Complications

Complications

Mann of My Dreams Book 5

The Continuing Adventures of Mark Vincent and Quinton Mann

By Tinnean

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Copyright 2018 Tinnean

Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

All rights reserved.

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

* * * *

Dedication

This is for Bob, because…Bob. It will always be for him.

* * * *

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to Tisha for lending an ear, to Brian Holliday, my esteemed editor, and to JMS for the cover and the formatting. And as always, to Gail Morse for all her invaluable help.

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Author’s Notes

Gliding Dance of the Maidens from Borodin’s Polovetsian Dances might be better known as Stranger in Paradise from Kismet https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P0c3od7KynE

The String Quartet No. 2 is And This is My Beloved. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FLWBLKDd3vk

* * * *

Complications

By Tinnean

Chapter 1: August 31, 2002

I

JEANETTE VAN ORDEN—known as Babe to those few of her friends who were still alive—took the opportunity to visit the restroom while her boy drew on the back of a McDonald’s place mat and finished the last of his fries. For some reason, her stomach was roiling today.

After she was finished, she pulled up her jeans and braced herself against the stall door for a minute; God, she was tired.

She didn’t have time for this, though. She stepped out of the stall, washed her hands, and hurried out. She didn’t like leaving John alone for too long.

Mrs. Little? One of the mothers who was attending this party with their kids stopped her.

Yes? That was the name she was going by this year.

I’m Mrs. McCoy, Chad’s mom. I wanted to thank you for bringing your son to Chad’s party.

Thank you for inviting him.

Oh, I told Chad if he invited one of his classmates, he had to invite all of them. I’m a strong believer that no child should miss out on a birthday party at McDonald’s.

Babe smiled, hoping it didn’t appear as half-hearted as she feared it might be. School started early in this district, and she’d enrolled John, hoping for some normalcy in his life. She’d spent long nights worrying over this decision. On the one hand, it could put her boy in jeopardy. On the other, he was a little boy who deserved to live a halfway normal life with friends.

The woman continued chattering about the party and what it had taken to put it together, and Babe felt her eyes begin to glaze over. She glanced to where John was seated and froze. Who was that man, talking to her boy? Although she wanted to dash across the restaurant, she’d had too much experience with situations like this.

…and we’ll be doing the face painting soon. Fortunately the woman had given her the perfect excuse to get to the boy.

I’ll just go get John, then.

Excellent. Mrs. McCoy turned to call to another mother, and Babe crossed to the table where her boy had been doodling. The place mat was gone.

Sweetie, I hope you haven’t been bothering this man.

You’ve got a talented kid, lady. He was a tall man with prominent ears and cool hazel eyes.

I gave him one of my pictures, Ma.

She thought the Big Mac she’d had earlier was going to erupt out of her stomach, and she swallowed. May I have it back, please?

I’ll keep it, if you don’t mind.

They’re just doodles. She gazed up into those eyes that didn’t seem to miss a thing and hoped her tone didn’t come across as desperate as she felt. She had to get John out of there.

The man gave John a bill. Would you get me an apple pie? Get something for yourself and your mom too.

I love apple pie! That’s my favorite!

Yeah? Mine too.

Ma likes the McDonaldland cookies, though.

That’s fine. You can get them for her. And you can keep the change.

Ma?

She worried her lower lip, then nodded. All right, sweetie. She watched as her boy went to stand on line.

The kid is smart; maybe smarter than you realize. This sketch? He touched a pocket in his suit jacket. There are people who would do some really bad things to you in order to get their hands on him.

Oh God, she knew; she’d known for years. I’m quite aware of…of my son’s intelligence. And why am I even talking to you about this?

Don’t worry about it.

Was he being ridiculous? This was just one more thing she’d worry about, on top of everything else.

Listen. I’ve given him my business card. If whoever you’re running from starts breathing down your neck, call the number on it.

Thank God John returned just then with apple pies and McDonaldland cookies, and she didn’t have to respond to that. Sweetie, they’re going to do face painting now.

Okay, Ma. Thanks again, Mr. Wells. Bye.

Wells. So that was his name.

Bye, kid. Miss. He put his apple pie in a pocket, gathered up his trash, and stared down at her for a long moment before he turned on his heel.

Babe stood shaking as she watched him cross to the trash container. He easily dodged the seven- and eight-year-olds running wild on the sugar high from ice cream, soda, and birthday cake.

She’d seen the way he observed the long-sleeved shirt she wore. It was too hot to wear a shirt like this in August, but she didn’t want the tattoo on her wrist to be visible. Whoever saw the long sleeves usually thought they were because she was in an abusive relationship. It didn’t matter to Babe what people who meant nothing to her thought. This man, though…he’d asked if she was in the witness protection program. What average person came up with a question like that, just because she was wearing a long-sleeved shirt? And while that wasn’t the absolute truth, it was closer to it than having hooked up with some abusive son of a bitch.

Her fingers clenched into fists. And in the inner pocket of his suit jacket he carried the folded-up place mat her son had doodled on. The same as—

Her mouth became so dry she couldn’t work up a thimbleful of spit. This hadn’t been a good idea. But she’d wanted her boy to have some kind of a childhood, one that didn’t revolve around always being on the run and constantly changing names.

John, she said so softly only the boy could hear her. She slid the box of McDonaldland cookies into her shoulder bag and caught up her boy’s backpack. Let’s go.

Most kids would have objected, whined that they wanted to stay for the face painting or the goody bags, but John wasn’t like most kids.

John had put his apple pie in a pocket. He took his backpack from her and was quiet until they left the McDonald’s. I’m sorry, Ma. I don’t know what it was about him…

It’s all right. She could hear the tears in his voice, but she knew if she glanced at him his eyes behind the fake glasses he wore would be dry.

No, it isn’t.

We’ll talk about it when we get home.

In spite of how shaken she was, she stayed alert. Things weren’t going to end well for her; she’d accepted that fact from the day she’d taken the baby from his Isolette in the institute where she’d worked. But she was going to make sure this remarkable little boy survived.

She’d had help; how could she have managed otherwise? The girl who became Delilah Carson had been in the foster home Jeanette had been shunted to, and they’d grown to be the sisters they didn’t have in real life. You’re a babe in the woods, aren’t you? Del had observed shortly after they’d met, and the nickname stuck.

Of course Del, being the older, was booted out of the system about a year after, but they’d stayed in touch, and when Babe found herself in this situation, who else was there to turn to?

Del came through for her. She’d contacted some rent boys who worked out of a stable in Pennsylvania, made sure funds were delivered to Babe every month. The boys…young men, really…would pass her on the street and slip an envelope into her hand or her pocket or into the carriage she’d pushed in the early days, when John—his name had been Davy then—was still a baby.

It continued, even after Del had been murdered this past winter. Babe’s lower lip quivered. She knew what Del did for a living—a whore by any other name was still a whore—but Del had assured her it wasn’t that bad. Most of her clients were just sad and lonely people. I’m like a therapist, Babe. And she’d winked and hugged her.

Del hadn’t deserved to die that way, cut to ribbons by a boyfriend so high on China White cut with a fentanyl analog that after he’d killed her, he’d thrown himself off the roof of Del’s condo and splattered his brains all over the concrete below.

Had it been the result of helping her and the boy? God, she hoped not. She didn’t think she’d be able to live with herself if that was how it was.

* * * *

She and John climbed the stairs to the second floor of the run-down boarding house she’d found in Anacostia, and they walked quietly down the corridor.

She stared at the door of 2C and began shaking again. The jamb was splintered.

What’s going on here, Ms. Little? The landlord seemed to have popped up out of nowhere.

Oh, hello, Mr. Murchison. It’s…uh…it’s a nice day, isn’t it?

Not for you. You didn’t answer me.

I don’t know what you’re talking about. John and I were at a party for one of the little boys in his class, and we’ve just come home.

I’ll tell you what I’m talking about, missy. The three big men who broke that lock to get into your apartment. And who did this. He curled back his lips, revealing the fact that two teeth were missing. She shied back, barely managing to keep from pissing her pants.

Oh God. Oh, crap. Oh, was all she allowed herself to say. They’d found her? How had they found her? She didn’t bother asking what they’d wanted. She knew: the little boy who stood so silently beside her. What…what did you tell them?

It could be I told them no one fitting your description or the boy’s live here.

She knew better than to trust the way he phrased that, but she had to ask. Did you?

Why would I, when by doing that, it could have put not only my life but the lives of my tenants in jeopardy?

Which of course is of the utmost concern to you.

You bet your sweet ass, cutes. He grinned around the dried blood between his teeth. This hadn’t happened too long ago. Could the men have spotted her and John as they entered the boarding house? But she hadn’t seen anything—car or people—that looked out of place.

What did you tell them? Her voice was tight. All she wanted to do was punch this bastard in the face, maybe make him lose a few more of his teeth.

That you were out of town but would be back by Tuesday when the brat had to go back to school. I’ve bought you a couple of days. You can see what I was willing to do for you. So, little lady. What will you do for me in return?

Jesus, she’d never had to, never thought she’d have to…She forced a smile. I haven’t seen your apartment, Mr. Murchison—

Harv. Call me Harv, why doncha?

Harv. She upped the wattage on her smile as she’d seen Del do and fluttered her lashes. Why don’t you show it to me?

What about the kid? I don’t want no kid watching us going at it hot and heavy.

Of course not, stud. She stroked the landlord’s cheek with the backs of her fingers. He can wait for me in our apartment.

Right. Heh, heh, heh.

She slid her bag off her shoulder. Here, John. It didn’t matter that the landlord was aware of her son’s name. They’d change it as soon as they got out of here.

He tightened his grip on the straps of his backpack and took her shoulder bag. In its false bottom were the records she’d been keeping for almost seven years. Those pages were an account not only of what had happened from the time she’d answered that ad in the nursing journal until she and Denny first went on the run, but also touched on the towns they’d moved to, the schools he’d attended, and the jobs she’d worked. They covered the milestones in her little boy’s life, from the first book he’d read to how he’d skipped over printing and gone straight to cursive writing.

She’d taught herself Braille in order to keep those records. Dr. Gautier hadn’t had a blind person in her employ during the time Babe worked there, but even if the woman managed to get hold of the papers and have them translated, Babe had made sure it would be difficult to decipher.

And John knew all that, which was why he held so tight to the bag.

You wait for me in the apartment, okay, sweetie? She signaled to him behind her back, hoping she’d remembered the correct hand signs.

Okay, Ma.

She looped her arm through the landlord’s arm and leaned into him. He smelled of cabbage and sour sweat, and his breath had a sweetish coppery odor that turned her stomach. Then he cocked his leg and farted, but he made no effort to disguise the sound or to hurry her away from the smell. It was all she could do to keep from puking on the ragged carpet that covered the hallway.

You were so brave to face those men. Let me take care of your mouth for you.

She didn’t look over her shoulder at the boy. She knew he’d wait until they were out of sight, but then he’d be gone, hiding down in the basement. It was damp and musty down there, but she’d give almost anything to be there with him.

* * * *

II

JOHN TOOK THE shoulder bag, tension in every line of his body, and adjusted the straps of his backpack. As soon as the woman everyone thought was his mother made the sign for danger, he’d prepared to start backing away. Not that she’d needed to give him that signal. The minute their rotten landlord had approached them, John was ready to get out of there. Mr. Murchison had always given him the creeps, and he didn’t like the way the landlord was looking at his ma, but he’d learned to obey her without question.

They’d had to come up with some kind of code, some way to let John know if they were in trouble, both verbal and nonverbal. They’d gone to the public library and taken out a book on sign language. She’d also made a game of finding languages no one on the east coast was likely to be familiar with, like Maori. What had been helpful was the fact he’d learned some Japanese from Mrs. Fujioka, one of their landladies. Yūjin was Japanese for friend, while yūjinde wanai translated to not a friend. Ma’s accent was atrocious, but if she used the latter, he’d be aware she was uncertain about the intentions of whoever approached them.

She’d done neither with Mr. Wells, the man at McDonald’s. John didn’t understand it, and he didn’t think she did either. There was just something about the man…

John waited until Ma and the landlord were out of sight before he hurried down the staircase, with its ratty carpeting covering its treads. He opened the door that led to the basement and bolted down the stairs, taking care to be as silent as he could.

The basement was a big, dark space, and in the rear was the room Mr. Murchison called the laundry facility. It wasn’t much of a facility, since it was only an old washer and dryer. He’d poked around there one day when Ma was washing the few clothes they had, and he’d found a loose board. Behind it was an opening just big enough for a small boy.

Remember this, John, she’d instructed him after she’d checked it out and determined that, although it was dusty and filled with cobwebs, it was safe.

Yes, Ma.

John—that was the name he was using this school year, and sometimes he wondered what it would be like to have the same name all the time and not have to worry about remembering which one he was using today—tugged aside the board, tossed in his backpack, then pushed in Ma’s bag before he ducked into the space and replaced the board.

In his pocket was the apple pie the man at McDonald’s had given him money for. He took it out and peeled back the wrapper. The pie was kind of crumbled up now, the filling leaking out. He licked it off his fingers and thought about the man.

What would really be great was if he had a dad like that man, one who’d make whoever was chasing them finally leave them alone.

He sighed. It would never happen. Every time someone grew close to them, he died. He thought sadly of Mr. Jackson, the man in Savannah who’d planned to build an addition to his house for him and Ma. He’d been shot outside Home Depot, right in front of him and Ma.

Even Uncle Gunther and Aunt Del were gone now.

John finished the pie, wiped his hands on his jeans, and removed the glasses he didn’t need. Then he propped his backpack against the brick foundation, sat cross-legged with his back against it, and held Ma’s shoulder bag tight in his arms. It held all their important papers and the money Aunt Del had left them, while he carried his teddy bear in his backpack. That was something Ma had insisted on. He loved that bear, but he didn’t understand why she never left the house without it. Either he carried it or she did.

He tipped his head back against the wall. For as long as he could remember, he’d known how to do this thing where he sort of disconnected his brain. It helped when memories of the bad place cropped up and he couldn’t sleep. Even though he’d still been a baby when Ma took him away from that place, he remembered. He’d take refuge in a reality where they weren’t being chased and where images of intriguing things—doodles, Ma called them—he could draw floated through his mind. It was how he’d come up with the design Mr. Wells had found so interesting.

It was how he’d come up with the design Uncle Gunther had taken with him. The one that caused him to wind up dead.

John shivered and settled in to wait.

* * * *

III

THANK GOD FOR men falling asleep after sex. Murchison was out cold. Babe wasn’t sure if he was actually willing to help or if he’d thought to grab a piece of ass before contacting those men to turn her and John over to them.

If he did intend to get in touch with them, he was going to have a little trouble. She’d unscrewed his telephone’s wall plate, swapped the wires, and replaced the plate.

If he didn’t…well, this was just a little payback.

She knew two things: they had to get out of here and she wanted a shower. And, oh God, a very powerful mouthwash.

The only good thing that had come out of this was that she’d been able to buy them some time. She slipped into their apartment and bit back a moan. The men who’d been there had pretty much torn the place apart. The cushions of the ratty sofa had been shredded, the stuffing tossed all over, and the mattresses on their beds weren’t in much better shape. Even their pillows had been sliced to shreds, and the sweatpants John slept in and kept under his pillow…She shivered at the fury that had been exhibited.

Their important papers were in the false bottom of her shoulder bag, along with the leather envelope that held the money Delilah had left her. The one thing she never left behind, never, was tucked safely at the bottom of the backpack John carried. Now both of them were safe in the hidey hole in the basement. She knew the boy wouldn’t say a word if she left the teddy bear behind, but he’d had that bear since he’d been a few weeks old. Gunther—Dr. Gunther Bruchner—had found it in the big toy store on Fifth Avenue when they’d both been working in Manhattan. The bear’s fur was a honey brown and had been very soft to the touch. John loved it. He’d drooled on it and slept with it and carried it with him wherever he went. And when it became worn, Babe repaired it as best she could, stopping at a fabric store to buy supplies so she could replace the fur and the stuffing. At least she didn’t have to do that with the bear’s embroidered black nose and golden eyes.

What even John didn’t know was that cushioned by all the new stuffing she’d tucked into the bear was a 256MB flash drive that contained all the background data about this one very special little boy.

Gunther had done it for her. He was a good guy, and John had liked—loved—him, so much so he’d named the bear after him. But Gunther wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed in spite of being a certified scientific genius—he always chose the wrong people to work for.

Not that she could blame him, because when it came to that, she hadn’t been much better.

* * * *

IV

Nine Years Earlier 1993…

THANKS TO DELILAH’S help, Babe had graduated from a local community college with an associate’s degree in nursing. Once she had her license, she got a job in a small hospital that promised her the moon and reneged on each and every promise. After three months, she’d resigned, and Del had let her stay in the apartment she and a couple of other girls rented from the rent boys who lived up on the third floor while she scrambled to find another job.

Nothing seemed to be available, not for a livable wage. DC was expensive. It reached a point where she’d applied for a position in a doctor’s office, but the office manager told her she had too much education and hung up.

I hate like hell the thought of mooching off you, Del.

You’re not, sweetie, her friend assured her.

It’s like you to say that. But I promise I’ll take the next job that comes along, no matter how little it pays.

You don’t want to waste your education.

I don’t want to be a burden to you.

You never could be. Del patted her shoulder. Don’t worry, okay?

Okay. But she knew she would, no matter what. Maybe I should work with you and the girls?

"No! You will never do this, do you understand me?"

All right, all right. Babe wasn’t really surprised by Delilah’s vehemence. It was just a thought.

"Never." Delilah glared at her, but Babe could see the concern in her friend’s eyes.

My unemployment check came in. Let me treat you to a burger and a movie. Babe hated when her friend was angry with her, not that it was very often.

Now that sounds like a good idea. Joe Pesci and Marisa Tomei are in this new movie that should be fun.

"My Cousin Vinnie? It’s gotten some pretty good reviews."

Good. Why don’t we change into something comfortable and head out?

And for a change, Delilah pulled her long brown hair back in a simple ponytail and removed the green contacts she wore on occasion in favor of the glasses that framed her chocolate-brown eyes. She dressed in the same comfortable clothes Babe preferred—jeans and a sweatshirt.

Thank you, Del, she murmured and pressed a kiss to her friend’s cheek.

For what?

For being you. For being there for me. For—

Stop being maudlin. Of course I’d be there for you. Aren’t you my friend, my sister?

Yes. Babe could feel her eyes begin to well with grateful tears. She knew the other woman would hate that, so she turned away. Do you want a shake or a soda with your hamburger?

A shake will be cool. Del tugged Babe’s hair, then caught up her jacket and slung an arm around Babe’s shoulders before they headed for the door.

* * * *

Mail’s in, Babe.

I actually got something? Because Babe paid her share of the rent directly to Delilah in cash, no bills arrived in her name. She also stayed away from credit cards. She didn’t want to be tempted to charge things she didn’t really need and then be unable to pay for them.

Yep.

Thanks. She took the nursing journal Delilah held out—she’d subscribed to it when she still had the steady job at the hospital—and retreated to the kitchen. She wasn’t really expecting a decent job to be available, but she thumbed through the journal to the section that offered positions, hoping against hope.

Holy…One ad in particular caught her attention. She read it over and over, until what the offer was for finally sank in. This sounded perfect!

She rushed back to Del’s room. Listen to this. She read off the ad. "The Biederman Institute of Meteorological and Oceanographic Studies—"

"I’ve heard of the institute. It’s run by Pandora Gautier. Her family started it up back in the Stone Age."

How do you even know this? I never heard of her.

One of my clients mentioned her. Of course Del wouldn’t mention names. She’d always said a girl in her line of work had to be as discreet as a priest in a confessional. Dr. Gautier is funding a number of senators and congressmen. But don’t say anything about that.

About what? Babe winked at her.

What else?

"—is looking for a graduate nurse with experience with newborns. She looked up. When she’d worked the newborn rotation while in college, she’d loved working with the babies. But I don’t have the kind of experience Pandora Gautier is probably looking for."

You don’t have to tell.

But—

That’s what research is for.

I guess you’re right. She frowned as she continued reading. "Must have no family ties. But I’ve got you."

Of course you do, but if not having one gets you this job, keep it a secret.

You won’t mind?

I’ll know the truth. No matter what happens, we’ll always be family. What else does it say?

"Housing on premises will be provided. Call to set up appointment for interview. She looked up at Del. The starting salary is forty-eight grand! I mean, I have no idea why they’d want a graduate nurse, and okay, I don’t have much experience with infants, but I could totally do this."

I told you that. And you know what I say? I say go for it, Babe.

This is crazy. There will probably be a ton of nurses with a ton of experience applying for this job.

You’ll never know if you don’t try. Call them.

Babe dithered for a while, but Del finally talked her into it. I’ll give you some privacy, but give it your best shot. And let me know how it goes.

Okay.

Del gave a determined nod and left the room.

Babe swallowed, trying to work up her courage, then drew in a deep breath and took the receiver off the phone on the wall. Her hands were shaking and sweaty as she dialed the number given in the ad. What was wrong with her? It was only a freaking phone call.

Fifteen minutes later, she hung up and went to find Delilah.

Babe? You look like you’ve had the shock of your life. They turned you down? Del sounded upset for her.

No. No, I got the interview.

That’s my girl!

Babe appreciated the support, but she still felt dazed. Del…they want me at the institute as soon as I can get there.

All right, then. Take a shower and make yourself presentable. I’ll lay out some clothes for you.

Half an hour later she left the apartment wearing what Del called business professional—a slim navy-blue skirt suit, cream-colored blouse with a ruffled front, navy-blue pumps, and a matching purse. It was an outfit Del sometimes wore when role-playing with her clients.

Babe caught the bus that would take her to the institute. Commuting wouldn’t be a problem.

But first she had to get the job.

* * * *

The lights were on in the second floor apartment when Babe returned home, so she knew Delilah was still home.

The front door opened just as Babe was reaching for the knob, and she shied back.

Oh, hi, Babe. Sorry. Sweetcheeks, the redheaded rent boy who ran the stable, lingered on the front stoop. I’m just on my way out.

Hi, Sweets. Busy night?

Yeah. I’m meeting Pretty Boy at the Harrison. Where they’d probably be entertaining a number of gentlemen.

I won’t keep you, then. She’d heard of the William Henry Harrison Hotel. It wasn’t as upscale as the Madison, but it was up there. Have a good night.

He winked at her and hurried down the steps. Babe gazed after him. He always seemed cheerful, but at times like this, when he wasn’t actually working, she’d seen the sadness lurking behind his light-brown eyes. Sometimes she wondered if she was the only one who did.

She climbed the stairs to the second floor and let herself into the apartment. I’m back, she called, and Del came running into the entryway.

You’ve been gone so long. How did it go? Babe…don’t keep me waiting.

Do I look as dazed as I feel?

You look perfect. What happened? What took you so long?

I had to fill out a metric ton of paperwork. She tugged at the cuff of her suit jacket self-consciously, but Del didn’t seem to notice.

Does that mean…?

I got it!

Awesomesauce! When do you start?

As soon as I get up to New York. Babe had no intention of telling Delilah that one of the requirements was the tattoo on her left wrist, which stung like the dickens. Apparently all the employees of BIMOS, the acronym for the institute, wore one. Babe already had a small carnation tattooed on her ankle, a reminder of Delilah, but this tattoo almost looked like the barcode on the back cover of a book. She’d been instructed to keep it covered—she assumed to prevent infection—but also never to tell anyone about it.

Wait, what? I thought you’d be working here in DC.

I thought so too, but the job is actually in the Manhattan division of BIMOS. She held up the train ticket she’d been given. I have to be at Union Station in an hour and a half. Do you…Del, do you mind that I’ll be leaving?

Delilah hugged her. I’ll miss you, but this is your calling. And we have telephones to keep in touch. Plus I can fly up to visit.

Thank you. Babe held onto her tightly. I’m so lucky to have you for my friend.

We’re both lucky. Now come on. I’ll help you get packed, and then I’ll go down to the station with you.

* * * *

Six hours later, the train pulled into Penn Station. Babe took her suitcase from the overhead rack, wincing a little when she banged it against the tattoo on her wrist. She slung her shoulder bag over her arm and stepped out onto the platform.

A tallish blond held a cardboard placard that had her name on it, and she walked up to him.

I’m Jeanette Van Orden, she said. You’re from the institute?

Yeah. I’m Deuce. I head Dr. Gautier’s security.

Why did the head of security come to pick her up?

Considering he had the coldest blue eyes she’d ever seen, she thought it might be a good idea not to ask.

He spent the ride downtown asking questions about her years in the foster system, her time in college, and her friends.

Oh, I don’t have any friends. She’d learned to keep her mouth shut, and she had no intention of telling him about Delilah.

Pretty girl like you with no friends? I find that hard to believe.

She could giggle and say that was sweet of him to say, but he freaking scared her, and she didn’t want him to think she was coming on to him. They were more acquaintances than friends. I wasn’t the best student, so I had to study hard to get the grades I needed to pass. I couldn’t go out partying on the weekend.

Hmm. We’re here.

Here looked like a warehouse on the outside. It took up most of the block.

Deuce parked the car on the street in front of a sign that warned about opposite side of the street parking.

Again, Babe decided not to ask if he wasn’t worried about the car getting ticketed or towed.

He got out of the car and took her suitcase from the backseat.

She blew out a relieved breath, hoping that meant an end to the inquisition.

The door to the warehouse opened right off the sidewalk. Deuce unlocked it and walked her into the building. A short man stood in the vast corridor.

This is Finchley, Deuce said. He’s Dr. Gautier’s personal assistant. He’ll give you the grand tour.

Thank you so much, Deuce. It seemed there was no love lost between the two men.

Deuce set down her suitcase, gave her a final once-over, and then turned on his heel and entered a waiting elevator.

Babe looked around. Wow, how wrong could my first impression have been?

The outside might look shabby and dilapidated, but the inside was pristine, modern, and sleek.

I’d like to see your tattoo, if you please? Finchley asked.

Babe held out her arm, displaying the bandage that covered the tattoo.

Finchley scowled and picked at the tape that secured the gauze to her wrist, then peeled the square back. He studied the tattoo carefully before taking some sort of device and holding it above the tattoo. When it beeped, he gave a satisfied nod.

Holy fuck, what kind of situation had she gotten herself into?

Finchley didn’t seem to notice her hesitation, or else he ignored it. He set aside the device and said, Come with me.

She picked up her suitcase and followed the little man, who didn’t have much to say to her beyond pointing out that the first three floors held the offices, the kitchen and dining hall, and the entertainment and fitness complex. As for the fourth floor of the institute, as he led the way to it, he told her it was outfitted as a labor and delivery suite and a nursery.

The laboratories and dormitories are on the upper floors. Of course, your own quarters will be right off the nursery, so you can keep track via the monitor of the babies if they require your care at any time.

Well, that wasn’t too bad. She’d had similar tasks in some of the foster homes when the moms preferred Jack Daniel’s or Grey Goose to looking after the infants they were paid to care for.

We have a crèche as well, for the older babies.

How many do you have?

He frowned. None, as yet. Before she could ask why, in that case, had she been hired, he continued. "You’ll have four hours off a few days a week. If you go out, you’re to use the