Lara pulled into her driveway and shut off the car, then wearily rested her head on the rim of the steering wheel. Because the office would be closed on December 24 and 25, a wave of anxious patients had flooded the clinic in a preholiday rush. In addition to handling the usual number of routine patient visits, she had reassured a dozen very expectant women that a doctor would be on call in case of an emergency and encouraged eight weight loss program patients to remain on their diets through the holidays.
Now she wanted nothing more than to sit in the complete relaxation of utter weariness, but the car was chilly and Junior needed warmth. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the fur collar of her coat high about her throat, then ducked her head and hurried into the house. A cold front had settled over the area, and Lara didn’t think her tired body had energy enough to even shiver.
Inside the living room, she dropped her purse into a chair and walked straight to her comfortable chintz sofa. Without ceremony or grace, she dropped onto the soft cushions, too tired to slip off her shoes. The stillness of the house wrapped around her, comforting in its silence. “Forgive me, Junior,” she whispered, rubbing her belly as she rolled onto her side, “but I’m too tired to cook. If Uncle Connor doesn’t pop over, you can gobble up a few fat cells. I’ll feed you when I find the energy to get up.”
She drowsed on the edge of sleep for what could have been ten minutes or an hour, then woke to the sound of someone pounding on the window. She scanned the dark space between her gingham curtains, then recognized the shadowed profile. Connor stood outside and, thank the Lord, he was carrying something.
“Lord, please let it be edible.” Strengthened by the thought of food, she rolled off the couch and shuffled to the door, then turned on the porch light.
“Hi.” A flush darkened Connor’s face as he waved a spatula in her direction. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but I saw your car in the driveway.”
Lara closed her eyes as the delicious scent of sizzling beef reached her nostrils. “Are you grilling ? In this weather?”
She opened her eyes in time to see the flash of his grin, dazzling against his flushed skin. “The grocery had steaks on sale and they come two in a package. Doesn’t wintertime grilling make more sense than cooking out in the heat of the summer?”
Falling under the spell of his impish smile, she grinned back at him. He had been feeding her for weeks, and she had decided to enjoy it. She tried to reciprocate by making his lunch on the weekends, but Connor made a far better host than guest. Even when she cooked, he insisted on giving her a hand in the kitchen.
She propped her hands on her ever-expanding tummy. “You sure there’s enough for me and Junior?”
“There’s plenty, and I threw some potatoes into the oven. They’ll be ready in ten minutes, if you want to come over.”
“Okay. Ten minutes.” She stepped back through the doorway.
“Wait—Lara?”
“Hmm?”
“I don’t want to alarm you, but have you noticed a white truck parked across the street? It’s been around almost all week.”
Lara covered her mouth with her hand as she yawned. “No, Connor, I haven’t noticed a white truck. I haven’t noticed much of anything.”
The laughing light had left his eyes; they flickered now with an intensity Lara had never seen. “You sure you didn’t see a kind of a utility truck earlier today? With a dark-haired guy inside?”
“Probably something to do with the park.”
“It’s not a typical city truck. I know what those look like.”
Lara leaned on the door. “Let me go, Connor; I want to change into something floppy and fuzzy. I’ll be over in ten minutes.”
“Okay.” He saluted her with the spatula, then stalked off into the night.
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Sloane.”
The greeting came from Nadine Harrington, and Devin stood as Lemuel escorted the striking private investigator into his office. She wore a cranberry-colored suit adorned at the lapel with a gold Christmas wreath, a simple concession to mark the holiday two days away. He had not seen or heard from her in a week, but she moved across the carpet with the confident walk of a woman who brings good news.
Nadine kept her intelligent gaze on him as she shook the hand he offered, then sank gracefully into the chair Lemuel indicated with an outstretched hand. While she pulled her briefcase onto her lap, Devin looked at Lemuel and nodded toward the adjacent chair. Understanding, the assistant sat down, ready to absorb impressions and take notes.
Nadine wasted no time in coming to the point. “I’ve completed the background work and established an alias should I need to contact your surrogate directly.” She pulled a file from her briefcase and handed it to Lemuel. “Your child’s biological mother rents one half of a town house; she is friendly with the next-door neighbor; she is also quite attached to her coworkers at the Women’s Medical Center. She attends services every Sunday at Charlottesville Community Church on Spruce Street, but she does not linger or socialize with many members. She has eighty thousand dollars in her savings account, a little over two hundred in checking as of last Friday, and two credit cards, both of which she pays off every month. Her parents are deceased and she has no siblings. All in all, Mr. Sloane, I’d say you picked a good candidate, a woman with few attachments.”
Watching her, Devin saw something that almost seemed like cynicism enter her eyes. “Lara Godfrey is what I would call a good girl—in fact, I’m a little surprised she’d agree to act as a surrogate mother. She has no crucial need for money, no obvious vices, no outstanding debts, no enemies to speak of. The only quality I can see that would motivate her to be a surrogate is altruism.”
Devin shrugged. “She is a medical professional, so she obviously cares about helping others.” He smiled. “Surely that is reason enough for a good girl.”
“She may be a saint for all I know, but I’d still handle her carefully.” Nadine’s brows flickered a little. “She is still grieving for her late husband. It’s possible she sees this child as an extension of her husband— in fact, I strongly suspect that she does. My advice to you, Mr. Sloane, is to accept delivery of your child as soon as possible and treat this woman with kindness and compassion. Send her on a vacation to Tahiti and present her with a picture of the child every year. If you keep her happy, you should have nothing to fear from her.”
Devin leaned back, at once impressed and suspicious. “How do you know this?”
Nadine crossed one long leg over the other. “I posed as a patient and went to the clinic. As we chatted, I asked her about her pregnancy. Her answers led me to believe that she is either very good at covering her feelings or she is terribly attached to this child.”
“I thought you were joking when you mentioned going to the clinic.” He laughed. “Nadine Harrington, you are either the most resourceful or the most foolish private investigator I have ever met.”
“Last week you said I was the best.” Despite the flush of color on her cheekbones, her tone was as cool as ice water. “Consider this, Mr. Sloane—I have met your subject. We have made a cordial acquaintance. I have established a cover story, an alias, and a medical condition of chronic migraine—which, by the way, no medical instrument can verify. I do not live in the area, so we are not likely to meet on the street. And later, if necessary, I can go back to that clinic and learn more about my favorite physician’s assistant, Lara Godfrey.”
Devin looked at Lemuel in amused wonder. “She is the best.”
Nadine ignored the compliment and pulled another folder from her briefcase, this one thicker than the first. “These are transcribed recordings of her telephone conversations for the last week. We also transcribed her conversations in the house, but I’m afraid you won’t find much useful information in these pages. There’s one interesting phone call to Lara’s mother-in-law, Eva Godfrey. Apparently they are not on good terms.”
Devin reached for the folder and riffled through the pages. A meddling mother-in-law was the last thing he needed. “What was the nature of the call?”
“Lara called Mrs. Godfrey and invited her to dinner on Christmas Eve. Mrs. Godfrey declined, saying that she was leaving for London on the twenty-fourth. Lara seemed to take the news with good grace, but she cried for half an hour after disconnecting the call.”
Devin closed his eyes, grateful that his own parents were deceased. Life was far less complicated without that sort of interference and pressure. “Any other calls? Any friends to whom she might turn?”
“All of her friendships are work related but one. Lara is quite friendly with the man living next door. His name is Connor O’Hara, he’s a research librarian at the university, and he lives alone. We did discover one interesting fact about him—last year he applied for a loan in order to buy a vintage Ford Mustang convertible. On the loan papers he listed additional income of $35,000 from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
A large measure of Devin’s enthusiasm immediately evaporated. “What did this guy do for the FBI?”
Her expression stilled and grew serious. “We’re not exactly sure—yet. I’m guessing it’s probably something academic.”
Devin gritted his teeth. “How serious is Mrs. Godfrey’s relationship with this man?”
For the first time, the flicker of a smile crossed Nadine’s face. “It’s friendly, but not what you’d expect from two attractive young adults. Mr. O’Hara seems to have adopted Lara Godfrey in almost a familial relationship. They often eat dinner together, with Mr. O’Hara furnishing the meals. I believe he feels responsible for her.”
“So if she needed help—”
“My money’s on the librarian. She’d run to him first. He’s convenient, he’s supportive, and he’s a man. The good news, of course, is that he lives next door.” Her mouth curved in a wry smile. “If she decides to run, she won’t go far.”
Devin pressed the palms of his hands together, then tapped his fingertips against his lips. “Anything else of interest on the tapes?”
“One peculiar thing.” Nadine’s polished face was smooth with secrets. She smiled, obviously enjoying the upper hand. “Something I didn’t expect from a competent, modern woman. I hope it won’t bother you or influence your son.”
Devin paused, imagining all sorts of perverted practices, then lowered his gaze to meet hers. “What in the devil are you talking about?”
Derision and sympathy mingled in Nadine’s expression. “Lara Godfrey prays. Aloud. Spontaneously, I think.”
Devin stared wordlessly, waiting for further explanation.
“At first we thought she was just talking to herself—you’d be surprised how many people engage in the habit. But then we heard clear requests and a pattern—she was definitely praying.”
“To God.”
“Yes, and in Jesus’ name.” The phrase brought another flush to Nadine Harrington’s cheeks. “She prays for protection through the day, for the baby’s health, for wisdom in her work. She prays for people in her office and even for the estranged mother-in-law. Sometimes she sings as she prays—rather repetitive songs about God’s goodness, his faithfulness, and so on. I don’t know how you feel about religion, but this raises a red flag for me. Religious people can be . . . erratic.”
“You think so?”
“Does September 11 ring any bells with you?”
He shook his head. “Lara Godfrey is not a suicidal terrorist.”
“Perhaps not, but she definitely looks to a higher authority for answers. In my opinion, this is the single most worrisome aspect of her character.”
Devin bit his lip as delight pulsed through his veins. He couldn’t have chosen a better mother for the Iceman’s child if he’d held open auditions in a convent. This woman was genuinely spiritual. Her sensitivity, combined with the Iceman’s genetic purity, would surely create one of the most numinous beings the world had ever known. Jesus Christ, Buddha, Mohammed—they had been great teachers, but this child would be greater than any of them.
Wrapped in a warm bunting of confidence, he settled back in his chair and grinned at Lemuel. Hiring Nadine had been a wise decision. This was the kind of necessary information Helmut Braun couldn’t provide, and it was worth every penny if it helped insure the child’s safe delivery.
Devin nodded to Lemuel, who pulled a check from his pocket and handed it to Nadine. She accepted it, read the amount, and for the briefest instant a flash of pleasure shone in her eyes.
“My dear Nadine,” Devin said, gesturing to Lemuel, “will you join me in a cup of Christmas tea? I’d like to discuss keeping you on retainer, just in case your services are needed again.”
She smiled as she slipped the check into her briefcase. “Mr. Sloane, I would be delighted.”