“Someone tried to kill me,” Kacey said. “A long time ago. Not rape me. Not rob me, but kill me. I thought it was a random act until just recently,” she admitted. “Now, I’m not so sure. Just yesterday I found out my house is bugged. With listening devices and who knows what else? Meanwhile, women who look like me are having accidents. Deadly accidents that, at second look, aren’t really accidents at all. Both Shelly Bonaventure and Jocelyn Wallis have connections to Helena. I figure that if I go there, I’ll find a fertility clinic where they were all conceived, and probably there are records for Elle as well. She was just born somewhere else.” She leaned across the desk. “How many more will I find, Gerald? Five? Ten? A hundred? Five—”
“This is crazy,” he snapped. The color in his face rose and turned his cheeks livid red. “There’s no serial killer who’s intent on killing children conceived at a certain clinic!”
“Only those fathered by you,” she said with renewed certainty.
“That’s even crazier.”
She didn’t have an answer for him, but she was convinced she was on the right track. Yet she had to hear it from him. “What’s the name of this clinic?” she asked. “I’m going to find out, one way or another. You may as well just save me some time, before whoever is behind this kills me.”
“You weren’t conceived by artificial insemination. Trust me on this.”
“Doesn’t make me safe.
“When I compare my DNA to any of these women,” she said, fanning her hand over the pictures, “I’m going to bet that the test results will prove we’re related on the paternal side and—”
“Enough!” It was his turn to stand. Nearly six-one, he had half a foot on her, allowing him to look down his strong, straight nose into her eyes. “I was a sperm donor in my youth. Yes. But I have no proof that any of these victims were my progeny. I think your theory is outlandish. More than that, it’s slanderous. I met you today because I thought it was high time I acknowledged you, but I clearly was mistaken.”
“Don’t you even care to find out about these women?”
“No. I do not. Now, if you’re done with your mad accusations, I have work to do. Important work. Not only does this plant employ a lot of people in the area, but our products, many of which I developed myself, save lives.”
“And you could save a few more if you helped me locate other women whom you might have fathered.”
He was already reaching for the phone. “I think we’re done here.”
“I’m going to the police.”
The back of his neck tightened, but he controlled himself. “They’ll laugh you out of the room. You’d better be careful what you say, Acacia, or you may find yourself institutionalized.” His smile was cold. “There is a history of mental illness in the family.”
A sharp rap was followed by one of the double doors being pushed open by a tall woman, made even taller by her three-inch heels. With high cheekbones, and a nose reminiscent of the man seated across the desk, she swept inside as if she owned the place. “Sorry to interrupt you, Dad, but we had an appointment. Oh! I didn’t know you had someone in here. Roxie’s left for the day.” She rained a smile on Kacey.
Gerald stood. “You’re not interrupting anything, Clarrie. In fact, it’s probably a good thing you showed up. I’d like you to meet your sister. Clarissa, this is Acacia. Acacia, my daughter Clarissa.”
What the hell had he gotten himself into? Trace wondered as he once again checked on Eli, who was curled on the couch, sleeping, Sarge next to him, the huge cone still in place around the dog’s head.
Trace had left the police station knowing that the two cops — Pescoli and Alvarez — had been disappointed that they couldn’t nail him for Jocelyn’s death and Leanna’s disappearance. But that was not what was worrying him now.
No, it was Kacey and how she was involved in this mess.
Obviously, she wasn’t safe in her own home, dog or no dog, no matter if she did have her grandfather’s shotgun. Someone had gotten inside, planted microphones, and listened in…. Why? And what, if anything, did it have to do with the other women’s deaths?
It just smelled bad.
“So, what about some mac and cheese?” he asked his son. Eli was supposed to drink tons of fluids, but the untouched soda, Gatorade, apple juice, and vitamin-water bottles on the table near the couch were testament to the fact that it still hurt his throat to swallow.
“Not hungry.”
“Well, you’ve got to eat, and you’ve got to drink, a lot.” Trace cracked open the bottle of reddish vitamin water and held it in front of his boy’s nose. “Remember you promised the nurse when you left the hospital. I just don’t want to see you have to go back.”
“No way!” Eli said with a frown. His voice was hoarse and he still coughed, but he got the message and took the bottle from his father’s hands, managing a couple sips from the bottle.
There was homework piling up, compliments of e-mail from Eli’s teacher, but Trace figured he’d fight that battle later. First, he wanted his boy healthy. Last night had been scary for all of them.
Now that he had his son home, his mind was working overtime with worries for Kacey, a woman he barely knew but was already fantasizing about.
Eli picked at the macaroni and cheese, drank part of his juice and Gatorade, and generally vegged out in front of the television, which was tuned to his favorite kids’ channel. He slept a lot, but each time Trace took his temperature, it had gone down a little bit more and now was hovering near one hundred degrees.
Now, if there were just some way to make sure Kacey was safe, he’d feel a whole lot better. He tried her cell phone, but it went straight to voice mail, so he hung up without leaving a message.
Relax, he told himself. She’s at work.
He just couldn’t quite shake his misgivings. He didn’t know what to believe, but the hidden microphones were real. There was no escaping that.
All the wind had been stripped from Clarissa’s sails. She stared first at her father, then let her gaze move to Kacey.
“Are you serious?” she demanded, her eyes narrowing a bit.
“What do you think?” For some reason Gerald seemed a little amused, as if he liked pulling one over on his firstborn.
“Dad, really. .”
“She’s Maribelle’s daughter.” Gerald stated the fact as if his affair with Kacey’s mother were a known fact.
“The nurse who worked for you? I remember her. . ” This time when Clarissa rained her gaze on Kacey, it was more than a passing, dismissive glance. As if she were mentally ticking off the genetic similarities, her expression slowly changed from shock and confusion to revulsion.
“Oh, God, Dad, tell me this is some kind of sick, twisted joke,” she said, crossing the expanse of carpet to her father’s desk, keeping her gaze focused on Kacey.
“No joke. Acacia’s my daughter. As much as you are.”
“But. . no. . Jesus, does Mom know?”
“Suspects, I’d guess.”
“You don’t know?”
It was never discussed.”
“For the love of God. First Robert and now… now you?” Turning, she faced Kacey. “What’re you doing here?”
“Looking for answers,” Kacey said and added, “Nice to meet you.”
Clarissa’s eyebrows shot upward. “Excuse me if I forgot my manners. I’ve kinda had a shock here.” To her father, “What’s the matter with you? How many more of these are there?”