Chapter 2 - THE DOCTOR WHO DIED TOO EARLY
By midnight, Julian had learned that his fake unborn child had been receiving prenatal care from a dead physician.
I had learned something worse.
Someone had followed me home.
A black sedan appeared three blocks from my apartment.
It stayed behind the cab through four turns.
I called the number Julian had given me.
He answered immediately.
“Where are you?”
“Lexington and Fifty-Third.”
“Stay in the cab.”
“What’s happening?”
“Do not get out.”
The line went dead.
Two minutes later, another SUV cut between my cab and the sedan.
The black car disappeared.
When I reached my building, Julian was waiting on the sidewalk.
No coat.
No tie.
Just a black shirt and the kind of expression that made people cross streets.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I whispered.
“Neither should they.”
“Who?”
“I’m finding out.”
He walked me upstairs.
My apartment door was open.
I stopped breathing.
“I locked it.”
Julian moved in front of me.
Two men searched the apartment.
“Clear,” one called.
Nothing looked stolen.
Then I saw my bedroom.
My mattress had been sliced open.
Drawers emptied.
Closet destroyed.
Julian stepped inside.
“They were looking for something.”
“I don’t have anything.”
He looked at me.
“Did you take anything from the restroom?”
“No.”
“Paper?”
“No.”
“Phone?”
“No.”
I thought back.
Then remembered.
The trash.
Sloane had thrown away something before leaving.
A prescription envelope.
I had picked it up automatically because hotel staff were trained never to leave personal medical documents visible.
“Oh my God.”
Julian’s eyes sharpened.
“What?”
“I put something in my apron pocket.”
“What?”
“A pharmacy envelope.”
“Where is it?”
I checked my work bag.
Still there.
Julian opened it carefully.
Inside was not a prescription.
It was a small ultrasound printout.
Sloane Whitaker.
Twenty-eight weeks.
Julian stared at it.
“If she isn’t pregnant, whose baby is this?”
I looked at the tiny profile.
There was a clinic code in the corner.
Mercer Women’s Health Center.
Julian went still.
“That clinic belongs to my foundation.”
He called Mateo.
“Trace this scan.”
Ten minutes later, Mateo called back.
“The ultrasound is real.”
Julian’s jaw tightened.
“Patient?”
“Not Sloane.”
“Who?”
Mateo hesitated.
“Employee record says the mother was admitted under an alias.”
“What alias?”
“Anna Vale.”
Julian frowned.
“I don’t know that name.”
Mateo continued.
“But the emergency contact is familiar.”
“Who?”
“Brynn Holloway.”
Sloane’s best friend.
Julian looked at the scan again.
Then Mateo added:
“There’s another problem.”
“What?”
“The baby’s father was listed.”
Julian’s face changed.
“Name?”
A pause.
Then:
“Julian Mercer.”
I stared at him.
He stared back.
“I have never met Anna Vale.”
May you like
Mateo lowered his voice.
“Boss, according to these records, you signed the paternity acknowledgment yourself.”
