Hunted (FBI Heat Book 1) (13 page)

Sitting alone in the conference room, Ben glanced at his watch: nine p.m. He flexed his shoulders and rolled his head to the right and then to the left to loosen the tight muscles in his neck.

Planning the op surrounding the surrogate interviews tomorrow had taken more time than expected.
Totally my fault.
His desire to think beyond Wednesday to where the potential outcomes might lead had prolonged the process.

When Amber said she wanted to leave, he’d tried to talk her out of it. He really didn’t like the idea of her being in the apartment alone. But he’d finally conceded and had Dillon drive her home around dinnertime. He’d given his friend and fellow agent strict instructions to reconnoiter the neighborhood and entire complex before escorting her to Ben’s apartment, which Dillon was also to search before leaving her there.

Amber had taken off her disguise after the pictures at Mandy’s house. But he’d insisted she put it back on to go home. If Jeremy Nelson was prowling around, Ben didn’t want the asshole to ever see his prey coming or going from the apartments.

Amber’s stalker was making him nervous. He didn’t like not having a plan. But for the moment, his job had to take priority. As soon as they rescued Maria and took down Garcia and Loco, Jeremy was next.

He dialed his cell. “You okay?”

“Yes,” she said. “Just like I was an hour ago, and the hour before that, and the hours before that. I’m fine, Ben. Stop worrying.”

“No can do. I won’t stop until we get that bastard off your back.”

“Fine.”

“That’s another one of those misleading words women use, but I don’t remember what it really means.”

“It means I’m right, and you should shut up.”

He huffed. “Not sure I like that.”

“Deal with it.” She sighed. “When are you coming… home?”

He noticed her hesitation on the word
home
. Clearly, she thought he might react to her calling his place home, although it certainly was his home—just not hers. Would she like it to be hers? Would he?
Damn, where did that idea come from?

“Maybe another hour.”

“Okay. I may go to bed before then. I’m really drained, and tomorrow’s going to be another stressful day.”

“Good idea. I’ll try not to wake you.” He hesitated. “
Mi casa es su casa
.”

A long silence answered.

“Amber?”

She gulped loudly. Was she crying?

“Yeah… uh… thanks. See you in the morning.”

She disconnected abruptly.

“That went well,” he mumbled.

He forced his mind off Amber and back on the various strategies the Bureau could employ depending on Wednesday’s results. The crucial piece of information was the location of the dormitory. That linchpin determined how or whether they could proceed.

Deep in thought, he almost missed the distinct ringtone. When it registered, he grabbed the phone. “What’s wrong, Marissa?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t call after midnight just to chat.”

“True.”

“Gypsy, talk to me.”

“I’m confused because I don’t know if I had a dream or a… premonition, Benja.”

“Tell me,” he said gently.

“I saw a man and a woman.”

“The man was me?”

“No, definitely not. But I couldn’t see the face of either person.”

“Doesn’t that usually mean you don’t know them?”

“Usually. But there was something familiar about the woman.”

He leaned back in the chair and rubbed his forehead. Unraveling one of Marissa’s premonitions was often like solving a puzzle. “Familiar? Like what?”

“As if I have seen her… but
not
seen her.”

“Well, that’s clear as mud. What does it mean?”

“Perhaps she’s been in another premonition.”

He frowned. “Maybe it’s Maria. You kind of saw her at the one-star hotel/prison. Which, by the way, was true, but the bastards call it a dormitory.”

“So you have found her?”

“Yeah. Long story.”

“I am so happy for Pedro. He is a good boy.”

“I like him too.” He paused. “Is Pedro the guy with Maria?”

“Oh no. After talking to Pedro, I would
feel
that it was him.” She sighed. “This man felt… bad. Very bad.”

“I know a doctor, a coyote, and a drug lord who would qualify.”

“Perhaps, yes. And this man had a gun.”

“Yep, that would fit.”

“Good.” She sighed again. “The last part is very odd.”

“What’s new?”

She chuckled. “You make fun of me?”

“Never. I’m your biggest fan. Tell me, Gypsy.”

“The man and woman are in…”

“In…?”

“The sky.”

Ben closed his eyes. “In a plane?” he asked hopefully.

“No. They are just… in the air.”

“Huh?”

She swore in Czech under her breath. “I do not understand either. All I know is when I look down as they do, I am… in the sky above the water.”

“In a helicopter? There’s a chopper involved in the op.”

“Maybe, yes. But I do not feel… enclosed. The wind blows on my face, and the salt air tickles my nose.”

He shook his head with frustration. “I don’t get it.”

“Neither do I. But there it is. Use it if you can.”

* * *

Mi casa es su casa.
Ben’s words repeated over and over in Amber’s head. Was he trying to tell her something?

“
Mi casa
isn’t even
mi casa
,” she mumbled. None of it belonged to her. Not just the unit itself, but every stick of furniture in it. Everything was temporary. Her entire life felt temporary.

She closed her eyes against the sting of tears. It hadn’t always been this way.

After earning her nursing degree, she’d gotten a job at a hospital in Topeka. Then landing the position with the surrogate mother clinic had opened up a whole new world for her. She’d finally made enough money that she could rent her first solo apartment. The furniture and furnishings—even the shower curtain—were hers. She made new friends, enjoyed a social life, had fun. Life had been good… until Jeremy took over.

They’d met at another nurse’s birthday party. Jeremy had stayed on the sidelines, exuding something between a nerdy-loner and a bad-boy aura. No one paid any attention to him. So, when he hesitantly asked her to dance, she’d said yes as much out of pity as curiosity. Looking back, her simple compassionate gesture had been the first mistake. The second was giving him her phone number at the end of the party.

He showered her with attention and gifts. Never had a man been so interested in her. It fed her ego and quickly went to her head. Jeremy made her feel desired and adored.

In addition, he confided in her about his childhood to gain her sympathy. How he’d grown up in foster care. How every time he started to feel loved and secure, he was ripped from that home and placed with another set of strangers. As a teenager, he grew so cynical that, when moved yet again and again, he refused to unpack the two suitcases, which held everything he owned in the world. Because he suspected people in the foster homes of stealing his things, he locked the suitcases whenever he left his room. Other children conspired to turn the foster parents against him until he stood up for himself. Then his violent outbursts forced Child Protective Services to remove him from more homes. Everyone was determined to take everything—physical and emotional—from him.

His strategy with Amber worked, for a while. She did feel sorry for him. She swore she’d never hurt him as so many had. When he asked for an exclusive relationship after just a couple of weeks of dating, she had reservations. But he looked so disappointed when she said she needed to think about it that she ended up agreeing. Her third mistake.

Soon after, he began pressuring her for sex. She’d only slept with two other men, so making love was a serious step for her. Jeremy played the role of rejected lover perfectly until she’d finally had sex with him more out of guilt than desire. Sleeping with him had been her fourth mistake.

Instantly, Jeremy turned obsessively possessive. He demanded to know where she was at all times. Out of concern, he claimed, not control. When she did something he didn’t like, he punished her with painfully rough sex.

Remembering his sad childhood, she made excuses for his behavior time after time. Not only to others, but also to herself. After a month of Jeremy the Tyrant though, she’d had enough. She broke a date with him to go out to dinner and a movie with girlfriends. When she returned home, she found he’d broken into her apartment and was waiting for her.

He raped her on the kitchen floor and then beat her. She’d called a girlfriend instead of the police. The next day he sent three dozen red roses and cried through a half-hour apology on the phone. She forgave him—her fifth, biggest, and last mistake.

A few days later, she had to work late at the clinic. Since it was dark when she left, a male coworker walked Amber to her car. Spying on her from down the block, Jeremy misinterpreted the considerate gesture. He followed her home and attacked her. Calling her a whore and other awful names, he beat her. Again. Hearing Amber’s screams, a neighbor called 911.

She could still feel the blows, the fear, the disbelief. But the helplessness was the worst. In that moment, she swore she’d learn to protect herself. The last thing she remembered before passing out was Jeremy saying, “Don’t ever cheat on me again, bitch!”

And then she sobbed herself into oblivion.

“Amber, babe, wake up,” Ben said. “It’s just a bad dream.”

His soothing voice pierced the panicky nightmare, more reality than dream.

She woke up gasping.

He brushed the sweaty strands of hair off her forehead. “Jeremy?”

She nodded.

Pushing aside the sheet, he slid his warm, naked body next to hers. He cocooned her in his strong arms. “Did something happen tonight?”

“No. Just memories.”

“Look, babe, as soon as I finish this op, I’ll take time off to help you get rid of this guy. Can you hang on for two more days?”

“Yes. I just feel him getting closer.”

“Then be alert all the time. Don’t leave this apartment unless you’re with me or with someone I send for you. Got it?”

“Yeah. No problem.”

* * *

Ben held Amber until she fell back to sleep. He ached to make love to her, to show her how much he cared, but she was too vulnerable. If she thought he was taking advantage of her in any way, he might lose her trust. And he needed her to trust him, 100 percent.

At least Jeremy hadn’t made a move on her. He and Amber were convinced that her stalker had found the Coronado Beach complex but hadn’t been able to identify her specific unit. She’d explained how careful she was to keep that detail out of any computer system he might hack. Lisa and everyone in the rental office knew never to give out her apartment number or allow access without Amber’s prior approval.

Jeremy’s last option would be to surveil the property day and night, watching for his prey. The disguises were essential.

Ben sighed and tried to relax, but guilt knotted his nerves. Amber had wanted to leave town, to run again, to play it safe. He’d persuaded her to stay.
What a selfish bastard I am.

If she got hurt because of him, he’d never forgive himself.

Wednesday morning dawned clear and warm, a perfect day for the beach. But there would be no fun in the sun today. Apparently, there would be no fun of any kind because Ben refused even to let her stay home to sunbathe on his balcony and read a book until it was time for the Dream Makers appointment. Insisting he needed to keep an eye on her for her own safety, he convinced her to come with him to the office.

How could she say no when Ben was so concerned?

Once again, she dressed up as Mrs. Moore, brunette wig and hazel contacts, heavy on the makeup. She was really getting sick of this disguise. She was used to mixing and matching, and the same look for so many outings grated on her nerves. She understood the necessity, but disliked it anyway. Would she ever get to just be herself again?

Ensconced in a small room, Ben worked with her for a couple of hours, the prep for the surrogate interviews being a two-way street. Amber coached him on appropriate questions from a prospective father and on how one would behave. He gave her tips on maintaining a calm demeanor under severe stress. To avoid any unintentional slips of information, he cautioned her to think carefully before saying anything.

Although Ben was obviously worried about a civilian participating in the operation, his boss was far less diplomatic about it. Rex Kelley stopped in several times to see how she was doing. Maybe he was trying to figure out if they could switch the disguise to that female agent, Staci, and get away with it.

After the prep session, Ben disappeared. Without his calming influence, anxiety began to build. By the time he brought her lunch, she’d wound herself into a bundle of nerves. None of his reassurances seemed to work this time. The pressure mushroomed until she thought she’d explode when they stood outside the downtown office building housing Dream Makers.

“Relax, babe, you’re going to do fine,” Ben said soothingly.

“Bullshit,” she snapped. She wasn’t going to be fine; she was going to fall apart. And only partly because she was trembling like a fool.

He laughed. “That’s a good attitude. Just direct it at the bad guys not me.”

“Seriously, Ben, I don’t know if I can do this.”

He framed her face with his hands and kissed her. His body pressed against her, delivering warmth and strength and calm. Resting his forehead on hers, he smiled. “You did great when we were here before.”

“Yeah, but then I didn’t know all the crap that was going on. I thought I was trying to save my job. Today we’re working to save Maria and all those other women. And now I know we’re dealing with kidnappers and drug lords, not just a fugitive doctor using a fake identity. I am so out of my league, I’m not even in the ballpark.”

“Babe, look at me.”

His incredible, intense blue gaze bored into her. He seemed to see all her weaknesses, all her fears, all her dreams. All the crap that was her life. And still, he cared. That was even more incredible than his eyes.

His fingers caressed her cheeks. “You’re one of the strongest women I’ve ever met. Think about how you’ve dealt with Jeremy all by yourself. This interview is nothing compared to those battles.”

“I only had to take care of me. Other people are counting on me not to screw this up. Other people’s lives depend on this working. How do you handle that kind of responsibility day after day?”

“I believe the good guys have to win in this world. Otherwise, it all goes to shit.”

She pressed her face against his chest and felt the strong, steady beat of his heart. “You’re right. Failure is not an option.”

“That’s my girl. Let’s go meet Maria.”

He stepped away, said something into his mic, and then took her hand to lead her into the lion’s den.

Minutes later, they stood in front of the receptionist’s window, speaking to Daniela. Once again, the young woman seemed flustered by him.

“The s-surrogates should be here any minute. Mrs. Flores handles all our surrogate interviews, and she’s setting up the room now.”

Or spying on us.
Amber couldn’t control the urge to glance at the camera in the corner of the ceiling. Ben squeezed her hand as a reminder not to look. Then he led her to a pair of chairs set apart from the others.

“Act natural,” he murmured.

They both picked up magazines from the end table and pretended to read.

A few minutes later, Ben said under his breath, “Copy that.” Then he leaned over, pointed to a page in his magazine, and whispered, “They just spotted the van arriving with the surrogates. We have the key to the dormitory.”

Amber wanted to cheer, but pressed her lips together instead. So far, so good. Unfortunately, her stomach wasn’t convinced enough to stop threatening to riot.

Ten more minutes passed before a woman opened the door to the clinic hallway. “Mr. and Mrs. Moore, we’re ready for you,” she said with a broad smile. “I’m Mrs. Flores. So nice to meet you. Right this way.”

As they passed the woman in the doorway, Amber recognized her. She’d seen Mrs. Flores on her first visit to Dream Makers. That day, the older woman had been scolding four young Hispanic girls, one of them in tears. Then, witnessing the confrontation had been unsettling; now, it made her angry. With informed hindsight, she could only imagine how afraid those poor surrogates had been.

Mrs. Flores led Ben and Amber to the same room in which that incident had occurred. This time, there were five surrogates sitting at the large table. Three sat along one side plus one at each end. Maria was in the end spot nearest the door, so Ben pulled out the closest chair for Amber. He claimed the seat in the middle, and Mrs. Flores was stuck with the last chair on that side, farthest from the door. She seemed miffed at his choice of seating arrangement.

The young Hispanic women wore stiff smiles and watched Mrs. Flores warily as she laid a bio sheet, written in Spanish instead of English, in front of each corresponding surrogate. Were those cheat sheets in case the surrogate forgot her made-up past? They were dressed in matching white blouses and black slacks, reminding Amber of a generic waitress uniform.

Mrs. Flores rattled off something in Spanish. Amber caught only
Señor y Señora
Moore. The stiff smiles disappeared, replaced by anxious caution. Amber’s heart squeezed with compassion for the frightened women.

“You may begin whenever you are ready,” Mrs. Flores said.

As planned, Ben took the lead. “
Muchas gracias
for coming to talk with us today.”

Amber’s jaw clenched.
As if they had a choice.

When he paused, Mrs. Flores translated, but none of the surrogates even glanced at her.

“My wife, Amber, and I are so grateful for this opportunity to have our dream of a baby come true. You don’t know how much this means to us.
You
are truly the dream makers.”

All five broke into genuine smiles before Mrs. Flores started translating. Their instant reaction confirmed what Amber had suspected. The surrogates understood English. The older woman was a guard, not a translator. Her own anxiety ratcheted up a notch.

“I’d like each of you to tell us why you want to be a surrogate mother,” Ben said.

One by one, they gave an obviously practiced answer in Spanish, which was automatically translated. When Carmen stuttered and stammered hers, she received an admonishing glare from Mrs. Flores.

After Ben asked a few more questions, Amber spoke up. “Have you been pregnant before?”

One of the women stared at her lap and sniffled as she answered no.
Damn, I bet she has children. Somewhere. Wondering why their mother has disappeared.
Rage began to bubble beneath Amber’s calm façade.

As if sensing her distress, Ben found her hand under the table and gave it a squeeze. “Babe, why don’t we show them the pictures?”

She feigned surprise. “Right. I almost forgot.” She pulled the photos from her purse. “This is the nursery we’ve already decorated for our baby.” She handed the two pictures of them by Mandy’s crib to Ben, who passed them to Mrs. Flores.

“My wife was so clever to use yellow and green…,” he said, leaning forward to partially block her view, “… so the gender of the baby…”

As he continued to engage the woman in conversation, Amber held the picture of Pedro out to Maria. Like Ben, she leaned forward to block Mrs. Flores’s line of sight. “You look so much like our neighbor. Her husband bought these signs for us. Isn’t he a sweetie?”

Halfheartedly, Maria took the picture without waiting for Mrs. Flores’s translation, which Amber knew from Pedro she definitely didn’t need. She glanced down at the picture and gasped. Amber reached under the table and patted her leg. The young woman raised wide, disbelieving eyes to meet her gaze. Amber nodded slightly and tapped her index finger against her lips. Maria stared for a moment and then nodded once in return.

“What’s that picture?” Mrs. Flores asked.

Amber and Maria froze.

Ben reached across and took the photo from Maria’s trembling fingers. He gave a subtle nod to the stunned girl.

“This young man and his wife are our neighbors. He thought it would be funny to put both signs out now instead of waiting nine months. He’s…”

While Ben distracted Mrs. Flores, Amber pulled Pedro’s note from her purse. As she stretched her arm beneath the table to pass it to Maria, the office door opened. Startled, Maria jumped, bumping Amber’s hand. The small piece of paper fluttered from her fingers to the floor. Amber held her breath as the person glanced down.

“Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Moore. I heard you were doing interviews today,” Dr. Ortega said. “I see you’re getting acquainted with some of our wonderful surrogates.”

Her brain and mouth not cooperating, Amber sat like a mute. How was she going to let Ben know she’d screwed up?

Fortunately, he responded normally. “These women are definitely wonderful, Dr. Ortega. It’s going to be hard to choose one.”

The doctor smiled. “As it should be.” He withdrew something from his lab coat pocket. “Your back pain I witnessed yesterday has me worried, Mr. Moore. I’ve written you a prescription for OxyContin.” He directed a meaningful look to Ben. “To avoid any problems, you should have it filled at the pharmacy I’ve noted on the back. Let me know when you need refills.”

“I don’t know what to say. Thanks, Dr. Ortega. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

Ironically, Ben was telling the truth. The written prescription must be crucial evidence, because Amber sensed the excitement radiating off him. But the positive development didn’t keep her from panicking about the exposed note on the floor. She fought the urge to check exactly where the paper had fallen. If it was near her foot, and the doctor remained focused on Ben, maybe she could retrieve it stealthily or at least hide it with her shoe.

If she could just take a quick peek…

“You’re welcome. Good luck with your surrogate decision.” Dr. Ortega stepped backward toward the door. And stopped.

So did Amber’s breathing.