Mommy Under Cover. Delores Fossen

inches down his neck. The swipe and the gusty October wind only mussed it more, but it still managed to look fashionably disheveled. A term that actually described his overall appearance.

      “You understand what we might have to do in there, right?” he asked, obviously irritated.

      “It’s not an issue,” she assured him, tossing that irritation right back at him. “If the situation dictates a kiss, then kiss away.”

      But both knew it might not be limited to just a kiss.

      After all, they were about to enter a fertility clinic. Where virtually anything could be expected of them. Anything. And the man who’d be expecting it was the very person who’d created a dark cloud over the Special Investigations Unit. He’d killed one of their own and gotten away with it.

      So far.

      As long as Fletcher was free, the dark cloud would stay. Over Riley. Over her father. Over the entire department.

      And she could do something about that.

      She could finally rid her father of the one black mark on his otherwise spotless career record: his failure to close out Colette’s murder.

      Maybe then…

      “Where are you right now?” she heard Riley whisper. There was yet more annoyance in his voice. He slipped his arm around her waist and eased her closer to him. Not exactly a loving gesture, either. He gave her a nudge.

      Tessa glanced at him and was on the verge of asking him what he meant, but those raised questioning eyebrows said it all.

      “I’m focused,” she assured him.

      He made a sound to indicate he didn’t believe her.

      She made a sound to indicate she didn’t care what he thought.

      It was going to be a long mission.

      They entered the brownstone building and Tessa paused in the doorway. To get her bearings. To observe. To make sure she was indeed focused.

      She counted three security cameras in the reception area. Not two, as stated in the intel report. That meant the surveillance team hadn’t known about the recent modifications in the clinic.

      Tessa silently cursed.

      She’d already had enough surprises on this ops without adding yet another.

      “Camera in the corner above the fake Picasso,” Riley muttered.

      “I saw it. And I don’t think it’s a fake.”

      Definitely not the decor or security measures for a typical fertility clinic. But then, Dr. Barton Fletcher was nowhere in the range of being typical.

      There were no other patients. Just a brunette receptionist whose brass nameplate on her practically bare, glass-topped desk identified her as Beatrice Holden. The woman was almost certainly a hired gun. Tessa noticed the faint outline of a shoulder holster beneath her loose mocha-colored jacket.

      “The Tates, I presume,” Beatrice concluded, her more than mildly curious gaze raking over them. She hitched her shoulder in the direction of a hall. “Follow me.”

      They did. Down the wide corridor that Tessa knew from studying the floor plans would end at the sitting area outside Fletcher’s office. They passed no other visible doors along the way, but there were some concealed ones behind the judge’s paneling that didn’t quite go with the rest of the decor. Likely spots for escape routes.

      Or security guards.

      The fact she didn’t have a weapon suddenly made Tessa very uncomfortable. Riley must have felt the same way because the muscles tensed in his arm that he had curved around her waist. Because of Colette and his obsession with getting revenge, there was no telling what kind of emotional wringer he was going through at the moment.

      As they neared the end of the hall, the doctor stepped out from the sitting area and flashed them a slick smile that sent a chill snaking down her spine.

      Tessa hadn’t been sure how she’d react to Barton Fletcher, but she was a firm believer in instincts. In this case her instincts confirmed what everyone already suspected: the man was a killer.

      Too bad the justice system required more than her instincts as proof. And too bad that hard evidence was the very thing they lacked. Of course, that was what this mission was all about—gathering evidence to bring a killer to justice.

      Like the reception area, the sitting room outside his office was plush. Decorated with original artwork and a Turkish rug that was probably worth six figures.

      But that wasn’t all.

      On one wall there were framed black-and-white photos. Artistically done. Precisely placed. All of babies. Lots of babies. Some were newborns snuggled into blankets. Others were slightly older with round smiling faces.

      Tessa cursed herself when she had to take another deep breath.

      That deep breath sent Riley’s gaze sliding in her direction. “Are you okay?” he whispered. Lovingly whispered. He pressed a husbandly kiss on her cheek.

      It was time to open that vein a little.

      Not that she could have possibly kept it closed anyway.

      Tessa tipped her head toward the photos. “Aren’t they beautiful?” She made sure her voice cracked a little. It wasn’t difficult to do.

      Riley nodded, his interest not on the photos but still on her. His stare, along with his slightly tightened grip, was a subtle question. What the heck was wrong with her? But it was also a subtle warning for her to keep her attention on the mission.

      “The babies are a few of my many success stories,” Dr. Fletcher volunteered.

      Thankfully, the doctor’s voice dragged Tessa back to where she needed to be. She forced aside the old wounds, the old issues, and reminded herself that she couldn’t do anything about the past, but she could do something about the future.

      The doctor led them into his office. Fletcher obviously had expensive taste and his workplace wasn’t the only thing that reflected it. His clothes were flawless, along with being pricey. Somehow, the classic conservative Italian suit didn’t clash with the eraser-size diamond stud in his right earlobe.

      “Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Fletcher offered.

      “We wouldn’t have missed this.” Riley eased onto the sofa across from Fletcher’s desk. Tessa followed and stayed close. “Our future son is our number-one priority.”

      “Your future son is important to me, as well.” Fletcher sat at his desk and typed in something on his computer keyboard. “When I meet with potential clients for the first time, I start with the basics. Many couples come to me for enhanced conceptions, but because my time is limited, I’m selective about those I agree to help.”

      Tessa didn’t have to fake a surprised reaction to that. Her response was completely natural. A week before at her preliminary screening, Fletcher’s medical technician had told her that once a couple was granted an actual appointment with the doctor, that meant they’d been approved for the procedure. The only thing left to finalize the deal should have been the quarter-million-dollar fee.

      Had Fletcher changed his policy about that?

      “You are going to help us?” she asked.

      Fletcher didn’t respond right away. Nor did he look at them. He kept his gaze fastened to his computer screen. Unfortunately, Tessa couldn’t see what had garnered his attention, but it sent her heart pounding. Mercy. They’d come too close for him to stop things now.

      “I always request background checks on potential clients,” Fletcher explained, ignoring her question. “You both obviously value your privacy. It took my assistants days to delve through the layers of cyber security.”

      Okay.

      That didn’t