His Child. Delores Fossen

they drugged you. Your symptoms could be from that.”

      Her eyebrow rose sharply. “Not these symptoms. And they didn’t keep me drugged all the time, just locked up. They only drugged me when they did those, uh, procedures on me.”

      He didn’t want to delve into that any further, not when he had so many other things to discuss. “Another hypothetical question, then. Why would anyone want to do this?”

      “That’s what I want you to answer. Trust me, I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. Maybe you wanted some surrogate mother and you didn’t want to go through the hassle of doing it the legal way.”

      He shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

      “It does if you didn’t want the publicity because of your campaign. Some people are opposed to surrogate pregnancies. You probably didn’t want to risk offending any ultra-conservative voters. This way, you could adopt the child and pretend you’re still a good guy who’s giving some orphan a chance to be raised by a millionaire rancher-turned-congressman. You’re the winner all the way around.”

      Jake still didn’t believe her story, and that theory was just plain asinine, but he could definitely see this from a different angle. A much different angle. If, and that was a Texas-sized if, there was any truth to what this woman said, it could be a plot by someone out to get him. Suppose someone wanted to use the child to embarrass him or to hurt his campaign? Even in this day and age, conservative voters wouldn’t care much for a future congressman having an illegitimate child.

      She raked her tongue over her bottom lip. “But something must have gone wrong, because I heard them say they were going to kill me. Thank God I was able to escape before they could get around to doing that.”

      “They said they were going to kill you?” Jake repeated. “Well, that shoots holes in your surrogate mom theory, huh? Why would I go through all that trouble to inseminate you, and then kill you before I even knew for sure if you’re pregnant?”

      “I don’t know. I told you, that’s why I’m here. I need answers.”

      “Well, you came to the wrong place, lady. Let me correct that, you came to the wrong man. I’m not buying any of this, so why don’t we just cut to the chase and you spit out exactly what you want. Money up front? Or are you doing this for blackmail so you can drag out the payments for years? Because either way I don’t intend to give you a dime.”

      She tipped her head to the phone. “Make the call to Cryogen Labs. Vial number 6837.”

      Jake looked at the phone, and then her. “All right, I will.” It was about time he called her bluff. He walked across the room, using the mirror to keep an eye on her. “I don’t suppose you know their phone number?”

      “No.”

      “No,” he mimicked sarcastically under his breath.

      Jake didn’t know what to make of that. A con artist would have known the number. A victim of the crime she’d just described wouldn’t. Of course, she could be a very good con artist who was pretending she didn’t know. There was only one way to find out.

      He got the number from directory assistance and called the lab. Jake wasn’t even sure the place would be open, but someone picked up on the third ring.

      “This is Jake McClendon. I wanted to verify some information about specimens I had stored there.” The woman who answered the call asked him to provide some identifying data. Once that was out of the way, he got down to business. “I need to know about the six vials I had in Cryogen Labs. I want to make sure they were indeed destroyed.”

      “Oh, yes, they were, Mr. McClendon. Didn’t someone contact you about it?”

      “They did.” He glanced at Jessie. She stepped closer and stared at him. Her eyes darkened like storm clouds. “Equipment failure, the person said.”

      “I’m afraid all the samples in that particular tank were destroyed. You are eligible for compensation from our insurance carrier.”

      He wasn’t interested in insurance. In fact, before today Jake hadn’t been interested in the vials at all. He’d stored them at Cryogen in case the treatment for his Hodgkin’s Disease left him sterile. Since it hadn’t, he had forgotten they even existed. Until he got that call four months ago.

      “I need the vial numbers,” he explained to the woman.

      “Certainly. I have that right here in the computer.”

      He heard the clicking of her fingers on the keys, and made another spot-check on Jessie. Now she was looking around the room. For her gun, no doubt. She wouldn’t find it. Jake had wrapped it in a plastic dry cleaner’s bag and put it in the closet in the bedroom. Later, he wanted someone to check the weapon for fingerprints. That was probably the only way he would find out who she really was.

      “Okay, here we are,” the woman finally said. “The vials were numbered consecutively from 6851 through 6855. As I said, they were all destroyed.”

      So, there was no 6837. But Jessie Briggs had been damn close. Jake was about to end the call and confront his visitor, when he realized the numbers that the woman gave him only accounted for five vials.

      “There were six specimens,” he pointed out.

      “Oh, yes. I see what happened. The first vial was the one you originally gave us. The other five were collected later at your physician’s office and then transferred here.”

      “And the number on that first vial?”

      “Let’s see. That would have been 6837.”

      The muscles tightened in his chest. Jake refused to allow himself to react beyond that. This meant nothing. There was a reasonable explanation. All he had to do was find it. “And where is that vial?” he asked.

      “I’m afraid it was destroyed also.”

      Not according to the woman in his hotel suite. But then, she was obviously a liar. Her story didn’t make a lick of sense. Nobody in his or her right mind would kidnap a woman, inseminate her and then try to kill her. Would they?

      No. They wouldn’t.

      He hung up the phone to confront his lying visitor. There was just one problem.

      She wasn’t there.

      And the door to his suite was wide open.

      Chapter Two

      Adjusting the plastic bag of groceries, Jessie cradled the phone against her shoulder and pushed the coins into the slot. Someone had scratched crude profanity into the black plastic box, and the mouthpiece smelled like dog’s breath. The phone company would not have been pleased. It didn’t exactly please her, either. She tried not to breathe too deeply, knowing the smell would turn her stomach.

      She entered the numbers and waited. Not long. As she’d expected, he answered almost immediately. “Detective DuCiel.”

      “Byron, it’s me.” Jessie tried to keep her vigilant gaze on everything going on around her. It was rush hour. A little past five o’clock. The traffic crawled down St. Mary’s Street. Horns honked. People hurried on the sidewalk. There was enough activity for her to get lost in the crowd, and she counted heavily on it. Getting lost was the only thing that made sense right now.

      “Well, it’s about time you called. You said I might not hear from you for months, but I didn’t believe it.” The relief in Byron’s voice soon turned to a bark. “Where the heck are you, anyway? What happened? I was ready to—”

      “I only have a few seconds. It isn’t safe to talk here.” It probably wasn’t safe anywhere, but Jessie didn’t say that.

      “Where are you? I’ll come right now.”

      “That wouldn’t be smart, for either of us. I just wanted you to know that I’m—” What? Not all right. She wasn’t