SH Medical 07 - The Detective's Accidental Baby (8 page)

“That’s your idea of comfort?”

“What better?”

Mike glanced toward the outer office, empty now that Erica had disappeared. “If she’s shaking you down for child support, I hope you plan on running a DNA test.”

Well, that was a change in attitude. “No, I don’t.”

“Come on, bro. I’m pretty damn ticked off. Our client could sue if she decides we misinformed her. But that doesn’t mean I’ll let you get played.”

“Erica asked me to waive my parental rights so she can give up the baby for adoption. Does that sound like she’s shaking me down?”

Mike shrugged. “Watch yourself. This lady may not be the model of innocence you painted her to be.”

“I simply reported the facts.”

His brother stood there breathing hard for a minute before saying, “Did I mention that you’re an idiot?”

“It was implied,” Lock murmured, grateful that Mike hadn’t lost his temper. He liked to be in control, both of himself and a situation.

“Let me state it for the record. Going to bed with the subject of an investigation is about as lame-brained as it gets.”

“
Former
subject of an investigation,” Lock said.

After a pause, Mike asked, “You going out for dinner?”

“A burger sounds good.”

“There’s a new health food place on the boulevard,” he countered.

Lock had forgotten his brother’s fitness kick. “Okay. Give me half an hour to finish a few things.”

“Deal.”

At the computer, Lock made notes about his meeting with Phil and added reminders on his calendar to check on Kelli. It felt odd, going about his business as if his entire world hadn’t shifted on its axis.

Whether he ever saw the baby or held it in his arms, a child descended from him was going to grow up and become…what? How would it feel about being relinquished for adoption? Surely it would spin scenarios about its birth parents, about what kind of people they were and why they’d bowed out of its life.

Not it. He or she.
Lock stared down at the photo of Kelli DiDonato, tangled brown hair falling across her shoulder as she bent to light a cigarette. He didn’t want his son or daughter to grow up neglected.

Is this how my birth mother felt about giving me up—torn and uncertain?
Maybe it was time to find out the truth. Besides, this child deserved a medical history.

Lock accessed the adoption site. Up came the option of forwarding an email address.

If he did locate his mother, he wondered how she’d react to the news that she was about to become a grandparent. And that he planned to give up that baby, just as she’d given him up.

He didn’t have to tell her, Lock reminded himself. Before he could raise further objections, he checked the Send My Info box and clicked Apply.

Too late to change his mind. For good or ill, he’d cast his ballot with fate.

Chapter Eight

What was it about shopping that helped to soothe the troubled soul? Erica asked herself as she prowled the narrow aisles of A Memorable Décor. The same principle apparently worked for men, too, since her ex-husband used to disappear for hours into electronics stores. But she didn’t want to think about him.

Or about Lock and his ridiculous delays. What did the man fantasize was going to happen? If he had any selfish idea about playing daddy on weekends while Erica turned into Supermom, he’d better to get over that fast.

Their encounter had left her so rattled that only a trip to her favorite store seemed likely to dispel the mood. Erica gazed around, enjoying the array of cabinets, chairs and tables, some old, some reproductions. On one wall hung a lovely needlepoint rug, its maroon expanse enlivened by fanciful flowers.

She studied a glass-topped cocktail tray that might fit into her living room. The price ran higher than the amount on her gift certificate, but it would be handy to have a place for decanters, bottles and glasses when she entertained.

Not that she did much of that. But one of these days she might.

You wouldn’t want something this delicate around a small child.

Oh, for Pete’s sake.

What about an upholstered ottoman with carved legs? Erica would enjoy propping up her feet while reading a novel. She could replace the worn fabric with something brighter.

Parents don’t have time to indulge in reading novels.

Maybe not, she mentally snapped, in response to the inner voice that sounded vaguely like her mother’s. But pregnant women did.

Her mother. Ouch. Since learning of her pregnancy this afternoon, Erica hadn’t had a chance to consider how Bernadette “Bibi” Benford might react. Although she lived on the East Coast, there’d be no way to keep her in the dark for the next eight months.

After Erica’s father died of an aneurysm a few years earlier, Bibi had moved into her fraternal twin sister’s house in the Boston suburb of Brookline. A year later, following a divorce, their younger sister, Lily, had joined Bibi and Mimi. Pooling their resources, the three sisters took cruises and seemed to enjoy their lives. In their mid- to late fifties, they all looked considerably younger, thanks to good genes and Botox.

Mimi and Lily had grandchildren, and Bibi frequently hinted that she’d love some of her own. No doubt she’d give plenty of reasons why Erica ought to take on twenty years of hard labor. It was not a conversation she looked forward to.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A female voice broke into her thoughts.

“Sorry?” Erica realized she was standing in front of an oak crib with butterflies carved into the headboard. Beside her, she recognized the cheerful, creased face of Renée Green.

“It’s the kind of heirloom that gets handed down from generation to generation,” said the kindly hospital volunteer.

There aren’t going to be any generations in my family,
Erica thought with a pang. Well, unless she counted her cousins’ children, but she scarcely knew them.

“I wasn’t considering buying it. Just lost in thought.” Not wanting to seem abrupt, she added, “Do you have children?”

The older woman took a moment to answer. “Not really…no.”

This must be a sensitive topic. Perhaps the lady had stepchildren she didn’t get along with, or maybe she’d lost a child. “You weren’t kidding when you said you love this store,” Erica said to change the subject. “I’ve never seen anyone else I know here.”

“Spending your gift certificate?” Renée asked.

“That’s the idea.” Usually this was the point at which Erica excused herself, but she missed chatting with friends. “Bailey’s very considerate, isn’t she? Left to his own devices, I’m sure Dr. T would have forgotten my birthday entirely. Or given me a box of chocolates.”

“And the rest of the staff would eat the best pieces.” Renée chuckled. “That’s how it worked at my old office, anyway.”

They strolled the aisles, examining items that might fit Erica’s decor. “You like butterflies,” Renée observed as they lingered in front of a love seat printed with the pretty creatures. “I noticed the cushions Dr. Denny gave you.”

“They’re my favorite. By the way, he doesn’t like being called Doctor. He has a Ph.D., not an M.D. and he’s always afraid someone will expect him to know CPR,” Erica said automatically. “Oh, sorry. I’ve worked with him for so long, I’ve memorized his spiel.”

“He’s cute. I’m sure before he was married, women asked him to perform CPR all the time.”

Erica laughed. “I’m sure they tried, but they didn’t get far. His first wife was a real drama queen, and after the divorce, he spent all his spare time raising their little girl.”

They skirted a young couple examining a lacquered chest. “I forget how well you know the Boston staff members,” Renée said. “It’s just that you… This isn’t meant as criticism, but you’ve kept apart since you arrived.”

Might as well explain, since the topic was sure to arise. “I went through a difficult divorce recently. Conversations always turn personal, and then people gossip. You’ve seen that, I’m sure.”

Renée touched her arm lightly. “People do like to talk, but at Safe Harbor, they’re sympathetic, once you get to know them.”

“Coming into a new environment like this, well, it’s a bit intimidating.” Erica had never admitted that to anyone before. “I suppose I’m more comfortable sticking close to my old team.”

“They obviously feel close to you,” Renée responded. “I haven’t seen Dr. Tartikoff celebrate anyone else’s birthday. Bailey says you’re indispensable.”

She’d have to be replaced at least temporarily when pregnancy made it difficult to stand for hours, Erica thought. “No one’s indispensable. I wasn’t sure at first that I’d be able to move to California, but that didn’t stop Owen from taking the new position. Nor should it have.”

She was talking too much. In another minute, she’d start chatting about her pregnancy, and Erica would hate for that to get around the hospital any sooner than necessary.

“You’ll find your niche at Safe Harbor,” Renée went on. “Everyone respects you, and I think they’d welcome the chance to get closer. When you’re ready, you’ll have plenty of friends.”

“I’m not much of a social animal. But thanks.”

A stylishly dressed saleswoman approached. “Can I help you?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t fallen in love with anything yet.” Although Erica felt an itch to make a purchase, none of the pieces screamed,
Take me home!
She preferred to save her gift certificate for a special item. Since the store received deliveries several times a week, she shouldn’t have to wait long.

“Let me know if you have any questions. I’m happy to answer them.”

After the woman moved off, Renée said, “My house is so crowded, I can’t buy anything until I give away the items I never use. Now that I think of it, I have a tea set with butterflies that would suit you better than me. Why don’t you come over and take a look?”

It was a generous offer. But gifts meant obligations. While Erica liked Renée, she wasn’t ready for a friendship that went beyond the casual.

“That’s very kind, but I’m tired tonight. Let’s get together another time.” She hoped she didn’t come across as unfriendly.

Renée took the response in stride. “When you’re in the mood, let me know.” She jotted an address and phone number on a pad. “Here’s my information. I don’t live far from here.”

“Thanks. If you decide you’d rather keep your china, I’ll understand,” Erica said. “We can just have tea.”

“Either way is fine with me.”

A few minutes later, as Erica was getting into her car, it occurred to her that she hadn’t thought about Lock for at least half an hour. For that, among other things, she was grateful to Renée.

B
Y
F
RIDAY
, L
OCK
knew he should have signed the paper. He’d had plenty of time since Tuesday to think about it, and logic kept dictating that he agree to Erica’s choice. If he was smart, he’d mail the document to her and be done with it.

His gut refused to let him. Maybe it was the lingering uncertainty about his own origins and why his birth mother had decided to entrust him to the Vaughns. Until he knew that, he wouldn’t feel ready to part with this child forever.

On Wednesday morning, he’d received a response from one of the three women who fit his parameters. Turned out she and her husband had given up the baby when they were teenagers, years before they finally married. The picture she’d sent of herself, her husband, their three children and five grandkids showed a handsome Hispanic family that bore no physical resemblance to Lock. He’d responded with his thanks and an explanation about his blond, blue-eyed coloring.

Woman number two had emailed to say that she’d already located her birth son, as confirmed by a DNA test. She apologized for not removing her information from the website.

And behind door number three we have…the mystery lady.

She hadn’t contacted him. Even if she did, there was no guarantee she would turn out to be Lock’s biomom, as he’d started to think of her. She might be just another dead end.

Still, she’d posted her information. Now that he’d responded, didn’t she at least owe him the courtesy of a reply?

There were additional adoptee sites Lock could check, plus public records, but he disliked homing in on a birth mother who didn’t want be found. Besides, he’d promised Erica to resolve this situation by Friday.

That afternoon, Lock swung by the middle school as classes were letting out. No sign of Kelli, but then, he hadn’t expected to see her in the open. At a nearby pharmacy where the kids sometimes shopped for, or stole, makeup and other personal items, he bought breath mints and made a quick survey of the aisles. Not here, either.

In the parking lot, Lock saw a young mother remove a baby from a car seat and lift him in the air, chirping lovingly. The little fellow giggled in delight. What a cute kid.

Just get this over with and quit torturing yourself.

A block away, he recognized a couple of Kelli’s teenage buddies downing fries at an open-air table in front of a hamburger joint. The girl hadn’t joined them this afternoon. Good.

Next stop: the medical center.

Situated on high ground about a mile inland from the beach, the facility had been known as Safe Harbor Community Hospital when Lock was growing up. An out-of-state hospital corporation had bought it a few years back and remodeled it into a center for women and children, adding further upgrades before launching a world-class fertility program last year. Lock subscribed online to the
Orange County Register,
so even while living in Arizona he’d kept current about his home county.

He drove past the six-story buildings and parked. From his briefcase, he extracted the file folder. Despite Mike’s warning, he had no fear that signing it would make him liable for anything. Either he was the dad or he wasn’t. Thanks to modern science, paternity was easily determined.

Besides, he didn’t believe there was another man in the picture. If there were, Lock would have spotted him while investigating Erica. Nope, he was the guy.
So sign the damn thing.

Instead, he returned it to his briefcase and went into the lobby. At the front desk, he asked the receptionist to page Erica Benford.

“She’s in a meeting,” the woman said promptly.

“She’s expecting me.” If she wasn’t available, surely she’d have called. He’d given her his cell number.

“The time of the staff meeting was changed,” the receptionist explained. “We’re not supposed to page anyone unless it’s urgent.”

Lock didn’t appreciate having to wait. Maybe he should leave and let Erica find
him.
But he had only this stranger’s word for the fact that she was unavailable.

And he’d been looking forward to seeing Erica. Usually, with the women he’d dated, he instinctively pulled away when the relationship grew too intimate. He’d never before met a woman who withdrew further and faster than he did.

“Sherlock!” A hale, masculine voice yanked him from his thoughts. “Good to see you.” Alec Denny, his shaggy brown hair slanting across his forehead, thrust out his hand, and they shook. “What brings you to the hospital, or is it some hush-hush detective business? Patty’s always telling me I’m too nosy.”

Lock hoped his colleague’s outgoing husband could help. “I just need a moment with Erica Benford. We have an appointment, but I hear she’s in a staff meeting.”

“I’m on my way there now. Dr. Tartikoff’s making an announcement. Come on. You can catch Erica when it’s over.”

“It isn’t restricted to staff?”

“Whatever he plans to say, there’ll be a press release for the media, so it won’t be a secret for long.” The embryologist started across the lobby, and Lock swung into step beside him.

He was glad to take action, and appreciated the opportunity to learn more about Erica’s boss. Although he’d seen Dr. Tartikoff’s photo in the paper, it didn’t give much sense of the man’s personality.

They passed a glass-fronted gift shop filled with balloons, stuffed animals and flowers, and traversed a corridor. Rounding a corner, they reached a set of double doors just as a pretty, dark-haired woman was pulling them shut.