Cradle and All (25 page)

“It’s a day-five embryo at the blastocyst stage,” Cecily said helpfully.

It looked just like a big circle with bumps to Anne. She drew back from the microscope. “What happens next?”

“The embryos are transferred into the woman’s uterus, where they will hopefully implant and develop into a live birth. We have an excellent implantation rate. Theresa Ballard giving birth to triplets is not unusual.”

“And what of the leftover sperm?” Anne asked.

“There is no leftover sperm, Judge Vandree,” Dr. Bennett said. “Whatever sperm is not required to fertilize an egg on the day it’s retrieved is immediately disposed of. We only deal in fresh sperm, never frozen.”

No frozen sperm? Then how did Lindy get a hold of Tom’s? Anne was confused. She had been so sure she had the answer. What was she missing?

“Dr. Bennett, are you sure—”

“We do not store sperm here, Judge Vandree. Only embryos.”

Embryos?

Anne’s pulse quickened as a new thought presented itself. “How many viable embryos were produced for Theresa Ballard?”

“I’ll have to check,” Dr. Bennett said as she walked over to the computer terminal sitting on the stainless steel counter. It took her a moment to bring up Theresa Ballard’s file.

“A total of four embryos were produced in the fertility process. The embryo transfer procedure was used on three.”

“What happened to the other embryo?” Anne asked.

“It was cryopreserved at the request of the Ballards and placed in a storage receptacle. It may be used if they decide they want to get pregnant again.”

“Where is the storage receptacle?”

“It’s in the next room in one of several special tanks. The embryos are stored in a special straw and then immersed in liquid nitrogen at minus one hundred ninety-six degrees Celsius.”

“Dr. Bennett, I need to verify that that fertilized embryo is where it’s supposed to be.”

“Is all this really necessary?” the doctor asked.

“Yes,” Anne answered.

The doctor studied Anne’s determined look for a moment before she referred back to the record on her screen and jotted down a notation. Then she cleared the screen, got up and entered the next room, which contained rows and rows of tanks with a biohazard sticker on the top and a large 34HC imprinted on the base.

The doctor referred to the notation she had copied from Theresa Ballard’s computer record. After donning special gloves, she walked over to a tank, and opened the top. Visible vapors rose from it, curling into the air.

Dr. Bennett studied the identification strips of the special straws inside, looking for the code that would match the one on the computer for Theresa’s embryo. Several minutes went by.

“It’s gone,” she said as she turned toward Anne, unwelcome surprise flickering in her eyes.

Anne felt a sharp splinter of ice pierce her heart.

Dr. Bennett stared at her. “You knew. How?”

“You had a forced entry into the lab approximately a year ago, didn’t you?” Anne guessed.

“Well, yes. But it was just vandalism. A broken window in the back. Nothing was taken.”

“You checked on all your embryos at the time to make sure?”

“Well, no,” Dr. Bennett admitted. “We have hundreds of embryos stored here.”

Anne had feared as much, but until the doctor’s confirmation, she had still hoped. Now there was no hope.

“But if you’re implying that someone broke in to purposely steal this one, it can’t be true,” Dr. Bennett told Anne. “Our computer records can only be accessed with the right password. It wold take a computer expert to find Theresa Ballard’s file and discover where her embryo was.”

“She was a computer expert,” Anne said.

“Who are you talking about?”

“It doesn’t matter. Dr. Bennett, I need you to perform a genetic test on the baby Father Christen is holding in your office to verify that he’s a match to Tom Christen and Theresa Ballard. And I need it now.”

“You think that child is a live birth from the missing embryo?”

“No, Doctor,” Anne said sadly. “I know it.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Y
OU
KNEW
THE
truth the whole time,” Anne said in a tone full of disillusionment.

Tom could feel her eyes on him as he drove them home from seeing Dr. Bennett. The moment he’d learned Anne had found out about his having donated sperm to Jeff and Theresa, Tom knew that this conversation was inevitable. And he had dreaded it.

“Yet you let me think Tommy was really yours,” Anne said, anger licking beneath her words.

“I am his biological father, Anne.”

“But not his legal father. Jeff Ballard is his legal father. And Theresa Ballard is his legal mother.”

Anne looked away from Tom to stare out the windshield, blinking back the tears that stung her eyes, trying to do private battle with her distress. Trying, but not succeeding.

The scenes from their picture-perfect Sunday together kept playing in her mind. Tom making her breakfast and serving it to her in bed. Their family picnic in the park with little Tommy. Their long, lazy afternoon of lovemaking. The pride and happiness she had felt holding
her
baby to her breast as he drifted off to sleep.

The sweet memories stabbed at her soul.

“How ridiculous I must have looked going through all that effort to try to generate milk for Tommy,” Anne said. “And how pathetic you must have thought me as I went on the other night about being able to breast-feed him soon.”

“Everything you’ve done has been out of love,” Tom said gently. “There is nothing ridiculous or pathetic about love.”

“On the contrary,” Anne said, her voice now harsh with desolation. “It’s all ridiculous and pathetic.”

Tom’s sigh was deep and private. All along he’d known that Anne’s growing attachment to Tommy was going to lead to problems. Because they were going to have to give him up.

Still, he had not been able to warn her. In any way.

And even if he had been able to warn her, how could he have told her not to let the little boy steal her heart when he hadn’t been able to keep the baby from stealing his?

Anne’s own pain made her blind to his. She had no idea what it meant for him to give up Tommy.

Tom had never had a problem accepting the triplets born to Jeff and Theresa as the children of his friends. He was their godfather, nothing more.

But Tommy was different. Had been since the first time Tom held him and tried to ease the little boy’s sorrow. He had felt the bond between them, just as real as though the infant had always been a part of his heart.

Tommy was his—and yet not his.

“You knew when you told me Tommy was your baby that I would misunderstand,” Anne said after a moment. “Why did you do it?”

“I never wanted to tell you Tommy was mine. But if I hadn’t that day you came by the church, you would have put him in the hands of Child Care Services.”

“So what you’re saying is that it’s all my fault for getting involved.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. The truth is, if you hadn’t become involved, hadn’t discovered how Tommy was conceived, Jeff and Theresa Ballard might never learn they have another son.”

“Because you wouldn’t have been able to tell them,” Anne said, and her words suddenly took on the force of an accusation. “Is that why you kept me around? So I’d follow the clues and come out with the information outside of the confessional?”

Stunned, Tom turned to look at her. “You can’t believe that, Anne.”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” she said, and the very real doubt on her face and in her voice drove a stake into his heart.

Tom took a deep, steadying breath. “I know this has been a shock. Please, give yourself time. We can handle it together.”

“I don’t want to handle anything. I just want to go home.”

“We’ll be there in a minute.”

“I don’t mean your home.”

“It’s not my home. It’s ours.”

“I know what’s mine and what isn’t,” Anne said, speaking quickly, forcibly through the pain. “I’ll call Pat and tell her about Shrubber and Butz and Faust. She can get the report directly from Dr. Bennett on Tommy’s paternity. Then I’m leaving for the Berkshires. You needn’t worry about driving me. Fred will come and get me.”

“Anne, don’t,” Tom said. “We have to work through this.”

“There’s nothing to work through. We only got together because of the baby. We only got married to make sure you remained a priest. None of that is necessary now. I’ll tell the bishop the truth.”

Tom pulled the car into a parking spot just down from the house, shut off the engine and turned to Anne.

“The truth is that Tommy has had nothing to do with my wanting to be with you, Anne. And I didn’t marry you to remain a priest. I married you because I love you.”

Anne’s sigh was so sad it was almost a sob. “I don’t believe in love. And I don’t want to be the wife of a priest. You keep the most dreadful secrets. And this secret you kept from me, Tom...this secret is breaking my heart.”

She did sob then, and Tom’s heart wrenched with pain for her. But when he reached to hold her, she pulled away and got out of the car.

He watched her as she stood on the sidewalk, rubbing the tears from her cheeks as fast as they fell, struggling to regain control. She was so strong that he had forgotten how tender her heart was. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized how deeply she loved Tommy or how much losing him would hurt her.

Tom knew he had been the one to bring her this pain. Somehow he was going to have to find the words to ease that pain and make this right between them. But at the moment he had no idea what those words were.

He slowly got out of the car and slipped Tommy out of his car seat. As he carried him toward the front door to the house, he realized it was probably for the last time. He treasured the feel of the little boy in his arms, gathering the memory into his heart.

And prayed he wouldn’t be losing Anne, as well.

All the way he heard Anne’s footsteps following behind him. Way behind him. She was keeping her distance both emotionally and physically. And with every passing second, he could feel the gulf widening between them.

I don’t want to be the wife of a priest.

The remembered words rubbed raw against his soul. He could and would give up anything for her—except who he was.

Tom put the key into the lock and opened the door to their home. They had to work through this. He could not lose her now.

He would not lose her now.

But as Tom turned toward Anne, his heart gave a sharp jolt.

Claude Butz stood at the bottom step of the brownstone. The big man had hold of Anne’s shoulder and held a gun to her head. Tom’s pulse pounded as every muscle in his body ached for action.

“Step inside nice and slow, preacher,” Butz said.

Tom knew he didn’t have any choice. He had to bide his time, wait for an opening despite the desperate need churning in his gut to get that gun away from Anne’s head. Slowly he backed into the house, shifting Tommy to the crook of his arm, keeping his eyes on Butz, looking for the slightest opening.

But Butz was cautious. He advanced slowly into the house himself, his hand gripping Anne’s shoulder as he pushed her before him, keeping the gun to her head. Once inside, he kicked the door closed behind him.

“Do what I tell you and nobody’s going to get hurt,” Butz said. “Very slowly I want you to walk toward the judge here and hand her the kid. Then she and I will be leaving.”

Anne’s face was deathly white. Tom knew that he would die before he let this man take her anywhere. Or Tommy.

“No,” Tom said.

Tommy started to whimper. Tom wrapped his other arm around him protectively.

“I’m only interested in the brat,” Butz said. “I’ll let her go as soon as I’m safely away. She’s just my insurance you don’t go calling the cops.”

“No,” Tom repeated over Tommy’s escalating cry.

“All right then, how about I shoot you in both legs?”

“You won’t shoot,” Tom said. “You won’t risk injuring the child. He’s worth too much to you and Shrubber.”

Butz cocked the revolver. He turned its barrel until it was aimed at Tom’s legs.

“At this range, I don’t even need to be that good of a shot,” Butz said with a nasty lift of his lips. “And I’m betting the judge here can move fast enough to catch the kid before you fall on your face. Let’s see, shall I am for the kneecaps or the thighs?”

“Tom, please do what he says,” Anne said, her voice calm, despite the flash of fear in her eyes.

“Better listen to her, preacher,” Butz said. “This gun’s got a hair trigger on it and I don’t feel real patient today.”

Tom was satisfied now that the gun was pointed away from Anne. “All right,” he conceded as he bounced the crying baby in his arms.

Butz smirked, his fleshy face full of triumph. It was the way Tom wanted the man. Overconfident.

Still, Tom had no doubt that Butz was ready to shoot, and would at the slightest provocation. Which meant that he was going to have to keep Anne and the baby safely out of the range of fire.

Tom started forward.

“Slowly, preacher,” Butz warned. “Don’t make me nervous.”

Step by step Tom advanced toward Anne, forcing himself not to look at her pale face but at the man who clutched her delicate shoulder so cruelly with his thick, sausage fingers. When Tom finally stood before her, he carefully unfurled Tommy from the crook of his arm into her waiting embrace.

“Now step back,” Butz commanded.

The instant Tom felt Anne take the baby’s weight, he leaped forward, kicking the revolver from Butz’s hand.

The gun discharged with a deafening noise as it flew into the air. Tom heard the expended bullet rip into the wall behind him. He grasped Butz with both hands and flipped the heavy man onto the floor. Butz landed with a crack of spine and a howl of pain.

Tom pressed his thumbs against the carotid arteries in Butz’s fat neck, squeezing them closed with enough pressure to render Butz unconscious. The heavy man went out without a peep.

Tom turned to Anne. “Are you all right?”

Her face was white with residual shock, but her lovely gray eyes were steady and calm. She held the now quiet Tommy tightly to her. “We’re fine. I’m going to call the police.”

“Better have them send an ambulance, too,” Tom said.

As she hurried off to the phone, Tom rolled Butz onto his stomach, whipped his belt off and secured his arms tightly behind his back. Then he picked up Butz’s gun, put it into his pocket and drew a thick braid from the living room drapes to hog-tie the man’s legs to his arms.

Tom worked quickly, not knowing how much time he had. Anne returned when he had secured the last knot.

“The police and ambulance are on their way,” she said. “Although I debated whether to even ask them to send an ambulance for this clown.”

When he heard the anger in her voice, Tom felt happy. It told him she had come through the scare fine. His fear for her had been so intense that he still felt its residue raining inside him. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and hold her close and never let her go. But Butz was moving beneath him on the floor, regaining consciousness.

Tom rested a knee against one of Butz’s kidneys, just as a precaution in case the big man decided to try to move. Butz strained against his restraints.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Tom assured him. The big man gave up.

“Was this stupidity your idea or Shrubber’s?” Anne asked with undisguised contempt.

“I’m not saying anything until I talk to my lawyer,” Butz said as Tom kept the man’s cheek firmly pressed against the hardwood floor.

“He’ll be in jail with you,” Tom told him.

“You’re the ones who’ll be in jail. That kid isn’t yours.”

“Bluffing is useless, Butz,” Anne said. “We know all about your part in procuring underage runaways as baby breeders for Shrubber’s wealthy clients. And when those girls in South Boston are picked up in a few minutes, you’re getting the book thrown at you.”

Butz’s one visible eye went wide with surprise at Anne’s words. Clearly the man was taken aback by their knowledge.

“Of course you don’t have to say anything,” Tom said. “But I bet Shrubber does.”

“You’re right, Tom,” Anne said. “He’ll probably claim he knew nothing about the girls being underage. After all, you were the one who found them, Butz. And went with them to the hospital. And took their babies from them. And got them pregnant in the first place.”

“I never impregnated them,” Butz quickly swore in his high, squeaky voice. “That was Shrubber and Faust. They took turns with the girls until they got them pregnant.”

Tom had to hold in his revulsion. “Except for Lindy,” he said.

“She was trouble from the first,” Butz agreed. “Wouldn’t let Faust or Shrubber touch her. Insisted Faust inseminate her with an embryo in this straw thing she brought to his office. Said they’d be glad because it was going to be a cute baby. That damn kid’s been nothing but trouble.”

“Why didn’t Shrubber just give the Kendralls another baby?” Anne asked.

“They only wanted Lindy’s kid. They’d already paid Shrubber half a mil for it.”

“Half a million dollars?” Anne repeated.

“That’s what Shrubber gets for the kids. I should’ve known Lindy wasn’t going to give up hers, insisting on picking out the father and all. But she played it so cool. And I figured I’d be there to watch her.”

“But she still got away,” Tom said.

“It took me three months to find her.”

“And when you did, you ran her off the road and killed her,” Tom said.

“No, I didn’t run her off the road.”

“You were seen, Butz,” Anne said.

“Okay, maybe I chased her a bit. But when she rounded that curve, she had to be going sixty. She just lost control and went sailing into that ravine. It was an accident. I swear.”

The doorbell rang at the same time a pounding sounded on the door.

“That’ll be the police,” Tom said as he got off Butz.

Tom expected Anne to hurry to the door. But she didn’t. She stood stock-still, staring at how clumsily he got to his feet. Then her eyes went wide.

“Tom, you’ve been shot!”

Tom took Butz’s gun out of his pocket and calmly handed it to her.