Midwife Cover - Cassie Miles (13 page)

After fluffing the pillows behind Dee’s back, Petra asked, “When was your last contraction?”

“A little while ago.”

“Was it when I was checking your baby’s heartbeat with the fetal monitor?”

“Right.”

She was pretty when she smiled. Her full cheeks were rosy, and her eyes were a compelling though somewhat vapid blue. If the choice of egg donor was based on attractiveness and health, Dee made a good candidate. Intelligence was another matter. She wasn’t even clever enough to lie successfully.

“If the contraction came when I was touching you,” Petra said, “I should have felt it. And I didn’t.”

“Well, it might have been a different time. Like when I was in the shower.”

“Did you hear what I said to Brady on the phone?”

“About my milkshake?”

“About your examination. You’re ten percent effaced and dilated to three centimeters.”

Dee shrugged. “What does that mean?”

“You’re not in labor.”

“Oh, yes, I am.”

“Labor doesn’t really get started until you’re around five centimeters. Hard labor comes when you’re eight to ten. And you need to be one-hundred-percent effaced to deliver. And, by the way, your water hasn’t broken.”

“You can tell that?”

“Here’s a bit of free advice,” Petra said. “If you’re going to lie, you need to know the facts. You haven’t even bothered to learn the basics of pregnancy and delivery.”

“I should be in labor.” Her hands drew into tight little fists. Petulant as a child, she pounded the covers. “My due date was four days ago.”

“Why should I believe you? Everything you’ve told me is phony.” Digging for information, she said, “And you expect me to believe you’re a surrogate? Ha!”

“That’s true,” Dee protested.

“Prove it. Tell me how you got pregnant.”

“My boyfriend signed me up, and we got paid two hundred dollars. I took these pills that made me produce extra eggs, and then I went to this doctor and he gave me a pelvic exam and harvested the eggs.” She paused for a proud smile. “He said I was one of the most fertile women he’d ever seen.”

She continued with a description of in vitro insemination that was accurate enough to convince Petra that Dee had gone through the process. According to her, she and her boyfriend had been paid two thousand dollars so far. After the baby was delivered, she’d be paid another three thousand. The payoff was pathetic, considering that the typical cost for a surrogate birth was twenty times that much.

Petra asked, “Why did you tell me all those other lies?”

“When I met you and Brady on the road, I just wanted to get Margaret off my back. She’s been pestering me to hurry up and have the baby. That’s why I faked having my water break.”

“How did you pull that off?”

“Nothing to it,” Dee said. “When you were all looking the other way, I emptied a water bottle between my legs. I was already planning to do it with Margaret. Having you and Brady show up was icing on the cupcake.”

“Didn’t you know that once the water broke, you’d be expected to start labor?”

“Don’t be mad at me.” She flopped back against the pillows. “You’re the only person who has been nice. And I liked what you said about having a baby. It makes me special. I want to do it right. The natural way.”

“Even if it hurts?”

“There aren’t many things I’m good at,” Dee said. “But I’m super-fertile and had an easy pregnancy. I might have a talent for this birth stuff.”

Petra didn’t want to be sympathetic to this lying little diva, but her need to be special was both sad and touching. “I’m sure you’ll be a star.”

“I can maybe even be a good mom,” Dee said. “I don’t have any family except for my boyfriend. I haven’t heard from him since I got here.”

“When was that?”

“Three weeks ago.” Her lower lip pushed out in a pout. “Francine took my cell phone away. She said it was better if I didn’t talk to anybody until after the baby was born.”

Cutting off communication was probably a tactic designed to give Francine control over her herd of pregnant women. They wouldn’t have anyone else giving them advice or suggesting that they didn’t want to give their babies up for adoption. Francine was the boss, and Petra needed to remember that. Even though she hated the idea of a baby factory, devoid of nurturing for mother or child, she had to stay on Francine’s good side. Her undercover job was to deliver the babies. Her investigation was to save them.

And she needed to act fast. Dee wasn’t in labor yet, but she would be soon. As would the other women. Petra couldn’t stand by and watch while these helpless infants were drawn into unknown circumstances.

The door to the birthing suite swung open, and a bald man with tinted glasses stepped inside. There was nothing unusual about him except for the pristine white lab coat he wore over his khaki trousers and cotton shirt. “I’m Dr. Smith.”

He smirked when he said his name.
Dr. Smith? Might as well call him Doc Anonymous.
Petra suspected it was an alias. “I’m surprised to see you, Doctor. I was told that you only showed up in the last stages of labor.”

“I came to meet you.”

Petra held out her hand. “Patty Gilliam.”

His handshake was quick, as though he was protecting his clean, soft hands. And his skin was cold, almost reptilian. “You’re a midwife. Correct?”

“A licensed, certified nurse-midwife.”

He gestured toward Dee. “Tell me about this one.”

“Why don’t we step outside for a moment?” She glanced toward Dee. “We’ll be right back.”

Standing on the asphalt outside the bunkhouse, she pasted a complacent expression on her face. She needed to make nice with Dr. Smith. He was an important part of the investigation—an integral part. He was the one who delivered the babies. Was he a real doctor? An OB-GYN? If so, what happened to his Hippocratic oath to “first do no harm”? Petra was certain that Smith knew about the baby smuggling. Otherwise he wouldn’t be using a fake name.

“Do you have a problem?” he asked.

“Me? Not at all.” She had to convince him that she wasn’t a threat. More than that, she wanted him to trust her enough to put her on retainer so she’d have full and unlimited access to Lost Lamb.

“Why did we come outside to talk?”

“I couldn’t speak freely in front of Dee. Here’s the thing. She isn’t really in labor. I examined her. She’s ten percent effaced and dilated three centimeters.”

“Coming here was a waste of my time.” His skin was pale. His bald head shone as white as a skull. “Damn these girls.”

If Petra had been acting like herself, she would have argued that every part of the birthing process—including the to-be-expected weirdness from the mother—deserved attention. But she wouldn’t argue with Smith. “You’re absolutely right. You shouldn’t have been called. I know how important a doctor’s time is. That’s one of the best reasons for using a midwife.”

“Like you?” He managed to imbue those two words with an icy sneer.

“Exactly like me.” She lifted a shoulder and tilted her head so she wouldn’t appear confrontational. Her body language should be telling him that she was cooperative. “I’d like to work here on a regular basis.”

“Tell me about yourself. I suppose you prefer natural childbirth methods.”

No way could she lie about this. “I do.”

“It’s not my preferred method, but there are advantages. With vaginal delivery, the recovery process is more efficient.” His tinted lenses darkened in the direct sunlight making it difficult to read his expression. “Did Dee mention that she’s a surrogate?”

“As a matter of fact, she did.” Petra knew she should tread lightly on this topic. “And I think it’s wonderful. A healthy young woman like Dee is an excellent choice for surrogacy. Her blood pressure is normal. The baby’s heartbeat is strong. Barring any unforeseen complication, she ought to have a healthy baby.”

“And you can deliver the baby without my assistance?”

“Yes, sir.”

“A question,” he said. “Why did Dee pretend to be in labor?”

“Between you and me,” she said with a conspiratorial grin, “she was feeling sorry for herself and wanted to be pampered.”

“How do you handle that attitude?”

“By paying a bit of attention to her. I called my husband and asked him to pick up Dee’s favorite food—a strawberry milkshake. After she has the milkshake, I’ll get her out of bed. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to check on her a couple of times a day. That way you won’t have to waste your valuable time.”

He took a step closer to her. His voice lowered to a whisper so cold that she shivered. “You understand, Patty, that our work here is confidential.”

“Absolutely. I might not be a doctor, but I respect patient privilege. I won’t talk to anyone.”
Except the FBI and maybe local law enforcement.
“May I be honest, Dr. Smith?”

He gave a nod.

“Being so close to the Lost Lamb is like hitting the jackpot for a midwife. From the looks of things, you’ve got enough pregnant ladies to provide me with steady work. We sure could use the money.”

“I don’t handle the finances.”

Of course not.
He wouldn’t want to get his delicate hands dirty. “But I’ll bet Francine listens to your opinion.”

“Yes.”

“If you put me on retainer, I could save you a lot of time,” she said. “I’m good at my job, and I’m willing to do just about anything to fit in.”

“When Dee goes into labor, you’ll be called to deliver the baby. If that goes well, we’ll consider using your services on a regular basis.”

It wasn’t as wide an opening as she’d hoped for, but she’d take it. “Thanks so much.”

“Carry on,” he said.

As he started back toward the house, she spotted Brady coming down the road-size path toward them. Robert was escorting him, and she had the feeling that her milkshake plan had gone sour. All she’d wanted was to see Brady for a couple of minutes to give him an update. Why was Robert tagging along?

She skipped up beside Smith. “That’s my husband now.”

After she introduced the two men, she took the strawberry milkshake from Brady. “Thanks for getting this. I’ll give it to Dee. When you come back this afternoon, I need to take the truck. Okay?”

“Fine with me.” He turned on his heel and headed back the way he came. “I’ll be going now. Nice to meet you, Doc.”

Her exchange with Brady was casual and, apparently, believable. Dr. Smith barely glanced at her supposed husband. And Robert gave him a wave goodbye as though the two of them were on the road to becoming BFFs.

Big Robert came toward her. In his cowboy hat, he looked even more gigantic than last night. His head eclipsed the sun. His voice rumbled. “I’ll give the milkshake to Dee.”

“The birthing room is private.” Petra held on to the tall foam container. “She might not want to see you.”

“Are you saying no?”

It probably wasn’t a word he heard often. “I’m setting boundaries. When a woman is in labor, she doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Is Dee in labor?”

“No.”

“I’ll take the milkshake.”

She wasn’t sure if he intended to be intimidating or if his massive size automatically caused that effect. Either way, she didn’t want to argue. She handed him the container. “It looked like you and Brady arrived at the same time.”

“Ran into him at Royal Burger,” Robert said. “When he told me what he was doing, I got a ride back with him.”

“I’m so glad you’re getting to know each other. Brady needs to find work other than art.”

Robert grunted a noncommittal response. Milkshake in hand, he stalked toward the door to the birthing room. Before he entered, he brushed the dust off his jeans and straightened his collar as though he was a boyfriend picking up his date. It was clear why he wanted to see Dee. He had a crush on her.

Petra had witnessed this phenomenon before. Some men were attracted to pregnant women. The bigger the belly, the harder they fell. She didn’t understand but didn’t judge.

When Robert opened the door and stepped inside, she heard Dee squeal. “Robbie! I’m so happy to see you.”

Apparently, the attraction went both ways.

Chapter Twelve

Brady arrived ten minutes early for his sitting with Francine, hoping he could catch a moment alone with Petra. They hadn’t talked since early this morning, and he wanted to make sure she was all right. The glimpse he’d had when he delivered the milkshake was reassuring, but Dr. Smith worried him.

With his cold manner and white lab coat, Smith didn’t fit the stereotype for a crime boss who ran a human trafficking ring. His position in the hierarchy was difficult to deduce. He didn’t act like a leader, but he was too cold and arrogant to take orders. Most likely, he worked alone.

In determining a profile, Brady didn’t generally use words like creepy or evil, but that was an apt description. As soon as he shook Smith’s hand, he knew the guy needed watching.

When Smith entered Lost Lamb, probably to talk to Francine, Brady had taken advantage of the few moments when no one was watching him. His truck was parked beside Smith’s SUV. Standing between the two vehicles, Brady had attached a GPS tracker to the driver’s-side wheel well of Smith’s SUV.

He’d expected to use the tracking device on Robert’s vehicle, but he’d revised his opinion of the handyman after their chat at Royal Burger.

The big man was fiercely loyal and proud to be doing his job, which he saw as protecting the women at Lost Lamb. With the right incentive, Robert might become an ally.

Parking the truck outside Lost Lamb, Brady looked for Petra. Instead, he saw Margaret leave the veranda and stroll toward him. She was all smiles, and when she got closer he could tell that she’d put on eye makeup. “Nice to see you, Brady.”

“Same here.” He climbed out from behind the steering wheel. “Is my wife around? I need to give her the keys to the truck.”

“I think she’s still with Dee.” Margaret held out her hand. “I’ll make sure she gets the keys.”

He spotted Petra jogging on the wide path that led to the bunkhouse. She was the picture of health. Her stride synchronized perfectly with her arm movement in spite of the large backpack she wore. Her auburn hair fell loosely around her shoulders as she bounced up beside him and planted one of those friendly cheek kisses that were making him hungry for more physical contact.