At the exact moment the thought filtered through his brain, Taylor looked up at him, her eyes direct and…knowing. Yeah, babe, right there with you.
Without making a show of it, he tilted his head toward the door. They needed to get out of there, huddle up and figure out what their next move was.
But Taylor was one step ahead of him. “This birthing center—you mentioned it’s just down the street, correct? And the person in charge? What was her name?”
“Dottie Hernandez.”
Taylor gave him that look again and he felt it too—the tingle at the back of his scalp. Another lead to chase down. They were getting closer.
“Thank you,” he said to Marge, tapping the counter before he followed Taylor, loving the cocky sway of her hips and shoulders. She smelled a lead.
And he was right there with her.
Chapter Eight
Dottie Hernandez was climbing out of her Cadillac with a bag from the corner deli when Taylor and Matt caught her in the parking lot of TriCare Health Birthing Center. The Center served three major area hospitals with specialized birthing units that catered to the wealthy and those classified as high-risk, such as twins and other multiples.
“Mrs. Hernandez?” Taylor called. She’d seen Dottie’s photo on the Center’s website on her phone and recognized the woman’s thinning red hair and the flashy gold cross around her neck as the manager hustled onto the sidewalk, her large, designer handbag slapping against her dark green skirt.
“Yes?” Dottie looked over and smiled, the edges of her eyes crinkling. “Oh, you must be the Alexanders. I’m so sorry I’m late for your tour. Let’s go on in. You’re going to love it here when the time comes.”
Matt started to correct the woman, but Dottie was already at the wide glass entry doors, struggling to balance her load. Matt ran to catch up with her and open the doors.
She looked over and winked at Taylor. “Chivalry is not dead! A fine, young man you have here.”
Taylor winked back. “He has his moments.”
Matt made a face at her behind Dottie’s back and Taylor grinned.
Dottie might have been barely five foot tall and in her fifties, but the clinic manager could move. Taylor and Matt had to hot step it to keep up with her as she swept past the receptionist, throwing out their last name to the woman, and motioning them to follow her.
“They need to sign in,” the receptionist called. “They need visitor badges!”
“I’ll take care of it,” Dottie called back. “I’ve already kept them waiting long enough!”
She had her keycard out and swiped it at her office door before Matt and Taylor rounded the corner. The clinic was done in soft pastels and lots of pictures of newborns floating in clouds. Taylor supposed the decor reassured pregnant mothers that birth was a heavenly experience.
Maybe it was here.
Matt motioned Taylor through the open door of the office, then followed. “I think there may have been a mistake,” he said.
Dottie dumped her lunch and purse onto a credenza behind her desk. The wall above the credenza held multiple certificates and awards—she’d been a nurse in her younger years and had gone on to get her master’s degree in business. Taylor also spotted an undergrad degree in family counseling.
The desk was cluttered with files, a computer, and a dozen or so pictures of various families. Dottie snatched a couple of visitor passes from a desk drawer. “No, I assure you, there’s no mistake! We’re the finest birthing center this side of the Mississippi, Mr. Alexander, and my tardiness is not the norm, nor should it reflect poorly on the center. I was at a meeting all morning and it ran over. I promise, we have the best doctors and birthing teams anywhere, including Johns Hopkins, and I’m going to make it up to you for being late for this appointment. We’ll take excellent care of your wife and child. I’ll see to it myself.” Her big smile and crinkly eyes slid to Taylor. “How far along are you, dear?”
“We’re not the Alexanders,” Matt said.
“Oh, heavens, did I get that wrong?” Dottie shoved papers off her old-fashioned calendar blotter, a chubby index finger sliding along the days of the week. “I’m so sorry! You’re Mr. and Mrs. Dillinger, aren’t you? For some reason, I have you down for this time next week. Goodness, I apologize again. Please follow me. I read your intake form, and I truly believe that the Presidential Suite is the perfect room for you and your family.”
Matt opened his mouth and Taylor jabbed him in the side. “We’d love to see it.”
Dottie missed Matt’s frown since she was already out the office door. “Right this way!” she sang out.
“What are you doing?” Matt murmured as Taylor snapped a visitor badge onto his jacket lapel.
She took the other badge and clipped it onto her own jacket. “It’s called undercover investigation. Surely, you’ve heard of it.”
He followed her out the door, still speaking sotto voce. “We have to identify ourselves.”
“We will.” Maybe. Taylor’s gut told her she’d get farther with this woman if she played the part of an expectant mother, and time was of the essence. “Let’s see the Presidential Suite first.”
She expected him to continue expressing his dissent, but instead he patted her ass and gave her that wicked grin. “Well, then, after you, Mrs. Dillinger.”
It was a total fishing expedition, but playing an expectant mother for a few minutes was more fun than heading back to her office with no further leads. “I’ve found in the past,” she said softly as they followed Dottie down the carpeted hallway, “that getting into the mind of the victim can be as effective as the criminal’s when it comes to solving cold cases.”
“The Presidential Suite is in the West Wing,” Dottie called back to them as she rounded a corner. More cherub babies and clouds lined the walls. “Each of our suites offers a bed for the father, a seating area for family members, and a large birthing tub for the mother as another option.”
A few steps ahead, she continued to chatter away as Taylor and Matt hung back, scanning the place. Here and there, they saw a nurse or other non-medical employee rushing in and out of doors.
Matt put his arm around Taylor’s shoulders. She wasn’t sure if he was simply getting into the part of her husband—God help her—or this was a continuation of that morning’s need to touch her. Good or bad? She couldn’t decide.
They passed through a set of wooden doors and entered the West Wing. How appropriate.
A sign on the wall indicated the Diamond and Platinum Suites were to the left. The Presidential Suite to the right.
The smell of cinnamon and chocolate filtered down the hall, as Dottie, still barreling ahead of them, pulled out her keycard once more. Just outside the suite doors was a small alcove with a sink, refrigerator, and coffee maker. The coffee pot was full, the scent of cinnamon and chocolate stronger here. A plate of fancy cookies sat next to the pot.
Dottie unlocked the suite, then beamed and held a hand out toward the tray. “Cookies are delivered fresh daily to the family. Can I get you a cup of coffee? It’s my favorite flavor from Fresh Market. All organic and fair-trade, of course. We only want the best for our patients.” She started pouring cups of coffee without waiting for an answer. “There’s juice and flavored waters too, if you’d rather have something non-caffeinated.”
Matt accepted a cup of the flavored coffee and eyed the cookies. “This really is the Taj Mahal for having a baby, isn’t it?”
Dottie was still smiling, but managed to give him a serious look at the same time. “We are the top-rated birthing center on the East Coast, Mr. Dillinger, and our twenty-one awards attest to that fact.” She handed Taylor a cup of coffee. “It’s rare that the Presidential Suite is open, but you picked a good day for your tour. Cookie?”
Taylor hadn’t finished her bagel that morning so she grabbed a chocolate chip cookie from the selection. “Felicity told me you were the best.”
Dottie’s brows drew down as Matt helped himself to thr
ee cookies and gave her a questioning look. My God, the man could put the food away.
“Felicity?” Dottie looked confused.
The cookie was still warm, a chunk of dark chocolate melting on Taylor’s tongue. “Felicity Jarvis. She recommended this place to all of her friends, you know, before…”
She let the rest hang. Dottie set the plate of cookies on the counter, her face going pale. She genuflected and rubbed a thumb across the gold cross at her neck. “God rest her soul. I heard the news last night. So you were friends with Felicity?”
Taylor stared at the cookie in her hand, acting sad. God would strike her down one of these days. “She was so young and beautiful. Just an amazing ballerina. I know she was glad you were here for her, to make the delivery easier. Such a shame she didn’t get to use the suite.”
None of it was a lie.
Dottie looked away. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
The art of undercover work was to know when not to raise suspicions. “So this is the suite,” Taylor said, taking her cookie and coffee across the threshold. She needed to get Dottie back to her happy place, put her back at ease before she said anything else about a dead woman.
Dottie hustled past Taylor, lifting her arms. “This is it!”
The Hilton had nothing on the Presidential. Soothing earth tones and designer furniture met her eyes. The room they entered was set up like a living room/kitchen combo. There was even a fireplace with a large window on each side that showed a lovely view to the east. Two doors led off to what Taylor assumed were a bathroom and birthing room.
“Dang,” Matt said, coming up next to her. “How much does all this cost?”
“The birth of a child is a blessed event,” Dottie said with an admonishing tone. Taylor wondered how many soon-to-be fathers had signed on the dotted line, regardless of the cost, because of this woman’s sales pitch. “We cater to our VIPs so they can enjoy it to the fullest.”
She walked them through the three separate living areas and told stories about the wonderful staff and experiences the center offered. Taylor had a wistful moment, imagining a life where she wanted kids and could afford a setup like this to have them in. What was it like to live a charmed life full of volunteering and babies, and no thought of murder or missing children?
She would never know that life.
Matt, finishing up his last cookie, gave her a smirk behind Dottie’s back and the wistful moment passed.
He thought they were wasting their time by the impatience on his face. Maybe they were. But having a more complete picture of Felicity’s life, and speaking to some of the people involved in her pregnancy, was the best way Taylor knew to find the needle in the haystack that she needed to bring this case home.
The clock was ticking.
And there was no way she was handing this over to Leo.
“Is this your first child?” Dottie said to Matt.
Mad Dog didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, ma’am. But I’m hoping to talk her into a whole passel of them.”
Oh, he was good. Maddening, but good. Dottie laughed and Taylor felt heat in her face.
But a part of her wondered…
No. She didn’t have time for a serious relationship or kids. Besides, she’d sworn a long time ago not to bring an innocent child into this world, much less a whole passel of them. The world was cruel and even parents with the best of intentions starting off could end up jaded.
Like hers. “One might be too many at this point,” Taylor said under her breath, fingering the tweed on one of the rocking chairs.
“Don’t be silly,” Dottie insisted, patting her shoulder. “Children are a miracle. Believe me, once you hold your baby in your arms, you’ll want more.”
Taylor felt queasy and set her cup on the coffee table. “Well, thank you for the tour, Mrs. Hernandez. We really should be going.”
“It was my pleasure.” Dottie moved to the door, all business again. “I have a packet of information for you in my office, and if you’re considering scheduling this suite, I encourage you to do so soon. It’s always in high demand and availability fills up quickly. We’re already pretty much scheduled out for the next eight months.”
Eight months? Wow. That was a lot of pre-planned births.
Taylor and Matt paused at the alcove to wait for Dottie to lock up. “We do have several other suites,” she said, “and I can always check their availability for you as well, but really, the Presidential is the way to go, especially since this is your first.”
Matt nodded. “Looks like fun to me.”
Fun, right. Probably was for everyone but the mother.
Dottie started off down the hall and Matt put that protective, guiding hand on Taylor’s lower back as they fell into step behind her. “Even if you decide not to go with the Presidential,” Dottie said over her shoulder, “you’ll want to attend our information night tomorrow here at the center. We go over all the details of selecting your birthing team, the info about our Lamaze group meetings, and we tour all of the available suites. We also set up your birth portfolio.”
“Birth portfolio?” Taylor asked.
“Our VIPs always have a portfolio.” They left the West Wing and turned the corner heading for Dottie’s office. “For security measures, you know.”
No, she didn’t. “What security measures?”
Dottie raised a finger in the air and shook it. “The safety and security of our patients is our number one priority. Along with the birth plan for the medical team, the portfolio contains the necessary personal information about the mother and father, along with their picture IDs. We have a list of relatives and friends our parents have okayed to visit. This allows the staff to keep a close eye on everyone who comes and goes.”
They arrived at Dottie’s office door, and she turned to them before entering. “We run a large facility and have to keep track of every person entering and leaving for the safety of our patients and most especially, the babies. Some of our patients attract a lot of media attention and it wouldn’t do for us to allow a reporter or some crazy fan to sneak into the clinic and breach the privacy of the families we serve, now, would it? It’s happened at other facilities, you know, but never here.”
Interesting. With all this security, and yet, she and Matt had just taken a tour under false identities. “Felicity didn’t mention anything about a portfolio,” Taylor said, following Dottie into the office and handing over her visitor badge, “or maybe you didn’t have those when she booked the Presidential Suite?”
“Yes, we did.” Dottie accepted Matt’s badge and dropped both into her desk drawer. “I was the one to institute the portfolio system when I took over as manager in 2008. I raised the bar on the standards and security protocols the minute I was promoted.”
The woman picked up a cheery yellow folder and handed it to Taylor. “You’ll find all the information and forms you need in here, along with my card. Call any time. I’m happy to answer any questions you might have, and please consider attending the informational meeting tomorrow night. We can start your portfolio, sign you up for Lamaze classes, and get your insurance lined up, even if you aren’t quite decided yet on which suite you prefer.”
Matt gave Taylor that look again, suggesting she come clean. She ignored him. “Thank you. We’ll be there.”
“The meeting starts at 7 p.m.,” Dottie called after them as Taylor took Matt’s hand and dragged him out of the office. “There’ll be cookies!”
Outside in the parking lot, Matt opened Taylor’s car door. “What the fuck was that?” he said, but he was grinning.
She slid into the seat and stared at the building as he went around to his side of the car and climbed in. “If you wanted to kidnap a senator’s pregnant wife and steal their child, where better to get all the pertinent information you needed than from their birthing portfolio?”
“You think it was someone here at the clinic?”
“Possibly.” Taylor glanced over at him and he was still looking at her wit
h that what-the-fuck face. “All my instincts are screaming that this is about the baby, not Felicity. I could be wrong, but I think it’s worth pursuing. If I don’t have any stronger lead by tomorrow night, I’ve got nothing to lose but to show up for that meeting. We can ask Dottie more questions and see if there’s anyone else who remembers Felicity.”
“What if the real Dillingers show up?”
“I’ll make sure they don’t.”
“How are you going to do that?”
She gave him a confident smile. “I’m a crack FBI agent. I have my ways.”
His grin widened. “I am totally turned on right now.”
She reached over and stroked a finger across his jawline. “You should be.”
Without warning, he reached across the seats, grabbed her by the back of the neck, and dragged her toward him. His lips crushed hers and his free hand fondled her breast through her shirt and bra.
The rush of playing pretend and pulling it off pumped hard in her veins, so Taylor felt him up as well, giving his thickening erection a good squeeze through his slacks.
Next thing she knew, they were in a full-on make-out session and she was about to climb into his lap when her phone rang with Beckett’s ringtone.
“Ignore it,” Matt said, his hand tugging on her ponytail as his teeth grazed her neck.
“Can’t. I’m down to forty-eight hours to solve this case before it gets handed over to Leo the shark.”
She shifted her body and answered her phone. “Make it quick,” she said into the phone.
Matt shifted the lapel of her white shirt over and kissed his way down the top of her breast and she had to force herself not to moan.
“Got a list of the births during the timeframe you asked for, boss,” Beckett said. “And I’ve got at least nine kids who match the profile you gave me.”
Missing Justice (The Justice Team Book 7) Page 11