by Jaycee Clark
He didn’t know what to say to them. “She did call, Mrs. Richardson, that’s how I knew to come.”
The little old lady blew out a big breath. “I’m sorry we weren’t here earlier. We would have been, but when we were almost here, we remembered something and had to go back.”
Mr. Richardson said, “I have something she gave me. A computer flash drive or something. We wanted to bring it. She told me weeks ago that if something happened to her to contact you and to give you this. I should have given it to you yesterday, but honestly, I forgot about it. She gave me your number.” The older bald man shook his head. “Just figured it was between you two and to stay out of it. Now I wish I hadn’t.”
So did Quin, but he didn’t say that. Aiden stepped in and thanked the man, even as Brody said, “I’ll let Ian know we have the flash drive.”
Quinlan introduced his brother and his cousin as he took the little purple stick with peace stickers on it. He looked at it and wondered what was actually on it and if he was ready to see it.
“Thank you,” he told them.
“We saw her for just a minute, the man by her door let us in when we told him who we were, though he stayed in the room with us. Walked us back out here. Nice man. Took off after someone though.”
“Carmine, they don’t care about that,” her husband told her.
“She’s so . . . she looks so . . .” The woman sniffed hard. “We were going to go back this evening, but I told Herb earlier we were going to wait here until she’s a bit better.”
He smiled and nodded. “That’s very kind of you. She spoke of you earlier.” He took the older woman’s hand and patted it. “Thank you for looking out for her when I couldn’t, didn’t . . . was just too stupid to come after her.”
Herb snorted. “I’m really starting to think you’re a better sort than I’d originally thought you were.”
“I don’t know about that. Look, if you do stay, let us know. I think it might help her . . .” He shook his head. “We’ve got rooms somewhere.” He looked to Aiden, who nodded. “You can stay with our crew, if you want.”
Mrs. Richardson smiled and patted his arm. “I think we’ll take you up on that. For now though, I’m just going to sit right over here and finish knitting the baby blanket.”
“Let us know if you need anything.” He left them in Aiden’s capable hands, took his brother’s laptop with him and went back down the hallway to his wife.
Chapter 26
Albuquerque, Sunday, late afternoon
The papers were signed and passed on to the parents. The DeSaros were all smiles and excitement. This was why he did this. Why he kept doing this. There were so many couples that couldn’t have children. Children should be loved and from two-parent homes. Parents that could love them and raise them the way they were meant to be raised and loved. Parents were meant to nurture and teach, to guide and lead their children.
So many that came through here were not able to do any of those. And when it was clear that the baby would be better off without the birth mother, then one must step in and fix that problem.
Problems.
One of the latest problems was the fact the cops were already sniffing at them. He had several messages from his partner wanting to know what the hell was going on, that the Retreat had been invaded by the feds and their headquarters in Albuquerque had been shut down, as has their outlying clinics.
Didn’t really matter. At least not to him just yet. He’d had this private office for years just for these sorts of transactions and meetings. Enough to give a personal touch, but nothing that couldn’t either be left behind or moved very quickly.
He focused on the couple in front of him.
The DeSaros smiled at the baby in the car carrier. “She’s so precious and . . . oh . . . and look at all that red hair!”
Mr. DeSaro laughed. “My mother had red hair. One of my siblings does as well.”
Another packet of papers was passed over for signatures between the lawyers. His own, who always worried—or at least until the bank deposit cleared—and the DeSaros’ legal representative. Everything must be legal, after all. Private adoptions could be sticky points.
Or at least look that way.
The baby mewled and squirmed.
“Can I pick her up?” the woman asked.
“Of course.”
Mrs. DeSaro, dressed in a Chanel suit and enough diamonds he lost track of calculating, reached down and unclicked the harness and picked the baby up, cupping her perfectly manicured hand around the tiny head.
“Ohhh. Oh my. Oh my, Vincent. Look. Look at our beautiful baby girl.” Tears trembled in her voice and her eyes. The woman simply sat on the floor and held the baby.
This was what it was all about. This was why it was so important to find the right ones. The ones that really wouldn’t be missed.
Though this last one didn’t quite fall under that umbrella.
Time to move this along.
Papers were quickly signed and finally the money was passed over. Quarter of a million dollars.
That was how much a precious bundle could cost.
Or at least that’s how much this little doll was sold for. The auction had lasted for almost two days. And at the end, the DeSaros were the ones that won.
It had been a bidding war the likes of which they’d only seen twice before. He’d planned to take care of Ella himself, but thanks to his ever-greedy partner, the option to use her child—the child he’d actually had up for auction—or replace it with another, had been taken from him.
“We want to stay a few days here in Albuquerque to make certain there are no problems,” Mr. DeSaro said, helping his wife stand and taking his own papers. Birth certificate, adoption papers, and medical records, changed accordingly.
And these records had to be forged on several fronts.
What a clusterfucking mess.
They needed to get it all cleaned up. First they had to be able to get to her and end her.
But she knew. The woman was still in the hospital. Of course, the cops had probably located the father and informed him. Who all had she talked to? What all did they now know, or wonder about?
Kinncaids—that family was going to screw this all up. He just knew it.
If only the stupid bitch had waited, he could have helped her, made less of a mess and cleaned up properly. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before.
He’d planned and waited for a child like this little one.
In no time, the DeSaros were laughing and crying and leaving. They’d taken pictures. His assistant had taken pictures. His secretary.
Everyone was very happy for the couple.
Most thought it was as legal as could be.
He, his lawyer, and Mr. DeSaro knew it might not be.
Mr. DeSaro stepped up to him, clasping his hand.
“I don’t want any trouble from this.”
He looked at the new father. “Do you think there could be trouble?”
“I know and you know, I bought this child.”
He merely looked at the man.
Mr. DeSaro didn’t so much as blink. Instead Mr. DeSaro pulled him closer. “I’m not a fool. None of us should have a problem. However, should one arise, do not think for a moment that I will let you take this child away from us. She’s ours now. My wife is smiling and happy as I haven’t seen her in years. If anyone comes looking and it’s between doing right and feeding you to whatever law enforcement agency might be inquiring, don’t for a second think I won’t serve you up myself. And then when you’re sitting in a cell, I’ll make certain you won’t have to worry about a long prison sentence.”
He cleared his throat, saw his lawyer rise from his chair. “The total amount of expenditures might be shocking to some, but to us, we know you get what you pay for. Those were just to cover medical costs and child care, along with our exclusive prenatal care in such a caring and peaceful environment.”
Mr. DeSaro nodded his salt-and-peppe
r head. “So long as we are clear. I will have my attorney double-check the paperwork with his firm to make certain there are no problems.”
He smiled at the man and now wished he’d chosen the other couple, as the hair on the back of his neck stood up. But no, watching Mrs. DeSaro with the little girl, he knew he’d chosen right. It wasn’t all about the money, after all. Just mostly.
Mr. DeSaro nodded and followed his wife from the room. Another man was with them and headed out.
He stood watching and smiled.
Who the hell did the bastard think he was? Really? He’d done them a favor. A godddamn favor and that was the thanks he got?
Then again, a quarter of a million was excessive, he supposed, but that was what the bidding reached.
The other family came in second at two hundred thirty-five grand. Apparently Mr. DeSaro wanted a baby girl for his wife. One from a good birth mother and father. Those were rare in his experience. The normal average Joe babies? Those were a dime a dozen. Babies born to impoverished teen mothers? Single mothers? More than he could keep up with. A baby born of an intelligent, beautiful woman? The father an affluent heir to a great family? A long line of looks and intelligence, of prosperity?
Those were very, very few.
So Ella hadn’t exactly wanted to give the child up, and the process had been rushed, he knew. Though with her on the edge of running, he supposed there was little choice. They just needed to deal with her once and for all. He needed to deal with Kevin and Lisa.
• • •
Ian closed the door and walked around the SUV, shutting Rori’s door. He knew better than to wish she would wait on him to help her from the car. He grinned at the thought.
“What has you smiling?” she asked as they crossed the street to the pueblo-style office building. The sun was already sinking against the peak of the mountains.
He’d learned there was another office, held by the corporation that kept cropping up in his search for buried information on the Nursery of Dreams.
“I’m surprised they’d meet us on a Sunday evening,” Rori said. “Aren’t they curious about someone wanting to meet on a day like today?”
Ian shook his head. “No. The fact I had this number seemed to be enough. He said they’d be in the office this evening anyway. It’s all relative, darling.”
She rolled her eyes.
Just as they reached the sidewalk he checked both directions and saw the car parked at the corner. Limo, dark tinted windows.
“That’s interesting.”
“Possibly.”
A man stood beside the door handing a diaper bag into the depths of the car, then he straightened, grinned and turned.
Ian stopped, he knew him.
What was the man’s name . . . Sicilian. Chicago man, in the hotel business as well. Wasn’t he?
De something.
Saro.
DeSaro.
The man merely tilted his head and climbed in, then the car drove away.
“What?” Rori asked him.
He stood there, wondering . . . The DeSaros were a powerful family in their own right. What was that man doing here? Other than adopting a baby.
He’d find out. For now, they had a meeting. Shaking it off, he said to Rori, “Not sure. Maybe something, maybe nothing.”
The DeSaros were as wealthy and prominent as his own family. They were out of Chicago, he thought, but he’d look them up. He’d recognized the man, as his family had done business with the DeSaros in years past, but it was unlikely the other man recognized him. He’d been away for a dozen years and still kept a low profile.
Granted, it might be nothing. Might be. Then again, might not.
If the DeSaros had adopted a child and that child turned out to be Quin’s . . . well, no matter how powerful the DeSaros were, the adoption wouldn’t be legal, no matter what the Nursery officials and their lawyers said. Ella was his legal sister-in-law. Even if she lost her fucking mind and gave the baby up, Quinlan didn’t. They were married, the baby was his.
“They were leaving with baby stuff, bags and whatnot,” Rori said. “Coincidence has never been big with either of us.”
“No, it hasn’t.”
“I got the plate of the limo, just in case.”
He grinned. “So did I, but I know who it was.” He took out his phone and called Johnno. “Look up Vincent DeSaro, his wife, and what they are doing in Albuquerque at an adoption agency.”
For a moment there was silence.
“Fine.”
He hung up and looked at Rori. “Ready to go see about adopting a baby?”
“Think that was the couple that got Quin’s baby?” She still looked at the corner.
“Don’t know, love. Even if they are, we’ll need a court order. I can promise you that man will not let anyone take a child from them. And even with a court order, if that baby turns out to be Quin’s, we might start a war with the DeSaros.”
She quirked a brow. “Like that would concern you.”
He just looked at her.
“Okay, it does concern you, but still. With a name like DeSaro, I’ll assume they’re Italian.”
“Sicilian, I think.”
“Then if the chap understands anything, he understands family.”
“Oh, we all understand family. Our own. Everyone else’s can go to hell.”
With that, he turned and walked them into the building and to the elevators. Both were quiet on their ride up.
“I’m going to want to kill whomever is up here, won’t I?” Rori whispered.
“Probably.”
“But we can’t.”
He put his hand on the small of her back and kissed her cheek as he led her out and into a well-furnished reception area. “No, not yet.”
Two men were standing there. One way to find out what was going on.
“Hi, we’re the McGregors,” he told the man he knew was a doctor with the Nursery.
“Dr. Merchant, and this is one of our lawyers, Mr. Hernandez. Nice to meet you, and I’m glad you found us.” He ushered them into the office and the lawyer left. Hernandez. Another one they’d need to check out. Rori held out her hand and shook the man’s. Ian could tell from her look that she was going to have more fun questioning this bastard than he was. And they couldn’t even really play since the feds and cops knew they were here.
Damn, sometimes he missed his old life.
He motioned to a sitting area with photo albums on the coffee table and sat, shifting in one of the leather armchairs.
The man shifted again. “If you don’t mind, how did you hear of us?”
Ian gave the man a small smile. “I’d rather not say. A previous happy couple that used you when no one else would help them. And I have my own ways of finding out information that is hard for the average individual to obtain.”
For a moment no one said anything.
“I saw someone leaving downstairs who I recognized. Mr. DeSaro is an acquaintance. I believe we met at a party at his villa in Italy. Or was it Morocco, darling?”
She shrugged. “I thought it was the castle in Scotland.”
And just like that, he felt the change come over Dr. Merchant. People said those with money were different. They smelled different, acted different, looked different.
Well, perhaps. He didn’t really know. All this was just an act.
But greed?
Greed he knew and could recognize a mile away. He’d rolled and swam in it for years. He leaned back and laced his fingers. Yes, for this bastard, he was sorry he wouldn’t get to play the game the way he used to. If he could, he’d know everything he needed to in half an hour, tops. Legalities be damned.
He glanced to Rori and knew she thought the same. Sometimes being good was nothing more than a waste of time.
Chapter 27
Sunday night, the hospital
Quinlan settled in a chair next to the bed and pulled up the journal from the flash drive. He should probably sleep, as he honestly h
ad no idea the last time he’d slept in the last day . . . two? The attempt on her life earlier in the day killed any tiredness he’d had. Whoever had been in her room had tried to attach a syringe of potassium chloride to her IV. Thanks to Ian’s man, Ella was fine. Her blood work was clear.
She was alive. He glanced at her. Sleeping again, but alive.
He sighed and opened the drive, found the folder marked Journal and opened it.
The first entry was weeks after she’d moved to Taos.
I’m starting this journal because . . . well, I’m pregnant! I’m so excited. So scared too. So . . . so . . . everything . . .
He read on, living through her experiences, practically hearing her voice in her words. At first he got lost in her words, smiling at phrases, expressions, things she’d experienced, said, hoped. There was a photo embedded of the first sonogram. As he read, he saw her change. Watched as she waited for his letters, to see what he thought, if he was excited too.
But he’d never gotten the letters.
Her exuberance gave way to fear. He read on. He read how those she worked with tried to talk her into considering adoption. How they told her that someone like him wouldn’t want a by-blow, a love child. He took a deep breath and continued, growing more and more angry. He read of her worries about women she met, those she came to see as friends. He knew her, when something happened to one of the girls—like Nadia—she’d feel responsible.
I watched today. The girl that was worried? She’s not here anymore. Another one gone . . .
Another passage stood out to him and he felt like maybe, just maybe he’d be able to breathe again at some point. She’d missed him, missed them.
I should never have left New Orleans. I know that now. I can feel it deep in my bones. I wish things were different. And why, oh why did I think I could make a difference? Could help these girls or women? Pride is a terrible, terrible sin and now I realize that.
I just want Quinlan, my Quinlan. Maybe he’ll never forgive me. I know this. I never thought it would take this long. Regrets and whatever . . . I can’t think.