Baby, Oh Baby! (2 page)

Jake tried to make it easier on the older man. ` "You want me to leave the firm, Tom?"

Tom's head had jerked up, his gray eyes startled. "Hell, no! You know better than that. I'd fire and hire a whole new staff every week before I'd let you go. We're family. Partners." Tom leaned forward and replaced the paperweight on Jake's desk. "It's just...." He pulled back his hand, but his torso still tilted forward. His gaze locked with Jake's. "Look. I know you've been through a hard time. Hell—no one knows that better than me, right? But for the sake of harmony and the staff's morale, would you.. . could you-... ? Ah, hell. Could you try to lighten up a little?"

"Sure." Jake had accompanied the word with a curt, single nod.

"Good." Tom had thumped his knuckles on the desk as he rose, his expression relieved. "I knew I could count on you." The older man had walked around the desk and clapped Jake on the shoulder before he'd headed out the door.

Jake had stared at the door as Tom closed it behind him, then slumped forward, his elbows on the desk, his head in his hands. Hell. He knew he'd turned into a real son of a bitch since Rachel's death. He knew it, but he seemed powerless to stop it. Anger was his only defense against the black, empty vacuum in his soul, and the truth was, he welcomed its heat. It was the only emotion that hadn't deserted him. Besides, he liked the distance it made people keep. If he couldn't be dead, he could at least be left alone.

All the same, he'd promised Tom he'd make an effort. And as much as it chafed him, he knew Tom was right. Lately he'd been snarling at people like a wounded pit bull just because they were alive and Rachel wasn't. Instead of getting better with the passage of time, he seemed to be getting worse.

Jake blew out a harsh breath. He had to get a grip on his behavior. Genuine niceness was probably too lofty a goal to shoot for, but he could ` at least aim at civility. Behavior was nothing more than habit, and habits could be changed. All it took was practice. He'd vowed to himself then and there that he'd turn over a kinder, more courteous leaf in all of his interactions.

Jake turned his gaze back to the receptionist, who was chomping her chewing gum like a wad of cud. As much as it pained him, he knew this was the perfect occasion to practice his new persona. He forced a pleasantness he didn't feel into his voice. "Let me explain. My wife and I were infertility patients, and—"

"Oh," she interrupted. "So you want to make an appointment to see another doctor?"

"No. I—"

"Give me your name and social security number, and I'll pull up your records."

Crimony. ' Couldn't Old Bossy here let him finish a fxeakin' sentence? Biting back his irritation, Jake gave her the information. She typed it into the computer with plodding slowness, then glanced up. "It says here you're a sperm donor."

"And I say I'm not."

She gazed at him blankly, as if the discrepancy was beyond her comprehension.

"It's the sort of thing I'd be likely to remember, don't you think?" Jake snapped.

The freckled blonde against the wall tittered like one of Alvin's chipmunks. Jake heaved a sigh, remembering too late that he -was trying to turn over a new leaf. "I think you'd better let me talk to your supervisor."

The receptionist nodded agreeably, oblivious to his agitation. Lifting the phone, she punched in two digits. "There's someone here who wants to speak with you." A slight pause. "No, he didn't say what it was about:" She lowered the receiver and looked up at Jake. "Mrs. Holden will be right out."

Jake reached through the window and snatched back his letter. "No need for her to come all the way out here. I'll just head on back." He started for the door beside the reception counter.

`But—but you can't go...:

Ignoring the receptionist's protests, Jake strode through the door into a large room lined with color- coded files. Two women in floral medical-assistant jackets sat at separate computer stations. A gray-haired woman dressed in a navy blazer and tan slacks stood by one of the desks, pointing out something on the screen.

She turned to Jake as the door closed behind him. "May I help you?"

"I'm looking for Mrs. Holden."

"That's me."

Jake was relieved to note that the blue eyes behind her wire-rimmed glasses seemed alert and intelligent. He hauled a smile out of cold storage. "Is there some place we can talk privately?"

Of course." She led him across- the room into a beige cubicle. Jake glanced around, noting the touches of color. Photos of children—grandchildren, no doubt—sat in blue and red plastic frames on her desk. A mountain landscape photo calendar was thumbtacked to the nubby-textured wall, and a yellow Happy Face sticker smiled from the back of the computer.

Mrs. Holden settled herself into the swivel chair behind the modular desk. Jake lowered himself into one of the two wooden-armed chairs opposite her.

"Now, what can I do for you, Mr....."

"Chastaine. Jake Chastaine."

The woman nodded pleasantly.

Jake tossed the folded paper on her desk. "I've been receiving this letter every month for the past six months."

Mrs. Holden quickly perused it, then looked up, her eyes questioning.

"My wife ..." Dammit! His voice did that weird cracking thing again. He cleared his throat and started over. "My wife and I were fertility patients here a couple of years ago. We were getting ready to do an in vitro procedure when she...." Jake's short, blunt fingernails dug into his palm, giving the pain in his chest a physical outlet. "...My wife died in an accident."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Mrs. Holden murmured.

The only thing worse than dealing with Rachel's death was dealing with sympathy over it. "Yeah. Well, under the circumstances, getting this notice is pretty disconcerting. Especially since I left a—a sample here to use in the in-vitro procedure"

Mrs. Holden smiled. "You must mean the back-up specimen."

"Yes." The doctor had explained to Jake and Rachel that while the clinic preferred to use fresh sperm, all in vitro patients were asked to provide a back-up specimen in advance. The back-up, the physician had said with a smile, would be frozen and used in case the pressure to perform the day of the procedure made it difficult for the husband to "ante up."

Jake placed his left ankle over his right knee. "I've never been a donor, and I don't. like the idea that my name has somehow ended up on your donor list. And since I'm no longer a patient here, I want to make sure that my, uh, back-up was disposed of. I called and spoke to someone about it, and I was told I had to sign a written permission form."

Mrs. Holden nodded. "We can take care of that easily enough. I've got a form right here." She opened a file drawer in the bottom of her desk, pulled out a pink slip of paper and handed it to Jake.

Jake read it carefully. It was a standard release form— the same kind of thing he would have insisted upon if he'd been the clinic's attorney. Pulling a gold pen from his jacket pocket, he signed his name in, tight letters. "Well, that settles one issue," he said, shoving the paper across the desk.

The woman's eyebrows rose over the rim of her glasses. "There's something else we can do for you?"

"Yes. I want to know why your computer says I'm a donor instead of a patient."

The woman waved her hand. "Oh, I'm sure someone just pulled up the wrong list when we did our monthly mailing."

"The receptionist looked me up and said I'm listed as a donor."

Mrs. Holden's eyebrows shot back up. "Really? Well, let me check." Referring to the letter he'd handed her, she typed in his information. A frown formed, twisting her brows as she gazed at the screen. She hit some other keys, then - studied the screen again. The twin furrows between her eyebrows deepened.

Jake leaned forward. "Is something the matter?"

"No, no, I'm sure everything's fine." She tapped more keys, then gnawed her lower lip. She didn't sound like everything was fine. She sure as hell didn't look it, either. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She clicked back to the screen saver, then abruptly rose from her chair. "Excuse me for a moment. I need to go check on something."

All of Jake's instincts immediately went on red alert. In his old job as an assistant district attorney of Tulsa County, he'd read people's expressions on a daily basis. He knew when someone was scared or worried or hiding something, and Mrs. Holden appeared to be doing all three.

Jake waited until she'd left the cubicle, then circled the desk, seated himself in front of the computer and typed in his name. He hit the ENTER button, then watched the screen flicker. There was his name, all right, wedged between "Chambers" and "Cousins" in a vertical list. The blue header at the top of the page read "Sperm Donors." He reached for the mouse, highlighted his name, and clicked. The screen changed. Suddenly he was reading about himself on a page .entitled "Sperm Donor Profile."

Name: Jacob James Chastaine. Sperm Donor Number: 13013.

How appropriate, he thought dryly. Just his luck to have a number with two thirteens in it. He read further: Age: 33. Race: Caucasian. Height: 6'2': Weight: 197. Hair: Dark brown. Eyes: Brown.

A detailed family health history followed—his great-grandfather's heart attack, his grandmother's bout with cancer. He recognized the information as the facts he'd provided when he and Rachel had filled out forms the first time they'd visited the clinic. Everything seemed to be in order-everything, that was, except a line at the very bottom.

Status: ` One insemination.

Icy needles prickled up Jake's spine. Rachel had never been inseminated.

Dear God. Had someone else?

His joints moved like rusty machinery as he highlighted the "status" line and clicked the computer mouse. The screen flickered and changed, this time to the profile of someone named Annie Rose Hollister. Age: 31. Race: Caucasian. Height: 5'6". Weight.112. Eyes: Blue. Hair: Red. Address: 1118 Rural Route 3, Lucky, Oklahoma.

He skimmed through a bunch of statistics about blood pressure and menstrual history. His gaze shot to the lower half of the screen.

Insemination date: 6-2-98.

His stomach clenched like a knot in a wet rope. Nearly two years ago-shortly after the accident. He rapidly read further.

Sperm Donor Number: 13013.

He scanned the last line on the screen, and the words he read there jumped out and socked him in the gut. Status: Pregnant.

The air seemed to freeze in his lungs. His hand shook as he pointed the cursor at the "print" icon and clicked the mouse. The printer whirred to life and spat out a page. He'd just retrieved it and stuffed it into his jacket pocket when Mrs. Holden returned, flanked by a tall, thin man in a white jacket.

They stopped in the cubicle entrance, obviously disconcerted to see him seated behind the computer. "Wh-what are you doing?" Mrs. Holden asked, her eyes wide, her skin pale.

Never let them know how much you know. Jake had gotten the advice about interrogating suspects from a mentor at the D.A.'s office years ago, but he'd found it a good rule to follow in life in general. He instinctively hit the escape key on the computer, sending the screen back to an innocuous menu, then rose from the chair. "Just looking at my records."

The white jacketed man rubbed his long jaw, his forehead creased with a frown. Mrs. Holden's eyes grew as round as blue moons behind her wire-rimmed glasses.

Jake decided to press for answers while they were still off-guard. "Just what the hell is going on here?"

The man pasted on a conciliatory smile as he stepped forward. "Hello, Mr. Chastain. I'm Dr. Hendrick Warner." All of the doctor's features were long and sharp and pointed, and his smile made his nose curve like the beak of a hawk. Well, Jake would be damned if he'd act like a timid little rabbit. He'd start practicing his new Mr. Nice Guy routine later.

Folding his arms across his chest, Jake deliberately ignored the man's extended hand. "I asked a question, and I'd like an answer. What's going on?"

The doctor withdrew his outstretched hand and awkwardly shoved it into the pocket of his white lab coat. "There, uh, seems to be a small problem with the records."

Small problem? You call knocking up some broad with my sperm a small problem? Jake's jaw ached with the effort of biting back the retort.

"It's simply a data input error," the doctor said soothingly. "We recently changed computer programs, and a few small glitches are bound to occur."

Years in the D.A.'s office had taught Jake to smell something fishy. This guy's spiel reeked like week-old cat food.

"I see. Well, if that's all there is to it, hand over my jar of jizz and I'll be on my way."

Mrs. Holden gasped.

"I'll handle this," the doctor told her. The woman turned and scurried from the cubicle like a rat fleeing a sinking ship.

The doctor folded his arms across his chest and smiled in an amused, between-you-and-me kind of way. Jake was sure it was the sort of smile that usually inspired confidence in nervous, patients, but right now it inspired nothing but further suspicion.

"I'm afraid we have a no-return policy on deposits, Mr., Chastaine." The doctor chuckled. "I'm sure you can understand that. If you signed the form, however, you can be certain we'll dispose of your specimen."

Yeah, except you've already disposed of it-in Ms. Annie Hollister of Lucky, Oklahoma. A nerve flexed in Jake's jaw. "I want to take it with me. Now."

The doctor gave another tight smile. "I'm afraid we can't do that. There are all sorts of laws governing the disposal of medical waste."

Jake's chin rose stubbornly. "Well, then, take me to the freezer where you keep the vials or test tubes or whatever, and show me mine."

"I'm afraid that's impossible. It would violate our temperature-control procedures."

Jake's fingers curled at his sides. "It would violate your ass-covering procedures, is what it would violate. It's not here, is it?"

"Of—of course it's here." The doctor's Adam's apple jerked as he swallowed. His eyes were lying. "I'll tell you what. Since this is an unusual situation and you're so concerned, I'm willing to bend the rules just this one time." His lips twitched up in a nervous smile. "After all, we're planning to dispose of your specimen anyway. Just wait here, and I'll go and get your vial."