The Baby Thief (9 page)

The Reverend had lied to him about the woman they’d picked up. There were no rich parents, no money in the works. He’d been suckered, conned into kidnapping someone so Carmichael’s skinny bitch of a girlfriend could steal a baby from her.

Zeke couldn’t believe he’d been so gullible. Just because he and Carmichael had been friends, had lived and worked together for ten years didn’t mean he had to believe everything the man said. He should have asked more questions, done a little investigation. But when he’d heard fifty thousand, his head had zeroed in on the money, and it had clouded his thinking. Fuck and doublefuck. He’d probably never even see the five thousand Carmichael had promised him, unless the ice doctor came through with the money Carmichael was trying to hump out of her. Zeke had only met Liz twice but he hated her on sight. She was a blast of cold air. Now that the Reverend had done her dirty work, the church wasn’t likely to get another dime out of her.

Zeke slipped out of the office, leaving the door open like it was when he came in. The kidnapping and egg-stealing thing would blow up in their faces, sure as the sun would come up tomorrow. He needed to get as far away as he could as soon as he could. It was risky enough when he thought he was kidnapping a heroin addict who would probably not go to the police or be able to identify him if she did. Stealing someone’s baby right out of her body was something else entirely. It was worse than anything he’d ever done.

He felt sorry for the woman in the basement, and he wished like hell he’d left her at the bus stop. She didn’t deserve all the shit that was happening to her, but Zeke couldn’t do anything about it now. What was done was done. It was her life or his at this point.

If he let her live, she’d put the finger on him, and he’d go back to prison, which was the same as dying. He wasn’t ready to think about how he would take care of the problem yet. It would take a few days just to get used to the idea. On the other hand, Zeke thought squeezing the life out of Carmichael for getting him into this mess would be a pleasure.

Zeke headed for the church office and the computer he used for bookkeeping. There had to be some money he could get hold of quickly. He thought about blackmailing the ice doctor, but that would be more work than he had in mind. If only one of their contributors would make another large donation. It was so easy to steal from the church.

Zeke didn’t worry about the compound going broke the way Carmichael did. The women and kids would never go hungry; they had at least six month’s worth of food stored up. They also had a year’s supply of gas for the generator. The only thing that would suffer if the money ran out was the Reverend’s little embryo clinic, and Zeke didn’t give a rat’s ass about that.

His personal bank account was another matter. He’d been worried for a while that the cash flow was drying up. The drug company hadn’t sent a check in five months, and the big United Christian donation had been canceled. Zeke was bitterly disappointed. He’d expected to skim a chunk off the top, putting him close to his goal of fifty or sixty grand. That was why he’d let Carmichael talk him into the kidnapping. He needed the cash to get on with his plan.

All he wanted was to buy an old boat he could live on and fish from. He’d been thinking about Florida ever since he read a John MacDonald mystery his second year in prison. Zeke hoped he’d have enough cash left over after he bought his boat to send a nice little nest egg to his sister. Give Elsie a little security for once in her life. He’d been sending money once or twice a year since he’d joined the church, but never more than a couple hundred at once. He hoped he could do better for her.

Zeke called up the complete databank of cash donations, then sorted it for one-time donors. He was looking for a name he would recognize, someone he could lean on. Another fifteen thousand and he would be on his way. Zeke didn’t even think of it as stealing. Carmichael hadn’t done anything to earn the money people sent him, and Zeke figured if someone was foolish enough to send their money to a flaky church like the Reborn, they deserved to have it end up in the wrong hands.

Zeke grinned at the thought. All he planned to do was buy a boat and be a bum. Carmichael, on the other hand, used their money to make babies in glass tubes, picking out the females to stick into his unmarried followers, then experimenting with the rejects like they were lab rats. Wouldn’t those little old ladies who sent their hundred-dollar checks shit bricks if they ever found out!

“Oh, it’s you.” Rachel, one of the long-time Sisters, stepped into the office. “Where’s Reverend Carmichael?”

“He’s busy humping his guest.” Zeke was being cruel and didn’t care. Rachel, like all the women, had a crush on Carmichael.

“ Oh.” Rachel looked upset, as expected. She turned to leave.

“Say, Rachel.”

She spun back.

“Do you or anyone else ever hear from Darcie?”

She looked surprised. “No.” After a moment, she shrugged and walked away.

Zeke stared at the list of names on the computer screen but couldn’t concentrate. One baby sold on the black market was worth a lot of cash, and he knew just the baby he wanted. Teach that little slut a lesson.

An image of Darcie standing by the highway with her cute little butt and thumb out burned in Zeke’s mind. She’d seemed as fresh and sweet and juicy as the first peach he’d eaten after thirteen years in the pen. The girl had flirted with him shamelessly, seducing him with her adoring looks and soft laughter.

They’d spent a couple days in town together while Zeke picked up supplies and took care of church business. She’d let him kiss and fondle her luscious little body parts until he’d been insane with lust. But Darcie had held out on him and, for reasons he still didn’t understand, Zeke hadn’t forced himself on her. Instead he’d fallen hard for the little vixen. He’d talked her into coming with him to the compound, thinking he’d be able to win her over. The little bitch had taken one look at Carmichael and closed her legs to Zeke forever. As far as he knew, the Reverend had never screwed her, but it made no difference. Darcie had burned him, and it was time to even the score.

She’d left the compound months ago, but Zeke would bet his boat money she hadn’t gone far. If she was in Eugene or Springfield, he could find her. All he had to do was check the places a pregnant girl could get free doctor’s care. He’d tried to talk the Reverend into helping him, but Carmichael wouldn’t go for it. Kidnapping someone so his girlfriend could have a baby was somehow all right, but snatching Darcie’s baby—which wasn’t really even hers—to make some quick cash was not.

Zeke shrugged. Everybody had his own idea of right and wrong. In the long run, only God would be the judge. He knew he’d already blown it with the big guy and ruined his chance at heaven, so he figured he might as well make the most of his short time on earth.

Darcie was due any day. He’d checked her records when they got that nasty letter from the bank demanding a payment. All he had to do was find her, wait for the baby to be born, then grab it. By then, Carmichael would be done with the kidnapped woman in the basement, and Zeke could quietly take care of her and be on his way.

Chapter 9

Sunday, Oct. 29, 10:36 a.m.

“Can I use the gym a few times, check it out before I sign a contract?” Eric asked the very muscular and surprisingly attractive young woman behind the counter.

“Sure.” She flashed him a capped-teeth smile. “Just fill out this application and we’ll give you a week’s free membership.”

Eric reached for the papers, unable to take his eyes off her bulging upper arms. How did a cute, twenty-year-old girl get arms like that? Damn! She looked better than he did in a tank top. He was ashamed of how he’d let his body go over the years, had been stewing about it since the day before when he failed to impress Jenna by running a few miles.

He felt the frown pinch together on his brow. Every time he thought about watching her get into that van his blood pressure escalated. It was inexplicable. He still did not know what he’d witnessed. Eric hated when things didn’t make sense. He’d quit watching David Copperfield because he went nuts trying to figure out how he did his magic. Which is probably why he ended up an investigative reporter. He had a compulsion to analyze and set things straight. This mystery with Jenna was personal as well as puzzling, and he couldn’t let it go.

He’d called Jenna’s number all afternoon, never gotten an answer, then arrived at her place like they’d discussed. She hadn’t been home—no surprise at that point—nor had she shown up during the thirty minutes he’d waited in front of the apartment. He’d called again several times during the evening, his attitude altering between disgust with himself for chasing a woman who wasn’t interested and concern that she might not have entered the van willingly. The mental flip-flopping was still going on, and Eric had convinced himself a good workout would help put his mind at ease.

So here he was on Sunday morning at Court Sports thinking about spending fifty dollars a month for the next year. Eric didn’t know if he was ready to sign, but he filled out the application anyway. He had nothing to lose by trying it out for a week. The idea of getting back in shape excited him. He’d liked the way he’d felt in college, being a wrestler and lifting weights four days a week. The thought of being able to take off his shirt in public and be proud of his upper body—and flat stomach, if things went according to plan—would be worth every penny. But working out would take time away from his short stories and the remodeling project he was supposed to finish before he rented out the other half of his duplex.

Eric headed for the locker room to change into the shorts and tank top he’d stashed in an old gym bag. The bag had been dug out of the back of his closet, where it had been collecting dust since his short infatuation with racquetball years ago during his engagement to Kori. Eric shuddered involuntarily. Kori had dumped him, thank God, even though at the time he hadn’t felt quite that way about it. Her sister’s husband, a homicide detective Eric had stayed friends with, kept him updated on Kori’s troubled marriage. Even though he was glad to have escaped that fate, he still wanted to find the right woman and settle down. For a brief few days, he entertained the idea that Jenna might be that woman. Now he didn’t know what to think.

Eric left the locker room and went upstairs to the cardio room. He decided to start on a stationary bicycle, which seemed simple enough for a novice. The computerized program choices were easy to follow, and he set himself a twenty-minute course of short hills. From his location, he could see in the window of the aerobics room. As heads bounced up and into view, he checked carefully for long, honey-colored hair. Jenna wasn’t there. Nor was she using any of the weight machines. During his twenty minutes of short-hills hell, he didn’t see her come out of the tanning room or in the front door either. Eric finally admitted to himself that was the real reason he’d come to the gym.

As the pedals came to a stop, he decided Jenna was either a flake—and he could forget her—or she was in some kind of trouble. If it was trouble of her own doing, he wanted no part of it. If she was an innocent victim, he had to do whatever he could to help. Which meant he had to call Jackson. Relieved to have finally settled on a course of action, Eric headed for the showers.

“Hey, Jackson, how come you’re working on Sunday?” Eric plopped himself on the empty desk next to the detective’s.

“I had to get out of the house for a while. Katie has some friends over, and I can only take so much giggling and squealing, if you know what I mean.” Jackson rolled his eyes, and Eric laughed at the thought of his macho friend trapped in a house with a bunch of fifteen-year-old girls.

Jackson, although a little older, was in better shape than Eric. Taller, leaner, darker, and more muscular too. Eric recommitted himself to working out. Their friendship, which had started when he was on the crime beat at the paper, was based on a shared quest for the truth about the sometimes dreadful things that happened in Eugene. Their shared passion for vintage muscle cars always gave them something to talk about.

“You’ve got that look again, Troutman.” Jackson put down his pen and squinted at Eric. “Another crusade to save the innocents?” His tone was a blend of mockery and respect.

“Maybe.” Eric still owed the detective for his help with the Pulitzer story about abusive foster homes. Now he needed another favor. Eric wished he had something to offer in return.

“Just tell me what’s on your mind,” Jackson said. “You’re one of the few civilians I still respect. I promise not to laugh.”

“Thanks.” Eric gave him a sarcastic smile.

“You’re welcome.” Jackson leaned back, put his feet on the desk and his hands behind his head.

“Remember the robbery at Geronimo’s last Tuesday?”

“Sure, the clown and the cowboy. You following this one?”

“I just happened to be there. Remember the restaurant manager, Jenna McClure?”

“She gave the victim CPR?

“That’s her.”

“Good looking woman. What about her?”

“I gave her a ride home that night, then saw her again at the River Run yesterday. We made a date for last night, then she disappeared. When I was leaving the park, I saw her get into a van with two guys, then she stood me up and I haven’t been able to reach her by phone since.”

“So?” Jackson laughed. “Women treat you like that all the time. I keep telling you, Troutman, you’ve got to toughen up. Women love bad boys.” The detective grinned. “And men in uniform.”

Eric had expected to take a certain amount of crap about his experience with Jenna, but he also expected Jackson to understand his gut feeling that something was wrong. He tried to explain. “It wasn’t as if she’d been hanging out with these guys and they all left together. It was strange.” He jumped up and began to pace back and forth between the empty desks.

“She was standing on the corner by herself at a bus stop, and a gray van pulls up. This guy in a gray suit jumps out and starts talking to her. Then a second guy, a skinny cowboy type, hops out and puts his arm around Jenna. I think I see her tense up, but I’m not sure, because I’m a block away. So I start to run toward them. Then she seems to relax, and they all get in the van and drive off. Meanwhile, I’m standing there with my mouth hanging open, wondering: Did this woman just get kidnapped or have I been reading too much crime fiction?”