Lock, Stock and Secret Baby

by Cassie Miles

  “They didn’t know,” Blake said. “They weren’t told.”

  Pyro threw back his head and laughed. “I knew it. I knew that old fart wasn’t really my father.”

  In contrast, Latimer appeared to be devastated. He sank lower in his chair. “I don’t believe you. Dr. Prentice would never do anything so unethical.”

  Eve moved toward him. “This must be a shock.”

  He waved her away with an elegant flip of his wrist. “Please leave.”

  “I’m so sorry.” She shot Blake an angry glance. “We should have been careful in the way we told you.”

  “Leave,” Latimer said. “I wish to be alone.”

  Blake guided her toward the door. Before they left, Randall handed him a note with phone numbers. In a low voice, he asked, “Is it true?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “Dr. Latimer won’t be happy.” His heavy brows pulled into a scowl. “He’s had a rough few years. You should have known him before the illness. He was a different man.”

  “Randall!” Latimer called from the study.

  The stocky driver opened the door and ushered them out.

  Pyro dashed outside ahead of them. He danced on the lawn, still laughing. “I’m reborn, man. This is the best day. Ever.”

  Blake glanced back toward the house. “Not for everyone.”

  Chapter Nine

  Because she hated unquantifiable variables, Eve thought their conversation with Latimer had been unsatisfactory. Though he accused her of being too direct, he’d been far too vague. Was he closely in contact with Prentice? Close enough to kill for him? She tossed the car keys to Blake and slipped into the passenger seat.

  Before he started the car, he handed her the note from Randall. “Nothing new here. You already had these phone numbers for Prentice.”

  “We did learn one important clue.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Latimer talked to Prentice today. That’s the only way he’d know I’m pregnant.”

  “What about the glow?”

  “Oh, please. That’s an old wives’ tale.”

  On the street in front of them, Pyro loaded his keyboard into a van parked under the streetlight. He wouldn’t be hard to trace; his vanity license plate proudly repeated his name: PYRO. Turning to face them, he snapped both hands open. A flame exploded from his fingers.

  “Wow!” She applauded. “Very cool.”

  “Lighter fluid,” Blake muttered. “Cheap trick.”

  Pyro bowed before he jumped into the driver’s seat and took off.

  “He seems awfully happy to have different parents.” She was a little bit fascinated by this techno-punk rocker who played classical violin, but she didn’t trust him. “Do you think he’s faking?”

  “Hard to tell. He’s a performer.”

  “I’ve heard that when a person lies, there are measurable physical reactions. Dilated pupils. Sudden hand gestures. Licking of lips.”

  “Handy information if you’re questioning a suspect in a laboratory,” Blake said as he drove to the corner and turned.

  “Do you have experience in that field?” As soon as she spoke, she realized her question was obvious. He was Special Forces. “Of course, you’ve done interrogations.”

  “Let’s just say that I’ve dealt with my share of informants and rats. When it comes to lying and liars, I usually go with my gut reaction.”

  “What does your gut tell you?”

  “Both these guys have something to hide.”

  She’d been watching Latimer when Blake had revealed that he was not, in fact, genetically related to the parents who had raised him. Though she hadn’t been able to see the doctor’s eyes clearly behind his thick glasses, his fingers had tensed. He’d inhaled a quick, sharp gasp. Obvious reactions.

  “From what Latimer said about his father,” she said, “the genetic truth could create problems.”

  “Oh, yeah. Old man Latimer sounds like a ‘blood is thicker than water’ type. He wants an heir, a son to carry on his family name and business.” Abruptly, Blake pulled over to the curb. “That’s what I call a motive.”

  “Why are you parking?”

  “I want to see what Latimer does next.” He opened his car door. “Coming?”

  “Are you suggesting that we spy on him?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  She hesitated for half a second to consider the ethics of their actions. Spying was sneaky. But they were looking for a murderer, which justified a certain amount of devious behavior. She hopped from the car and followed him as he dashed across the wide lawns in this upscale neighborhood. Though the city streetlights provided clear illumination, the tall trees and ample shrubbery created shadows.

  When they rounded the corner, she saw headlights on the street. Blake pulled her close and ducked behind a shrub. He crouched close behind her. She heard his breathing, felt the warmth of his body. The physical attraction she’d managed to put on hold rose up again.

  She tried to funnel her thinking in a different direction. “What did you mean when you mentioned motive?”

  “Suppose that Dr. Latimer’s father found out about the genetics. He’d be ticked off, might even disinherit his son. The good doctor would lose his cushy lifestyle.”

  His logic made sense to her. “So if Dr. Ray threatened to reveal the information in the study, Latimer had a motive to kill him.”

  “Yep.”

  “One thing he’s not faking is his blindness,” she said. “I noticed a couple of books in Braille on the shelves.”

  The headlights passed, and Blake guided her closer to Latimer’s white stucco mansion. Instead of peeking in the front bay window, they crept around to the side of the house. Blake peeked at the edge of a window and whispered, “He’s on the phone. Looks pissed off.”

  “Can you hear what he’s saying?”

  “Not really.” He leaned closer, nearly pressing his cheek against the glass. “Now, he’s talking to Randall. I think he said something about the car.”

  “Are they going somewhere?”

  “That would be my guess,” he said. “They left the room.”

  From far inside the house, she heard a door slam.

  “Let’s go,” Blake said. “We need to follow them.”

  Abandoning subtlety, they raced across the grassy lawns toward the corner where the vehicle was parked. The short sprint got her blood pumping. When she dove into the passenger seat and closed the door, she felt exhilarated.

  “Down!” Blake pushed her forward so her head was on her knees. “There’s a car coming out of the alley.”

  When the headlights passed, she popped up. “Was it them?”

  “I saw Randall in the driver’s seat.” He fired up the engine. “Fasten your seat belt.”

  As she buckled up, he maneuvered the station wagon around and whipped toward the main road. His driving was pure Indy 500. “You’re going too fast. You’ll attract attention.”

  “I need to see which way they turn at the stoplight.”

  She peered through the windshield. “Is that the car? The one with the rhomboid taillights?”

  “If rhomboid means wraparound, yes.”

  On the main boulevard, she focused on the taillights as Blake dodged through traffic, keeping a distance from the car Randall was driving. When a truck pulled between them, she buzzed down the window and stuck her head out. She still couldn’t see the rhomboid lights. “The next time we stop, I can jump out and see where they are.”

  “Stay in the car.”

  Their pursuit of the other vehicle was turning out to be fun. Who knew investigating could be such a kick?

  When Randall headed northwest, she recognized the route. “They’re going to Dr. Latimer’s clinic. I’m sure of it.”

  “How far is it? Can we get ahead of them?”

  “With the way you drive, yes.” She glanced up at the street sign and read the number. “Go straight. I’ll tell you when to turn.”

  Using
three lanes of traffic as cover, he zipped through a yellow light, leaving Randall behind. “We’ll get there first and be out of the car before they arrive.”

  He parked on the far side of the square three-story building and flung open his door. She leaped from the car and followed him. They hid in the shadows at the edge of the building just as Randall drove toward the front entrance.

  Jiggling a set of keys in his hand, Latimer’s driver left the car and approached the building.

  “Where’s Latimer?” she whispered.

  “Still in the car.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Randall left the engine running.” Blake leaned his back against the wall. “Latimer has a clear view of the entrance, so we can’t follow Randall inside.”

  “But Latimer’s vision isn’t good.”

  “Even if he can’t identify us, he’ll sure as hell notice two figures breaking into his building.”

  Two floors above them, office lights went on. She tilted her head back as if she could see through the glass and stone. “Randall is looking for something. Your father’s missing documents?”

  “I’d like to think you’re right, but Latimer’s no fool. He wouldn’t keep anything incriminating in his office.”

  She stood beside him. Shoulder to shoulder, but not touching. “Were you really going to break in?”

  “Maybe not. There’s probably a surveillance camera pointed at the entrance, and I wouldn’t want you to get arrested.”

  “I could handle it.”

  She gazed up at his perfect profile, and he smiled down at her. They were well and truly partners. Hard to believe. When she’d gotten out of bed this morning and dressed in black for the funeral, she never dreamed her life would be so radically altered by nightfall. She’d started the day as a solitary mathematician. Now she was pregnant, and she’d met a man who was…someone special.

  The lights above them went out.

  She peeked around the edge of the building, waiting until Randall emerged. He went to the car and opened the door. Very clearly, she heard him say, “It’s safe.”

  They drove away.

  AFTER RETURNING TO HIS father’s house, Eve went to the guest bedroom with the matching twin beds and got settled. She shoved her suitcase out of the way in the closet and unzipped the top. Since she’d been at the end of her laundry cycle, her choice in nightwear had been severely limited. Not that she owned any silky lingerie, but this outfit was super geeky: blue flannel pajama bottoms with images of Wonder Woman and an oversize T-shirt in faded red with the Hogwarts coat of arms.

  In the adjoining bathroom, she washed her face, brushed her teeth and changed into her dorky nightclothes, telling herself that looking good didn’t matter. She didn’t want to be desirable. Nothing was going to happen between her and Blake. At least not until after they compared their DNA and knew for sure that they weren’t related.

  Though there was a desk in the pastel-green bedroom, she took her laptop to bed, where she sat cross-legged in the middle of the green-and-brown plaid bedspread. Powered up, she began to search for her old friend Hugo, who had used her DNA results for an experimental profile of humans and orangutans. Since she hadn’t contacted Hugo in three years, she suspected his old e-mail name—MonkeyMan—was incorrect. Sure enough, her message bounced back in seconds. But she knew his interests—primatology, Indiana Jones movies and saving the rainforest. He wouldn’t be hard to locate.

  She heard a tap on the door and called out, “Come in.”

  Like her, Blake had changed into sleep clothes. Even though he was carrying her purse, his army-green T-shirt and black sweatpants looked sexy. She noticed the lower edge of a tattoo peeking out from the sleeve on his left arm.

  “All right,” she said, “show it to me.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “What exactly did you want to see?”

  She felt herself blushing. “Your tattoo, of course.”

  He rolled up his sleeve to reveal a winged man. “Icarus,” he said. “From the ancient Greek story about the danger of flying too close to the sun. All the men in my platoon got this tat to honor Sarge. His name was Isaacs, and he hated the nickname Icky. Still, I like to think of him flying high.”

  She’d been ready to give him a hard time about creepy body art, but his tattoo had deep significance—a very valid reason for a tat. “I have one, too.”

  “Where?”

  She pulled down the collar of her Hogwarts T-shirt to show him the one-inch long tattoo. “The symbol of pi. I got it to celebrate my master’s degree.”

  After a quick glance, he looked away as though embarrassed. Him? A great big macho Special Forces guy? Did the top of her left breast intimidate him?

  He dropped the purse on her bed. “Check the messages on your cell phone. You had a call from Vargas.”

  “You looked at my cell phone? I never gave you permission to pry into—”

  “Hey, I didn’t listen to your messages.” He flopped onto the bed beside hers. “Let’s hear what the billionaire has to say.”

  She took out her cell phone, noting that she’d received several calls from the guys at the lab and one from her neighbor. Setting the phone to be on speaker, she played back the Vargas call.

  “Hi, Eve. It’s David Vargas. I’d like to meet you for lunch tomorrow. One o’clock at the Gilpin Grill in Cherry Creek. This isn’t strictly pleasure. I have some business to discuss—an idea that might benefit the research you’re doing at Sun Wave.”

  “Clever,” Blake said. “He’s trying to hook you with a business proposition.”

  Or maybe he was actually attracted to her. Was that so hard to believe? “What should I say?”

  “Meet him.” He rolled onto his back.

  “Are you coming with me?”

  “Don’t tell Vargas that I am. But, yeah. I’m your bodyguard. I go where you go.”

  First, she called her neighbor and made arrangements for the feral cats. Then, she texted an acceptance to Vargas. The callbacks to coworkers would wait until tomorrow. She looked over at the other bed where he had burrowed under the plaid comforter. Sleeping? Though it was almost midnight, she was wide awake. “Blake?”

  “What?”

  “When Randall said, ‘It’s safe,’ he might have been talking about security.”

  “Didn’t we already discuss this?”

  “Yes, but we were trying to think of an object. Like your father’s documents. Or Latimer’s DNA test results. A photo. Some kind of proof. What if Randall meant that the whole office was safe.”

  “Tomorrow. We’ll think about it tomorrow.”

  As she gazed at his lumpy form, she found herself wishing he’d stay up and talk to her, maybe even give her a good-night kiss. Even if it was wrong? Even if he was her brother? With a renewed sense of purpose, she returned to her computer search.

  After a few minutes, he growled, “When are you going to turn off the light?”

  “As soon as I locate MonkeyMan.”

  “Is that a porno site or your boyfriend?”

  “Neither. MonkeyMan was the e-mail name for Hugo Resnick, a primatologist. He’s the guy who did my DNA. Shouldn’t you be looking for your own DNA results?”

  “Tomorrow, we’re going to a clinic at Fitzsimons,” he said. “I figure General Walsh will be able to access my results a lot easier than I can.”

  “Why Fitzsimons? I thought the veteran hospital was closed.”

  “My dad worked there part-time at the PTSD clinic. It’s a place he might have kept copies of his documents. Plus, I need equipment to continue with this investigation.”

  “Like what?”

  “Another weapon, ammo, bugging devices, infrared goggles and a vehicle. My dad’s old station wagon is fine for trips to the grocery store. But I need a car with more horses.”

  He was such a typical male. “It’s all about the hardware.”

  “You guessed it.”

  Within fifteen minutes, she’d located Hugo the MonkeyMan
and sent him an e-mail. Hopefully, he wasn’t in Borneo doing research. With luck, she’d have a reply from him tomorrow.

  She turned off the bedside lamp and got under the covers. “Good night, Blake.”

  “Night.”

  She’d barely gotten settled when she heard a loud buzzing noise. The house alarm had been activated.

  Chapter Ten

  At the sound of the alarm, Blake was awake. Alert. Ready.

  The Sig Sauer that had been on the bedside table was in his hand. Safety off, he aimed two-handed at the closed bedroom door. He reversed position, pointed the barrel at the thin light filtering through the plaid curtains on the windows. No immediate threat was visible.

  He scissored his legs free from the comforter, leaped across the narrow space between the twin beds and covered Eve with his body. He’d wanted to touch her. But not like this, damn it.

  No time to explain. He pulled her off the bed.

  In a few steps, they were inside the adjoining bathroom where the only window was high off the floor. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a bathtub where she could take cover.

  He felt her standing close behind him. No whimpering. No complaining. Like a good soldier, she was waiting for him to tell her what to do. A damn good question.

  They could hunker down and wait for the security company to respond in ten, maybe fifteen minutes. With the bathroom door ajar and his Sig Sauer aimed at the closed door leading into the bedroom, Blake was confident that he could hold off the threat until help arrived, but it went against his grain to sit back and wait. He wanted to nab this son of a bitch.

  As if she’d read his mind, Eve said, “You want to go after him.”

  “I can’t leave you unguarded.”

  “They won’t hurt me.” She spoke loudly enough to be heard over the alarm. “The only reason they’re after me is the baby. They want to monitor my pregnancy, make sure I don’t give the baby up for adoption.”

  “Your logic is solid.” As always.

  “You’re the one in danger, Blake.”

  She was right. Her baby was the prize, and he fell into the category of collateral damage. They’d shoot him to reach her, but he was willing to take that chance.