t have facts or evidence,” he said. “My dad’s e-mail talked about the Prentice-Jantzen study. If he went public about the study, Prentice’s reputation would be damaged. From what I’ve learned, the Aspen IVF and Genetics Clinic is big business.”

“So your father was a threat.”

Blake nodded. “His files pertaining to the study are missing, probably stolen.”

“Did the police question Prentice?”

“He has an alibi.”

But he could have hired those two men in suits. “You should have told me your suspicions about your father’s murder. There’s no logical reason for you to withhold information.”

He pulled up to a stop sign and turned toward her. His gaze seemed to soften as he placed his hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t say anything about the murder because I thought you’d had enough shocks for one day.”

“True enough.” Finding out that she was pregnant and that her mom and dad weren’t her genetic parents were huge issues. “Nonetheless, it might have been useful to know about the potential for danger.”

“Don’t worry.” His voice was gentle. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

His touch warmed her through the cotton fabric of her jacket as he massaged her shoulder. He gave a light squeeze before turning back toward the road.

While she continued to stare at his perfect profile, the questions inside her head turned to gibberish. She wanted him to hold her and comfort her and tell her that everything was going to be all right. Their brief physical contact had erased her intelligence like a bucket of white paint thrown against a blackboard filled with equations. With one pat on her shoulder, he’d turned her into a dumb blonde.

“When we get back to your house,” he said, “I want you to pack a suitcase. You’ll be staying with me.”

She couldn’t put her life on hold. There were important projects at work—schedules to be met and responsibilities to be handled. Though she should have been telling him all those things, all she could manage to say was, “Okay.”

Staying with Blake seemed like the most rational plan she’d heard all day.

BACK AT HER HOUSE, Blake stood in the center of her kitchen, which was incredibly clean. Either she was a neat freak or she didn’t actually cook. He suspected the latter. He faced her. “I want to reenact what happened while your memory is fresh. They were standing here, right?”

“The shorter one was there. The tall guy was closer.” She motioned him toward her. “Move eighteen inches forward.”

He did so. “Here?”

“Close enough.”

As she explained what had happened, using geometry analogies, he cursed himself for missing his chance to nab these two guys. He should have been faster, should have driven her home and entered her house first.

She pulled the chair down onto the floor and concluded, “Then I ran. And screamed.”

“And they didn’t come after you?”

Her chin lifted. “Apparently, I outsmarted them by creating an effective obstacle.”

Though he had no doubt that her IQ was double that of these two characters, an overturned chair wasn’t all that impressive. He motioned for her to start running. “Go ahead and show me what you did next.”

When she darted toward the front door, he hurdled the chair. Before her hand was on the doorknob, he caught her arm and spun her around to face him.

Her blue eyes widened as she leaned her back against the closed door and gazed up at him. “You got me.”

“And I wasn’t even running hard.”

“I can explain,” she said. “You were ready to chase me, and they weren’t. Plus you’re taller than them. Longer legs mean you’re faster. Or maybe I wasn’t moving as fast.”

“Or maybe those two guys were incompetent.”

They’d taken off like a couple of scared jackrabbits as soon as they’d realized she wasn’t alone. He would have thought Prentice could afford a better grade of thug.

“I still think we should talk to the police,” Eve said. “I can identify both of those men. I’m very observant.”

“Prove it.”

“The taller man was five feet eleven inches tall. He had a gold pinkie ring with an amber stone and his watch had a gold and silver band. Cleft chin. Small ears. High forehead. The other one probably put on some weight recently because the waistband on his trousers was tight.”

He watched her lips as she rattled off more details about their shoes and shirts and the cut of their hair. He could have stepped back and given her more space, but he liked being close. “You have a photographic memory.”

“It’s called eidetic memory or recall, and I’m not one hundred percent. But I’m good with visuals and numbers.” She reached toward him and rested the flat of her palm against his chest. “It’s a useful skill, especially for investigating. I’m sure we’ll find the man who killed your father.”

“We?”

“You and me,” she said. “With your Special Forces training and my logic, we’ll make a really good team.”

This plan had to be nipped in the bud. He caught hold of her hand and gently lowered it to her side. No way did he intend to get tied down with a partnership. This was his fight. “I appreciate the offer, but no.”

“Why not?”

“The situation is dangerous.” He moved away from her. “While I’m investigating, I can’t be worried about what’s happening to you.”

“But you want me to come home with you,” she said. “To stay at your house. What am I supposed to be doing while you’re investigating?”

His father’s last wish was for him to protect Eve. He couldn’t put her in jeopardy. “Maybe you could take up knitting.”

“And maybe you could go to hell.”

“Too late, babe. I’m already there.”

“Don’t call me babe.”

Her eyes flared with righteous anger. He didn’t blame her for being ticked off. He hadn’t been gentle in rejecting her, but he didn’t have time to waste. Clues were fading like footprints on a beach being washed away by the tide. He needed to focus on finding his father’s killer. “Pack your things.”

“Tell you what, Blake. I’m going to let your condescending, sexist attitude slide for now because I know you’re under duress. But make no mistake. My abilities are a valuable resource. You need me.”

He watched as she moved past him and turned into the hallway. She was smart, all right. But, in this case, she was wrong. He had never in his life needed anyone.

Chapter Five

No matter how irritated she got, Eve had to accept the fact that Blake was well-trained for situations involving physical violence, and she’d be wise to follow his directions. Still, she didn’t want to be totally dependent on him and definitely wanted to have access to her own car while she was staying at his father’s house.

When he loaded her suitcase into the back of his station wagon, she said, “I’ll drive myself and meet you there.”

He slammed the car door closed. “Ever been in a highspeed pursuit?”

“No.”

“Do you have training in evasive driving tactics?”

She could see where he was heading. Her shoulders slumped, and she exhaled a sigh. “I’m pretty good at dodging squirrels.”

“If those guys see you driving alone, they might try to apprehend you again.” He gave her a wink. “You ride with me.”

She groaned. Her life had become too dangerous for her to drive her own car. Too dangerous to sleep in her own bed. This was so unfair. When she glanced over her shoulder at her cozy little bungalow with the warm brown bricks and the clean white trim at the windows, an unwanted memory of fear tightened her gut. Those intruders had invaded her privacy, violated her home. Never before had she felt so vulnerable. She wanted bars on the windows and triple locks on the doors. Even then, she didn’t know if she’d feel secure. “There’s something I need to do before we leave.”

She marched up the sidewalk to the front door and went through the living room and dining room to the kitchen where she took a bag of dried cat food from the cupboard. The stray cats in the alley depended on her for food. She couldn’t abandon them. Nor could she leave the whole bag by the trash cans in the alley where the raccoons would carry it off.

Later she’d call her neighbor and ask him to take over for her while she was away. And how long would that be? A day? A week? Two weeks? So unfair!

As she went out the back door and down the narrow sidewalk to the gate in the white picket fence, Blake followed. “What are you doing?”

“Taking care of the wildlife. There’s a family of cats that live out here.”

Instead of scoffing, he spoke in a gentle voice. “You could call animal rescue. I’m sure there are organizations that take care of feral animals.”

“I’ve tried.” Four times she’d contacted humane groups. “These little guys don’t want to be caught. Even when the cat rescue people manage to pick up one or two, another litter of kittens appears. They multiply like Tribbles.”

“Like what?”

She squatted beside a blooming lilac bush and poured cat food into a plastic container. “Tribbles. You know, furry critters that reproduce exponentially. From Star Trek.”

“You’re a Trekkie,” he said. “That explains the T-shirt.”

When she’d changed out of her too-short skirt, she had put on black denim jeans and the least obnoxious T-shirt in her closet—blue with a subtle Enterprise emblem above her left breast. If she slipped back into her black jacket, no one would notice the emblem.

“I’m not a psycho fan,” she said. “But I’ve attended a number of science fiction and fantasy cons. You’d probably like them. G.I. Joe is popular again.”

As she watched, two gray-striped kittens peeked over the low-hanging lilac boughs and mewed.

“Hi, little guys.”

Eve sat back on her heels so she wouldn’t scare them. The kittens crept closer to the food, nudging each other. Their yellow eyes were huge in their tiny faces. Their pink noses pushed at the dry food.

Blake squatted beside her. “New members of the feral cat family?”

“I’ve never seen these two before.” The way she figured, there must be a couple of females who were constantly pregnant—no need for frozen embryos with these felines. “Tribbles.”

One of the kittens jumped and scurried back into the bushes. The other sat and stared at Eve. A brave little one. Would her child be courageous? And curious?

Slowly, she stretched out her hand, palm up, toward the kitten. The pink nose came closer and closer. With sharp little claws, the kitten batted at her finger, then darted away.

Babies—kittens, puppies and people—had the most remarkable innocence. And so much to learn. Would she be a good teacher? A good mother? Damn it, she couldn’t even take care of herself, much less a baby.

Tears welled up, and she bolted to her feet so Blake wouldn’t notice that she was crying. He already regarded her as less than useful in terms of his investigation, and she didn’t want him to add weepy to his list of complaints.

During the ride back to Denver, she intended to convince him that she ought to be his partner. It was only logical: two minds were better than one.

Sitting in the passenger seat, she waited to speak until they were on the highway and relatively free from the distraction of stop-and-go traffic. Without preface she said, “If Prentice warned you that I was in danger, he must have wanted you to protect me. Therefore, it’s unlikely that he sent those two intruders.”

Blake stared through the windshield, refusing to respond.

She continued, “Prentice also said that he might have accidentally caused the threat, which implies that he knows who sent them.”

Though he still didn’t comment, a muscle in his jaw twitched.

“And so,” she said, “Prentice must have communicated with someone after he spoke to me. Is there any way we can get his phone records? Or monitor his e-mails?”

Grudgingly, Blake said, “I can’t reach him. He won’t answer the phone when I call. Supposedly, he’s on vacation.”

“He talked to me.”

“I seriously doubt that he’ll set up a meeting with you.”

“Probably not.” Their conversation hadn’t been friendly. “He can’t just disappear. Someone at his clinic in Aspen must know where he is.”

“They won’t rat out their employer. Even if we find him, he’s smart enough to use an untraceable phone or encrypted computer.”

They were sharing information, and that pleased her. As long as she didn’t talk about his father, she figured Blake would work with her. “When I talked to him, his voice got tense when I hinted that I might give the baby up for adoption. For some reason, Prentice and the person who sent the intruders want me to be a real mother and raise this child. I’d like to find out who was working on this study.”

“You think another scientist wants to continue the experiment through you.”

“It’s possible,” she conceded.

But genetic engineering—both the concept and the practice—had greatly evolved over the past twenty-five years. The Prentice-Jantzen study was archaic when compared with new research on the human genome. It simply didn’t make scientific sense to continue with an outmoded methodology. “If I give birth to the second generation, who benefits?”

“The father.”

His quick response surprised her, though it shouldn’t have. The existence of a male sperm donor was, of course, necessary to create a viable embryo. But she had avoided thinking about that part of the equation.

If her child truly was second generation, the father had to be someone else in the initial study. They needed to know the identities of the original superbabies. “We need to see your father’s notes on the Prentice-Jantzen study.”

“Can’t,” he said. “That data was stolen in the robbery.”

Dr. Ray was murdered and his notes stolen. Surely, not a coincidence.

BY THE TIME THEY GOT BACK to Denver, sunset had colored the skies with fiery red and yellow. A few years ago in Kenya, Blake had seen the body of an elder burned on a funeral pyre in a solemn ceremony. The flames purified and released the soul from the body.

He had buried his father today. And yet, he felt no sense of closure.

Outside his father’s house, only a few extra cars were parked on the cul-de-sac. Apparently, most of the mourners had already paid their respects and gone home. “We’ll leave your suitcase in the car. It’s easier than explaining. I’m pretty sure that Aunt Jean won’t approve of you spending the night.”

“If you’re worried about your reputation,” she said coolly, “I’d be happy to tell your aunt that there’s no hanky-panky going on.”

“Just don’t say anything.”

“Yes, sir.”

She snapped off a sarcastic salute. Oh, yeah, Eve was definitely an army brat. Also a math nerd and genetic genius. And pregnant. His dad had picked one hell of a difficult woman for him to protect.

When he opened the front door for her, he heard Rhapsody in Blue being played on the grand piano in the living room. He took two steps on the polished hardwood floor before the music stopped him like an invisible wall of sound. The gliding crescendos held bittersweet memories. “This is one of my dad’s favorites.”

“Dr. Ray had good taste.”

His mom had been the real musician in the family. Almost every day, she practiced at the piano, sometimes Mozart but more often Cole Porter tunes. His dad loved to sing along. Blake remembered the two of them sitting on the piano bench, humming and laughing.

When he was growing up, Mom had tried to include him in their music. First, by teaching him the basics, which he stumbled through. Then, she had learned songs she thought he’d like. He smiled at the memory of her playing Backstreet Boys and Busta Rhymes while she had rapped in her angelic soprano voice.

After she had died, his dad’s life had been greatly diminished. Blake should have made more of an effort to get home and spend time with him. Under his breath, he said, “I could have been a better son.”