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Lock, Stock and Secret Baby
Cassie Miles


About the Author
Though born and raised in L.A., CASSIE MILES has lived in colorado long enough to be considered a semi-native. The first home she owned was a log cabin in the mountains overlooking Elk creek, with a thirty-mile commute to her work at the Denver Posy.
After raising two daughters and cooking tons of macaroni and cheese for her family, Cassie is trying to be more adventurous in her culinary efforts. Ceviche, anyone? She’s discovered almost anything tastes better with wine. When she’s not plotting Intrigue books, Cassie likes to hang out at the Denver Botanical Gardens near her high-rise home.
Lock, Stock and
Secret Baby
Cassie Miles




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Table of Contents
Cover (#u20436ba4-2d4f-590c-b6fd-fbcfe5204def)
About the Author (#u2d0d2717-2d28-5aff-afee-c4ebd340dcaf)
Title Page (#u4b1c0abb-8ed8-5fc4-976f-606208d41e10)
Chapter One (#u1f9d4098-9310-5aa2-942d-83e32770ec3f)
Chapter Two (#u385a4688-c29c-552f-8fc9-e81079b39605)
Chapter Three (#uf1805775-3785-565f-a9a7-4554189cab78)
Chapter Four (#u4a0d88da-f6dd-5d98-ac9c-c04881763633)
Chapter Five (#u80a96179-8512-5953-83d5-d1be0b60141d)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One
Clutter spilled across the desktop in Ray Jantzen’s home office: unopened junk mail, books, a running shoe with a broken lace, file folders, research notes for a paper he’d published in the American Journal of Psychiatry and … a gun.
Behind a stack of magazines, he located a framed photograph of his late wife, Annie, and their son, Blake. The sight of his beloved Annie’s smile wrenched at his heart. She’d passed away two years ago, a month shy of their fortieth anniversary.
With his thumb, Ray wiped a smudge from the glass and focused on the image of his son. Though Blake was only eight in this picture, his dark brown eyes snapped with impatient intelligence. Gifted wasn’t a sufficient word to describe him. And yet, he hadn’t chosen a career where he could concentrate on his intellect. At age twenty-five, Blake was part of a Special Forces team working undercover in undisclosed locations.
Setting aside the photo, Ray opened his laptop and typed an e-mail.
My dear son, I loved you from the moment you emerged from your mother’s womb with a squall and two clenched fists. Forgive me for what I’m about to disclose …
He was well aware of his pompous phrasing, clearly a defense mechanism to hide his shame. He should have told Blake long ago. After four decades as a psychiatrist, Ray should have been wiser. Unspoken secrets never went away. The lies one told festered beneath the surface and arose in times of stress to bite one’s ass.
His e-mail ended with: Take care of Eve Weathers. She needs you.
He hit Send, closed the laptop and took it to the safe hidden behind the bookshelves. Like the rest of his office, the interior of the safe had accumulated a great deal of paper. But these notes were precious; they would tell the whole truth about the story he hinted at in his e-mail.
After locking the safe and closing the hinged section of bookshelves, he went to the window. The red, yellow and magenta tulips in his garden bobbed in the June breezes. The sun was setting behind the foothills west of Denver. So beautiful. He should have spent more time outdoors.
The door to his office opened. A melodic voice said, “Good evening, Dr. Jantzen.”
“How did you get inside?”
“Your alarm system is rudimentary. Your locks, pathetic.” The extraordinary tonal quality of the intruder’s voice hinted at his immense musical talent. “And this office is a rat’s nest. How do you work?”
“I like it this way.”
“And what does that say about your emotional state? Hmm? Disorganized thinking, perhaps?”
Angered by this mocking analysis, Ray turned away from the window and faced the intruder. His eyes were silver, like the barrel of his Beretta.
Ray lunged for his own weapon. It trembled in his hand. He’d never be able to shoot this young man whom he had known literally since birth.
“You’re not a killer.” The voice was sheer music. “Put down the gun.”
Ray sank into the chair behind his desk and reached for the telephone. Still holding the gun, he hit the speed dial for the security service that monitored his “rudimentary” alarm system. They were guaranteed to respond within ten minutes.
“Hang up the phone, Dr. Jantzen.”
“Or else?”
“Be reasonable.” He aimed the Beretta. “You know what I’m looking for.”
Turning over his records wouldn’t be enough, and Ray knew it. “I won’t remain silent. I can’t.”
“Then you will die.”
Ray squeezed off several shots, aiming high. He hoped to frighten his opponent, though he knew that hope was futile.
Three bullets burned into his chest. Before his eyelids closed, he imprinted his gaze on the photograph of Blake and his beloved Annie.
EVE WEATHERS HAD ATTENDED many funerals, mostly in the company of her parents, mostly for people she didn’t know. Being raised on army bases meant death visited her community with a sad and terrible frequency. But she’d never before stood at the graveside of someone who’d been murdered.
The bright sun of an early June afternoon dimmed, as if a shadow hung over them, as if they all shared in the guilt. The police said Dr. Ray Jantzen had been killed by a burglar. They had no suspects. The killer might even be among them.
While the preacher read from Psalms, she checked out the other graveside mourners. Her mother would have called this a good turnout—close to a hundred people. An eclectic bunch, they appeared to be from all walks of life. There were serious-looking older men who were probably Ray’s friends and psychiatrist coworkers, several men in uniform because Ray had worked at the VA hospital, a young man in leather with spiky, black hair and mirrored sunglasses, a couple of teenagers and various family members. Their only common denominator was that Eve didn’t know any of them.
Dr. Ray had been in her life for as long as she could remember, literally since she was born. When her parents had applied for an experimental in vitro fertilization program at the army base where her dad had been stationed, Eve had become part of a lifelong study. Every year, she had filled in a questionnaire and had given Dr. Ray an update on her life, both her physical and emotional condition.
They’d only met in person a couple of times before she had moved to Boulder three years ago to take a mathematical engineering position at Sun Wave Labs. For the past two years, she and Dr. Ray had done their updates over dinner. His wife had passed away, and she assumed he was lonely.
The sound of his coffin being lowered startled her. She blinked. Her gaze lit upon a dark-haired man in a black suit who stood beside the preacher. She recognized him from the photo Dr. Ray had carried in his wallet. His son, Blake Jantzen.
She studied Blake with a mathematician’s eye, taking his measure. His physical proportions were remarkable. Her mind calculated the inches and angles of his shoulders, his torso and the length of his legs. Though he wasn’t splayed out, like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, Blake Jantzen was close to ideal.
When his gaze met hers, a tremor rippled through her, and she immediately lowered her eyes. She hadn’t meant to stare, hadn’t intended to intrude on what had to be a terrible day for him. When she looked up again, he was still watching her.
Their eye contact intensified. His dark eyes bored into hers, and that little tremor expanded to a full-blown, pulsating earthquake inside her rib cage. If she didn’t look away, it felt as if her heart would explode. This wasn’t how she usually reacted to men, even if they were practically perfect.
Pretending to pray, she stared down at her feet. Her toes protruded from her hiking sandals which were really too casual for a funeral, even if they were black. Suddenly self-conscious, she decided her black skirt was too short, showing off way too much of her winter white legs. She buttoned her black cotton jacket over her white tank top, stained with a dribble of coffee from this morning.
Whenever she mingled with the general public, her style seemed inadequate. In the lab, she wore comfortable jeans and T-shirts with nerdy slogans. Her chin-length, wheat-blond hair resembled a bird’s nest. None of the guys she worked with cared what she looked like. They were so absorbed in their work that they wouldn’t notice if she showed up naked, except perhaps to comment on the small tattooed symbol for pi above her left breast.
The crowd dispersed, and she lost sight of Blake, which was probably for the best. Her mother would have told her that the proper behavior would be to shake his hand and offer condolences, but she didn’t trust herself to get that close to him without a meltdown. Was she so desperate for male companionship that she’d hit on a guy at his father’s funeral?
She made a beeline for her car. As she clicked the door lock, she heard a voice behind her. “Are you Eve Weathers?”
Without turning around, she knew who that sexy baritone belonged to. “I’m Eve.”
“I’m Blake Jantzen. I need to talk to you.”
Up close, he was even more amazing. Was there a degree beyond perfection? Most people had incongruities in their facial structure: one eye higher than the other, a bump on the nose or a dimple in one cheek and not the other. Blake had none of those anomalies. Even the shadows of exhaustion beneath his eyes were precisely symmetrical.
She stammered, “I’m s-sorry for your loss.”
He acknowledged with a crisp nod. “Come back to the house. My aunt arranged a reception.”
“I don’t know where you live.”
“My father’s house,” he clarified.
Though she’d planned to return to her office in Boulder, she couldn’t refuse without being rude. “I’ve never been to Dr. Ray’s home.”
A flicker of surprise registered in his coffee-brown eyes. “I thought you were close to him. He thought highly of you.”
“We met for dinner a couple of times, and he was very kind to me. But it was always at a restaurant. He kept his private life, well, private.” Her parents never could have afforded her postgrad studies if Dr. Ray hadn’t helped her obtain scholarships. “I thought of him as a benefactor.”
“Stay here,” Blake said. “I’ll tell my aunt that I’m riding with you.”
Though she obediently slid behind the steering wheel of her hybrid and waited, his attitude irked her. Blake had the arrogant tone of someone who gave orders that must be followed. A military guy. An alpha male. The kind of man who demanded too much and gave little in return. If she ever fell in love, she hoped it would be with a guy who at least pretended to treat her as an equal.
Though she doubted that she and Blake would get along, Eve checked her reflection in the visor mirror. She’d shed a couple of tears, but the mascara around her blue eyes wasn’t smudged. She pushed her bangs into a semblance of order.
In a matter of minutes, Mr. Perfect returned to her car and climbed into the passenger side. “At the exit from the cemetery, turn right.”
Having issued his order, he leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes.
Eve wished there was something she could do or say to comfort him. Her mother was good in these situations; she knew how to show empathy without being too sentimental. Eve lacked those people skills. She could calculate quadratic equations in the blink of an eye, but the art of conversation baffled her. She pinched her lips and remained silent as she drove.
When Blake opened his eyes and leaned forward, he appeared to be completely in control. “What’s your birthday?”
An odd question. “June twenty-second. I’ll be twenty-six.”
“Mine is June thirtieth. Same year,” he said. “And you were born in New Mexico.”
“At an army base near Roswell.”
“Me, too.”
“I guess we have something in common.”
“More than you know,” he said. “Tell me about your relationship with my dad.”
Apparently, Mr. Perfect wasn’t big on idle chatter. This felt like an interrogation. “I communicated with Dr. Ray once a year, every year. On my birthday, I filled out a status report with forty questions. Some of them were essay questions and took a while to answer.”
“Did you ever wonder why?”
“Of course, I did.” His terse questions provoked an equally abrupt response from her. “I’m not a mindless idiot.”
He gave a short laugh. “I’d bet on the opposite. You’re pretty damn smart.”
“Maybe.”
“Tell me what you know about my dad’s status reports.”
What was he getting at? He must already know this information. “Your father told me I was part of a study group made up of children with similar backgrounds and key genetic markers. He monitored potential and achievement, which was why he helped me get scholarships.”
“Take a right at the next light.”
She could feel his scrutiny as he studied her. Though she wasn’t sure that she even liked this guy, she responded to him with an unwanted excitement that set her heart racing. Her brain fumbled for something to break the silence. “There was a good turnout for the funeral.”
“Did you recognize anybody?”
“Not a soul. I kind of expected to see Dr. Prentice.”
“How do you know Prentice?”
“He was the other half of the study your father worked on,” she said. “As I’m sure you already know.”
“Tell me, anyway.”
“Your dad correlated the psychiatric data. And Prentice did medical examinations every few years or so. He contacted me about six weeks ago.”
“The date?”
She pulled up her mental calendar. “It was April sixteenth, the day after tax day. Prentice said he needed to see me right away. There was an issue about possible exposure to radiation when I was a child.”
“And you were scared.”
“Terrified.” There had been a similar scare five years ago that Dr. Prentice treated with a brief course of mediation. “Radiation poisoning isn’t something to mess around with. Turns out that I’m fine. Prentice gave me a clean bill of health.”
“What do you remember about the testing?”
“It was a thorough physical.” She wasn’t about to go into details about the pelvic exam or the part where she’d been under anesthetic. “I went to a clinic after work on a Friday, and I didn’t get home until after ten o’clock. Dr. Prentice’s assistant drove me and made sure I got into bed.”
“Any ill effects?”
Come to think of it she hadn’t been feeling like herself lately. Her stomach had been queasy. A couple of times, she’d vomited. “Do you know anything about the testing?”
“Yes,” he said curtly.
Her fear returned with a vengeance. What did Blake know? Had he pulled her aside because he had bad news? She might have been poisoned by a childhood exposure, might have some awful disease. Her cells could be turning against her at this very moment. “Why did you say that you needed to talk to me?”
“Pull over.”
This had to be bad news. “Why?”
He touched her arm, and she recoiled as if he’d poked her with a cattle prod. She wanted nothing more to do with Mr. Perfect. He was toying with her, asking inane questions and hinting at dire circumstances.
She yanked the steering wheel and made a hard right onto a side street with wood-frame houses, skimpy trees and sidewalks that blended into the curb. Halfway down the block, she parked and turned off the engine. Eve preferred facts to innuendo. She wanted the truth, no matter how horrible.
“All right, Blake, I’m parked. If you have something to tell me, get on with it.”
His eyes flicked as if he was searching her face, trying to gauge her reaction. “It might be better if I gave you more information. Set the framework.”
“Just spit it out.” She braced herself. “Am I dying?”
He cleared his throat. “Eve, I have reason to believe that you’re pregnant.”
“That’s impossible.”
She was a virgin.

Chapter Two
Blake watched her reaction, looking for a sign that Eve Weathers had been complicit in Prentice’s scheme. He saw nothing of the kind.
His information had shocked her. She gasped, loudly and repeatedly. Her eyes opened wide. Pupils dilated. She was on the verge of hyperventilation. Her chest heaved against the seat belt. “I can’t be pregnant.”
“I said it was a possibility.”
“Why would you say such a thing? And how the hell would you know?”
“Before he was murdered, my father sent me an e-mail.” At the moment the e-mail was sent, Blake had been in a debriefing meeting at the Pentagon. He didn’t read the message until two hours later. By then, it was too late. His father was dead.
“What did it say?”
Too much for him to explain right now. Blake cut to the pertinent facts. “My father received information that Dr. Prentice had implanted you with an embryo.”
“During the examination? While I was unconscious?” She dragged her fingers through her pale blond hair. “That’s sickening. Disgusting.”
When she grasped the key in the ignition, he stayed her hand. Gently, he said, “Maybe you should let me drive.”
She yanked away from him. “My car. I drive.”
“You don’t look so good,” he said.
“Thanks so much.”
“Not an insult.” He liked her looks. “I meant that you appear to be in shock. I don’t want you to pass out.”
“Oh, I’m way too angry to faint.” She started the car. “You want out?”
“No.” He couldn’t let her drive off by herself. In his e-mail, Dad had told Blake to take care of Eve Weathers. That last request could not be ignored.
She punched the accelerator and squealed away from the curb. Halfway down the street, she whipped a U-turn, barely missing a van parked at the curb.
His right foot pushed down on an invisible brake on the passenger-side floorboard. “If you let me drive, we can be at my father’s house in ten minutes.”
“That’s not where we’re going.”
At the corner, she made an aggressive merge into traffic. Her tension showed in her white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, but she wasn’t reckless. She checked her mirrors before changing lanes and stayed within the speed limit. With a sudden swerve, she drove into the parking lot outside a convenience store.
Without a word, she threw off her seat belt and left the car. He trailed behind her. Inside the store, he asked, “You mind telling me what we’re doing here?”
“Maybe I wanted a donut.”
Her sarcasm was preferable to the moment of shock when he’d mentioned pregnancy. He should have been more careful, should have expected her reaction, but he wasn’t operating at peak efficiency. Eve’s problems weren’t his primary concern.
His focus was on his father’s murder. The cops were satisfied with the lame explanation that a burglar did the crime. Like hell. This killing wasn’t a random act of violence. Blake was determined to find the son of a bitch who pulled the trigger and the men who sent him.
He stood behind Eve as she stared at shelves packed with an array of over-the-counter medicines. When she spied the pregnancy tests, she grabbed three of them. “Damn, I left my purse in the car.”
“I’ll pay,” he said.
At the counter, the clerk gave them a knowing smirk as he rang up the purchase.
Eve added a pack of gum. “And two jerky sticks and one of these pecan things.”
“There’s food at the house,” he said.
“I have a craving. Isn’t that what pregnant women do?”
When she plucked a magazine off the rack below the counter, she set down her car keys. He snatched them. “I’m driving. It’s easier than giving you directions.”
“Fine,” she growled. “You drive.”
Back in the car, he adjusted the driver’s seat for his long legs and headed toward his father’s house while Eve tore open the packaging on the pregnancy tests and read the instructions. “When we get to the house,” she said, “I’d appreciate being shown to the nearest bathroom.”
He nodded.
“I won’t make a scene,” she assured him. “I respect your father’s memory.”
Several other vehicles were already parked on the street outside the long ranch-style house that his mother had loved so much. When they had first moved here fifteen years ago, there had been few other houses in the area. Development had crept closer, but his father’s house still commanded an outstanding view. To the south, Pikes Peak was visible on a clear day like today.
No matter where in the world he was stationed, he treasured the memory of home—of translucent, Colorado skies and distant, snowcapped peaks. This vision was his solace and the basis for his daily meditation.
As they went up the sidewalk to the house, he pocketed her keys, not wanting her to have easy access to an escape until she calmed down.
Inside, he skirted the living room where people had gathered and escorted her down a long hallway that bisected the left half of the house. At the end of the hall, he opened the door to his dad’s office. Unlike the rest of this well-maintained residence, this room looked like the aftermath of a tornado. In addition to the papers and magazines, a fine coating of fingerprint dust from the police investigation covered many of the surfaces. The supposedly secret safe in the bookshelves hung open in its hinges. His father’s blood stained the Persian carpet behind the desk.
When he closed the door, Eve stood very still. “Is this where it happened?”
“Yes.”
“You haven’t cleaned up.”
“Not yet.” Valuable information could be hidden somewhere in this room. He’d already searched, but he would search again and again and again, until he found the killer.
IN THE PRIVACY OF THE bathroom, Eve almost yielded to the overwhelming pressure of anger and fear. If ever there had been a time in her life when she wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, this was it. She didn’t want to be pregnant. Not now, possibly not ever. Having a baby wasn’t on her agenda.
She knew that she’d skipped her last period but hadn’t worried because Dr. Prentice told her she might be irregular after her testing. Prentice, that bastard. Why had she believed him? With good reason, damn it. She had twenty-five years of good faith; Prentice and Dr. Ray had been part of her life since birth.
Setting her purse on the counter, she took out the kits from the convenience store: three different brands. Two of the kits had two tests inside the box, and she set the extras aside.
She followed the simple instructions and arrayed the three test sticks on the counter beside the sink. Then, she waited, counting the seconds.
Each test had a different indicator. One showed a plus sign in the window to indicate a positive. Another showed a pink line. The third would turn blue.
Though counting didn’t make time go faster, reciting numerical progressions had always soothed her. As a child, she learned to count prime numbers all the way up to 3,571—the first five hundred primes. Five hundred unique numbers, divisible only by themselves and one.
The last time she had seen Dr. Ray over dinner, she’d talked about prime. He had suggested—in his kindly way—that she might want to pursue deeper interpersonal relationships. Make friends, join groups, go on dates, blah, blah, blah.
She had told him that she was happy just as she was. Some people needed others to make them complete, but she was unique. Like a prime number, she was divisible only by herself. Singular.
If she was pregnant, she’d never be alone again.
One of the tests required only one minute to show results. She could look down right now and see. But the others needed five minutes, and she didn’t want to peek until all the results were in and could be verified against each other.
But she couldn’t wait. She looked down. The first test showed a positive.
Could she trust a kit from a convenience store? It hardly seemed scientific in spite of the claim on the box of ninety-nine percent accuracy in detecting a pregnancy hormone, hCG, released into the body by the placenta.
The second test repeated the positive. And the third.
She was pregnant, pregnant and pregnant.
Tentatively, she touched her lower abdomen. Hello, in there. Can you hear me? An absurd question. At this point in development, the fetus wouldn’t have ears. But they shared the same body, the same blood. The food she ate nurtured the tiny being that grew within her. The miracle of life. Amazing. Infuriating.
Damn it, this couldn’t be happening! She dug into her purse and found her cell phone. Dr. Prentice’s private cell phone number was in the memory.
He answered after the fourth ring. “I’ve been expecting to hear from you, Eve.”
“How could you do this to me?”
“I assume you’re aware of—”
“I’m aware, damn you. I just took a pregnancy test.”
“You’re upset.”
A mild description of her outrage. “You might as well have raped me.”
“Not at all the same thing. Rape is an act of violence. You received the highest quality medical care. My intentions were for your own good. I could have hired a surrogate, you know.”
“A what?”
“A surrogate mother. Some women rent out their wombs like cheap motels.”
“I know what a surrogate is.”
Her voice was louder than she intended. Blake knocked on the bathroom door. “Eve? Are you all right?”
She didn’t want to deal with him. This wasn’t his problem. Lowering her voice, she demanded, “Why, Dr. Prentice? Why would you do this?”
“Ray’s research indicated the optimum condition for development comes when the biological mother carries the fetus and bonds with the infant.”
Biological mother? Bonding? None of what he’d just said made sense. “I ought to hire a lawyer and sue you.”
“Don’t bother. When you came for your examination, you signed a consent form.”
With a jolt, she remembered being handed several documents on a clipboard. “You told me it was a routine medical procedure.”
“If you like, I can fax you a copy.”
He knew her too well, knew that she wouldn’t bother to read the fine print. She had trusted him. “I have to know why.”
“To create the second generation.”
“Second generation of what?”
From outside the bathroom door, she heard Blake. “Who are you talking to, Eve?”
“I’m fine,” she told him.
“Unlock the damn door,” Blake said.
“In a minute.”
She moved to the farthest wall of the bathroom beside the toilet. A magazine stand held back issues of Psychology Today. Guest towels with a teal-blue border hung from a pewter rack. She spoke into the phone. “Signed consent form or not, this was wrong.”
“What’s done is done,” he said.
“I’m not ready to be a mother.” Everything in her life would have to change. She’d have to find a way to juggle work and child care. There was so much to learn, an overwhelming amount of research. How could she manage? “Maybe I should give the baby up for adoption.”
“That would be a mistake.”
“It’s not your call, Dr. Prentice.”
“Let me give you something else to consider. Do you remember five years ago when I had you on medication?”
The earlier scare about possible radiation poisoning. “Another lie?”
“I’m a scientist,” he said archly. “I don’t deal in ethics. Five years ago, the medication I gave you was actually a fertility drug that encouraged ovulation. You produced several eggs which I then harvested during your physical exam. I used those eggs to create embryos.”
“My egg?” The impact of this new information hit her hard. “You implanted me with my own egg?”
“The fetus you’re carrying is biologically your own.”
My baby. Her hand rested protectively on her stomach. She felt a deep, immediate connection. This is my baby.
“This entire process would have been far less complicated,” Dr. Prentice said, “if Ray had agreed to facilitate. He had a decent grasp on your psychological development and could have convinced you that having this baby was a good idea. Brilliant, in fact. You’re lucky to take part in—”
The room started to spin. Eve never fainted. But her knees went weak. I’m having a baby. She collapsed with a thud. The phone fell from her limp hand onto the tiled bathroom floor.

Chapter Three
Eve heard the sharp rap of knuckles against the bathroom door—a faraway sound, like pebbles being tossed down a well.
Blake called through the door, “Are you all right? Eve, answer me.”
She wasn’t all right. Too many variables swirled inside her head. Nothing made logical sense.
“I’m coming in,” Blake said.
The doorknob turned. Through a haze, she saw him come closer. He knelt beside her. His fingers rested on her throat, checking her pulse.
“Locked door,” she said. “How did you …”
“Picked the lock,” he said. “Can you sit up?”
“I’m fine.”
But she wasn’t fine. Her eyelids closed, shutting out the light and the intolerable confusion. Her mind careened wildly. How could she be pregnant when she’d never made love? She had the result without the experience. People told her sex was great, but she hadn’t tested the theory, didn’t know for sure. There was a lot she didn’t know, like how to be a mother. Would the baby look like her? A girl baby or a boy? Oh, God, what would she tell her parents?
She was aware of being lifted from the bathroom floor and carried like a little girl. If only she could go back to those more innocent times. Her childhood memories were happy. Not idyllic, but happy. Her parents had loved her, even though she had never quite fit in. She always felt different, like an alien girl who had beamed into their normal world from the planet Nerd.
When she opened her eyes, she was stretched out on the leather sofa in Dr. Ray’s office with her feet elevated on a pillow. A crocheted green-and-yellow afghan covered her. Blake pressed a cool washcloth against her forehead.
“I’m going to have a baby,” she whispered.
“I know.” His smile reached his eyes, deepening the faint, symmetrical lines that radiated from the corners. Though he had no reason to care about her, he seemed concerned. Maybe Mr. Perfect had a heart, after all.
Her hand lingered on her flat stomach. An intuitive urge to protect the baby? She couldn’t count on motherly instincts to show her the way. There were books to be read. More information was vital. She’d need a regimen of special vitamins and exercises. “I should go.”
“You’ll stay here tonight. I have an extra bedroom.”
“Is that an order?”
He arched one eyebrow, disrupting the precise balance of his features. “That isn’t what I meant.”
“I know.” She also knew that he couldn’t stop himself from being bossy. With an effort, she swung her legs down to the floor and sat up on the sofa. The washcloth fell from her forehead. She wasn’t dizzy, but an edge of darkness pressed against her peripheral vision.
He placed a bottle of water into her hand. “Drink.”
No objection from her. Rehydrating her body was a very good idea. Tipping the bottle against her lips, she took a couple of sips. The cool liquid tasted amazing. A few drops slid down her chin, and she wiped them away.
Though she didn’t feel capable of running a mile, her strength was returning. Arching her neck, she stretched.
“Does anything hurt?” Blake asked.
“Only my pride,” she said. “I’ve never keeled over like that before.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
“Like being pregnant.” Each and every thought circled back to that inevitable theme.
“Who were you talking to on the phone?” he asked.
“Dr. Prentice. That old toad.” She still couldn’t believe what he’d done to her. “You were right about him implanting an embryo, but here’s the kicker. He used one of my own eggs. Biologically, I’m the mother of this baby.”
“How did you reach Prentice?”
She shrugged. “I have his cell number.”
“I need to talk to him. ASAP.” His momentary compassion faded quickly. His jaw was so tense that his lips didn’t move when he talked. “I want you to arrange a meeting with Prentice.”
“After what he did to me? No way. I’m not getting within a hundred yards of Dr. Edgar Prentice.”
“I don’t expect you to come along. Set a meeting for me. A face-to-face meeting.”
“What’s going on?” She took another sip of water. “Is there some other horrible secret you haven’t told me yet?”
Instead of responding, he rose to his feet. “You’re feeling better. You should eat something.”
His quick change of subject worried her. Eve wasn’t usually good at reading other people’s expressions, but she had a weird connection with Blake. She could tell that he was holding back. “If there’s something else, I want to know.”
He headed toward the door. “I’ll bring a sandwich from the buffet table.”
Before she could stop him, he left the office. Moving fast, he almost seemed to be fleeing from her, abandoning her. So much for counting on Blake for support.
Slowly, she rose from the sofa. Her legs steadied as she walked to the bathroom. On the countertop, the three pregnancy test sticks lined up to mock her. She shoved them into the trash and washed her hands. After splashing cold water on her face, she felt more alert, more aware and more certain that Blake was hiding something. What else could be wrong? Was this something to do with the father of her baby? She hadn’t even considered that huge question. Prentice had chosen someone as a sperm donor. But who? Oh, God, do I even want to know?
She couldn’t take much more. Finding out that she was pregnant had been devastating enough. She’d shattered like protons in a super collider. Could she take another life-changing jolt?
There was no other choice. I need to know everything. It was time to pull herself together. She picked up her cell phone and tucked it into her purse. She needed answers.
When she returned to the sofa, Blake slipped back into the office with a plate of fruit and a ham sandwich. The sight of food momentarily eclipsed her other concerns. She wolfed down half the sandwich in huge bites. Not the most ladylike behavior but she needed her strength.
“Eating for two?” he asked.
“Apparently so.” She swallowed. “I should thank you for helping me when I fainted. You’re good at taking care of people.”
“I have paramedic training.”
The way he’d treated her—elevating her feet, covering her with a blanket and giving her water—was standard procedure for shock. “Your dad mentioned that you’re in the military.”
“Correct.”
“I was an army brat, so I know all about you guys. Let me guess. You’re in Special Forces.”
“Good guess.”
“You’re one of those scary dudes who can take out ten armed terrorists with a spoon and a paper clip.”
He shrugged. “Not ten. Maybe six.”
“I appreciate your ferociousness. I really do. But what I need from you right now doesn’t involve physical mayhem. I want answers. There’s something you’re holding back, something else you haven’t told me.”
His reluctance showed when he paced away from her and went to the window—putting physical distance between them. “I’m not sure you can handle the truth.”
“You’re not saying that right. In the movie, it was like this.” She made a fist and did a bad Jack Nicholson impression. “You can’t handle the truth.”
“I loved when he did that.”
“Me, too.” Laughing, she realized that she was as comfortable with Blake as she was with the guys in the lab. Who would have thought that an antisocial mathematician like her would get along with Mr. Perfect? “Tell me, Blake.”
Blake looked down at her from his superior height. He’d shed his suit jacket and necktie. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to the elbow, revealing muscular forearms. “I don’t know where to start.”
“The beginning?” Biting into an apple slice, she chewed with deliberation, refusing to be distracted by his masculine gorgeousness.
“Before he died, my dad sent me an e-mail. It was like a confession. He’d done something he regretted deeply.”
“With Dr. Prentice?”
Blake paced on the worn Persian carpet in front of the desk. “Twenty-six years ago, on that army base near Roswell, Prentice was experimenting with frozen embryos. My mom was in her late thirties and thought she’d never have a baby. Prentice offered my father a solution.”
He paused to pick up a framed photograph on the desk. “My mom never knew the truth about me. Biologically, I wasn’t her child. I’m the result of an embryo created from two outstanding donors—people with high IQs and exceptional physical ability.”
“Genetic engineering.” That explained why Blake was so perfect. “Prentice was trying to create superbabies.”
“Though he had ethical reservations, my dad agreed to monitor the experiment.” He set down the photo and returned to the chair beside the sofa. “He measured the intellectual and psychological development of the supposed superbabies. Using subjects like you.”
“Me?” she squeaked.
“You’re highly intelligent. Your health is excellent.”
“But I’m not perfect. All I have to do is look in a mirror to see that my mouth is too big. My nose has a weird curve at the tip. Besides, if I’m so genetically attractive, why don’t I have a slew of boyfriends?”
“You’ve put all your energy into your intellect,” he said. “When other girls were dating, you were studying.”
She waved her hands to erase the memory of herself peering out from behind a stack of books to watch the other teenagers flirting and kissing in the library. Not that she’d been a recluse. She had gotten along well with guys and had had boyfriends. But there had always been something that got in the way. Her romantic life had been complicated to the point of nonexistence. “A truly superior specimen should be able to have it all.”
“That’s the part that fascinated my dad—the effects of nurturing and environment on subjects who started life with a genetic advantage.”
“Wait.” She hadn’t even considered this angle. “If I was genetically engineered, the people who raised me aren’t my biological parents. Did they know?”
“None of the parents knew. That was part of the study.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against his father’s desk. “You seem to be taking this well.”
“In a sick way, it makes sense. Why not help nature along in the selection process? Why not make sure the most highly evolved people produce offspring?”
“Because it’s wrong to manipulate people.”
“It’s morally shady,” she said.
“It’s fraud.”
“But logical,” she said. “Now I understand why Prentice impregnated me. He wants to create a second generation.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know.”
All she wanted was to get home, surround herself with silence and figure out how to restructure her life to accommodate a child.
Outside the office door, she heard other mourners arriving. They’d be eating, drinking and sharing memories of Dr. Ray, seeking solace in the company of others. Blake should be out there with his father’s friends and colleagues. On the day of his father’s funeral, he deserved closure.
She stood and straightened her shoulders. “I’m glad you told me, Blake. I don’t blame your father. Not in the least. Dr. Ray was a good man.”
“I know.”
“Can I have my car keys? I need to go home.”
He looked surprised. “I thought you were staying here tonight.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather be alone.”
“What about Prentice? I need to get in touch with him.”
She took her cell phone from her purse, scanned her contacts and gave him the number for Dr. Prentice’s private cell phone. “That’s the best I can do.”
As he handed over the keys, their hands touched. A spark of static electricity raced up her arm. She wondered if she’d ever see him again.
BLAKE STOOD ON THE PORCH and watched her drive away. He understood her need to be alone. When he had read the e-mail informing him that he wasn’t biologically his father’s son, Blake had felt as if somebody had punched him in the gut. Eve had a lot more to deal with. Finding out that she was pregnant without her consent or knowledge had to be a hell of a shock. Her life wasn’t any of his business, but he hoped she wasn’t considering adoption.
A couple of years ago, when he had been in college, his girlfriend had thought she might be pregnant. She’d knocked him for a loop. The only comparable feeling was when he had parachuted for the first time from fifteen thousand feet into enemy territory. He had known his life would be forever changed. That realization had been followed by an irrational sense of awe. Creating a new life? A miracle! When it had turned out to be a false alarm, his relief had mingled with deep regret.
He hoped that Eve would come to see her pregnancy in a positive light. No matter what she decided, he wouldn’t abandon her. His dad’s dying wish had been for him to take care of her.
Aunt Jean came out to the porch. “Are you coming inside?”
“I need to make a phone call first.”
“Well, hurry up. People are asking about you.”
His aunt meant well, as did his father’s old friends. But Blake didn’t see the point in mourning, not while the killer went free. That was why he needed to contact Prentice.
The cops had no leads in solving his dad’s murder. They’d found no fingerprints or trace evidence. Because the burglar alarm had been expertly disabled and the safe robbed, they suspected a professional burglar.
Though Blake hadn’t revealed the contents of his dad’s e-mail, he had mentioned Prentice as a person with a grudge against his father. At his insistence, the homicide detective had spoken to Dr. Edgar Prentice—founder of the world-renowned Aspen IVF and Genetics Clinic in the mountains. Prentice’s alibi was airtight; he’d been out of state at the time of the murder.
Of course, he’d cover his butt. Prentice would hire someone else to do his dirty work.
On his military cell phone that wouldn’t give away his identity, Blake called the number Eve had given him. Prentice answered immediately. “Who is this?”
“Blake Jantzen. We need to talk.”
“How did you get this number?”
“From Eve.”
“Thank God you’re with her.”
Blake hadn’t expected that response. The old bastard sounded as if he was concerned about Eve. “Why do you say that?”
“I might have inadvertently put her in danger. Stay with her, Blake. Your father would have wanted—”
“Don’t talk to me about my father.” Unless you want to confess to his murder.
“I should have called, should have made it to the funeral. I’m sorry. Sorry for your loss.”
“Where are you?” Blake demanded. “I want to see you.”
“That’s not possible,” Prentice said. “Stay with Eve. Make sure she’s safe.”
The call was disconnected.
Blake stared at his cell phone as if this piece of plastic and circuitry could tell him the truth. Either Prentice was lying to manipulate him or Eve was truly in danger. He couldn’t take chances with her safety.
He ran down the driveway into the cul-de-sac where his father’s station wagon was parked across the street. No time to waste. He started the engine.
Earlier, he’d planted a GPS locator on Eve’s car in case he needed to find her. It’d be easy to follow her route on the hand-held tracking device he took from his pocket. Activating the system, he saw a reassuring blip. She was taking the back road to Boulder, avoiding traffic on the highway. Would she go to the lab where she worked? Or to her home?
His dad’s station wagon wasn’t a high performance vehicle, but after he got out of the burbs, he made good time on the two-lane road that ran parallel to the foothills. He passed a pickup and an SUV.
He never should have let her go, should have insisted that she stay at his house. If anything happened to her.
He passed a sedan that was already going over the speed limit. When he hit Boulder, the traffic slowed him down, but he was within a mile of her location when the tracking device showed that she’d parked.
The car in front of him at the stoplight rolled slowly forward. Blake wanted to honk, but he was back in mellow Colorado where car horns were seldom used. He turned right at the next corner and zipped the last few blocks to Eve’s house.
Her car was parked at the curb in front of a yellow brick bungalow with a long front yard and mature shade trees on either side. Her unkempt shrubbery—spreading juniper and prickly clumps of potentilla—were good for xeriscaping but too plain for his taste. He preferred his mother’s neatly pruned rose garden.
As soon as he opened his car door, he heard a scream.

Chapter Four
Eight minutes ago, Eve had unlocked her front door and entered her house, glad to be home. Her familiar surroundings had greeted her like old, faithful friends. The oversize wingback chair where she did most of her reading had beckoned, and she’d decided to curl up in its cozy embrace and have a cup of tea while her mind wrapped around the complications of being pregnant.
On the way to the kitchen to put on the hot water to boil, she’d patted the back of the comfy sofa with its multicolored throw pillows. She’d passed the round dining-room table.
In the doorway to the kitchen, she froze.
Two men, dressed in suits and neckties, stood between the sink and the refrigerator. Except for their sunglasses, they looked like businessmen at a sales meeting. She desperately wanted to believe that there was a logical reason for them to be here.
Holding her purse in front of her like a shield, she asked, “Who are you? How did you get into my house?”
“The back door was open.”
That was probably true. She often forgot to lock up after leaving food for the feral cats that lived in the alley. Still, an unlocked door didn’t constitute an invitation to enter. “What do you want?”
“Our employer wants to meet with you.”
Were they talking about Prentice? “Who do you work for?”
With a cool smile, the taller man took a step toward her. If he lunged, he could grab her easily. That was when the reality of the situation hit her. These men were a threat.
“It’s all right,” he reassured her. “We aren’t going to hurt you.”
Liar! She was in severe danger, and she knew it. Her panicked instincts told her to run, but the men were bigger than she was. Faster. Stronger.
She had to be smarter.
Her mind cleared. She saw the problem as a geometric equation. Her kitchen was a rectangle with the two men in the center. She stood one step inside the doorway. To her left was a table and chairs. To her right, a cabinet jutted into the room. The distance between the corner of the cabinet and the corner of the kitchen table was approximately three feet. If she could block that space, she’d create an obstacle which would slow their pursuit and allow her to escape.
“Come with us, Eve.” The tall man spoke in silky tones. “Everything will be explained to your satisfaction.”
It took all her self-control to play along with his false civility. “This isn’t convenient. Perhaps your employer could call me and make an appointment.”
The second man drew a gun from a holster inside his jacket. “Enough playing around. Get over here.”
A gun. Oh, God, he had a gun. “Don’t shoot me.”
Abruptly, she raised one hand over her head. When she lifted the other hand, she swung her arm wide. The tall man was forced to step back or be smacked by her purse. As he shifted his weight, she dropped both hands and yanked a chair from the table to block the three-foot space.
She pivoted and ran. Though she hadn’t planned to scream, she heard herself wailing like a siren. Logic told her that she couldn’t go faster than a bullet. Would they start shooting? Were they coming after her? She whipped open the front door—fortunately unlocked—and dashed outside. One step from the front stoop, she ran smack into Blake.
Though she was sprinting at full speed, she didn’t knock him over. He staggered as he absorbed her velocity. “Are you all right?”
“Two men. One has a gun,” she blurted. “We’ve got to get away.”
He reacted forcefully. His left arm wrapped around her midsection, and he yanked her along with him. They were moving back toward the front door. Wrong way! They should be fleeing.
“He has a gun,” she repeated.
“Heard you the first time.”
His calm tone reminded her that he was a commando— specially trained to face danger. She could trust him. Though her pulse pounded and her nerve endings sizzled with fear, she forced herself to stand beside him on the porch instead of running willy-nilly toward her car. “What’s next?” she asked.
“Stay.”
“You mean, stay here?” She pointed to the concrete of the stoop. “Right here?”
Ignoring her, he was already on the move. He tore open the door to her house and charged inside, directly into the line of fire. His aggressive approach shocked her. He didn’t have a weapon. How did he intend to overcome a man with a gun? He’s Special Forces, she reminded herself. His aggressive assault must be some sort of tactic.
She pressed her back against the wall beside the mailbox and clutched her purse against her chest. Stay. It was a simple, unambiguous command. But what if the men in suits left her kitchen and circled around to the front? What if Blake was shot? What if …
Oh, damn. She darted into the house behind him. In her clunky sandals, there was no way she could move stealthily, but she tried not to plod like a rhino. She went right—toward the bookshelves beside the fireplace where she grabbed a poker to use as a weapon. Then she hid behind her wingback reading chair. Peering around the arm, she saw no one. She heard no gunfire.
When Blake entered from the kitchen, his movements were as swift and efficient as a mountain lion on the prowl.
She popped up. “Are they gone?”
He went into attack mode. For a moment, she thought he was going to launch himself at her like a missile. Instead, he waved her toward him. “Come with me. Hurry.”
Another quick command, spoken with authority. She jumped to obey. “I couldn’t stay on the porch because—”
He grasped her arm and propelled her through the front door, off the porch and across the yard toward a station wagon. He ran around to the driver’s side. “Get in.”
She barely had time to fasten her seat belt before he was behind the wheel. He flipped the key in the ignition, and the station wagon roared down her quiet residential street like a tank.
“Keep your eyes open,” he said. “Look for a black SUV with tinted windows.”
“Where were they parked?”
“In the alley behind your house. I saw them pull away.”
They were safe. She exhaled slowly, hoping to ease the tension that clenched every muscle in her body. That brief encounter in her kitchen might have been the scariest thing that had ever happened to her. Though the confrontation only lasted eight minutes, it had felt like hours. According to Einstein, time was relative. Her fear made everything move in slow motion.
She reached into her purse and took out her cell phone. “I should call 911.”
“Don’t bother,” he said. “Getting the cops involved is a waste of time.”
Though she had no prior experience with intruders or guns being pointed at her, she was pretty sure he was wrong. “This is a job for the police.”
“Did the intruders steal anything?”
“They weren’t robbers.”
“How do you know?”
“They knew my name and asked me to come with them.”
“Not typical of burglars,” he said.
“And they were wearing suits and neckties.” She shuddered at the memory. “And gloves. The kind of throwaway latex gloves we wear in the lab if we’re handling sensitive material.”
“Did they break in?”
She frowned. “It wasn’t exactly breaking and entering because my back door was unlocked, but they could be charged with … entering.”
“You weren’t harmed,” he said. “What crime would you report to the police?”
“That guy pointed a gun at me. He’s dangerous.”
“You’re right about that.” He focused on the road, driving fast through a maze of residential streets. “They could be the men who killed my father.”
The unexpectedness of his statement stunned her. The air squeezed out of her lungs, and she felt herself gasping like a trout out of water. Those men? Murderers? She had it fixed in her mind that Dr. Ray was the victim of a burglary gone wrong—being in the wrong place at the wrong time. “You’re saying that your father was targeted. That the murderer came after him on purpose. It was premeditated.”
“Yes.”
She waited for him to explain, but he was too busy watching in all directions and driving too fast. “Could you possibly be more terse?”
“No.”
The tires squealed as Blake rounded a corner. “That’s them. That’s their vehicle.”
At the foot of the hill in front of them, about two blocks away, she saw a black SUV. It made a left turn and disappeared from sight, thank goodness. Unless the bad guys doubled back, they were safe.
In a purely counterintuitive manner, Blake zoomed toward the other car. She shouted, “What are you doing?”
“Going after them.”
He’d just acknowledged that those men were possibly murderers. “Are you crazy?”
“My dad was murdered. I have few leads and no evidence. Those guys might know something.”
“Or they might kill us.”
“Try to get the number on their license plate.”
He hit the brakes to avoid a collision with a car pulling out of a driveway. At the corner, he had to stop again for schoolkids with backpacks crossing the street.
Finally reaching the corner, he turned in the direction the SUV had headed. This street fed into a main thoroughfare, and the other vehicle had already disappeared in traffic.
“Damn.” Blake’s right hand clenched into a fist which he pressed against his forehead. His jaw was tight. He winced, and the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes deepened.
She sensed the depth of his frustration. Though she had no desire to ever see either one of those men again, she said, “I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.”
Dozens of questions popped inside her head. Usually, Eve was good at sorting out variables and assigning rational values, but she didn’t have enough information. “Why did you come to my house? Did you know I was in danger?”
“If I’d known, I never would have let you leave. I would never knowingly put you in harm’s way.”
His military phrasing reassured her; he sounded a bit like her father. “You must have had a reason for showing up on my doorstep.”
He made another left turn and drove in the direction of her house. “I called Prentice to set up a meet, and he told me that he might have accidentally put you in danger.”
“There are no accidents,” she said darkly. If she hadn’t been so confused, she would have been furious. Dr. Prentice was at the center of this tornado that had thrown her life into chaos. “Do you think Prentice is involved in your dad’s murder?”
“I don’t have facts or evidence,” he said. “My dad’s e-mail talked about the Prentice-Jantzen study. If he went public about the study, Prentice’s reputation would be damaged. From what I’ve learned, the Aspen IVF and Genetics Clinic is big business.”
“So your father was a threat.”
Blake nodded. “His files pertaining to the study are missing, probably stolen.”
“Did the police question Prentice?”
“He has an alibi.”
But he could have hired those two men in suits. “You should have told me your suspicions about your father’s murder. There’s no logical reason for you to withhold information.”
He pulled up to a stop sign and turned toward her. His gaze seemed to soften as he placed his hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t say anything about the murder because I thought you’d had enough shocks for one day.”
“True enough.” Finding out that she was pregnant and that her mom and dad weren’t her genetic parents were huge issues. “Nonetheless, it might have been useful to know about the potential for danger.”
“Don’t worry.” His voice was gentle. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
His touch warmed her through the cotton fabric of her jacket as he massaged her shoulder. He gave a light squeeze before turning back toward the road.
While she continued to stare at his perfect profile, the questions inside her head turned to gibberish. She wanted him to hold her and comfort her and tell her that everything was going to be all right. Their brief physical contact had erased her intelligence like a bucket of white paint thrown against a blackboard filled with equations. With one pat on her shoulder, he’d turned her into a dumb blonde.
“When we get back to your house,” he said, “I want you to pack a suitcase. You’ll be staying with me.”
She couldn’t put her life on hold. There were important projects at work—schedules to be met and responsibilities to be handled. Though she should have been telling him all those things, all she could manage to say was, “Okay.”
Staying with Blake seemed like the most rational plan she’d heard all day.
BACK AT HER HOUSE, Blake stood in the center of her kitchen, which was incredibly clean. Either she was a neat freak or she didn’t actually cook. He suspected the latter. He faced her. “I want to reenact what happened while your memory is fresh. They were standing here, right?”
“The shorter one was there. The tall guy was closer.” She motioned him toward her. “Move eighteen inches forward.”
He did so. “Here?”
“Close enough.”
As she explained what had happened, using geometry analogies, he cursed himself for missing his chance to nab these two guys. He should have been faster, should have driven her home and entered her house first.
She pulled the chair down onto the floor and concluded, “Then I ran. And screamed.”
“And they didn’t come after you?”
Her chin lifted. “Apparently, I outsmarted them by creating an effective obstacle.”
Though he had no doubt that her IQ was double that of these two characters, an overturned chair wasn’t all that impressive. He motioned for her to start running. “Go ahead and show me what you did next.”
When she darted toward the front door, he hurdled the chair. Before her hand was on the doorknob, he caught her arm and spun her around to face him.
Her blue eyes widened as she leaned her back against the closed door and gazed up at him. “You got me.”
“And I wasn’t even running hard.”
“I can explain,” she said. “You were ready to chase me, and they weren’t. Plus you’re taller than them. Longer legs mean you’re faster. Or maybe I wasn’t moving as fast.”
“Or maybe those two guys were incompetent.”
They’d taken off like a couple of scared jackrabbits as soon as they’d realized she wasn’t alone. He would have thought Prentice could afford a better grade of thug.
“I still think we should talk to the police,” Eve said. “I can identify both of those men. I’m very observant.”
“Prove it.”
“The taller man was five feet eleven inches tall. He had a gold pinkie ring with an amber stone and his watch had a gold and silver band. Cleft chin. Small ears. High forehead. The other one probably put on some weight recently because the waistband on his trousers was tight.”
He watched her lips as she rattled off more details about their shoes and shirts and the cut of their hair. He could have stepped back and given her more space, but he liked being close. “You have a photographic memory.”
“It’s called eidetic memory or recall, and I’m not one hundred percent. But I’m good with visuals and numbers.” She reached toward him and rested the flat of her palm against his chest. “It’s a useful skill, especially for investigating. I’m sure we’ll find the man who killed your father.”
“We?”
“You and me,” she said. “With your Special Forces training and my logic, we’ll make a really good team.”
This plan had to be nipped in the bud. He caught hold of her hand and gently lowered it to her side. No way did he intend to get tied down with a partnership. This was his fight. “I appreciate the offer, but no.”
“Why not?”
“The situation is dangerous.” He moved away from her. “While I’m investigating, I can’t be worried about what’s happening to you.”
“But you want me to come home with you,” she said. “To stay at your house. What am I supposed to be doing while you’re investigating?”
His father’s last wish was for him to protect Eve. He couldn’t put her in jeopardy. “Maybe you could take up knitting.”
“And maybe you could go to hell.”
“Too late, babe. I’m already there.”
“Don’t call me babe.”
Her eyes flared with righteous anger. He didn’t blame her for being ticked off. He hadn’t been gentle in rejecting her, but he didn’t have time to waste. Clues were fading like footprints on a beach being washed away by the tide. He needed to focus on finding his father’s killer. “Pack your things.”
“Tell you what, Blake. I’m going to let your condescending, sexist attitude slide for now because I know you’re under duress. But make no mistake. My abilities are a valuable resource. You need me.”
He watched as she moved past him and turned into the hallway. She was smart, all right. But, in this case, she was wrong. He had never in his life needed anyone.

Chapter Five
No matter how irritated she got, Eve had to accept the fact that Blake was well-trained for situations involving physical violence, and she’d be wise to follow his directions. Still, she didn’t want to be totally dependent on him and definitely wanted to have access to her own car while she was staying at his father’s house.
When he loaded her suitcase into the back of his station wagon, she said, “I’ll drive myself and meet you there.”
He slammed the car door closed. “Ever been in a highspeed pursuit?”
“No.”
“Do you have training in evasive driving tactics?”
She could see where he was heading. Her shoulders slumped, and she exhaled a sigh. “I’m pretty good at dodging squirrels.”
“If those guys see you driving alone, they might try to apprehend you again.” He gave her a wink. “You ride with me.”
She groaned. Her life had become too dangerous for her to drive her own car. Too dangerous to sleep in her own bed. This was so unfair. When she glanced over her shoulder at her cozy little bungalow with the warm brown bricks and the clean white trim at the windows, an unwanted memory of fear tightened her gut. Those intruders had invaded her privacy, violated her home. Never before had she felt so vulnerable. She wanted bars on the windows and triple locks on the doors. Even then, she didn’t know if she’d feel secure. “There’s something I need to do before we leave.”
She marched up the sidewalk to the front door and went through the living room and dining room to the kitchen where she took a bag of dried cat food from the cupboard. The stray cats in the alley depended on her for food. She couldn’t abandon them. Nor could she leave the whole bag by the trash cans in the alley where the raccoons would carry it off.
Later she’d call her neighbor and ask him to take over for her while she was away. And how long would that be? A day? A week? Two weeks? So unfair!
As she went out the back door and down the narrow sidewalk to the gate in the white picket fence, Blake followed. “What are you doing?”
“Taking care of the wildlife. There’s a family of cats that live out here.”
Instead of scoffing, he spoke in a gentle voice. “You could call animal rescue. I’m sure there are organizations that take care of feral animals.”
“I’ve tried.” Four times she’d contacted humane groups. “These little guys don’t want to be caught. Even when the cat rescue people manage to pick up one or two, another litter of kittens appears. They multiply like Tribbles.”
“Like what?”
She squatted beside a blooming lilac bush and poured cat food into a plastic container. “Tribbles. You know, furry critters that reproduce exponentially. From Star Trek.”
“You’re a Trekkie,” he said. “That explains the T-shirt.”
When she’d changed out of her too-short skirt, she had put on black denim jeans and the least obnoxious T-shirt in her closet—blue with a subtle Enterprise emblem above her left breast. If she slipped back into her black jacket, no one would notice the emblem.
“I’m not a psycho fan,” she said. “But I’ve attended a number of science fiction and fantasy cons. You’d probably like them. G.I. Joe is popular again.”
As she watched, two gray-striped kittens peeked over the low-hanging lilac boughs and mewed.
“Hi, little guys.”
Eve sat back on her heels so she wouldn’t scare them. The kittens crept closer to the food, nudging each other. Their yellow eyes were huge in their tiny faces. Their pink noses pushed at the dry food.
Blake squatted beside her. “New members of the feral cat family?”
“I’ve never seen these two before.” The way she figured, there must be a couple of females who were constantly pregnant—no need for frozen embryos with these felines. “Tribbles.”
One of the kittens jumped and scurried back into the bushes. The other sat and stared at Eve. A brave little one. Would her child be courageous? And curious?
Slowly, she stretched out her hand, palm up, toward the kitten. The pink nose came closer and closer. With sharp little claws, the kitten batted at her finger, then darted away.
Babies—kittens, puppies and people—had the most remarkable innocence. And so much to learn. Would she be a good teacher? A good mother? Damn it, she couldn’t even take care of herself, much less a baby.
Tears welled up, and she bolted to her feet so Blake wouldn’t notice that she was crying. He already regarded her as less than useful in terms of his investigation, and she didn’t want him to add weepy to his list of complaints.
During the ride back to Denver, she intended to convince him that she ought to be his partner. It was only logical: two minds were better than one.
Sitting in the passenger seat, she waited to speak until they were on the highway and relatively free from the distraction of stop-and-go traffic. Without preface she said, “If Prentice warned you that I was in danger, he must have wanted you to protect me. Therefore, it’s unlikely that he sent those two intruders.”
Blake stared through the windshield, refusing to respond.
She continued, “Prentice also said that he might have accidentally caused the threat, which implies that he knows who sent them.”
Though he still didn’t comment, a muscle in his jaw twitched.
“And so,” she said, “Prentice must have communicated with someone after he spoke to me. Is there any way we can get his phone records? Or monitor his e-mails?”
Grudgingly, Blake said, “I can’t reach him. He won’t answer the phone when I call. Supposedly, he’s on vacation.”
“He talked to me.”
“I seriously doubt that he’ll set up a meeting with you.”
“Probably not.” Their conversation hadn’t been friendly. “He can’t just disappear. Someone at his clinic in Aspen must know where he is.”
“They won’t rat out their employer. Even if we find him, he’s smart enough to use an untraceable phone or encrypted computer.”
They were sharing information, and that pleased her. As long as she didn’t talk about his father, she figured Blake would work with her. “When I talked to him, his voice got tense when I hinted that I might give the baby up for adoption. For some reason, Prentice and the person who sent the intruders want me to be a real mother and raise this child. I’d like to find out who was working on this study.”
“You think another scientist wants to continue the experiment through you.”
“It’s possible,” she conceded.
But genetic engineering—both the concept and the practice—had greatly evolved over the past twenty-five years. The Prentice-Jantzen study was archaic when compared with new research on the human genome. It simply didn’t make scientific sense to continue with an outmoded methodology. “If I give birth to the second generation, who benefits?”
“The father.”
His quick response surprised her, though it shouldn’t have. The existence of a male sperm donor was, of course, necessary to create a viable embryo. But she had avoided thinking about that part of the equation.
If her child truly was second generation, the father had to be someone else in the initial study. They needed to know the identities of the original superbabies. “We need to see your father’s notes on the Prentice-Jantzen study.”
“Can’t,” he said. “That data was stolen in the robbery.”
Dr. Ray was murdered and his notes stolen. Surely, not a coincidence.
BY THE TIME THEY GOT BACK to Denver, sunset had colored the skies with fiery red and yellow. A few years ago in Kenya, Blake had seen the body of an elder burned on a funeral pyre in a solemn ceremony. The flames purified and released the soul from the body.
He had buried his father today. And yet, he felt no sense of closure.
Outside his father’s house, only a few extra cars were parked on the cul-de-sac. Apparently, most of the mourners had already paid their respects and gone home. “We’ll leave your suitcase in the car. It’s easier than explaining. I’m pretty sure that Aunt Jean won’t approve of you spending the night.”
“If you’re worried about your reputation,” she said coolly, “I’d be happy to tell your aunt that there’s no hanky-panky going on.”
“Just don’t say anything.”
“Yes, sir.”
She snapped off a sarcastic salute. Oh, yeah, Eve was definitely an army brat. Also a math nerd and genetic genius. And pregnant. His dad had picked one hell of a difficult woman for him to protect.
When he opened the front door for her, he heard Rhapsody in Blue being played on the grand piano in the living room. He took two steps on the polished hardwood floor before the music stopped him like an invisible wall of sound. The gliding crescendos held bittersweet memories. “This is one of my dad’s favorites.”
“Dr. Ray had good taste.”
His mom had been the real musician in the family. Almost every day, she practiced at the piano, sometimes Mozart but more often Cole Porter tunes. His dad loved to sing along. Blake remembered the two of them sitting on the piano bench, humming and laughing.
When he was growing up, Mom had tried to include him in their music. First, by teaching him the basics, which he stumbled through. Then, she had learned songs she thought he’d like. He smiled at the memory of her playing Backstreet Boys and Busta Rhymes while she had rapped in her angelic soprano voice.
After she had died, his dad’s life had been greatly diminished. Blake should have made more of an effort to get home and spend time with him. Under his breath, he said, “I could have been a better son.”
“The down and dirty truth,” Eve murmured.
“Did he talk to you about me?”
“He loved you and was proud of you.” She tossed her head and her blond hair bounced. “But when you said that you could be better, that was true. Human behavior can always be improved upon.”
“Not like math, huh? Numbers are perfect.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You really don’t want to get me started on this topic.”
The musical selection concluded, and they went into the front room. Seven people stood beside the gleaming rosewood instrument, applauding the pianist. Among the audience, Blake recognized General Stephen Walsh. His close-cropped white hair stood at attention. The array of medals and decorations—evidence of a long, heroic career—dated back to Vietnam when he was an enlisted man. Though General Walsh and his father hadn’t seen eye to eye on the treatment of post-traumatic stress disorder in veterans, they had remained friends and occasional golf partners. Walsh was a good man to have as an ally.
The pianist was David Vargas. Blake had only met David briefly but suspected that he might be another of the superbabies in the Prentice-Jantzen Study.
His aunt swooped toward him. “Where on earth have you been? Everyone has been asking about you.”
When he introduced Aunt Jean to Eve, his aunt eyed her casual black denim pants and loafers with disdain. “I saw you at the funeral. And you were at the house earlier.”
“I had to leave because I was feeling ill.” Eve pulled her black jacket to cover the Trekkie symbol on her T-shirt. “I changed clothes and I’m much better now. Looks like you could use some help putting away the food from the buffet table.”
“I certainly could.” Aunt Jean smoothed her soft brown hair into the bun at the nape of her long neck. “I’d like to pack most of this up and take it downtown to a mission my church runs. Is that all right with you, Blakey?”
“Sure.” He couldn’t remember if he’d eaten today. Must have. Aunt Jean had been pushing food at him since he got out of bed.

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