To Save His Baby

by Judi Lind

  It wasn’t right, she thought, to be so selfish. This moment should be shared with the father of her child, but... she couldn’t tell him. Not yet. Tomorrow. If they hadn’t made an arrest by the end of the day, she’d tell him then.

  The quivering abruptly ceased, as if her unborn child was expressing his disapproval of her decision. A pain, sharp as the stab of a knife, slashed through her heart. She’d called Gil manipulative and deceitful. What she was doing, keeping this incredibly beautiful event from him, was far worse.

  She’d almost decided to reverse her decision, even if that meant she would no longer have an active role in the investigation, when she felt a tiny buzzing at her hip. Her pager.

  Valerie blew out a weary breath. “Oh, no. I don’t have any babies due for another two weeks. Now who’s early?” she muttered, reaching for her pager.

  To her surprise Sidney Weingold’s extension was displayed on the tiny screen.

  “Who is it?” Gil asked. “Someone in labor?”

  “No. At least, I don’t think so. It’s Dr. Weingold.”

  Gil glanced at his watch. “At one o’clock in the morning?”

  Her shoulders inched upward in a half shrug. “Must be an emergency.”

  Dropping her purse on the bed, she picked up the phone and dialed Sid’s extension at the hospital. He answered on the first ring, as if he’d been sitting by the telephone.

  “Hello?”

  “Sid? This is Valerie Murphy. What’s up?”

  “My God, Val, where are you? I tried your house, your service, your office. No one knew where to find you!”

  “Well, you’ve got me now. What did you need?”

  “Listen, I have to take a few days off. Something... personal has come up.”

  “But, Sid, this is my four-off rotation. There’s no one to cover your shift.”

  “No, no,” he said impatiently, “it’s all arranged. Lee Jantz and Marta Kimball have agreed to cover my shifts. And I rearranged my appointments.”

  “This sounds important,” she said.

  “You know I wouldn’t ask for the time off unless it was.”

  Reaching behind her back, she released her hair from its braid and ruffled it loose with her fingertips. “Of course. But...is something wrong? In your family, I mean?”

  “No, my mother is fine. It’s... Look, I want to confide in you, I truly do, but if I’m wrong, well, great damage could be done.”

  Her fingers, which had been fluffing her hair, stilled. “Sid, this all sounds very mysterious.”

  “I know. And I hate to be melodramatic, but there’s something I have to follow up on. Like I said, if I’m wrong, which I truly hope I am, then...listen, I’ll let you know whatever happens. Thanks, Val.”

  He abruptly broke the connection.

  Dropping the receiver onto the cradle, she looked up at Gil. “That was very strange.”

  “So I gathered.”

  “He...he needs a few days off. Says he has to follow up on something, but won’t tell me what.”

  Gil pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the opposite bed. “As if I couldn’t guess.”

  “What do you mean?” Despite the hour and her utter exhaustion, she couldn’t pull her eyes from his lean upper body. Scrapes and bruises aside, she loved the way he looked. Not all buffed up and muscled as was the current fad, but finely honed, like a sleek jungle cat.

  As if unaware of her hungry gaze, he dropped onto the other bed and pulled off his sneakers. “Somewhere two people who think they’ve legitimately adopted the Lundquist baby are anxiously awaiting delivery of their newborn. Obviously that’s Weingold’s task.”

  She tossed her head, causing waves of crimped flaxen hair to billow over her shoulder. “That’s not necessarily true. The adoptive parents could have come to Phoenix and might already have the baby.”

  “Uh-uh. No way would they let recipients know where the infants come from. I’ll bet the adoptive parents are as far flung as Boise and Seattle, maybe even the East Coast. That way, if anything ever goes wrong, no one would have a clue where to look for the doctor who handled the adoption. And I’d be willing to bet my next year’s salary that Weingold uses a different name when he’s in the adoption racket.”

  “I still don’t believe Sidney is involved.” Valerie stood up and stretched. Her lower back was aching from being on her feet for so many hours. She dropped her hand to the crest of her rapidly blossoming stomach. Her pregnancy was starting to show now, evidenced by the little pouch she couldn’t suck in any longer. The strain of pregnancy, her demanding full-time job, her complicated relationship with Gil and the traumatic events of the past few days were starting to take their toll. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for the next fifteen hours, but this adoption scam had to take precedence over everything else. Even her health.

  Although she would draw the line at the well-being of her unborn child.

  She glanced down as Gil pulled the phone closer to him. “Who are you calling?”

  “The local field office. This is the closest we’ve come to a break on this thing. Hello?” He broke off as the party he was phoning answered. “Who is this? This is Special Agent Branton. Has Nick filled you in on my operation? Good. Listen, get a team to Dr. Sidney Weingold’s house and to his office.” Gil read the addresses from his notebook. “Don’t intercept him, but keep a tail on him. Get right back to me if he moves. Got it?”

  He listened for a moment. “I don’t care if it is the middle of the night—page me. Okay, and thanks.”

  Valerie sat on the side of the bed watching him. Gil Branton was such a comfort and such a thorny enigma at the same time. One moment warm, tender, even playful. The next an unyielding guardian of the law, determined to bring the perpetrator to justice no matter how high the stakes.

  She only wished it wasn’t her friend he was so intent on bringing down.

  The shrill ring of the bedside phone startled her. Gil reached across the nightstand to pick up the receiver.

  “Yeah.”

  He listened intently. “Damn! Okay, check all the airlines. Have them flag their computers in case he buys a ticket. You did. Okay, then, thanks for the help. I owe you, buddy.”

  He dropped the phone back on the hook. “They lost him. He’d already left the hospital before the surveillance team arrived.

  “We’re checking the airlines but he could have decided it was safer to drive to, say, San Diego or L.A. Catch a plane from there. We can’t monitor every airport in the country.”

  “So there’s nothing else we can do until morning?”

  His dark eyes flashed and instantly his mood changed, as if quicksilver ran through his veins. “Oh, I can think of something we can do to while away the dark hours before dawn.”

  Crossing the few feet that separated the beds, he drew her into his arms.

  A moment ago even her bones felt bruised and weary. Nothing, she had thought, could keep her from dropping into slumber. Until Gil touched her.

  FAINT GOLDEN DAWN burnished the shabby interior of the small motel room. Gil had been awake for hours, struggling with the demons that had so recently and thoroughly taken possession of his soul.

  Born and raised in a small northern Minnesota farming community, he had always hated the parched, sun-drenched Southwestern states. Too much heat, too much brown. His soul yearned for clean snowy winters and brief hot summers. A standing joke in his hometown had been that they only had two seasons—winter and the Fourth of July.

  So why did he feel so torn about leaving Phoenix at the end of the case? And the end was rapidly approaching; he could feel the tingle of the impending arrest in his very bones. The pressure was on. Sooner or later someone would make a mistake.

  Valerie stirred beside him and he turned to watch her sleep. What was it that drew, and held, him to this woman like a powerful magnet?

  Beauty? She was too...deliciously curved to fit the current mode, yet her blond good looks would turn heads at
any Hollywood party. But it wasn’t her softly rounded beauty that held him captive. Valerie Murphy was an anomaly in his experience. Caring little for her own looks and comfort, she was a constant source of nourishment for those who drank at the well of her compassion.

  No matter how many hours she put in at Parker Memorial, she always had time to counsel and often console patients, underlings and co-workers. And the woman was a wellspring of integrity. Her inherent sense of honor made Gil feel ashamed of the shenanigans he’d pulled in the past—all in the name of furthering justice of course.

  If Valerie were running the world, he reflected, the world would have to get used to unbending honesty.

  But the truth was, she made him feel soft inside. Mushy and silly. Although at the same time, she had a way of making him feel like a giant among men. Not to mention constantly horny.

  Intelligent and aware, she was the only woman he’d ever been involved with who kept his mind sharp, kept him on his intellectual toes. And she was the only woman he instinctively knew he could trust with his life.

  Trust was a major deal to Gil. If an agent couldn’t trust his partner, he stood the chance of living a very short life.

  Valerie was the best partner, in every sense of the word, he’d ever had.

  When she stirred again and opened her eyes, he said, “I have a plan. Kind of.”

  Her eyes widened. “Great! What can I do to help?”

  “I’d like you to set up appointments with each of our major suspects. Bender, Weingold, Abel—”

  “Surely you don’t consider the hospital administrator a suspect? That’s...absurd.”

  “Why? Because he’s too high on the hospital food chain? Don’t you remember Watergate, where the criminal activity went all the way to the Oval Office? Not to mention a few dozen bank presidents who are serving time for their financial peccadilloes.”

  “I guess,” she said doubtfully. “Just those three?”

  “No. That orderly, Ed Grant. Strikes me odd that an ER orderly would do so much volunteer work at the clinic.”

  Valerie laughed. “He says it’s a great place to meet chicks.”

  “Yeah, pregnant ones. Anyway, him, and the two nurses, Monica Giesen and that mean one—Pierce. Anyway, I want you to call and arrange for us to meet with them.”

  “I don’t know, Gil. What are we going to say?”

  “Let me worry about that. Anyway, the attempt on your life means our cover is blown, anyway. It’s time to come out of hiding. Time to take a hard look at their alibis.”

  “But these are my friends!” she protested. “I don’t want to set a trap. Why don’t you just arrange your own interviews?”

  He shook his head. “These kidnappers aren’t your run-of-the-mill gutter criminals. Your friends have money and influence. If I call them, guilty or not, they’re going to have expensive lawyers sitting at their sides telling them not to answer a single question. But if you ask to meet with them, it won’t raise their suspicions.”

  “And once we’re there asking our questions, they won’t call their lawyers?”

  “I doubt it. Common sense says they’ll try to bluff their way through. Most people have the mistaken belief that only the guilty should have a lawyer present during police questioning.”

  She sighed. “I sure hope this works.”

  Knowing Sid Weingold was currently unavailable, they decided to start their interrogations with Monica Giesen. She, Gil reasoned, had the most contact with the patients. It would have been a cinch for her to screen the expectant mothers for the ones that fit the needs of the adoption scam.

  Since it was Sunday, the WomanCare clinic was closed and Monica would be at home. “I have her address in my book,” Valerie volunteered. She rummaged through her backpack until she fetched a tattered address book. “Here it is! 4050 Via Saguaro Avenue, in Scottsdale.”

  Gil raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t Scottsdale a pricey neighborhood for a nurse?”

  “Parts of it are expensive. I remember when she bought her condo right after her divorce. She probably got a settlement from her ex.”

  They piled into the Blazer and headed for Scottsdale. Gil had opted not to phone first. He’d rather they caught her off guard.

  While he drove, Valerie served as navigator through the plushly landscaped residential community. Via Saguaro was a broad avenue, lined with towering palm trees. None of the residents parked on the street; probably the homeowners’ association wanted to keep this affluent neighborhood looking its best.

  Monica Giesen’s condominium complex was a far cry from the shabby little apartments where Karen Lundquist lived. Hidden from the casual observer by palms and lush palo verdes, the complex sat at least a hundred feet from the road behind a high wall and ornate gates with a uniformed security guard.

  Gil whistled as they presented their identification to the guard. “I had no idea nursing paid so well.”

  “It doesn’t.” Valerie looked around, her eyes wide with amazement. “I doubt even Martin Abel, with his high six-figure salary, could afford a place here.”

  “Just a minute, folks, and I’ll call Ms. Giesen and announce you.”

  Gil knew that was a fancy way of saying they had to be approved by the resident before they would be granted admittance. He fished in his pants pocket and took out his shield. “Listen, I’d just as soon you didn’t let Ms. Giesen know we were coming.”

  The man shook his head. “That could mean my job, sir.”

  Pulling a business card out of his shirt pocket, Gil scribbled his pager number on the back. “Here. If anyone gives you any static, you let me know. I’m sure your boss wouldn’t want you interfering with a federal criminal investigation.”

  “No, sir, I’m sure he wouldn’t.”

  While the guard was making a notation on his clipboard, Gil casually asked, “How much do these units go for?”

  The guard laughed wryly. “If ya have to ask, ya can’t afford ’em. Ain’t none for sale right now, but when they was being built, me and the missus came and looked at a couple models. The small unit went for four hundred grand. I’ve heard they’ve appreciated since then.”

  He gave them directions to Monica’s unit and told them where to park. As Gil threaded through the winding road through the complex, he commented, “It sure doesn’t look good for Monica.”

  Valerie looked up, her eyes dark and troubled. “You mean because she lives in an expensive condominium? Maybe she has an independent source of income we know nothing about.”

  “You mean like rich parents?”

  “Yes, or investments or a trust fund or something.”

  “Nothing like that turned up on her BI—background investigation,” he clarified.

  They found Monica’s unit and parked in the visitors’ lot under a huge acacia tree. Gil lowered the windows a fraction to let the blistering air escape. With the early-morning temperature already hovering in the nineties, he knew the inside of a closed car could reach 120 degrees within half an hour.

  He took Valerie’s arm, and they headed for the corner unit. She rang the doorbell while Gil stayed in the shadows. After a brief wait, Monica opened the door.

  “Dr. Murphy! What a surprise.” Monica was still in her dressing gown, a luscious creation in ivory silk that Gil was willing to bet cost a week’s salary.

  “We’re sorry to disturb you at home, but you remember Gil, don’t you?”

  He stepped out of the shadows.

  “Of course. Hi, Gil.” She didn’t invite them in, but continued to stare as if bewildered by their presence.

  He moved forward, surreptitiously placing the front of his shoe inside the doorway. “If we could come in, we’d like to ask you a few questions. Won’t take but a few minutes.”

  Monica hesitated. “Questions? About what? I thought they had terminated whatever accounting you were doing at the hospital.”

  Again reaching for his badge, he presented it for her inspection. “That was an undercover assignment. I�
��m here on a far more serious matter.”

  She dropped his shield back into his palm as if it were molten metal. “You’re an FBI agent? This is a joke, right?”

  “No joke, Monica. Now can we come inside?” When she still hesitated, he said, “Or we can conduct this interview out here where all your neighbors can get an earful. Your choice.”

  Giving Valerie a sharp venomous glance, Monica opened the carved wooden door. “Come in.”

  Said the spider to the fly, he thought with a sudden burst of insight into her too-sweet personality.

  Monica’s spacious condominium was a shrine to gilt-and-white minimalism. Twenty-foot vaulted ceilings were seemingly held aloft by a pair of thick white Doric columns. Wide expanses of white marble floor were topped by the occasional sofa, upholstered in nubby ivory silk. Glass tables with golden accessories and the occasional towering green plant were the only embellishments. Not a single personal item, photo or memento, marred the spartan beauty.

  Still, he thought as she led them to a pair of ivory love seats separated by a small glass table, the milky surroundings were the perfect foil for Monica’s striking dark looks.

  “Nice place,” he commented after they were seated. “Meeting the mortgage must cut into the kids’ milk money.”

  She smiled. “Maybe that’s why I never had children—so I could have nice things.”

  As if unable to contain herself any longer, Valerie leaned across the table. “Monica, what do you know about—”

  “—Dr. Weingold’s needing some personal leave over the next few days?” Gil smoothly interjected.

  For the first time Monica’s composed shell cracked just a fraction. “Wh-what do you mean?”

  “Just that. Dr. Weingold had some pressing personal business. Do you know what it’s about?”

  “No.” She glanced at Valerie, the overt hostility on her face replaced by confusion. “And I truly fail to see what business it is of mine. Or the FBI’s.”

  Deliberately baiting her, Gil said, “Let me be the judge of what is and what isn’t our business, okay? You just answer my questions.”