The Baby Thief (24 page)

“I know it is, David. This is my life we’re talking about, my baby. Which reminds me. I’ve been having horrible headaches and not sleeping well. Do you think it could be the Luprexia?”

“Of course it’s the Luprexia! All fertility drugs have side effects—hot flashes, mood swings, cardiac acceleration. It’s menopause and PMS all rolled into one. Haven’t you ever talked to any of the women who come into the clinic? Or do you just slide the tissue under a microscope and never think about the people it came from?”

“Why are you being so cruel?”

“I’m sorry. I’m under a lot of stress.”

“So am I. I think we should be supportive of each other.”

“Speaking of which…” David smiled, but his eyes didn’t change. “I need that ten thousand as soon as possible.”

Damn him! Elizabeth wished she hadn’t come. “David, I know I said I’d let you have it, but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Once the baby is born, I’m going to take a leave of absence. I’ll need everything I have in savings to get by until I go back to work.”

“You can stay here at the compound. It won’t cost you anything.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Not comfy enough for you?”

Elizabeth jumped up and grabbed her coat. “Why are you being such a shit? I came here because I needed you. I wanted to make love, not be insulted.” She whirled around and strode toward the door.

David came after her. “I’m sorry, Liz. It’s been a rough few days for me.”

She stopped and let him put his arms around her. His touch was wonderful and her anger started to subside. After a moment her body defied her and leaned against him.

“We can still make love,” he whispered.

* * *

The sex had not been good, a first for him and Liz. Lacking real passion, they’d been selfish and impatient, like addicts needing a fix and not caring where it came from. Carmichael had been distracted as well. More than once he’d thought of Jenna. What she would be like in bed.

Now they were dressed and sitting on the bed, not talking. Carmichael was anxious for Liz to leave. He had very little time to be alone with Jenna. Once the luteinizing hormone was evident in Jenna’s urine, Liz would have to be on hand for the egg retrieval and stay in the compound while the embryos developed to an eight-cell stage.

“I love you, Liz. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend and lover today. I have several stressful situations going right now.” Carmichael rubbed her shoulders.

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have asked you to do this for me, but I had to.” She sounded bitter and worried.

“It’s almost over. Everything will turn out fine. A year from now you’ll be changing diapers and calling me to baby-sit.”

She smiled then, a tiny smirk. It was gone as quick as it came. “David?”

“What is it?”

“A reporter came into the hospital last night and asked about McClure.”

Stunned, Carmichael grabbed her arm. “What did he want?”

“He said she was a friend who’d disappeared and he wondered if I knew anything about her medical condition that would help him find her.”

“What did you tell him?” Carmichael had expected the police to investigate Jenna’s disappearance eventually, but not a reporter. And he never expected anyone to connect it to him or Liz.

“I told him I couldn’t violate a patient’s confidence, then asked him to leave.” Liz rushed to tell the rest. “The security guard had seen him on the fourth floor earlier that day so he followed him and caught him looking in her computer files. They said if the reporter ever comes into the hospital again, he’ll be arrested. The weird thing is, everyone in pediatrics knows him because he visits the cancer kids once a week. That’s how I found out he’s a reporter. It scares me. I know it shouldn’t, but it does.”

It scared Carmichael too. Reporters had ruined his life once already. “Don’t worry. He’s just digging around. When he doesn’t find anything, he’ll go away. Relax, dear. It’s almost over.”

Liz smiled gently. “For me, it’s just the beginning.”

Carmichael patted her belly. “You’ll look great with a few extra pounds.”

A loud pounding on the door interrupted them.

“Who is it?” Irritated, Carmichael didn’t try to modify his voice. He wasn’t supposed to be bothered in his private quarters, and everyone in the compound knew he had company.

“It’s Zeke. I have to show you something.”

“Can’t it wait an hour?” Carmichael moved toward the door.

“I think the lady might like to see it too.”

What did that mean? Carmichael glanced back at Liz, who seemed to be retreating into her own world.

“See what?” Carmichael stood next to the door and spoke softly.

“There’s pictures of us in the paper next to a picture of Jenna McClure. They’re calling us kidnappers.”

Oh dead God
. Carmichael unlocked the door and jerked it open. Zeke held the newspaper in front of him, his face a little grayer than usual. Carmichael snatched the paper, pulled Zeke into the room, and slammed the door.

Liz jumped up, her eyes frozen open in panic. Carmichael ignored her and sat down at his desk. He spread the newspaper and stared at the pictures. They were composite drawings, and the one of him was startlingly accurate. Zeke’s image made him look younger and heavier than he was. Where had these come from? Carmichael scanned the story.

“Oh my God, they have pictures of you.” Elizabeth peered over his shoulder, hands covering her mouth.

The headline read, “Have you seen these people?” The story went on to say that a bystander at the River Run had seen the woman get into a van with two men and that she hadn’t been seen since.

“It’s that guy I saw coming down the street after we snatched her.” Zeke pounded the desk. “I knew he was trouble.”

“What’s his name?” Elizabeth’s voice was a whisper.

Carmichael looked for the byline. “Eric Troutman.”

“It’s the same reporter.” Elizabeth chocked back a sob.

“What reporter?” Zeke grabbed Liz by the shoulders.

“There was a reporter at the hospital asking questions last night.” Liz pulled free.

“What kind of questions?” Zeke wanted to know.

Carmichael stared at the drawing of himself, sick with fear.

“Nothing specific.” Liz took several long breaths, trying to control herself. “He just wanted to know about her medical condition.”

“She has a medical condition?”

“No.” Liz shook her head, getting irritated. “She was a patient at the ARC. She wanted to be artificially inseminated and had to have–”

Zeke cut Liz off. “The reporter is obviously covering all the bases and intends to find this woman. I think we should get her out of here.”

“No.” Liz was vehement. Still looking at Carmichael, she jerked her head toward Zeke. “How much does he know?”

“I had to tell him the truth, Liz. He risked a lot to help us.”

“That wasn’t our agreement.”

“Damn it, Liz. We have bigger things to worry about now.”

Carmichael pushed back from the desk and rubbed his temples. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. The plan was simple and foolproof. How could their pictures be in the newspaper?

Zeke stepped in front of him, arms folded across his chest. His leathery face was inscrutable. “Jenna has to go. I’m willing to take her wherever you like, but if we don’t get her out of here now, I’m moving on.”

Carmichael would have traded everything he owned for a single shot of bourbon to calm his nerves. Fortunately, there was no alcohol in the church. Somewhere he found the strength to stay in control. “Ezekiel, please. I understand your concern, but this is almost over. A few more days and everything goes back to normal. We’ve both been out of circulation for a long time. No one is going to recognize us from those pictures.”

Zeke did not move. “What if they do?”

“By the time they figure out where we are and how to get here, she’ll be gone.”

Zeke dropped his arms to his side. “I want to keep an eye on this Troutman guy.”

The hard glint in Zeke’s eyes worried Carmichael. He hadn’t seen that calculating look since the early days. “What exactly do you mean?”

“Just what I said. Keep an eye on him. See if he’s working with the cops. See how much he knows.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Liz voiced.

Zeke turned to her. “What else can you tell me about this reporter?”

“Nothing.” Liz didn’t bother to hide her contempt for Zeke. “He used to work for the paper, but now he freelances. I don’t know what his connection to Jenna is.”

Zeke stared at Elizabeth for a moment, then turned to Carmichael. “I’m going into town right now. There’s nothing critical I have to do around here.”

“That’s fine. Call me if you find out anything.” Carmichael had a frightening premonition about Zeke’s motives. “Ezekiel,” he said, staring deep into his friend’s eyes, “don’t do anything rash. Remember, we are God’s servants, and He will watch out for us if we follow His commandments.”

Zeke paused, then said, “You’re right, as always. Pray for me.” He left the room with one last sidelong glance at Liz.

* * *

Zeke’s bowels were churning as if he’d eaten a live snake. What scared him the most was that if he hadn’t stopped at the Blue Hen that morning for a cup of coffee after picking up chicken feed and sat down in the exact booth where someone had left a newspaper open to exactly that page, he would never have seen the pictures and known the reporter was onto them. That kind of thing had never happened to him before. He couldn’t really consider it luck. A reporter had witnessed the kidnapping and was actively looking for the woman.

Why in the hell had he let the Reverend talk him into this mess? It had to be about the stupidest thing he’d ever done. Except the time he and Stick tried to rob a 7-11 store where a cop was working undercover to bust kids buying beer. That was the worst, but this was a close second. He wanted to kick himself in the ass. Zeke’s instinct now was to run. Throw his stuff in a duffel bag and be on the road in five minutes.

How far could he run? With his picture in the paper, the cops would come looking for him eventually. How long would his money last? His future looked bleaker by the minute. He had to get his hand on another twenty thousand or so and maybe head for Mexico. The money was out there somewhere. That was one thing he’d learned from Carmichael. You just had to know the right people and the right buttons to push. Zeke had to find Darcie, and quickly. As he headed past the walkway leading to the women’s rooms, it occurred to him Sarah might have her address. It was worth a look.

Zeke found Darcie’s letter in less than two minutes. Sarah had hidden it in the back of her top dresser drawer under a small collection of notes and pictures. He memorized the address and put the letter back, covering the pile with socks and underwear the way he found it. Under the wool and white cotton, he spotted a pair of red silk panties. I’ll be damned, he thought, gently lifting the fabric to his face. The panties still smelled like Darcie. She must have given them to Sarah, who was far too prudish to ever wear them. Zeke slid them into his pocket and turned to leave.

“What are you doing?” Sarah’s kid sister stood just inside the door, watching him suspiciously.

With a lifetime of practice, he quickly came up with a good lie. “I was getting ready to go into town, and I thought I’d bring Sarah some clean clothes to wear when she leaves the hospital

“Oh.” The kid relaxed. “You should take her pink leggings and the gray skirt with pink flowers. They’re her favorites.”

“Why don’t you find ‘em for me, and I’ll stop by later and pick ‘em up?”

“All right.” The little girl moved toward the wooden clothes rack in the corner, then stopped and asked, “Is Sarah all right?”

She looked so worried, Zeke forced himself to smile. “Sure she is. You’ll see her soon enough.” He turned and hurried from the room before she could ask more questions.

His next step was to pack everything he owned into a large duffel bag. Two pairs of faded jeans, three gray stained t-shirts, a plaid flannel shirt, a brown sweatshirt, a braided leather wallet he’d made in prison, a small burglary kit, a razor, shaving cream, and a nine-inch hunting knife in a worn leather sheath. He left all the stuff the Sisters had made for him over the years. He didn’t want anyone to think he might not be coming back. He might have to, but not if things went according to plan.

Chapter 24

Saturday, Nov. 4, 10:10 a.m.

“Sarah, I’m Dr. Rubison. How are you feeling?” The man in the white coat looked over his glasses in a kindly way.

Sarah sat up, wishing she had on more clothes. “I’m fine.” Inside, she was shaking. She knew he would ask her questions about the collapse—questions she couldn’t answer. She wished she had left already. But the nurses had been so insistent. And so nice. So here she was, still in bed, still in a gown.

“Sarah, you mumbled something about ‘hormone shots’ when you first came in. So we did some tests and you have an elevated level of FSH. Why are you taking fertility hormones?”

Sarah’s heart pounded in her ears. “I don’t take drugs.” She wouldn’t lie, but she couldn’t tell him anything that would get Reverend Carmichael in trouble either. “I’m feeling well enough to leave now.”

Rubison shook his head. “You’re very young to have that kind of hormone in your system. Whoever gave it to you was irresponsible and shouldn’t be allowed to continue the practice. Please tell me who it was.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sarah turned her head and stared at the wall. Maybe he would give up and go away if she refused to talk. It was her first time in a hospital, her first time away from the compound, away from her family. She felt abandoned.

“Sarah, don’t turn away. I’m trying to help. Can’t you tell me who your parents are? They must be worried sick.”

The nurses had already asked her, and Sarah had told as much of the truth as she could. Keeping her eyes closed, she repeated her statement. “My mother’s name is Tamara. She doesn’t use a last name, and she doesn’t have a phone or a car. She didn’t give me any drugs. That’s all I can say.”