Prospective parents. He shot a glance at Amber. Was the idea as unnerving to her as to him? Whoa, how had work wound its way around to his personal life again? Not good.
“You clear on following my lead?” he asked to get his mind back on business.
“Well, okay, but since I know more about surrogacy and this specific clinic, I might do a better job.”
“I’m absolutely sure you would if we were here to discuss a real surrogate mother situation. But we’re not. We’re investigating a crime. Involving violent criminals, no less.”
“I know. But we have to maintain our cover. We can’t get made.”
He chuckled. “Spoken like a true wannabe spook. And yes, I would appreciate your help in protecting ‘our cover.’”
Twenty minutes later, they opened the door into Dream Makers. Showtime.
He surveyed the waiting room, taking in the cheap furnishings. Just as Amber had described. Garcia certainly wasn’t spending his drug profits on interior decorating.
Ben ushered her to the receptionist’s window and smiled broadly. “Good morning. We’re the Moores. We have an eleven thirty appointment.”
The young woman glanced up with a somber expression and then did a double take. The second time, she wore an overly friendly grin. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Mr. Moore.”
Amber poked him in the ribs with her elbow.
“Are you Daniela, the helpful lady who took my panicky message yesterday?”
“Yes, sir. I’m so glad you weren’t hurt.”
Amber stretched up to whisper in his ear. “I bet she is. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here for her to drool over.” She nipped his earlobe and then gave him a syrupy smile when he jerked around to scowl at her.
“Yes, babe, I know.” He rolled his eyes when he turned back to the receptionist. “My wife’s high maintenance.” The comment earned him a sympathetic smile.
“Ms. Rodriguez is back today. She’ll be with you in a minute.”
After they sat down, he draped his arm over Amber’s shoulders and pulled her close. “What was that about?”
“You’re my husband and a soon-to-be father. Don’t flirt with the help.”
“Flirt? All I did was smile.”
“But when she melted, you encouraged her.”
He snorted. “Consider it strategic encouraging.” He glanced casually around the room and then bent to whisper in her ear. “I see the cameras. Are there mics also?”
“Cameras in here?” Her gaze darted to the corners of the ceiling.
“Don’t look,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Sorry. Uh, I don’t know. There’s a camera in the consultation room also.”
“Be careful. Remember, Big Brother is watching even when we’re alone,” he warned.
“Got it.” Her eyes widened in realization. “I wonder if there are cameras everywhere. Maybe that’s what makes the staff so nervous.”
“Possibly. Even if they don’t know about the illegal prescription activity, being watched constantly would make most people tense,” he said softly against her ear. “Like being in a prison.” Prison… or one-star hotel?
“Ms. Rodriguez will see you now,” Daniela said from the door to the hallway.
She escorted them to the same office Amber had described from her two previous visits. Ms. Rodriguez met them at the door.
She smiled brightly. “Ah, Mr. Moore. I’m so pleased you’re here. Have a seat. Coffee, tea, or water, anyone?”
“Coffee, thanks. Black,” Ben said.
Amber shook her head and mumbled just for him, “No one offered me anything to drink before.”
Ms. Rodriguez turned to Daniela. “Water for me.”
The receptionist scurried off like a frightened rabbit.
After they’d taken their seats, the middle-aged woman said, “I assume Mrs. Moore has passed on the information previously provided by me and Mr. Juarez. What questions can I answer for you, Mr. Moore?”
“I’d like to know more about Dream Makers. How long have you been in business?”
“Dr. Ortega started the clinic about three months ago.”
“Where did he practice before San Diego?”
Ms. Rodriguez hesitated. “I believe he was in Los Angeles. He graduated from the UCLA School of Medicine and finished his residency in Boston about ten years ago.”
“If the clinic has only been open three months, then you haven’t had any births yet.”
She chuckled. “Correct. We work miracles, but even we can’t speed up the gestation period.” She smiled condescendingly at him.
“How many surrogate mothers do you have?”
“About forty.”
“How many are pregnant?” he asked.
“Two.”
“Only two?”
She gave him another condescending look. “This isn’t one-hour photo development, Mr. Moore. It takes time to create viable embryos and successfully implant them. Four other surrogate mothers have been chosen, but are not yet pregnant.”
A soft knock preceded Daniela’s entrance with the coffee and water. She kept her eyes on the ground as she served the beverages and left.
“But we have our choice of the remaining thirty-four?”
She nodded. “The next step would be to set up interviews with three or four of our wonderful surrogates. Why don’t you look through this notebook of their bios and make your selections?” Ms. Rodriguez pushed the binder across the desk.
Amber scooted forward next to him as he opened the notebook. He glanced at the picture of a young Hispanic woman with a stiff smile. The narrative said she was twenty-four years old, five foot four, 125 pounds. Her name was Emelda, and she was originally from Mexico City. She had five siblings. Her hobbies were dressmaking and cooking. Ben looked at Amber, and she gave an indecisive shrug.
He turned the page, and they learned about Rosa. The third page introduced them to Yolanda. Page four was all about Christina.
Hair rose on Ben’s nape. Uneasiness skittered down his spine. He angled a sideways glance at Amber.
She leaned closer and whispered, “I know, I know. They’re all Hispanic. I was going to tell you last night, but we… well, you know.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
He kissed her cheek as if they’d just shared some special secret. But he felt far from intimate. His instincts shot straight to Code Red. His brain leaped ahead to the possibility that there could be a connection to the missing Mexican women, and he knew the discovery would be significant on many levels.
Carefully maintaining the appearance of calm, he drank a long, leisurely swig of coffee as he flipped to the next page. But he still choked and almost snorted coffee through his nose.
Chapter 18
“You okay?” Amber asked, patting Ben on the back.
“Wrong pipe,” he said in explanation. He pointed to the picture of the surrogate mother on page five. “Doesn’t this Maria look exactly like the girl who lives in the apartment two doors down from us?”
Amber studied the photo. She had no clue who lived “two doors down” from Ben or her, but she’d never seen anyone resembling Maria at the Coronado Beach complex. Despite her bewilderment, the intensity in his eyes reminded her to follow his lead. “Oh my God. You’re right. They could be sisters.”
He smiled and nodded. “Let’s talk to this one.”
“Okay.”
“While you select at least three more potential surrogates, I need to prepare for my next appointment. Mark the pages of the women you wish to talk to with these paper clips,” Ms. Rodriguez said, standing up. “When you’re done, press Intercom on the phone and tell Daniela. I’ll come back to schedule the interviews.”
As the door clicked shut behind them, Amber’s eyes flicked to the camera in the corner of the ceiling, then to Ben. “Who’s Maria?” she asked, barely moving her lips.
He turned the page. “Tell you later.”
Although his outward demeanor was casual, she knew
him well enough already to recognize the tension in his posture and the set of his jaw. The picture of Maria had triggered something. Who was she? Could she be related to Dr. Garcia or to the drug cartel kingpin involved in the illegal prescription business? If so, why would she be working as a surrogate mother? Maybe she was a spy for them, keeping an eye on the other women at the dormitory. But if everything was as wonderful for the surrogates as Mr. Juarez had described, why would they need a spy?
Her attention switched back to Ben and the notebook. Leafing through the pages, he focused entirely on the pictures, not the bios. It was almost as if he were looking for someone specific, but how could that be? Four of the photographs he studied for several minutes each, but he chose only one of them to interview, a woman named Carmen. Three others he barely glanced at were marked with paper clips.
She couldn’t figure out the logic to his selections, but since he wasn’t asking for her input, she just played along. If these other choices were somehow connected to the mysterious Maria, Amber didn’t want to screw up Ben’s strategy. Whatever it was.
The face he turned to her was all business.
“That’s five. I need to see Ma… them tomorrow. Based on your experience, will that be a problem?” he asked in a quiet voice.
He obviously suspected there was a mic hidden in the room, but he didn’t dare look for it.
“We usually like to give the surrogates a couple days’ notice. We understand they all have personal lives outside of their roles with us.” She tilted her head closer. “What’s the rush?”
“Tell ya later. Help me push for tomorrow.” He reached across the desk and punched the Intercom button. “Hi, Daniela. We’re ready. Thanks.”
“I’ll let Ms. Rodriguez know.”
Five minutes later, she returned to the office. “This is such an exciting part of the process,” she said in a cheery tone. “Let me see who you’ve chosen.” She sat down at the desk and pulled the binder in front of her. “Oh, these are wonderful selections.”
“We need to interview the women tomorrow. Otherwise, I’m… unavailable because of my job until late next week. Now that we’re this close to making a decision, I think Amber might freak out with that long a delay,” Ben said, rolling his eyes.
Freak out over a delay? She was sitting in the offices of a fugitive doctor practicing under a false name, and he was related to a drug lord. Someone could be watching and listening to them. If she wasn’t already freaking out, a delay sure as hell wasn’t going to bother her. Ben was the one with a time requirement, not her anyway. She bit her tongue and nodded. Okay, now he really owes me.
Ms. Rodriguez responded with a sympathetic shake of her head. “We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”
Ben gave her a charming smile. “Definitely not.”
“Well, I don’t see any reason why tomorrow won’t work. What time is good for the two of you?”
Her fake husband turned to her with an appreciative grin. “Would one o’clock work for you, babe?”
“Sure, pumpkin.”
He smirked at her before answering Ms. Rodriguez. “Let’s do one.”
She made notes on a large pad. “All right, it’s scheduled. I’ll have the women ready at one sharp.” She kept her head down while she continued, “Because many of our surrogates aren’t fluent in English, we always have a staff member present during interviews and meetings between surrogates and parents.”
Ben frowned. “We don’t get to meet with each one privately?”
“No, sorry. Believe me, it works better for everyone this way.” She glanced up with a sincere expression.
“But we do interview them one at a time.”
“Again, sorry, but no. We find the women are a lot more relaxed in a group setting. Especially if they haven’t been through the process before. And we all want them to be comfortable, right?”
“Of course.”
Amber could sense Ben’s frustration growing. She, too, found this interview method odd, but the language barrier reason did seem logical.
Ms. Rodriguez opened a drawer and took out a folder. “This is our standard contract. If you’ve seen contracts from other clinics, I’m sure most of the language will be familiar. I’m letting you take this home to read but don’t make copies. We’ll give you one for your records once it’s signed by all parties.” She slid the thick stack of stapled paper across the desk to Ben. “I guess that does it. I’m so—”
“When I met with you last Saturday, you said a tour of the facility was possible if my husband was present. May we do that now?” Amber said when it was clear the woman was trying to dismiss them.
“If you wish,” Ms. Rodriguez responded with a stiff smile.
“And as I told Daniela, we’d like to spend a few minutes with Dr. Ortega,” Ben said, picking up his Styrofoam coffee cup and following the women out.
* * *
The tour of the facilities was perfunctory, at best. Ms. Rodriguez would announce the purpose of a room, open the door for a quick glance if it wasn’t in use, and rush them along. What was Amber’s impression of this place? With her vast experience, she’d be far more likely to recognize something irregular. But it seemed to him that nothing much was happening.
He spotted only one other couple being ushered into an office by a middle-aged man whom Amber identified as Mr. Juarez. The lab was occupied by two men in white coats who were drinking coffee and talking, their microscopes and other equipment as idle as they were. A woman in scrubs sat in the employee lounge watching television.
The facility had an abundance of supply rooms. He learned most of them were locked, because he managed to surreptitiously twist the doorknobs of several. What kind of supplies required such a precaution?
As they were finishing the whirlwind tour, a doctor stepped out of a room and wrenched the door shut angrily. Ben recognized Dr. Ortega immediately.
When Ms. Rodriguez didn’t call to him as he stomped down the hall in the opposite direction, Ben took control. “Dr. Ortega, we’d like to ask you a few questions.”
The man stopped as if someone had yanked a leash. He spun around, his eyes flashing for a moment at Ms. Rodriguez, who inhaled sharply and took a step back.
Ben studied the man. Physical appearance wasn’t the only similarity Raul Garcia shared with his distant cousin Enrique Hermosillo; they both had quick tempers. Enrique’s was deadly. Was Raul’s?
Keeping a businesslike expression, Ben strolled down the hall to the doctor and extended his right hand. “Dr. Ortega, I’m Ben Moore. Glad to meet you.”
The man glanced past Ben to the two women. He must’ve recognized Amber from their minor collision in the hallway yesterday, because he forced a smile and shook Ben’s hand.
“Ah, yes. The lovely Mrs. Moore’s husband. How may I help you?”
“We’re on the verge of making the biggest decision of our marriage to use Dream Makers, and I’d feel better if I had a chance to talk to the doctor who’s going to make our dream come true.” Was that how prospective fathers talked? He hoped so.
Dr. Ortega checked his watch. “I have ten minutes. Come.” He marched back to the door from which he’d emerged, unlocked it, and gestured for them to enter. He dropped into the chair behind the desk while Ben and Amber took the guest chairs. Ms. Rodriguez stayed outside and closed the door.
He moved a Styrofoam cup to the edge so he could lean his forearms on the desk. “Now, your questions, quickly please.”
“Why did you pick this field of medicine and how long have you been doing this?” Ben asked. His gaze darted from the cup on the desk to the cup in his hand.
Getting people to talk about themselves was always easy. As the doctor droned on, Ben discreetly checked the room for cameras. None in sight. Made sense. The boss didn’t need to be watched, just the minions and customers. Next, he focused on the numerous framed diplomas and awards on the wall behind the desk, memorizing a few for later verification—as fakes. The pretend Dr. Ortega w
as quite impressive on paper.
When the doctor took a breath, Ben pointed and said, “You have quite a collection of honors. What’s the fancy certificate at the top on the right?”
As expected, Dr. Ortega swiveled his chair around to face the wall behind him and looked up. Quick as a cat, Ben switched his cup with the one on the desk.
“Ah, yes. It looks significant, but it’s only an expression of gratitude for participating in a panel discussion at a medical conference in Chicago.” He chuckled. “Sometimes the fanciest ones are for the least achievement.”
Ben leaned back in the chair with his prize secure in his hand. “But they all tell us a little bit about you.”
“So they do.” He turned the chair back toward the desk. “More questions?”
“How do you get so many Hispanic women to be surrogate mothers for Dream Makers?” Amber asked.
Damn. Ben’s head whipped around. She gave him a wide-eyed, what-did-I-do-wrong look.
Dr. Ortega hesitated. “Basically, we offer them a deal they can’t refuse. They are most grateful for Dream Makers’ expansive benefits. Our dormitory provides much better living conditions than most of them are used to.”
“Dormitory?” His mind raced back to Marissa’s description: prison, one-star hotel.
“Oh, I thought Ms. Rodriguez or Mr. Juarez would’ve explained that we provide full room and board.”
“Oh yes, of course. Can we visit the dormitory?”
Dr. Ortega paused again. “I’m afraid not. It’s their home, you understand. Everyone is entitled to privacy.”
“I’m trying to imagine what you mean by dormitory. Is it on a college campus?”
The man chuckled. “Now I understand what you’re asking. We bought and renovated a small hotel especially for our wonderful surrogates. There was a café off the lobby, so we converted it to a homey dining room and kitchen where all their meals are prepared and served. We also redesigned some of the first-floor rooms into fully equipped medical exam suites. Our lovely ladies don’t have to leave the comfort of the facility for me and the other doctors to do our frequent medical exams.”
Hunted (FBI Heat Book 1) Page 14