Lara finished with her last morning patient at 11:56, completed her notes on the chart, then dropped it into the transcriptionist’s basket. From the break room she could hear the chirpy chatter of the nurses’ voices, but she had no appetite. Turning her back on the other women, she retrieved the long computer printout from the supply closet shelf where she’d stashed it earlier.
Olivia was at the hospital with a patient in the final stage of labor, so her office was empty and quiet. Lara sat on the love seat and leaned back on the pillows, sighing with relief as her bones melted into the thick cushions. She enjoyed the momentary release of pressure on her spine, then lifted the stack of printed sheets. Her eyes skimmed over the entries— patient numbers, billing and diagnosis codes, physicians’ notes, a thousand shortcut phrases only a physician or nurse would understand. She flipped through page after page; then her eyes skimmed notes about chromosomes and plasmids and organelles—words from a geneticist’s lexicon.
She backed up and reread the last page, running her finger along the text. There! Amid the notes she recognized her patient number, followed by last week’s weight, blood pressure, and measurements. The entry ended with the notes Olivia had made after last week’s examination.
Lara turned the page. Carol would have entered these notes from Lara’s file; and Dr. Braun could have accessed them from his own lab. But if he had wanted to send her records to a password-protected file, he’d have to enter the password, then her case number . . . and perhaps he had done so from one of the Women’s Clinic computers.
She continued skimming through the pages, searching again for her patient number, and felt a sudden surge of joy when she found it. No notes followed this entry, no measurements or numbers. Only one word: ICEMAN.
Lara sat up, her blood pulsing with adrenaline. Iceman? If it was a password, it certainly fit Dr. Braun—after all, he did oversee the freezers in the cryogenics lab. But his office wouldn’t need a password to access her file; the term ICEMAN had to mean something else.
The answer would lie in the computer. Gripping the printout in trembling fingers, she slipped out of Olivia’s office and walked the long way around the office suite, avoiding the open doorway where the staff relaxed over lunch. The records office was dark, for Carol was eating with the nurses. Lara flipped on the light, slipped into the transcriptionist’s chair, and typed in her patient number. When her chart came up, she tabbed through the fields, then clicked on the department number she hadn’t recognized.
Classified File
Password?
She bit her lower lip and typed I-C-E-M-A-N. She clicked the enter key and held her breath.
The screen went black, then opened into another registry—a directory in which hers appeared to be the only record.
Patient Name: Lara Godfrey, Patient Number: GODL49383-92
Birth date: 10-14-70
Blood Type: O neg Donor Blood Type: B+
Follicular aspiration: 5-07-98
Conception date: 5-15-98 Conception Method: IVF AID
Embryo Transfer Procedure: 5-18-98, blastocyst stage
Pregnancy: Positive, 5-22-98 Due: 2-04-99
Instructions ——-BEGIN PGP MESSAGE——-
MessageID: 6NOMhIDpqZvAiq3pykwy6zVz2fynZ+Sw
qANQR1DBwU4Dj1QWb23RM4kQB/9cknhNCZB25fxb4m0NT0jFxU3QxR qEFT4H5C1o
mTvWlWXeKJXlnzcBhSPz/gl2gPtIyGBSaUPG77YFXGtDgSsewfniP+Xh+sz /Tw87
rZ0xua3aibCcFzVd2naO8/X5RC4y3pEDmMHXZfgk5CxOfAwgC8vDENHIE qMqS5FW
/lJ6qsbWo/riXBLQ5AT5BlOlt3ZxUmUfOU00BIht543acU1SE2alWu4hOo zAee/8
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/6Jxx/ty/abeU2wA2lScbXBqdPuEFsoIKZRi2bMnq8QKpS+pQAzlNto X9nqQwwPyauoH70g7e1a3toOu+k5WprzDASZTrOMYrD6teY0MbcW+FBK CRlZOipS
ScCODHOX2Jx13JJUdzldlIb76JFQjm3ynyp/Zpf1Bg/v5WMZfLqjPLzeMIr C8kkJ
7kdNlJ4WBGgtty8sxE0FbAjoeTirxBzPMm92TijD5ZdUuNCdQwk8s41QMs uXl5oL
+MuohFhuzcdcpkLt00q0JCpxDylNwNGUyk4lMGXRHK3u+5E= =/OUy
——-END PGP MESSAGE——-
Lara stared wordlessly at the screen, questions bubbling up by the dozens.
Helmut answered his phone on the fifth ring, then heard Olivia’s exasperated voice on the line. “Honestly, Helmut, can’t anyone in your lab stop whatever they’re doing long enough to pick up the phone? This is the third time I’ve tried to reach you.”
“Sorry.” Helmut flicked a dark string from his lab coat, then frowned at the microscope he’d been forced to abandon. “What is so urgent?”
“I’ve got a first-time mother who’s taking longer than expected, and I’m afraid I’m going to have to do a cesarean. I’ll be tied up here all afternoon, so I won’t feel like going out tonight. Would you mind calling George and Beverly to cancel our dinner plans?”
“No problem.” Helmut tapped his calendar, grateful for an excuse to cancel. One of the hardest things about being married to a bright and beautiful woman was having to endure her social life.
His gaze moved toward the window as another thought crossed his mind. “How are things at the office? Will Dr. Stock and Lara be able to handle anything that comes up while you’re out?”
“That’s a potential problem.” A worried note entered Olivia’s voice. “Lara was experiencing Braxton-Hicks contractions this morning, and she’s convinced the baby’s going to come soon. Dr. Stock is on call for emergency patients, so Lara may have her hands full this afternoon.”
“Are you certain it was false labor?”
Olivia laughed. “She was only two centimeters dilated and zero percent effaced.”
“Well, then, I feel sorry for the girl. Most women would spend the day in bed, but she will have to handle your office in a most uncomfortable condition.”
“The others will help her.”
Helmut flinched as a shrill beep cut across the phone line.
“Sorry, that’ll be the charge nurse. Talk to you later.” Olivia hung up.
Helmut replaced the phone, then studied his calendar, his hands drumming on his desk. Though Lara Godfrey’s pregnancy could go another week, these things were unpredictable. If she was experiencing contractions, the time was certainly near. The child could be induced now with no risk.
With a shiver of vivid recollection, Sloane’s dark, covetous eyes rose up before him. His visits to the Women’s Clinic had grown more suspicious and more difficult for Helmut to endure. The billionaire gazed at Lara Godfrey’s belly with such frank longing that Helmut wondered why none of the nurses remarked upon it.
Why not end the suspense now? The baby was ready and Sloane would come running the instant Helmut called. What better time to take care of the situation than while Olivia was tied up at the hospital?
Helmut pushed his rolling chair toward the computer, entered the university registry, and typed in the code number for the secure directory Sloane had established. He entered the password, then settled back for the file to open. It contained special instructions he was to follow when Lara began to deliver . . .
He froze as an error message flashed on the screen.
Access denied. File in use, Department 30582, The Women’s Medical Center.
A thrill of fear shot through him. No one at the clinic knew about the directory. Even if someone had noticed it, they shouldn’t have been able to access it.
But apparently someone had.
Helmut shot out of his chair with such force that it slammed against the wall. In a hoarse voice, he told his assistant he would be out for the entire afternoon.
In the quiet records office, Lara’s mind spun with bewilderment as she studied the computer screen. After the rows of computer gibberish, every single item of Lara’s medical history had been recorded. Lara saw details of her weight, blood pressure, the results of the fetal nonstress tests, and a listing of every complaint she had ever mentioned. The latest entry was dated January twenty-fifth, last Monday.
She leaned back and crossed her arms, then glanced up at the shelf where Carol kept patient files. The “in” basket had been emptied of all files but the one Lara had deposited before lunch, so the transcriptionist had already entered the notes from this morning’s exam into Lara’s official record. Whoever was forwarding the information hadn’t brought the file up to date . . . yet.
She stared at the screen, disturbed by the invasion of her privacy. Her name was entered in this registry, not just her patient number. She’d have to ask Olivia what department owned this file; then she would write an outraged letter to whomever was in charge.
Another contraction, a sharp one, caught her by surprise. Lara drew a deep breath and closed her eyes against the pain. Something was happening within her womb, and she’d be surprised if she wasn’t fully dilated by the end of the day. She’d ask Olivia to take another look when she returned from the hospital. It certainly felt like Junior wanted to be born today . . .
She pressed her hand to the small of her back and massaged gently, urging the pain away. She lifted her right hand, about to exit the strange directory, when her gaze fell upon the entry for “conception method.” IVF AID? The chart should have said IVF AIH, artificial insemination by husband. Even though Michael was no longer living, the official record should have affirmed their marital relationship.
Had to be a typo, but she leaned forward to study the record more carefully. Her blood chilled when she saw the note beside “donor blood type.” Someone had recorded B positive, but Michael had been O positive. One did not walk away from three years of nursing a cancer patient without knowing his blood type.
She frowned, disturbed at what could potentially be a crucial error. Someone got careless, either in transcribing Michael’s information or in determining the blood type from his specimen.
But . . . what if it wasn’t a mistake? Nothing about this file seemed haphazard or careless. On the contrary, someone had taken great pains to insure that this information would remain protected and hidden, even from her.
Father God, what does this mean?
She pressed her hand to her mouth as horror snaked down her backbone and coiled in her belly. Helmut’s lab was a research facility . . .
She bent as a sudden wave of nausea assaulted her. Braun was a respected scientist, but researchers had been known to take shortcuts. Just last year, Olivia told Lara about a California physician who fathered more than twenty children at his IVF clinic. The parents were completely unaware of his deception until routine blood tests raised questions and issues the doctor had hoped to bury forever.
Dr. Braun had told her that removing the defective cancer genes would be difficult. Was it possible . . . did he use a stranger’s sperm rather than admit defeat?
She clung to her chair as a larger realization bloomed in her chest. If Braun had deceived her, would he have told her the truth? Not likely. She would have borne her child and loved him. She would never have questioned Braun’s generosity unless she discovered that her baby had B positive blood . . .
But why would the doctor trick her? She had made her feelings clear when he raised the question of conception by donor. She didn’t want just any baby; she wanted her husband’s child.
She shivered and ran her hands over her arms. If the worst were true—if Braun had used donor semen—who had fathered this baby? She thought of the two libidinous lab assistants she’d met the day she went to visit Dr. Braun’s lab and the countless young medical students who lounged on the university lawns during the warm days of spring and autumn. Any one of those young men could be the father of the child that now stretched in her belly.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to settle down. These feelings sprang from raging hormones; she was in the grip of paranoia. Dr. Braun hadn’t tricked her; he couldn’t. This had to be a clerical error. Father God, please let it be a simple mistake . . .
“Everything okay, Lara?”
Lara jumped at the sound of Gaynel’s voice. The nurse stood in the doorway, a patient chart in her hand and a frown on her face. “You don’t look too good.”
“Where’s Carol?” Lara’s voice sounded strangled in her own ears. “I think I’ve found a mistake on a patient chart.”
Reading the seriousness in Lara’s eyes, Gaynel gestured toward the break room. “I’ll get her.”
Carol appeared a moment later, a half-eaten sandwich in her hand. “What’s wrong?”
Lara pointed at the computer monitor. “This says my pregnancy was IVF AID, not AIH. And it says the donor blood type is B positive, but Michael was O positive. This chart is filled with mistakes . . . and what is all this gobbledygook?”
Carol took another bite of her sandwich, then leaned forward. After scrolling through the chart, she swallowed hard. “Gee, Lara, I’ve never seen a file with that kind of gibberish.” She frowned. “How’d you find this?”
“I followed the department codes.” Lara focused on the computer screen and tried to ignore the nauseating smell of Carol’s tuna sandwich. “I know this isn’t one of our department codes, so I thought it might have something to do with Helmut . . .”
Carol shrugged. “Why don’t you ask Dr. Braun about it? He’ll be in later this afternoon. Maybe he hit the wrong button and messed something up.”
Suddenly anxious to be rid of the transcriptionist, Lara gave her a smile. “Sorry for disturbing your lunch.”
When Carol had gone, Lara picked up the phone and dialed the library, then gritted her teeth against another contraction. After pounding her way through the automated answering system, a woman’s sharp voice answered. “Reference.”
“Connor O’Hara, please.”
“I’m sorry, but Mr. O’Hara is assisting another patron. May I help you?”
Lara considered waiting, then pressed on. “I need to know about something called PGP. I think it has to do with computers.”
“Oh my.” The woman let out a cackling laugh. “Then you’ll have to talk to Mr. O’Hara; that’s his area of expertise. I’ll put you on hold.”
Lara tapped her nails on the keyboard, irritated by the clash of the canned music in her ear and the easy listening schmaltz oozing through the office speakers. To take her mind off the music, she scrolled to the top of the file and stared again at the rows of computer characters listed under “instructions.” Instructions for what?
Finally she heard Connor’s voice. “May I help you?”
She could have wept with relief. “Connor, it’s Lara.”
His voice roughened. “Is it time?”
“Not yet, but soon.” The baby kicked, and Lara pressed gently upon her stomach, willing Junior to keep still. “Connor, do you know about something called PGP? I think it’s a computer program.”
“Pretty Good Privacy. It encrypts computer files.”
“Why would someone use it in a patient file?”
“There’s only one reason to use PGP—to keep material secret.” She could almost see him frowning. “You say you found this in a patient file?”
“I found it in my file—a copy of my file in a password-protected directory, that is. But a section of the file has been encrypted with PGP, and I can’t read a word of it.”
Silence reigned for a moment, then Connor lowered his voice. “PGP can only be unencrypted with a key, usually available on the Internet. But you’d have to know the sender’s and the receiver’s names, along with their passwords. It’s a tough program to crack. Practically unbeatable.”
Lara clutched the phone as panic began to riot inside her. “Connor, I’ve got to know what it says. There’s other information here, but it’s all wrong. This file says my baby was conceived from a donor insemination, not from a husband. And Michael’s blood type is wrong. At first I thought it was a clerical error, but two mistakes is too much—”
Connor must have heard the sound of tears in her voice. “Calm down, hon,” he said, his voice a soothing balm. “Make a backup copy of the file and bring it home tonight. We’ll look at it and see what we can figure out.”
She sniffed and wiped her nose on a tissue from her pocket. “I also have a computer printout that might help. We installed a backup program that records keystrokes—that’s how I found the password that got me into this file in the first place.”
“Atta girl.” He paused. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want me to come get you?”
“I’m fine. I’ll see you later.” She thanked him and hung up, then rummaged through Carol’s cluttered drawers for a spare floppy disk. Maybe, if Junior didn’t decide to interrupt tonight, she and Connor would solve the puzzle.
She had just pulled a diskette from a bottom drawer when a shadow fell over the computer workstation. “Good afternoon, Lara,” Dr. Braun said, a firmness in his voice that verged on the threatening. “Carol tells me you have a question about your file.”
Slowly, Lara looked up. Braun stood in the doorway, blocking her escape. He smiled at her, but a shadow lay behind his eyes. A quick flicker of some emotion—fear?—moved across his granite face.
“Yes. I did.” Uncertain whether to confront him or continue investigating on her own, Lara froze in a paroxysm of indecision. Her uneasiness grew when the man came forward to stand behind her, one hand dropping to her shoulder as he bent and peered at the computer monitor.
“Ah.” He nodded and pressed his lips together, but the pressure on her shoulder increased slightly. “You have found the foundation file.”
With an effort, she pulled out of his grasp and swiveled the chair to face him. “What foundation would that be?”
The geneticist backed away and leaned against a cabinet on the opposite wall. Folding his hands, he looked at her with a genial, almost paternal expression. “Surely you’ve heard about the Muriel Foundation. A wealthy donor has contributed over one million dollars to eradicate cancer through genetics, and yours is our first case. All of your expenses— for the genetic testing, the cryopreservation, lab tests, even your obstetrical care—are being underwritten by the Muriel Foundation. If your baby is born without any trace of Michael’s defective genes, we will know our work has been successful.”
Suddenly ashamed, Lara crumpled in her chair. “If that’s true”—she groped for words—“then why the secrecy? Why did you give them my personal information? And there are mistakes on the file, Dr. Braun. Michael’s blood type wasn’t B positive and the procedure was insemination by husband, not donor.”
Braun stepped closer and peered at the file over her head. “The form is basic information, Lara, intended to be more of a service to the foundation than a medical chart. You do not have to worry about anyone giving you or your baby the wrong blood.”
“That’s—ohhhh.” Lara clamped her mouth shut and groaned as a hard contraction gripped her insides. She hunched forward, cradling her abdomen, and from the corner of her eye she saw Braun’s face shift into an expression of worried concern.
“How far apart are the contractions?”
“Five to eight minutes.” She panted to catch her breath. “I’m okay; that one caught me by surprise.”
Braun frowned. “Why don’t you go into Olivia’s office and rest?”
“Not yet.” She grasped the edge of the computer table, then pulled her chair forward until she faced the desk. She picked up the floppy she’d dropped when he came into the room. “If this file is nothing special, you won’t mind if I make a copy.”
“I would advise against that.” His voice, so friendly a moment before, had gone sharp. With a grace that belied his size, he stepped forward and caught her hand, then pried the diskette from her grasp. “Our generous philanthropist is quite concerned about privacy.”
Lara managed a choking laugh. “It’s my file, my medical history. I’m the one who should be concerned.”
An inner alarm blared when Braun’s hand tightened around hers. Wincing, she met his gaze. “What have you done, Doctor? Did you use a donor’s sperm in place of Michael’s? Have you altered my file to hide the truth from this foundation?”
“Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know what to think!” She wrenched her hand free and blazed up at him, wishing she was less pregnant so she could stand and glare at him eye-to-eye. “I think you failed in your attempt to repair Michael’s DNA strand. So you threw out his specimen and brought in another one. Then you had to change my chart because if this baby has B positive blood, your donor will know Michael was not the father!”
Braun’s face flushed. “Lara, you are delusional. You do not know what you are talking about.”
“I’m right, aren’t I?” She lowered her voice, her feeling of uneasiness growing into a deeper and more immediate fear. “You have given me some other man’s child.” Blood pounded thickly in her ears as she glared up at him. “Dr. Braun, how could you? You knew I wanted Michael’s baby!”
“Lara, you are upset. I am going to have Gaynel bring something to calm you.”
With a superhuman effort, Lara pushed herself out of the chair. “You’re not going to give me anything. I’m going straight to the hospital authorities.”
“You are going to sit back down.” Dr. Braun’s hands clamped onto her shoulders and pushed her into the chair even as he called for a nurse.
Anxiety swelled like a balloon in Lara’s chest, expanding nearly to the breaking point. She slapped uselessly at Braun’s arms, trying to drive him away, while the sounds of her struggle retreated to background noise. The room spun for a moment, but she clung to consciousness, knowing she could not lose control.
When the room had righted itself, she opened her eyes to see Gaynel, Sharon, Rita, and Carol clustered in the doorway.
“Seconal,” Dr. Braun ordered, his hands like iron on Lara’s trembling shoulders. “One hundred milligrams. And hurry!”
The nurse’s face crinkled. “Seconal?”
Braun shot her a cold look. “Are you questioning me?”
“No, sir.” Gaynel pushed past Sharon and hurried to the dispensary while the others stood helplessly in the hallway. “Sharon,” Lara choked, “help me. He gave me some other man’s baby, and now he’s trying to cover it up.”
Sharon stared at Dr. Braun, her face a mask of alarm.
“Paranoia and fear, an unusual but not totally unexpected symptom of approaching labor,” Braun said, his hands sliding down to hold Lara’s wrists. “Especially among women with an inadequate support system.”
“Look at my chart!” Lara commanded, struggling to free herself. “It’s all there, on the computer.” Sharon and Rita turned to the monitor, then looked back at Lara with pity in their eyes. She frowned, confused, until she leaned forward and saw that the computer had shifted to its screen-saver mode, displaying only a series of flying stars.
Dear Lord, they think I’m crazy. Help me, Father.
She had to calm down. She had to think. What else could she do? She was pregnant and about to deliver a child. She had to play by the rules. When it was all over, she would find a way to expose Braun’s treachery. After the baby was born, she’d have a DNA test performed. If the kid wasn’t Michael’s, she would sue Braun for all he was worth.
This baby was a mistake.
She panted, bracing herself against the pain, until Gaynel appeared in the doorway with a paper cup and a pair of white pills.
“One hundred milligrams of Seconal, Doctor.” The nurse cast a worried glance at Lara. “Is she in labor? Should I page Olivia at the hospital?”
“Olivia is in surgery,” Helmut answered, still holding Lara’s wrists. He twisted slightly and looked at her. “Will you take this? We want you to calm down. After you’re relaxed”—his eyes narrowed—“we’ll talk.”
Lara eyed the pills in Gaynel’s hand. One hundred milligrams was the maximum dosage advisable, particularly for a patient in the early stages of labor.
She shook her head. “No, sedative will slow the baby’s respiratory system.”
“The baby will be fine; we’ll counteract the sedative once we get you to the hospital. Please, Lara, be a good girl and take your meds.”
She closed her eyes. If she refused, he might order an injection of something stronger. If she took the Seconal, Braun might believe she had begun to settle down.
She opened her mouth and held the tablets on her tongue until Gaynel offered the cup of water. Dr. Braun lifted his hand from her wrist, and Lara hesitated as she took the cup. She could dash the water into Braun’s face and run toward the door, but she’d be lucky if she got two steps away from the chair before he caught her.
She swallowed the pills, then tossed the empty cup over her shoulder.
“All gone?” Braun asked.
She opened her mouth in answer.
“Good.” Braun gestured toward the other women. “If you ladies will give us a few moments alone, I believe I can reason with Ms. Godfrey. Call her afternoon appointments and reschedule them; it looks like Lara is closer to labor than we thought.”
He waited until the women retreated, then he pulled up a chair and sat facing Lara. The silence between them lengthened, increasing her apprehension, until he gave her a look that was compassionate, troubled, and still. “I did not want to hurt you.”
Lara closed her eyes as the room swayed again. “What did you do?”
“I did what I was told.”
She clung to reality and prayed she would not betray her agitation. “Is this my husband’s child?”
Dr. Braun sighed heavily, then glanced away. “I suppose the time for truth has come. No, Lara, strictly speaking, the fetus is not your husband’s. I know you did not want a stranger’s child, so let it go. I will help you have another baby, a better baby. The gene splicing did not go as well as I had planned, so—” He shrugged wearily. “I listened to someone else.”
She brought her hand to her mouth. For nine months she had sheltered, nourished, and loved a baby that was not Michael’s.
A whirlwind of emotions swirled inside her—grief for the child who should have been, anger at Braun’s deception, and overwhelming despair—
“How could you?” she cried, choking on sorrow and rage. “How could you betray me like this?”
Braun’s face crumpled. “I had no other choice. I cannot expect you to understand, but I ask that you forgive me. I was under such pressure—”
“What sort of pressure could make you lie to me? What could be so important that you would deceive—” She gasped and clenched the chair’s armrests as another contraction caught her.
Braun’s face went pale. “Please, Lara, try to relax. In a moment I will get my car and take you to the hospital. By this time tomorrow it will be over and you can begin again. We will make you another baby; then you will understand.”
She looked at him through a blur of pain and tears. “How could I ever understand this?”
“You will understand tomorrow, and you will be glad to be rid of the fetus.” His broad hands clenched. “The thing you carry is not the child of an ordinary man. It is spawn from the ancient Iceman.”
Lara stared as a tide of gooseflesh rippled up each arm and raced across her shoulders. What was Braun talking about? Who—what—was the Iceman?
“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice breaking.
“The caveman, the frozen man found in the Alps. We used his DNA, his genetics—”
“No.” She shook her head. “Such things aren’t possible. You wouldn’t do this to me; Olivia wouldn’t let you do this to me.”
He muttered something in German, then rolled his chair to the computer. While Lara kneaded her forehead with trembling fingers, Braun fretted at the keyboard and reopened Lara’s file. With swift, sure strokes Braun highlighted the encrypted text; then a dialog box appeared. Braun pasted the material from Lara’s file into the box and punched another key.
Lara leaned forward, forgetting the pressure within her womb as the string of computer code condensed and rearranged itself into a simple message:
When labor begins, call 804-555-2937, cell phone 804-555-8374. Escort patient to hospital; proceed with delivery under nitrous oxide. Other instructions concerning ID chip implantation will follow.
Without even glancing at her, the doctor straightened and picked up the telephone. He glanced back at the screen and punched in the first number, then snapped off the computer’s power supply. Only then did he look at Lara.
She watched him, her body numb while her brain tried to make sense of the words she’d seen on the computer. Proceed with nitrous oxide? She wanted an almost-natural childbirth, and Olivia knew it. But if the fruit of her womb was some thing . . . maybe that’s why the code mentioned an ID chip. Good grief, maybe the creature inside her belly wasn’t even human . . .
Wait, of course it was. She’d seen Junior’s picture on the sonogram; she’d heard his heartbeat on the fetoscope. She had already furnished his nursery with stuffed dinosaurs and toy trucks and two dozen baby rattles from Connor’s Christmas tree. But Braun wanted her to get rid of this fetus, to start over again. Which could only mean that she was never meant to have this baby, never meant to bear Michael’s child . . .
Dear God in heaven, what have you allowed?
She tried to focus on Braun, but his square face now seemed to float before her eyes. That was the Seconal beginning to take effect. She’d be groggy soon, completely at Braun’s mercy unless she found a way to escape.
The doctor whispered a few words into the phone, grunted, then hung up. “We are going in my car, and Olivia is already at the hospital,” he said, his voice soft and soothing as he turned to Lara. “Do not be alarmed. This is for the best.”
Escape!
She accepted Braun’s help as she pushed herself up out of the chair. “I have to use the restroom,” she whispered, taking an unsteady step. “Please.”
The doctor strode to the door, threw it open, and called for a nurse. Gaynel stepped out from exam room one, her brown eyes snapping. “Is she okay?”
With a tight grip on Lara’s arm, Braun led her into the hallway. “Please take her to the restroom. She’s a little unsteady, and I don’t want her to fall.”
Lara lowered her head and allowed Gaynel to take her hand.
“Stay with her,” Braun called, a warning note in his voice. “We don’t want her to hurt herself.”
Lara shuffled toward the restroom, reaching for the wall with her free hand. Braun wanted her woozy and weak now; he wanted her out cold during the birth. Why? Because someone pressured him, and Braun had planted a freak in her womb. Who was responsible? And what did they want with the life that swam in her belly and kept her awake at night?
She looked up and met Gaynel’s compassionate gaze. “It’s not Michael’s baby.”
“Of course it is, honey,” the nurse said, guiding Lara into the restroom. “The Seconal has confused you, that’s all.”
“No.” Lara stood placidly beside the commode as Gaynel helped her slip out of her lab coat. “Dr. Braun made this baby, and it’s not normal. It’s a science experiment. And he wants me to have nitrous oxide. It’s all on the computer.” She brought her finger to her lips, then widened her eyes. “Do you think they want to dissect it?”
“Of course not, sweetie.” Gaynel stepped back and braced her hands on her hips. “Do you need some help with those clothes, or can you manage?”
Lara blinked. She hated to hurt a friend, but the Seconal was numbing her brain, and time was slipping away. Braun was probably outside, bringing the car around to the front of the building. The other nurses would be clustered around the front desk, wondering what had happened . . .
Lara gave Gaynel a droopy, drunken smile. “Before I go to the hospital, I think I need help . . . with my shoe. It’s untied, isn’t it?”
“Let me check.” As the nurse bent, Lara reached for the aluminum basin on the back of the toilet. Her fingers caught the cold, curved edge and she pulled it forward, then lifted it with both hands and slammed it down on Gaynel’s head.
“Hey!” Gaynel yelled, bringing her hand to her head as she glared up at Lara. “What’s the big idea?”
Driven by desperation, Lara pushed the nurse, knocking her backward. Gaynel’s head struck the edge of the sink with a dull thud; then the nurse folded into a heap, her eyes closed, her hand stretched toward Lara.
“Dear God, don’t let her be dead.”
Breathing heavily, Lara slid down the wall and stretched out her hand to search for a pulse in Gaynel’s neck. There—steady and strong. Grasping the last shreds of her strength, Lara pulled herself up, then stepped over Gaynel’s sprawled form and opened the door. After pressing the lock button, she pulled the door shut, then lurched toward the security of Olivia’s darkened office. The doctor’s private entrance opened directly into the parking lot, only a few feet from the highway where taxicabs routinely disgorged passengers too sick to drive.
The frigid wind bit into Lara’s flesh as she stepped into the cold sunshine, and she blinked as the world spun around her. The taxi stand stood less than one hundred yards away. Lara staggered toward it, trying to ignore the cacophony around her. Cars whizzed by with long, whooshing sounds, someone honked, and one man called to another man, who answered in a high, whining voice . . .
But no one called her name. Yet.
“Lady, are you okay?”
The question came from somewhere behind her. Lara ignored it and walked on, waving a hand over her shoulder as if all was well with her world. Some part of her brain registered the fact that she had run without her purse, her money, or any sort of identification, but if she could only get home . . .
A yellow taxi pulled up to the curb in a sunshiny blur. An elderly man in a black overcoat slid out of the backseat and bent through the passenger window, counting bills out of his wallet. Lara quickened her pace, hearing her own increasingly quick breaths, knowing that her blood pressure was rising as her contractions intensified.
The old man straightened and turned away; the driver’s head protruded from his window as he scanned the street and prepared to pull away.
“Wait!” Lara yelled, waving now in earnest. She commanded her legs to walk faster, but they seemed set upon their wooden, irregular pace. “Wait, please!”
The driver glanced right and left, then pulled away from the curb. “Wait!” Lara called again, her voice breaking. “Please, come back!”
The taxi pulled to the far right lane, then did a U-turn. Lara closed her eyes, afraid he was answering a radio call, but in another moment the car braked at the curb,
“Lady, you need a cab?”
With her remaining strength Lara yanked the door open and crawled into the backseat.
The driver grimaced and covered his eyes, then opened his fingers and peered at her as if she were a bomb that might explode at any moment. “Good grief, lady, you look like you should be driving to the hospital, not away from it.”
“Take me home,” she said, struggling to close the door. “Three-nine-four-eight Maple Leaf Court. And please hurry.”
“Sure thing.”
She felt the cab shift into drive, saw the hospital slide away. Then, surrendering to the heavy pull of the sedative, she slipped sideways onto the seat, her arms flung out and away from the baby she could no longer think of as hers.
The wings of shadowy foreboding brushed Helmut’s spirit as he stood in the hallway and watched the nurse pound on the restroom door.
“Lara! Gaynel!” Sharon thumped the door with her hand, then stopped as someone murmured, “I’m coming.”
Gaynel opened the door, her fingertips gently probing a red knot in the center of her forehead. “She’s gone.” Gaynel winced as though speaking caused her pain. “I was helping her with her clothes, and she hit me with a basin. Next thing I knew, I was on the floor and Lara was gone.”
Helmut crossed his arms, then made a fist and rested his chin upon it. Lara Godfrey was frightened, and she knew the baby wasn’t her husband’s. She was traveling under the influence of enough Seconal to knock a grown man off his feet, so where would she go? Driving was out of the question, so she was either on foot, or moving in a bus, a taxi, or a friend’s car . . .
His thoughts fluttered anxiously away from Lara Godfrey’s transportation problems. Sloane would kill him if she disappeared with the child. He would have to stress that one of the nurses had let the woman slip away.
“Page Olivia,” he snapped, not caring which nurse leapt to obey. “Tell her that Lara is anxious and may be headed toward the hospital maternity ward.”
Sharon ran toward the office, but Gaynel remained in the hall. “Are you going to look for her?” the nurse asked, rubbing the knot on her head. “If not, I could get in my car and go—”
“You do that.” Helmut moved toward the records office. “I have to make a call.”
The transcriptionist had rebooted the computer and was preparing to work on the afternoon patients’ charts, but she vacated her chair the moment Helmut entered the office. He dismissed her with an abrupt gesture, then typed in Lara Godfrey’s patient number. Within a few keystrokes he had arrived back at the password-protected directory.
He typed in the password, then softly cursed his own carelessness. He didn’t know how Lara had managed to open the directory, but obviously she had.
He accessed the file, decrypted the encoded instructions again, then picked up the phone and punched in the number for Sloane’s cell phone. The billionaire had been ecstatic to hear that Lara was near delivery. Without a doubt he was now hurrying to the hospital.
Sloane answered on the first ring. He listened to Helmut’s report without comment, then told Helmut to go to his lab.
“I made plans for this contingency,” Sloane said, his voice flat and cool. “We’ll find her. Don’t worry; just go to your lab and wait. Say nothing to your wife.”
Helmut nodded slowly, then disconnected the call.