Hunted (FBI Heat Book 1) (9 page)

“What’s wrong?” Ben asked, setting his fork down.

“Huh?” Amber looked up from her plate.

“This stroganoff is delicious, but all you’ve done is push it around your plate.”

“I’m… not very hungry.”

“Why?”

“No reason.” She lifted a bite on her fork. “So, everything going well with your investigation?”

“Don’t change the subject.” If only he could read her mind. She’d been tense and distracted all evening. Was she angry about his leaving last night after all? “Well?”

She chewed and swallowed. Took a sip of wine. “Well, what?”

He rolled his eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you worried about your job?”

She perked up. “Yeah. My job. That damn clinic is going to put us out of business.”

“Did something happen today?”

“What do you mean?” She gulped.

He spread his hands. “Did you hear from your boss?”

“Uh, no. I’m just worried.”

He speared her with a disbelieving scowl. “Is that why there are two more packed boxes over there?” He jerked his head toward the living room.

Her gaze shot to the evidence.

Seriously?
She didn’t expect him to notice? Not likely. Why couldn’t he get through to her? Was she pushing him away because they’d slept together? The sex had been great, so that didn’t make sense. At least not to a man. “I repeat, Amber, what’s wrong?”

Her lower lip trembled, and her eyes glistened.

Shit. I’m gonna make her cry. Good move, Alfren.
He exhaled. “Look, babe. If you don’t tell me, I can’t help.”

Abruptly, Amber pushed back from the table and stood up. “You can’t help. No one can. This is my problem, and I’m dealing with it.”

Male pride bristled. “Well, excuse me. Am I even allowed to know what the problem is?”

A myriad of emotions played across her features. Whatever had upset her was far more serious than job insecurity. He suspected it was related to her triple locks, gun, and pepper spray.

The increasing number of packed boxes indicated she was preparing to run. From what? To where? Why? If she wouldn’t talk to him, was he supposed to guess the answers?

His gaze locked with her intoxicating dark chocolate eyes. “I want you to talk to me, even if you won’t let me help.”

“I can’t,” she said almost in a whisper.

Ben slammed his fist on the table.

The dishes rattled. Amber jumped.

His eyes narrowed. “Because I’m FBI?”

She shook her head.

Good to know.
At least maybe she wasn’t wanted for a federal crime. “Don’t you trust me?”

She stared at him long and hard. “I do, Ben. I do… trust you.”

Progress, finally.
He exhaled and rose. Holding out his hand, he said, “Come. Talk to me.”

She blinked several times before grasping his fingers. She let him lead her to the couch and sit her down beside him. He brushed the wispy tendrils of blond hair away from her face, again savoring the silkiness. His chest tightened with the desire to protect this woman from whatever haunted her. But she was too strong and independent to want to be protected.

He pulled her into a tender embrace and just held her for several minutes. God, she felt wonderful in his arms. Like she belonged there.

Neither spoke. She shuddered twice, and he tightened his hold. Eventually, he sensed her muscles relaxing, her tension easing.

He placed a gentle kiss behind her ear and whispered, “Talk to me, babe.”

She released a heavy sigh, as if the weight of her secret had devastated her. Or she was finally surrendering to his persistence. He preferred the latter.

“I used to date a guy named Jeremy Nelson. We were exclusive, but the relationship wasn’t terribly serious. After a while, his behavior started to really annoy me—”

“What kind of behavior?”

“Oh, you know, he’d get physical, rough, during sex… and other times.”

“Abusive?”

She hesitated and swallowed hard. “Not at first.”

Rage began to simmer deep inside, but Ben forced his demeanor to remain calm.

“When Jeremy attacked me after a male coworker simply walked me to my car, I broke up with him. He didn’t take it well. He punctured all four of my tires while I was at work. He painted sexual slurs on the door of my apartment. He called me all the time until I had to turn off my phone. He’d show up at the clinic where I worked and get so aggressive they had to call the police. He stalked me day and night.”

“Jesus.”

“I tried to be careful, but one night he caught me coming home late. He thought I’d been with another guy. Not that he had any right to object, but I’d actually been out with my girlfriends.” She paused and gulped several times. “He beat me up pretty bad. I landed in the hospital.”

“Sonofabitch,” came out as a hiss.

“Believe me, I called him that and worse. I got a restraining order, but he ignored it. Getting arrested only stopped him for as long as he was in jail. I wanted him locked up permanently, but the police, my lawyer, a psychiatrist, and a judge couldn’t make it happen. I moved back into my parents’ house, but then he attacked their property. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I left Topeka.”

“You’re from Kansas?”

“Yeah. I’m a country girl at heart, but I’ve seen a lot of big cities since then.” She raised her hand and counted with her fingers. “First, I went to Chicago. Jeremy found me in three months. Then I tried LA. That lasted two months. New York City, two months. Dallas, three months. Boston, three, Seattle, two. Back to Chicago for three more. Miami for three, and now I’ve been in San Diego for two months.”

“Good Lord, how the hell does he find you?”

“He’s an obsessed stalker. He finds ways. Jeremy’s a whiz kid with computers, so I think that’s a lot of it. Unfortunately, he knows I refuse to give up my career with surrogacy clinics because of him. I’m sure that helps narrow his search even though I warn employers every time not to give out any information about me to
anyone
. I know for a fact that he’s hacked into the personnel records of at least three clinics to find me. I think he was able to get into some state computer networks and find my new driver’s licenses until I decided to just keep the one from Massachusetts until it expires. He’s really smart and clever. Or devious, I guess.”

“And the cops haven’t helped?”

“They try, but they can’t give me full-time protection.” She huffed. “I even legally changed my name about a year ago, and Jeremy still found me.”

“And you took self-defense classes and learned to shoot.”

“Yeah.”

He angled a glance at the boxes and then back at her. “And packing means you’re preparing to run again?”

She shrugged. “It’s about time. It sounds silly, but I start sensing things, seeing clues that he’s around, watching. Terrorizing me has become a game to him.”

“An illegal game.” He studied her. “What happened today?”

She told him about the roses. “A single red rose is one of his clues.”

“And you’re convinced he’s Casanova.”

“Pretty much.”

“You know, Casanova could be a married guy with a girlfriend who doesn’t want his name on record at a florist. And Jane Reynolds could’ve been smart enough to give the cheater a fake name and address.”

“Could be. Sometimes I feel like being hunted is making me paranoid. But you know that saying: Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you. So I wear crazy disguises, take different routes to and from work, use a PO Box instead of the apartment mailbox, and carry a damn gun. Do I sound paranoid to you?”

Ben barely heard her last few words. His brain latched onto her comment about the apartment mailbox.
Holy shit.

* * *

A shadow passed across Ben’s face, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. “I want you to come live with me.”

Amber pulled back and blinked at him. “What?”

“You need to stay at my place until Jeremy’s caught.”

Warmth spread through her. Ben cared. But she really couldn’t let him get involved. “Thanks. That’s really sweet, but I can take care of myself.”

His gaze shot to the packed boxes and back. “By running… again?”

She sat up straight and shifted away. He had no right to judge her. “Yes. It’s fight or flight. Every time I screw up and it ends in a fight, I lose. And it affects not just me. Sometimes, people I care about get hurt.”

“Jeremy needs to be stopped.”

“You don’t think I know that?” She stood up and marched several steps away from the couch. Her eyes stung, but she would not cry. “I’ve used law enforcement to try to stop him. My folks hired a PI when I lived in LA, but he could never catch up with Jeremy. Believe me. I’ve tried everything.”

Ben stood up also and hung his thumbs in his front pockets. “You’ve never tried
me
.”

Her eyes made a leisurely tour of his whole body.
God, I’m going to miss him.
She sighed. “Thanks again, but I’ll just be ready to leave in a heartbeat when I know he’s getting close.”

Ben’s eyes hardened. “He’s already here.”

Icy fingers of fear crawled down her spine. Goose bumps rose on her arms. “How would you know? You have no idea what Jeremy looks like.”

“Average height. On the lean side.”

“That describes half the men in San Diego.”

“Likes to wear a gray hoodie and jeans.”

She gulped. “Like many men under thirty.”

“Was reading the names on the apartment mailboxes with a flashlight at two o’clock Wednesday morning.”

The bottom fell out of her stomach. Ben’s arms closed around her as her knees buckled. She buried her face against his shoulder. “That was four days ago. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Seriously? You’ve never once told me
what
you’re afraid of. I only reported the incident to the office because the guy damaged a couple of the boxes. I didn’t know until a few minutes ago that Jeremy existed.”

Could he feel her heart hammering like it wanted to burst from her chest? Could he feel the tremors rolling through her? Could he feel how much she wanted him to be wrong about Jeremy already being here?

Oh God, she didn’t want to move again. She didn’t want to leave SDSA as long as she had a job. She didn’t want to leave San Diego. She loved its warm, sunny weather. And mostly, she didn’t want to leave Ben. She felt something for him that was new and fresh and like nothing before. Something that gave her hope for a future, a real, normal future. Was he thawing her heart from the block of ice that had encased it since Jeremy?

“I-I’m sorry. I don’t like to talk about him,” she said and clung to his shirt. She filled her nose with his masculine scent, let the heat of his skin penetrate the disabling chill of Jeremy’s proximity. She wanted something more with this man. How much more she didn’t know yet. But now there wouldn’t be time to find out. “I-I should pack.”

One of his large hands furrowed through her hair. His lips came down decisively on hers and stole her breath with a demanding kiss. Then he rested his chin against her forehead. “Don’t leave. I don’t want you to go.”

“We barely know each other. Why does it matter?”

“
You
matter, that’s why. I think…” He sighed. “I feel the beginning of… something good. Don’t you?” he said gruffly.

“Jeremy will ruin everything.”

“Only if you let him. If we let him. I’ll help you.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid. I’m such an idiot.
Why had she let Ben into her life? Why had she slept with him? Why was she feeling emotions she shouldn’t?

“Jeremy is violent. I don’t want you to get hurt,” she whispered.

“He won’t hurt me, but your leaving will.”

His confidence sounded so reassuring. And his strong body molded against hers reinforced his message.

“What would you do?” she asked.

“We can talk about it at my place. You pack a suitcase while I reconnoiter the complex and make sure the asshole isn’t hanging around. Do you have a picture, a close-up of his face?”

Should she or shouldn’t she? It had been so long since anyone had helped her fight the battle that the idea was foreign. Finally she let out a resigned sigh.

“Yes, I have several copies of ones I’ve given to the cops and my employers.”

“I just need one right now.”

She returned from the bedroom a few minutes later with a wallet-sized photo. She could hardly stand to look at the picture of the man who hunted her. Dark blond hair, just long enough to tuck behind his ears. Gray eyes as cold as concrete. Cleft chin. Narrow nose with a bump from a previous break.

“You can keep it,” she said, handing it to Ben. “I should warn you that Jeremy uses disguises also.”

“Not surprised.” He studied the image and then raised his eyes to hers. “We’ll get him this time, Amber. Trust me.”

Just before noon on Monday, wearing her short brunette wig and hazel contacts, Amber opened the door to Dream Makers. What was she doing here? After hearing Ben’s story about Mailbox Man, she’d agreed that Jeremy was already in San Diego. More importantly, he knew, or at least suspected, she lived in the Coronado Beach complex. Why he hadn’t figured out her specific apartment was a mystery and a blessing.

The bottom line was that she should be driving to Phoenix right now instead of walking into this clinic. Would she live to regret Ben’s convincing her to stay with him while they plotted a way to stop Jeremy—together? Was she a fool to think it was possible after all this time? Ben could probably make her believe anything was possible with his take-no-prisoners attitude.

And the way he made love to her was icing on the cake. Slow and tender their first night. Fast and furious last night. Climax after climax until she curled up next to him and slept the best she had in two years. Could she ever get enough of him?

She forced thoughts of Ben out of her head as she approached the reception desk. “Hi. I’m Amber Moore. I… my husband and I have a consultation appointment with Ms. Rodriguez.”

Wearing a stiff smile, Daniela greeted her and checked the appointment book. “Uh, Ms. Rodriguez is out sick today. Mr. Juarez will be meeting with you.” She looked past Amber and frowned. “Is Mr. Moore coming?”

“He’s on his way from work.” She held her breath.

Nervously, the young woman glanced over her shoulder at a colleague talking on the phone at another desk. “Well, okay. Have a seat.”

Amber selected a magazine from the rack before sitting down in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. Not that she intended to read; she just needed something to do with her fidgety hands.

A middle-aged man and woman were the only other occupants in the drab waiting room. They glanced at her and smiled. A twinge of resentment reminded Amber that she might not get any more information than she had on her first visit since she still lacked a husband or partner. But meeting with Mr. Juarez, instead of Ms. Rodriguez, might actually work to her advantage. She opened the magazine and pretended to read, but her mind was actually rehearsing her charade.

“Mrs. Moore, come with me, please.”

For a few seconds, Amber forgot she was Mrs. Moore and didn’t respond, but the receptionist didn’t seem to notice her hesitation.

Instead, Daniela scanned the room for the missing Mr. Moore. “Where’s your husband?”

Amber scooted into the hallway before the receptionist could change her mind about admitting her. “He should be here any minute.”

Uncertainty crossed the young woman’s face. Her gaze darted from Amber to the door to the hall. She seemed genuinely distressed by the situation. After a moment, mumbling something under her breath, she led Amber to the same room where the disappointing meeting with Ms. Rodriguez had taken place two days ago.

Daniela waved Amber inside. “Mr. Juarez had to make a call. He shouldn’t be delayed more than ten minutes.” She pulled the door closed without waiting for a reply.

Amber looked at the unoccupied desk, back at the door, and again at the desk.
Ten minutes.
What were the chances that any information about Dream Makers’ business strategy regarding fees would be stored in this office? Not likely, but what could it hurt to take a quick peek? She drew a deep breath. It would only hurt if she got caught.

After another glance at the door, she dropped her purse beside a chair and moved around the desk. First, she studied the binders on the bookshelves on the wall. None bore a label referencing fees. She checked her watch.
Plenty of time.
Turning to the desk, she leaned down and reached for a drawer.

The office door swung open.

Amber jerked upright.

A heavyset, older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a large mustache stood in the doorway. His eyes narrowed. “Mrs. Moore, may I help you?” he asked in a tone dripping with suspicion.

“Uh… Mr. Juarez, I presume.” Her heart pounding, she pasted on a smile. “I… uh… thought I’d find a pen and paper to jot down some questions while I waited for you.”

He hesitated and glanced up at a corner near the ceiling.

Following his gaze, Amber spotted a tiny security camera. Unease raced up her spine.
Oh shit.

After an endless moment, his eyes shifted back to her. “I’m here now, so that won’t be necessary.” He gestured toward a chair.

She scurried from behind the desk and dropped into the seat. Her throat tightened. If they had been spying on her, what did they think? Had her actions seemed harmless? If not, it probably wouldn’t be long before she was escorted out. Her heartbeat counted off the passing seconds.

Slowly, Mr. Juarez closed the door. He stared at her half a minute more and then took his place at the desk. “I understand Mr. Moore will be joining us.”

She gulped. “Oh yes. I scheduled this appointment specifically so he could come during his lunch hour.”

He seemed to consider her answer before he spoke. “I see you’ve already met with Ms. Rodriguez.” The words sounded like a warning not to waste his time as she had his colleague’s.

“Yes, but she couldn’t answer most of my questions because… um… my husband wasn’t here. Since we’re really interested in Dream Makers, I wanted to try again.” She smiled.
Showtime.
“Ben should be along any minute. But I’d hate to make you late for your next appointment so why don’t we go ahead and start.”

Mr. Juarez looked ready to argue. Amber held her breath.

“All right,” he said with a resigned sigh and handed her the same pamphlet she’d been given on Saturday. He rattled off a prepared sales spiel and then glanced at his watch.

“The flyer I received said you charge tens of thousands of dollars less. Ben and I think that’s incredible, but we’re wondering how you can do that and stay in business,” she said hurriedly so he didn’t have time to question the absence of her husband again.

The door opened before he could answer.

“Uh, Mrs. Moore, your husband just called. He said he couldn’t reach you on your cell,” the nervous receptionist said.

“I turned it off for the meeting. What does he want?” She widened her eyes for effect. “Oh dear, is something wrong?” Her gaze darted to the phone on the desk. “Is he…?”

“Mr. Moore couldn’t hold, but said to tell you that he was in a little car accident. He’s okay, but he’s not going to be able to get here for the meeting. He’s… uh… sorry.” She bowed out of the room and shut the door.

An awkward silence followed.

Amber wrung her hands and then splayed them over her face. She faked a sob and worked hard on faux tears. Her shoulders shook with imaginary crying.

“Um, Mrs. Moore, it’s… it’s okay. We’ll reschedule,” Mr. Juarez said. His voice betrayed the discomfort Amber was counting on.

“I… I can’t. Ben will be angry I didn’t get any more information than before. He’ll decide this surrogacy thing isn’t going to work.” She dropped her hands when she finally managed to produce a tear. After making a dramatic production of wiping it away, she rummaged for a tissue in her purse. “I… we… we’re never going to have a baby.” She covered her face again and lapsed into loud sobbing.

“Now, now, Mrs. Moore. I… I’m not going to let that happen. I’m willing to finish this meeting… if you are.”

She wiped her eyes, sniffled, and blew her nose. “Really? You’d do that for
me
?” She hoped she wasn’t overplaying her role.

“Yes, of course. Now, what are your questions?”

She found another tissue and dabbed at her eyes a few more times. “We—really it’s Ben—would like to see a list of your fees. We got one at the other two clinics.”

He hesitated and then opened a drawer. “Here you go,” he said, sliding a sheet of paper across to her.

Bingo!
She grabbed it and held it in her lap as if he might attempt to take it back. Studying the numbers briefly, she frowned.
Impossible. They can’t survive charging this little.
“These are incredible prices. How do you do it?” she blurted out.

Pleased at her reaction, he smiled broadly. “We have very special surrogate mothers.”

So special they must be willing to work for free.
The business part of her brain eliminated that impossibility. She stuffed the price list in her purse. “I… I would love to meet them. Are any of them here today?”

His smile faltered. “Uh, not today.”

“The other clinics have notebooks with bios on the surrogates. Do you have anything like that?” Blinking, she lowered her gaze.
Keep it together. I can do this.
She sniffled and made her lips quiver. “It was just so neat to see pictures of the wonderful women willing to help couples like us.”

He studied her for a few moments. “Of course, we have bios on all our fabulous surrogates.” Smile back in place, he produced a binder from another drawer.

Amber pulled it across the desk and opened it in a flash. She leafed through several pages, glancing at the pictures and skimming the personal information. After about a dozen pages, she stopped, flipped back to the beginning, and started over. Her first reaction had been correct: All the women were Hispanic.

If she hadn’t worked in the industry, she probably wouldn’t have noticed. Race or ethnicity didn’t really matter to potential parents unless the surrogate’s eggs were going to be used for the embryo. In those cases, most parents preferred the egg come from a woman of their own race or ethnicity. But at every clinic where she’d worked, Hispanic surrogates were rare. How was Dream Makers able to convince so many to work for it?

When she finished reviewing the approximately forty bios, she looked up to find Mr. Juarez watching her intently.

“Um, they… uh… look… like healthy young women,” she stammered.

He smiled like a wise grandfather. “But you’re worried they are all Latina.” He shook his head. “Nothing to be concerned about. If you are using your own eggs, there is no transfer of genes from the surrogate to the baby.”

“I know that. But—”

“Are they legal?” he said with definite defensiveness. He spun his chair around and pulled a large binder from the shelf behind him. Facing her, he fanned through dozens of pages of photocopied, official-looking documents of various kinds.

“This is the paperwork to prove that
all
our surrogate mothers are working in the United States legally.”

She leaned forward trying to identify them, but she couldn’t tell if the paperwork was legitimate or not. Why would she even wonder if he was lying? Because Dream Makers was taking away SDSA’s business, she decided.

He slapped the notebook shut with unnecessary force. “As I said, these women are very special. They are trying hard to make a better life for themselves, a life other than sweating day in and day out in the agricultural fields of California. These women deserve dignity and respect for the amazing gift they offer people who can’t have children. Dream Makers supports them in their quest by operating almost as a charity so they reap the benefits, not the owners.”

Guilt tickled her conscience. “I didn’t mean any disrespect. But what about medical—”

“Of course, to grow a healthy baby, the mother must be healthy. And yes, we realize that women from Latin America may not have had the best medical care growing up. We do an extensive physical exam and a whole array of tests to be sure they’re in perfect health.”

“Are those records—”

“You may review those records when you choose a few surrogates to interview.”

Damn, she wished he’d stop interrupting her. It was an intimidation tactic, but she wasn’t going to fall for it. However, his attitude was starting to piss her off.

“During the process, does the OB-GYN of our choice monitor her health?”

“We have a superior system. Our doctors…”

She frowned.
What if someone doesn’t want your doctors?

“… are specialists in this type of pregnancy. And you do want the best for your baby, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“In addition to the doctors’ very specialized skills, we also provide the surrogates with room and board before and during pregnancy to ensure their health.”

She blinked. How could they afford to do that on those fees? “What do you mean ‘room and board’?”

He looked surprised by her question. “What?”

“Don’t the women live in their own homes or with their families?”

“Dream Makers has a specially designed dormitory for our surrogates. Everything is provided free of charge.”

Holy shit
, she thought, but said, “That’s… awesome.”

“Yes, it is.” Mr. Juarez checked his watch. “I have another consultation in five minutes. Do you have any more questions?”

“I’d like to meet some of your surrogates.”

His expression turned stern. “Your husband must be present for any interviews.”

Crap.
Her charade had worked today with a little help from a phone call by Ben, but she doubted they would fall for it again. She’d also gotten away with her attempt to snoop around in this office since apparently there were no repercussions from being caught. But her undercover work had probably reached the end of the line.

“I understand. I’ll see when my husband will be available.”

As Mr. Juarez escorted her down the hallway, a doctor darted out of a procedure room and bumped into Amber so hard she fell against the wall.

“
Lo siento mucho
,” he said, helping her regain her balance. “I’m so sorry.” He extended his hand. “I’m Dr. Ortega. And you are…?”

She gaped at him, her breath catching in her throat. What in the world was going on?

His black, wavy hair hung almost to his shoulders, and long lashes most women would die for framed his dark eyes. He could’ve been Antonio Banderas, but he wasn’t.

He also wasn’t Dr. Ortega.