“Good! Got the paperwork?”
“Yes, but Mick, you know I really don’t think implanting the twins is a good idea.”
“Worrying as usual I see.” The doctor’s whining phrase—I really don’t think it’s a good idea—had become a mantra with Tad.
“Come on, Tad. It’s how they do it in the outside world, in all the big fertility clinics out there. They always implant a few and hope at least one takes.”
“This is different and you know it. We’ve made medical strides they don’t know about which gives us a much higher pregnancy success rate.”
Mick smirked. “And your point is?”
“The purpose of implanting a few embryos at a time is because they hope one attaches and grows into a fetus. At Maison, with the technology we have, most of the embryos, hell, almost all of them, attach so we end up with multiple births. If you keep this up these surrogates will deliver twins over and over again.”
“Tad, you always were too soft. The bottom line is more product, less time. Ten kids instead of five this month. Five pregnancies and ten infants make for a pretty damn good profit margin.”
Tad made his holier-than-thou, Mick-you’re-a-monster face.
Mick hated that look. “What?”
Tad ushered him down the hall into his office and shut the door behind them. “These are humans we’re talking about here, Mick. Humans. Real girls who are having child after child. Do you have any idea what kind of exertion that puts on their bodies? You put twins in there, and if they both take it’s twice the strain. And then, God, you separate the twins and send them off to live in different homes.”
“Not always.”
Tad raised an eyebrow.
“Last month I adopted a pair together,” Mick defended. “Two brothers birthed to Natalie or Marjorie . . . whatever her name is.”
“Nali?”
“I don’t know, but they were cute little boys, and I was in a beneficent mood.”
“How much more did the parents pay?”
Mick frowned. Tad was overstepping his boundaries. “Drop it, Tad. If you don’t want to work here anymore, leave. I’ll find someone else in a minute.”
Mick knew he wouldn’t go. Tad loved Martine. It was one of the reasons Mick gave her the job as a nurse even though she had no skills or education. The other reason, of course, was that she had carried Luke. Had named him. Out of respect for his son, Mick had spared her.
Tad cared too much about all the girls. They were his Achilles’ heel. Unlike Mick, Tad never saw the business side, only the human side.
“I don’t want to leave. I just wish you would remember once in awhile that it’s people you’re dealing with—not cattle.”
“I’ll work in it. Help me get the babies on the van, will you?”
“Sure.” Tad hung his head.
What must it be like to be so weak, Mick wondered? To go along with what someone else told you all the time, even if you completely disagree.
Tad opened the double doors and led Mick to the waiting infants. They were swaddled and ready to go. A gangly, wide-eyed girl nodded to Mick and handed him one of the babies. She was young and new to Maison, helping with the babies until she got pregnant and earned her keep the conventional way. Probably only spoke Creole. Probably couldn’t even write her own name.
Let Tad judge me all he wants, Mick told himself, this girl and the others are getting a better life here.
After all the babies and their supplies were loaded on the van, Tad turned to go back inside.
“Can you come with me to the airport?”
“Why? You always take Boris.”
If Mick told him that Boris had asked about Martine, Tad would tell Martine. Next thing, she’d talk to the guard and might realize she had some family that cared about her. And she might leave. And then Tad might leave with her. And who knows what kind of revolt Mick would have on his hands. He fearfully imagined a bunch of pregnant natives running around, all of them yelling at Mick in Creole, leaving him helpless. Sure, he could get a new doctor, but no one who would run the whole place for such a small cut of the profits. No one who would want to live on the grounds in a little house among the residents.
“I thought you could come with me for a change.” Mick shrugged. “For old time’s sake.”
“Don’t you have Louie to help you load the babies on the plane?”
“Once I get to the airport yes. But you know as well as I do that I don’t speak the language. It’s almost a two hour drive on dirt roads to Port Au Prince and if I break down, or get a flat, or get stopped, I need someone who can talk to the locals.”
“All right, I’ll go. Let me just tell Martine to hold down the fort. You want a bottle of water for the road?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Mick sat in the warm van, which was kept at room temperature for the infants. Not so comfortable for him but necessary. The kids had all gotten a dose of something, Mick didn’t know what, to help them sleep for the long journey. The small Maison cargo plane had a hidden compartment for the infants. Sound proof and temperature controlled. Unable to be seen by customs inspectors unless they knew to look for it. Louie, his cousin and pilot, had contacts in Customs in Key West but Mick didn’t want to leave himself vulnerable and rely on them. He took precautions in case Louie’s friends couldn’t meet the plane, or if some damned inspector who wasn’t connected did the inspection. Over the years, they’d been lucky, but it just took one slip up. Successful businessmen are always prepared, Daddy Puglisi so often said.
Once he cleared Customs, Louie would help him take the babies off the plane and place them into another specially designed cargo van waiting at the Key West airport. That van was also navy blue but had “Hope House” written on the outside. No one ever stopped charity vans. At least not in the U.S.
Then Mick would pay Louie his envelope of cash and his cousin would be on his way.
Mick would take the Hope House van on the ferry to Windy Key where he would drop off the infants at the holding facility for a few days. He flinched when he envisioned the bittersweet visits he had with the woman who maintained the center. It was torturous going there monthly, seeing her and having to leave her behind, but he had no choice. It was Daddy’s rule, like so many of the other restrictions and practices he had no choice but to accept. No one confronted Daddy Puglisi.
Mick shook his head to get the thoughts out. He needed to get his agenda down. After Hope House, Mick would take the van back across the ferry to leave it at the regular place. Then Louie would fly him to Miami, where home and Luke awaited him.
Mick tapped his steering wheel as he waited for Tad. He thought of Judge Stein. Good ole’ Judge Stein of the Third District at Miami Dade County Court, who was eternally grateful for all the people the Puglisi family had “cleared” to get him the judgeship. He never blinked an eye when it came time to sign the adoption orders. Daddy always said, “Nothing is a sure thing except corrupt judges who fear for their lives.” Mick smiled. Good that there were some things you could count on in life.
What was taking Tad so long? Mick looked at his Blackberry and scrolled around on the calendar. Once he visited Judge Stein, a day or two later, Mick would go get all the children, make the long drive from Key West to Miami with the babies in the Hope House van. He’d leave them in the nursery set up in his basement until it was time to hand them over to their new parents. Unhappily, Luke was beginning to ask questions about, “the babies in the cellar” and Mick was running out of half-assed explanations. Just a matter of time before he’d have to find a closer storage place for the babies, somewhere in Miami nearer his office.
Mick had lots of appointments in the next few days and was giddy just thinking about the money.
Today would be a damn long day, but it was already half over. He had the babies and once Tad arrived he could start the second leg of his journey.
Tad came out and tried to open the passenger door. Locked. Mick hit the button to roll t
he window down, taking the water from Tad.
“Open the door,” Tad said.
“I thought you could just follow me in your car.”
“I could just ride with you and bring the van back here.”
“You know my people use the van when we’re not transporting cargo.”
“Babies. Not cargo. Baby humans.”
“Whatever. I know, I know. No more lectures. Just follow me all right? Stay close in case anything happens. I’m going to leave it in the usual spot and you can shuttle me over.”
Tad rolled his eyes and walked away without responding.
A few minutes later, he emerged in his own car and waved Mick onward.
Mick had immediately raised his window the moment Tad had stepped off, concerned about the interior climate control necessary to safeguard his product. Not a popularity contest. Just business. Still, it hurt a little that beside his father, sister, and Luke, Mick didn’t have a friend in the world. People respected and feared him and he was a very rich man, an intimidating man, but no one liked him. He couldn’t let anyone see his soft side because softness showed weakness, so his father said.
He flipped down his visor. Luke’s smiling face stared down at him. He pressed the button on the silver frame and a voice chip activated. “Wuv yu, Daddy.” Mick smiled. It was enough.
He signaled Boris then drove out of the gates, Tad close behind.
7.
Miami International Airport, late evening
Exhausted, Gloria walked through the airport. It had been a long day and she was glad she hadn’t checked her bag. She had no patience tonight to wait around for a boxy suitcase to make its way across the conveyor belt.
“Gloria,” a man’s voice called out. She turned and saw a dark-haired man in a trench coat a few feet behind her, but he walked toward the gift shop, away from her. Odd.
She walked the long halls of the Miami airport. With the air conditioning set high it felt colder in here than it had back in Massachusetts. She decided to backtrack and hit the coffee shop in search of cocoa. She turned around and there stood the dark-haired man again, but this time he was most definitely staring at her with intense interest. He looked away. If he were a stranger, why wouldn’t he just have smiled when they made eye contact? Why turn and pretend as if he wasn’t watching her?
She ducked into the nearest ladies’ room. If she stayed in here awhile and the man was still outside the door, it would confirm her suspicions. She used the bathroom, washed her hands, freshened up her makeup. Next she put on a coat of clear nail polish to preserve her French manicure. Finally, she waved her fingers about to let them dry.
Nearly a half hour later she exited the ladies’ room. At first she didn’t see her follower; but then beyond the initial crowd, his face emerged. He stood poking about a magazine kiosk, half-heartedly flipping through a copy of Newsweek with eyes searching in her direction.
Shit. She knew her way around this airport pretty well and knew ground transportation was close. She walked quickly, sweating in her wool coat.
Finally, she reached the doors to the outside and a slap of warm air hit her in the face. A row of taxis awaited and she jumped into the nearest one, locking her door and forcing herself to look in the direction from which she’d come only to see the man following her. He’d pushed through the doors and was now scanning the line of cabs. Then he saw her and made eye contact. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. Framed by the cab window, he sprinted toward her, rage on his face.
Before she could scream, the taxi spun its tires and took off, thrusting her hard against the back seat.
“Where are you going?” The driver was American. Young, about twenty-five, with brown hair. Too dark to see his eye color or the whole of his face in the mirror.
The man who had been following her had been waiting at the airport for her arrival, so he probably knew which hotel she had booked as well. “I was going to the Marriot on Ocean Drive in South Beach but I think I’d better go somewhere else. You’ll think I’m crazy but there was a man following me.”
“You’re not crazy. He was packing and ready to attack. That’s why I took off so fast.”
“Packing?”
“A gun. He was reaching for it. I’ve seen his kind down here more times than I can count. I know what to look for.”
“So I’m not paranoid.”
“No ma’am. What’d you do to make this guy come after you?”
“Nothing. I’m not like that. Not into anything illegal or illicit.”
“Well, you’ve upset someone. You a journalist or something? Digging where you shouldn’t be?”
“No, I—Why would you ask that?”
“I talk to a lot of people on this job. Folks who want to tell me all about what they’re into. All manner of things. But people being chased by guys like the one after you—it’s always one of three reasons: You owe somebody money for something, drugs, girls, gambling, whatever; or you’re ready to go state’s evidence on someone and need to be stopped; or you’re a reporter or maybe even a PI and sniffing around where ya shouldn’t. So which one are you?”
Which one am I? I am sniffing where I shouldn’t and someone wants to interfere with my plans. Means I’m on a trail.
Hope outweighed fear. She was on the path of getting her daughter back and someone wanted her stopped before that happened. That had to be what this meant. She confessed to the cabbie. “Guess I fall into the third category.”
“Okay, then I have just the place to take you. They won’t think to seek you out there, and unless it’s law enforcement that’s after you—”
“It’s not.”
“Good. Then they won’t be able to tap into any hotel or credit card records and find you.”
Gloria managed to relax for the rest of the ride. She let the driver do the talking. He rattled on about the weather and politics, the state of the Union, and added, “Ya know I have a degree to teach English from U Miami. Plan to hold onto this job for a couple years, you know, to gain life experience, collect stories listening to passengers, you see, fodder for the novels I intend to write ah . . . some day.”
She smirked. He was the first taxi driver she’d ever met who used the word fodder.
“I am halfway through my outline for my first novel,” he continued. “Once I do a few chapters and sell the thing on spec, I’m gonna write mystery novels full time.”
The editor in Gloria cringed. If I had a penny for everyone who had ever said that to me.
“When you finish your novel, why don’t you send it to me? No promises.”
He looked at her in his mirror and she could see from the glow of the traffic lights that his eyes were blue.
“Why, what do you do?”
“I work at a publishing company in Boston.” She handed him her card.
He read it. “Isn’t this the agency that did that book on Kelli Somer’s show?”
“Yes, it is. I edited it. Actually, I shepherded the concept. Did you see the show or read the book?”
“No, but I heard about Donna Mallory on the news. She was a contributor to the anthology and on the show. Not long after it aired she was shot. Randomly. Right, like I believe that. Kind of weird now that here you are with a price on your head and you edited the book.”
Weird didn’t describe it. She hadn’t made the connection, but he made a good point. Donna had been on the way to see Gloria when she’d been shot and killed.
Her heart tightened at the thought of Donna’s murder. Donna had become one of her closest friends and allies. Aside from Gloria’s grief over losing her, she’d also come to think that Donna had some vital information for her that night, information Gloria might never know as a result of the untimely death.
Gloria also wished she could share her news about Alison with Donna. Perhaps the woman had discovered something about her own lost infant. Maybe hers too was now a young girl living with adoptive parents. And it hadn’t escaped Gloria that Donna was a tall, strong, hea
lthy, and beautiful woman like herself who’d mysteriously lost her baby—just so many coincidences in their stories.
The Sofitel hotel arose in the distance. “Wow. Is this the hotel?”
“Sure is. It’s a very nice place and close to the airport.”
“Didn’t feel close.”
“It’s only three miles but I wanted to make sure we weren’t being followed. I circled around a bit. The guy who was after you knows you saw him. He’ll figure you’ll run far. He’d never suspect you to just go three miles down the road. The best place to hide—under his radar.”
The driver pulled up to the hotel and got out to retrieve Gloria’s bag. “You’ll like this place. It’s got class like you.”
Gloria smiled and peeked at his ID displayed on the back of the front seat. McKenzie Morgan. She grinned, not expecting such a lofty name for a cabdriver. Great name for a novelist though. Marketable name.
In the spotlights outside the lobby, Gloria finally got a good look at McKenzie. What a hottie. He didn’t have the fake Miami or LA cool guy features, but had a handsome face and gorgeous eyes. Nice body too. And he was a writer, so he got points for that. Not to mention the fact that he took her fear seriously and found her a safe place to go. Way too young for her, but his boyish good looks made him a publisher’s dream whether he could write or not! Shoot a few photos with him playing fetch with a golden retriever and they might have a bestseller on their hands.
She paid McKenzie. “Thanks. And really, send me your manuscript when it’s done, McKenzie.” He looked to her curiously so she explained; “I saw your license on the seat back.”
He laughed and rolled his eyes. “Only my mother calls me McKenzie. Everyone else calls me Kenzi. Kenzi Morgan.”
He smiled and her heart fluttered. God I hope he can write. “It’s got a nice ring to it.”
“Thanks, I’ll be in touch.”
The bellman appeared and picked up her suitcase. “Bye and thanks for everything.” Kenzi nodded and waved, and then got in his taxi and drove away. Gloria followed the bellman into the marble lobby.
Her temporary haven of the taxi was gone and she wouldn’t feel safe until she was locked in her room. She reached in her pocket for a Kleenex to wipe the sweat from her face. With all the anxiety, she had forgotten to remove her heavy winter coat.
Hope House Page 6