

Fran and Max

The Bungalow

A McBride Romance

A Romantic Suspense Novel

Dorothy May Mercer
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This is a work of fiction. All characters and events are purely the author's imagination and have no relation to persons living or dead.

Revised Smashwords Edition:

ISBN 13: 978-1-62329-054-2

ISBN 10: 1-62329-054-6

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### Praise for Dorothy May Mercer Novels

Links at www.MercerPublications.com.

Car oo6 Responding" Book One,

A Mike McBride Action/Suspense Novel

 5.0 out of 5 starsVery engaging read

By Dragonfly's Daughter on April 17

Dorothy May Mercer is a new author for me and I will be following up with the others in this series. She gave me a hero to die for. Mike McBride is a cop with a built in sense of right and wrong. I liked the setting and his large family. When he connects with Juli, he is knocked off his feet. Now he has to keep her safe and tie up the loose ends of a terrifying murder investigation. I can definitely recommend this one for anyone who enjoys romantic suspense.

 4.0 out of 5 starsAn exhilirating police drama

By Amy Talbot

This novel sweeps the reader into a high-octane adventure filled with fires, rescues, damsels in distress, a budding romance, cute dog and a very hot cop. The author has a talent for visualisation and knows how to thrill her audience. Reading Car 006, I felt like I was watching an episode of a top-rated Police action drama. It's the little touches, like the family backgrounds, Mike McBride's workplace relationship with his police partner, his strong belief system, the use of police and fire service's procedure – among others - that add authenticity to this exhilarating novel. High recommended to those who like police dramas.

100% of royalties from sales of this book will go to charities benefiting families of police officers killed or wounded on duty.

The Cocaine Chase Book Two,

A Mike McBride Romantic Thriller Novel

Customer Reviews 4.0 out of 5 stars Here's to furry heroes!, Love is in the air for more than one officer of the law. And, in the midst of it all, the bad guys get theirs. Dorothy May Mercer has managed to fill a second police procedural with just the right amount of danger, suspense, and, of course, romance. I especially enjoyed the developing role of Lady Dog as Mike's heroic sidekick. It will be great to see what talents the fabulous canine shows off in book number three! Melinda J. Simon

NEALM) reviewed  The Cocaine Chase:

 WONDERFUL READ Reading this book explains why the McBride series is so hugely successful. The story is contemporary and detailed. Much mystery, love interest, present day challenges and thought provoking. I can't wait for books 3,4,and 5 of this series. Dorothy May Mercer is one of the outstanding newer authors. Try it you will like it!!!

"The Golden Coin" The McBride Series #3

A Mike McBride Romantic Mystery Novel.

5 of 5 stars WONDERFUL READ,

The Immigrant and the Golden Coin: Book Three, The McBride Series (

This book has just the right combination of intrigue, action, humor, romance and compassion to keep any reader glued to the pages. This third book in the McBride series is wonderful. I can't wait to go on to book four.

Dorothy May, you've done it again. I loved it.Joseph the Rat got his due, justice prevails for that scumbag. And the telling of the innocence of the young foreigner and the greed of the new land was quite poignant for our times. And I love the slant on catching the drug smugglers. Right up to date and why can't our government learn from Dorothy how to catch these Boarder Bandits,haha.But Mike not only gets his man, he gets...

Links to any of these books at www.MercerPublications.com

"Stories I Haven't Told" An Autobiography

Dorothy May Mercer

Praise for "Stories I Haven't Told"

"Mercer's book is a heartwarming story of love and life during the Great Depression. True-to-life details make the narrative vivid and suspenseful. If you lived then, you'll smile in reflection. If you didn't, you'll enjoy seeing what life was like during a simpler time that now seems other-worldly." 5 stars

"The Cartel Wars"

The McBride Series #4

A Mike McBride Romantic Thriller

 Book Review: l By  Howard Prager

It was a distinct pleasure to enter the shoes of Ms. Mercer's characters. For the pleasurable time it took to read it, I was a silent, unseen guest in the home and life of a law man who happened to be a border agent. I was as well brought back to a time in my life by another of Mercer's characters: a thoughtful guy in a serious but rocky relationship because his lover is an alcoholic. I once was in his position. But the book has a fabric in the story. Dangerous drug cartels at war with each other in a plot that even reaches the White House! Yet The Cartel Wars teaches. I learned about the inner world of what it is like to be a Border Patrolman engaged in defending our country. It also teaches about the inadequacies of the US immigration system. Her book is something to enjoy and at the same time the bonus of effortless learning! I heartily recommend this book to anyone who would like to travel down the path I have just described. I give it five stars, myself. Howard Prager.

5.0 out of 5 stars ANOTHER WINNER,

The Gang Bust,"

The McBride Series #5

A Mike McBride Romantic Suspanse Novel.

tptfan)   **Thought Provoking Entertainment** July 31

"The Gang Bust" is a thought provoking book. It presents issues currently occurring on the southern U.S. border in an entertaining and educational way. The reader will enjoy the story and have the bonus of being better informed about public policy challenges

Available in ebook, print and Audible versions.

The Fairfax Fix

by Dorothy May Mercer

The New Washington McBride Series

 Judith Rocchiccioli rated it 5 of 5 starsI cannot say enough wonderful things about The Fairfax Fix! This charming, well-written series features newly elected Sen. Mike McBride as he settles into DC life as the newly elected junior Senator from New Mexico. Mike finds political service a bit boring, a huge change from his former life as a decorated police officer. He wastes no time in getting himself deputized by a local police group where he investigates the suspicious disappearance of four young women. His investigation leads him to the Tripp gang, a local and nationwide group of gangsters, drug dealers, racketeers and human traffickers. Mike makes good use of his Washington contacts order to bring the guilty to justice. The book has great, believable dialogue and super description. The characters are well developed and I particularly like Miss Peterson as she constantly amazes me with her antics. The book also brings to light the serious problems of gang activity in the US and the violence and disruption of life that gang activity causes. It is a delightful read and I'm looking forward to the next book in the series

### Available in ebook, print and Audible versions.

"the Arlington Alias,"

the new McBride Washington Series. #2

starring glamorous Juliette as investigative reporter.

"this one is for the ladies, but gents can peek all they want"

"non-stop excitement"

  A LOOK AT THE WORLD OF HUMAN TRAFFICKING, March 19

By Robert

a review by Robert K. Swisher Jr. Dorothy Mercer must have carefully researched The Arlington Alias which is greatly appreciated as I read many mysteries that are set somewhere off in the writer's fantasy land. At the center of the novel is the crime of human trafficking. Having been raised on the Texas and Mexican border I have been aware of human trafficking before it was picked up by the main stream press. But sadly, the. main source of crime is demand. But so it goes. What is nice about fiction is it can solve problems in a set number of pages and life goes on in a better way. I enjoyed the book. The dabs of humor. The interactioin of people in love. The look into organized crime which changes daily as technology changes. Dorothy spins a good story, keeping the reader turning the pages until the exciting end. If you like fact based mysteries, good plot, and down to earth characters you will enjoy this novel

Butterfly") reviewed the Arlington Alias   **Great Read**

Arlington Alias is an exciting, fast paced story filled with danger and maneuvers to avoid capture or death by unscrupulous crime lords. Unspeakable crimes were committed and an investigative reporter, Juliette McBride, puts her life on the line to uncover the ring leaders, however high she must go to weed out corruption. Not only is her life in jeopardy, but her Senator husband, Mike McBride volunteers to help her. Their combined effort to dig out the truth keeps the reader on the edge of the seat, turning page after page to the end. Read Arlington Alias to join in the chase. An excellent read! If you enjoy fiction with suspense, intrigue which deals with very real issues of today, then you'll love how Dorothy writes. I learned so much. And as I found out, that was her intent. Thank you Dorothy for a terrific series.

"The Savage Surrogate"

by Dorothy May Mercer

The New Washington McBride Series

Jan Raymond reviewed "the Savage Surrogate "

  **A captivating read, full of suspense** March 31

The Savage Surrogate caught me completely by surprise. Though the summary hints at suspense and mystery, I thought it was mainly a romantic novel. This is the first McBride book that I've read. Now I want to read the others. A dashing personality, suave and stylish, Dorothy Mercer has created a male character that women will find appealing. The book holds your attention from the start and you are drawn into the murky underworld along with the protagonists, as they dig deeper to figure out what happened to Fran. The characters of Fran and Juliette have been given equal space and developed well. Both come out as strong, independent women. A captivating read...one I would recommend!

## Links to any of these books at www.MercerPublications.com

### The McBride Romance+Suspense Series #1

### Available in ebook, print and coming soon in Audible versions.

### Fran and Max, the Bungalow

suspense, recovery, discovery & love.

This is what one reader, Mary Ann Vitale, had to say about Fran and Max, the Bungalow: "A book I just started reading. I can't put it down. I read half of it last night, and will continue tonight. The best book so far I have ever read. Compliments to the great author,Dorothy Mercer!"

The McBride Romance+Suspense Series #2

Available in ebook, print and Audible..

_Cynthia and Dan_ _,_ Cyber War

Great Suspense!!!5 stars By Passionate about Romance on October 6,

Cyber War gave me a deep insight into the world of internet warfare without overwhelming me. Cynthia was a woman whose cozy love life needed a wind shake for her to give it a thought. I like Glenn Paterson a whole deal and his team of young nerds. They added bite and youthful fun to the story. It would be sweet to see Glenn settle for a good woman. At the end, I did not see the twist coming at all with the intriguing character, Sky.

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Praise for Leon and Esther

Elizabeth) reviewed  Leon And Esther

A Real Gem! April 27 "I just finished reading the book Leon and Esther and I couldn't wait to post a review for other readers. It is a roller coaster ride of emotions. Once I picked this book up, I just couldn't put it down. Dorothy magically places us in an earlier time where life is less about modern technology and more about the inter-personal relationships that surround us. Her book is set in the 1920's with themes of love, loss, tragedy and romance that are so basic to the human condition, it is impossible not to empathize with the characters. Your blood will boil. Your heart will sing with joy as you are immersed in the lives of Leon and Esther. This book is definitely on my recommendation list. And I can't wait to read the next adventures Dorothy has in store." Elizabeth, Virginia. 5 stars

"I just finished Leon and Esther, wow what a wonderful story. The emotions and deep feelings of Esther, after her rape, were so real and factual, I cried. Dorothy girl, this is a wonderful and remarkable story, and so true to life. I could not put this down until I finished, and then wanted more. And Leon, are there really men like him? He was so patient with her and so understanding. Just ordered the 4th McBride [book], can't wait for it." TDShafer, Florida 5 stars

## Links to any of these books at www.MercerPublications.com

Fran and Max, The Bungalow by Dorothy May Mercer

### Chapter 1 The Bungalow

At first she wasn't sure whether she would be safe here. The house seemed so exposed. No trees or shrubs blocked the view from the street. Anyone could look right in her windows. But Mike's people assured her the idea was to hide in plain sight. The syndicate would never look for her here in this small bungalow in one of the sprawling Los Angeles suburbs, a house that looked just like millions of others built after the big war, during the so-called baby boom.

Millions of G.I.'s came home from the war ready to start their families and make up for lost time. The G.I. Bill allowed them to buy a house with little or no down payment. Row upon row of cookie-cutter houses went up in record time. The housing market boomed and with it the economy.

Now, these houses were at least seventy years old and looked it.

Hidden within Fran's deceptively simple house was a network of sophisticated protective devices guaranteed to keep her safe from any intruder, including every possible electronic gadget, as well as bulletproof windows and doors, cameras and electronic surveillance equipment that would notify the FBI and local law enforcement immediately if tripped.

Fran did not mind the old house. In fact, she was rather fond of it. The rough exterior hid an updated interior with hardwood floors, granite countertops and stainless steel appliances.

Fran was free and planned to stay that way. It had been three months since she escaped the horrible Savage Clinic, in Maryland, held there against her will, and forced to serve as a surrogate mother for anonymous wealthy clients. Unconsciously Fran patted her growing stomach as if to assure herself the baby was all right. This baby was going to be hers. She would give birth just like any free American and no one would take this baby from her. No one! Her heart swelled with love for the new life growing within her.

Before that fateful day when she escaped, she had given birth three times in four years to other people's babies. She would never know what happened to them. Twice, the midwives had given her anesthesia just before delivery and whisked the baby away before Fran woke up. She begged for information, but they would tell her nothing, not whether it was a boy or girl, alive or dead. She knew the babies were not hers because she had suffered painful hormone injections to suppress her own eggs and allow for a fertilized egg from some other source to be implanted in her womb.

She learned from these experiences and so, with the third birth, Fran refused the anesthetic, and thus she was able to steal a glimpse of the baby and hear its cry before the attendant took it away. That baby's cry did something to Fran's interior, something switched on inside, a feeling of strength and urgent longing in her arms and breasts, a need to hold the baby in her arms, so much that she actually ached from the pain of it.

This baby was different. Fran knew it was half hers. This time they used her own egg and a donor sperm. She would never know who the biological father was. The clinic suddenly closed entirely and the records—if there were any records—were all destroyed. By the time the Feds arrived to make their raid, it was too late. Everything was gone. The owners had left without a trace. Fran knew they were still out there. Were they looking for her? She was all the way across the continent, living quietly with a new identity, but still, would she ever be able to leave the house without first checking outside from behind a curtain, or walk into a store without her disguise? If only she could attend a worship service or go out occasionally...

But, she could not dwell on that. She was free and the baby would be hers. That was what counted.

Fran was in the combination laundry/utility/control room switching a load of clothes from the washer to the dryer, when the doorbell sounded. She stepped to the monitor and selected the cameras that covered the front door from several angles. Good heavens, from this angle, that man reminds me of Max, except he is a little thinner. She switched to a different camera angle. No, it's not him. She sighed, thinking how nice it would be to have just one friend to relieve the loneliness. Fran knew it could not possibly be Max. No one knew she was here except Senator Mike McBride, his wife Juliette and Cynthia Patterson, his bodyguard and receptionist. Fran switched on the other monitors that gave her several views completely around the house. She studied the street. A taxicab was just pulling away from the curb. No other strange cars were on the street. Her computer system could identify all the neighbors, their cars, their families and friends. Fran stepped to the computer and typed in some instructions to activate a scanner that quietly examined the man on her doorstep. It would tell her if he was armed and list anything lethal he had in his pockets. The man reached for the doorbell and pushed it again. Fran observed him as he checked his watch and gazed around the neighborhood. He knocked loudly on the door.

Fran selected two of several pictures coming into her computer, one of a side view and one close-up of his face. She attached both shots to an email and hastily scratched a message, "Attached pic of man at my front door. Should I answer it?" She entered a pre-arranged code into the subject line—one reserved for emergencies—and addressed the electronic message to Senator Mike.

While she waited she studied the man carefully. Could it be? I can see some resemblance, but no, it's not Max. I'm sure of it.

Her cell phone played Mike's special ringtone. She picked it up. "Hello," she said, without mentioning his name. They had agreed to never refer to each other by name.

"Hi," said Mike, "We don't know anything here. That is not one of our men, so far as I know."

"Oh, well then, I guess I'd better not talk to him."

Just then the heavy pounding resumed.

"I could hear that all the way here in Washington," Mike said. "Whoever he is, he's persistent. You sure you don't recognize him?"

"Not really, although he made me think of Max."

"Max? Is that anyone I know?" Mike asked.

"Well, no. Max was actually one of the guards at Savage Clinic, but he was trafficked and kept against his will, too, just as I was. Max was really kind to me, when he could be, of course. In the end, he was the one who saved me from the clinic."

"Oh _that_ Max," said Mike. "Now I know who you mean."

"But it doesn't actually look like him, Mike."

"Wait a minute. Didn't he escape from the clinic, too?"

"Well, yeah."

"Well then, maybe he has disguised some of his features, like you have."

"Oh, I didn't think of that." Fran looked more closely at the display and clicked on different angles of pictures. "Hmm, you may be right, Mike. There is something about him."

The man resumed his pounding on the door.

"Why don't you answer the door with the intercom? Maybe his voice will help. I'll stand by."

"Okay, you hold on," said Fran. She reached over, keyed on the intercom and selected "front door." She spoke cautiously, "Hello you at the front door."

The man jerked around looking for the source of the voice. "Uh, hello inside."

"Who are you and what do you want?" Fran demanded.

"Uh well, I'm looking for an old friend of mine, a woman I met back East. Her name is Fran, but her name could be changed now. She is very beautiful, about twenty-eight years old, pretty long hair, kind of a medium, red brown. I don't suppose you could let me in."

"You suppose right, mister."

"Look, lady I've come a long way. Answer the door, please."

"I am answering the door."

"You know what I mean. Come to the door, please, so I can see you."

"No, thank you. Just state your business. I'm a busy person here."

"All I know is I'm looking for Fran."

"Well, good luck then."

"Aw, geez lady."

Fran watched, her emotions swinging wildly between curiosity and terror. She keyed off the sound and returned to Mike. "Mike, did you hear that?"

"I heard it."

"W-what do you think?"

"Fran, honey, try to calm down. Take a deep breath. Now tell me, did you recognize his voice?"

"I-I t-think s-so."

"Deep breath, Fran."

Fran took a deep breath and felt her baby stir. She reached under the counter, pulled out her weapon and checked the chamber. Loaded. One eye on the monitor, she watched the man step off the front porch and walk around the house.

"He's coming, Mike... oh my God, Mike..." She watched in horror as the man peeked in her bedroom windows. "What'll I do?"

"Get your gun."

"Got it."

"Step away from the windows so he can't see you."

"I'm in the back room. No windows."

"That's good, Fran. Was he carrying?"

"No."

"You're okay, then. Just remember. He can't get in. You've got your gun. Don't let him in and you're safe."

"Okay," Fran whispered, her voice trembling.

"Steady," said Mike. "I'm sending a patrol car around."

Fran held her breath as the man left the bedroom window and peered in the kitchen. He walked up on the back porch and took a seat on the porch swing. As he started to gently sway, he reached into his shirt pocket with his left hand, extracted a pack of cigarettes and flipped up the top with his thumb. He selected one, put the end between his lips and ripped a match from a small book of matches. Holding the book between his thumb and forefinger, he struck the match and held it up to the cigarette with his left hand. Fran watched, spellbound. She had seen Max do this very thing hundreds of times. The man closed the matchbook, inserted it inside the pack, put it back in his shirt pocket, inhaled deeply and slowly blew smoke from his nostrils.

"Mike, he smokes just like Max. He's left-handed, too," she hissed.

"So what?"

"Max was left-handed."

"Well, lots of people are left handed."

Yeah, but it was the same brand of cigarettes, American Legend Whites. I saw the eagle on the side of the box."

"Never heard of them."

"They are fairly popular because they are cheap, Mike. American Legend makes reds or the whites, which are more mild. Max always smoked the whites, when he could get them."

"I see," said Mike. "Well, the police will be there in any minute."

"What if it's Max?"

"What if it's Max? Make up your mind, quick!" Mike advised.

"I don't know."

"Well, even if it's Max, you can't trust him, can you?"

"'What do you mean?"

"Maybe he's working for the Syndicate."

"Oh... well..." Fran's thoughts were racing, as was her heart.

"But, Mike, how did he know to find me?"

"Good question."

"What a mess!" She paced back and forth in the small space.

Mike said nothing. He could only wait for the patrol car to get there.

"They've found me, haven't they?" Fran moaned and sank onto a stool.

"I don't think so," Mike offered. "But, just in case, we can have you out of there in minutes. Just grab your escape bag and go with the cop. He'll take you down to the FBI office."

A tear slid down Fran's cheek. She knew right where she kept her emergency escape bag. She was ready.

"Are you ready, Fran?"

She nodded, unable to speak. Through blurry vision, she watched the patrol car pull up at the curb. She could see the officer speaking into his microphone, put it away and open the car door to get out and approach the house.

"I'm leaving now, Mike."

"Okay, God be with you, Fran. You'll be safe," Mike tried to assure her.

Fran put her weapon on safety and slid it into her bag. She eased off the stool and wobbled toward the front door. Disarming the door, she pushed back the security bar and opened the door a crack, before the officer could knock "Yes, officer."

"We had a call from a neighbor," he fibbed.

"Oh, well, nothing's wrong."

"They saw an intruder at your door."

"Yeah, some salesman was pounding on my door. He gave up and went away."

The officer eyed her through the crack in the doorway. "Not sure he went away, ma'am. Maybe I'd better check around."

"Oh no, don't do that," Fran snapped. She flung the door wide. "See, I'm okay."

"Going somewhere?" he asked.

"W-what do you mean?"

He gestured at the bag in her hand.

"Uh..." she dropped the bag like a hot potato. "N-no, not really. I was just..." At a loss for words, Fran could think of no explanation. She just stared at the officer willing him to leave.

Recovering her wits, she prevaricated, "It's just my nightgown and stuff for the hospital." She rubbed her hands over her stomach.

The cop's eyes followed her gesture. "I see. Well, in that case, is there any reason I can't come inside and look around?"

"Uh, well..." she glanced toward the kitchen and stepped back.

The officer quickly brushed by her, one hand resting on his holster. "Thanks, ma'am. My name is Stevens, by the way," he added as he strode through her house peering into both bedrooms and bath. Into the kitchen, he halted when he saw the man through the kitchen window. Quickly, he drew his gun.

"No, no, wait, don't shoot. That's my husband!" Fran shouted. "He smokes outside," she said, thinking quickly.

Something did not add up. It was ten o'clock in the morning. Would her husband be sitting on the porch in a full dress suit and tie? "What's his name," Stevens barked.

"Uh... his name?"

"C'mon lady, don't you know your husband's name?"

"Er..." she blurted out the first thing that popped into her head..."Max, it's Max."

Clearly she was nervous, maybe lying. Stevens tried the doorknob. When it didn't turn, he looked at her. "Some fancy security system ya' got here, lady."

She gestured with one hand and opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

"Do you always lock the door when your husband goes outside to smoke."

She could only shake her head helplessly.

"Open it!" demanded Stevens, as he stepped back, took a firing stance, and raised his weapon.

Fran stepped to the door. She raised her hand. It was shaking so badly, she could barely punch in the code to shut off the alarm. She slid the deadbolt over, and turned the knob.

"Open it and step back, lady." Stevens commanded. "Way back," he pointed with one elbow, "Over there."

Fran moved behind the counter.

"Down!"

She crouched down, but only until he turned his back. Then she raised her eyes above the counter. Stevens took two steps forward and pointed his weapon at the man on the porch swing. "Hello, Max," he said calmly.

The man turned toward the voice, took one last drag on the cigarette and smiled. "Hi, who are you?"

"Hands up," said Stevens.

Max raised his hands. "What the hell?"

"Don't move."

"I'm not going anywhere. This is my house," said Max. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'll ask the questions."

Max looked at him.

"What's your name?"

"Max."

"Your whole name, dammit."

"Max J. Underwood."

"Let me see your identification."

"It's in my billfold."

"Get it out."

"In my back pocket."

"Stand up."

Max started to stand up and reach for his back pocket.

"Hands in the air," screamed the cop.

"Oops, sorry."

"Slowly. No sudden moves, you bastard, or I'll shoot your balls, right now."

Watching from behind the counter, Fran stood up carefully and silently moved to the back room. She whispered into the cell phone. "Are you sure that's your cop?"

"What's happening?" Mike was relieved to hear her voice.

"Some cop has got the drop on Max, at least he says his name is Max Underwood."

"Underwood?"

"Yeah."

"That's a code word to let the cop know he's undercover."

"I-I dunno who to trust, now."

"Neither one, Fran. Can you get out of there?"

"I think so."

"Well grab your car keys and your escape bag and get the heck out of there. Keep your cell phone on and let me know what's happening."

Fran took the car keys in one hand, crouched down and moved through the kitchen to the front to grab her bag. Out the breezeway toward the attached garage, she de-coded that door and slowly released the deadbolt. Moving quickly to the car she walked around to the driver's side and pressed the key control to unlock the car doors. Her hands were shaking so badly, she almost hit the panic button and gave herself away. She pushed the button to raise the garage door and started the car, which was all ready to drive out. Mike had taught her to always park the car headed out in case she needed to leave in a hurry.

Shifting the car into "drive" she looked up and screamed. A dark figure blocked her path, arms outstretched.

In terror, Fran fumbled for the gun, remembering, too late, she had not locked the car doors. The man rushed for the door as Fran pulled out her gun with one hand, reaching for the door lock with the other. Max wrenched open the door and dove for her gun arm. Fran screamed and pulled the trigger.

The gunned roared, deafening her instantly.

*******

## Washington D.C. Senate Office Building

Cynthia Patterson set her coffee cup down on the table and lifted her eyes from the novel she was reading on her Kindle.

"Fran! Fran! FRAN!"

Cynthia heard her boss screaming all the way from his office into the break room. Forgetting the Kindle, Cynthia ran toward Mike's office.

"FRAN TALK TO ME!" Mike yelled.

Cynthia stopped in front of Mike's desk, wisely saying nothing, but standing by for orders.

Mike glanced at Cynthia, acknowledging her presence, as he continue calling out to Fran.

Cynthia had never seen Mike so upset.

At last, the phone turned to dial tone. Mike slumped in his chair, looked helplessly at Cynthia and shook his head. Sweat beaded on his brow. "Someone's been shot," he said.

"Fran?"

"Maybe, I don't know."

"Oh dear!"

"She called me, wanting to know what to do. Some man was at the door, trying to get in. I notified the cops and kept Fran on the cell phone while all this was taking place. When the cop arrived, he got the drop on the guy. Fran keeps a bag packed at all times, in case she ever has to make a run for it. She grabbed the bag, her car keys and slipped out the door while the cop was grilling the intruder."

"What happened?"

"I couldn't tell. I could hear her open the car door and put her key in the ignition. Then I heard the garage door go up, and then a scuffle of some kind and then a gun shot. Fran keeps a gun, but..." Mike ran his fingers through his hair. "I feel so helpless."

Thinking quickly, Cynthia asked, "How about if I call K.C.?" Agent K.C. Williams headed up the office of the F.B.I. in Los Angeles.

"Good idea. At least he can listen in on dispatch and see if he can hear anything. Also, I'll call the police station I talked to before and see what they know. Maybe they'll tell me something."

*******

## Los Angeles

Fran stared, frozen in shock, at the unconscious man slumped beside her.

"Lady, hand me your gun," Officer Stevens spoke calmly.

Fran seemed not to hear.

"The gun, lady, give me your gun."

Fran looked in horror at the bloody gun in her hand and dropped it instantly. It fell harmlessly into her lap. She started to shake violently, her mouth opened in a silent scream. Blood was oozing onto the unconscious Max's shirt and pants, and Fran's clothes. Everything started to turn dark. She struggled to hold onto her consciousness. Her eyelids closed and she sank forward onto the horn causing it to blow.

Unable, now, to reach the gun, the cop could do nothing but wait for help. It was a crime scene. He spoke into his communicator, "Officer Stevens to dispatch. We have two gunshot victims. Send EMT units and a crime scene unit."

Steven did not touch the victims. Instead, he took out his camera and began recording the scene. Very soon the EMT units arrived and took over caring for the two unconscious people. More police arrived. The crime scene unit bagged the gun and began collecting evidence. Officer Stevens and one other patrol officer accompanied the ambulances. It was important to keep the two under arrest until the sequence of events could be sorted out. At the ER, Officer Stevens would take the victims' clothes as evidence and would collect gun powder and other residue from the two. He would make his report later.

*******

Fran and Max by Dorothy May Mercer

### Chapter 2 Hospital

Fran awoke to the sound of two male voices arguing. Where am I? What happened? Instinctively she reached for her stomach to make sure her baby was all right. Gradually her eyes opened and she began to remember. This was a hospital room. She looked around and saw she was alone. The men outside in the hall seemed to be arguing over who had jurisdiction.

"You son-of-a-bitch, bastard, think you can just walk in here and pull rank!" said one, obviously angry man.

"That's exactly what I'm doing!" said the other. "This is a federal matter, now, and we won't have anything written about this in the press."

"But, I can't stop that and you know it!"

"Oh, I think you can, Officer Stevens, I think you can."

Stevens grumbled something unintelligible.

"We appreciate your cooperation, Stevens. This woman is now under federal protection. Nothing must come out. Do you understand?"

"All right, all right. I'm leaving." His steps could be heard stomping down the hall.

Oh dear God, thought Fran. What if...? She strained to remember.

A nurse entered the room. "Hello there, miss. I see you are awake. That is good. How are you feeling?"

Fran opened her mouth. It was too dry to speak. She tried to lift up her head and felt suddenly dizzy.

"Oh I see you just woke up. You must feel a little groggy still. Here, let me help you sip a little water." The nurse held a straw up to Fran's mouth. "Just a sip or two. That's good." She set the glass down and reached for a cotton swap dipped in moisturizer. "Here, dear, let me put a bit of this on your lips. That will help with the dryness." She swabbed Fran's lips.

Fran pursed her lips a couple times to spread it around. "Th-tha..." she cleared her throat. "Th-thank you, nurse."

"That's better. You can talk now. Does your head hurt a little?"

"No, not really."

"Well, we'll just crank your bed up half way and let you rest for a few minutes until you get your strength back. We don't want you to try to get up alone, understand? Is there anything I can get you, now?"

"A little more water, please," said Fran.

This time the nurse handed the water to Fran to see if she could handle it herself.

"Very good," she said. "I'll leave you, now for about fifteen minutes, and then I'll be back to help you get up and go to the bathroom, okay?"

"Wait," said Fran.

"Yes?"

"Is my baby all right?"

"Your baby is fine, and so are you. You just had a bit of a shock is all. We'll have you back on your feet soon. Please don't try to get up alone, all right?"

Fran nodded.

The nurse bustled out.

In the hall, FBI Agent K.C. Williams motioned his head toward the room as if to ask, "How is she?"

"She'll be fine," said the nurse.

"When can I see her?"

"I think she had a fright of some kind, and fainted. She may just need rest and good nutrition."

"Excellent. But, when can I see her?"

"Well, you can say hello, but make it quick. Give her a little more time before you question her at any length. We will get some liquids and food down her. After resting, she should be good as new."

"I'll just be a minute."

"Oh second thought, does she know you?"

"No, we haven't met."

"In that case I'm afraid you will startle her. Our orders are to keep her calm. Perhaps you had better wait and go in with me in a few minutes."

"I'm so glad you thought of that. I'll wait outside."

"Come with me and I'll get you a chair."

Fran sipped a bit more water and set the glass down. She took a deep breath and sighed as memories flooded back. Her eyes closed as a tear escaped. She tried to stop the thoughts and the panic for a minute. Again, her mind shut down and let her sleep.

Twenty minutes later, Nurse Kennedy returned. Seeing Fran asleep she made a few sounds. Fran opened her eyes, "Hello, again," she said, "I guess I fell asleep."

"Sleep is the best thing for you and your baby, my dear. But first, how about we get you up for a minute?"

"Sounds good."

"I''ll crank your bed up a bit more, and then we'll let you dangle your feet off the bed."

"Okay."

"Just slide around here. There you go. Now, dangle your feet."

Fran smiled and swung her feet.

"Feeling okay?"

Fran nodded.

"No dizziness?"

Fran shook her head.

"Good. Here have a little more water and we'll get you up."

The nurse moved a step stool near to Fran and helped her step down. "You're doing fine. Ready to go use the bathroom?"

Fran nodded, and they walked together to the en-suite bathroom. "Can you handle this alone?"

"Yes, I'm feeling much better," said Fran."

"Fine, I'll wait right here for you."

Fran proceeded to use the bathroom, and wash her face and hands. A look in the mirror frightened her. She still had blood stains. She turned and walked back, managing to climb into bed on her own and lean back. The nurse showed her how to adjust the bed for herself and how to use the call button. "How long will I be here?" asked Fran.

"Well, that is up to the doctor. He will want to keep you for a few hours to make sure you and the baby are all right. Also, we will get you food and a bath later on. Is there anyone who can bring you some clean clothes and drive you home?"

"No," Fran shook her head.

"Well, we'll see about that, then. No worries, now. The doctor will be in to check you later. Your dinner should be up in about half an hour. Now, if you need to get up again, just push that button. Okay?"

Fran nodded.

"Before I go, there is a gentleman outside who wants to see you."

A look of alarm crossed Fran's face.

"I can see you aren't so sure about that. Are you frightened?"

"Uh... who is it?"

"I think I should stay with you when he comes in. Would that help?"

"Yes, please."

The nurse went to the door and gestured to the man to come in. "You can come in now for a few minutes, but do not upset her or frighten her, or you will have to leave." Then she moved across the room to watch.

Fran appeared nervous as the visitor entered the room.

He smiled and spoke quietly. "Hello, Fran. Before you worry, I want you to know that Mike McBride sent me."

"Senator Mike? Oh... really?"

"Well, actually it was Cynthia who called, but she was in Mike's office. They were both scared out of their wits and asked me to find out what had happened to you. After I talked to Officer Stevens, and got an idea of what may have happened, I talked to Mike and he asked me to take care of you. Now, you don't have to take my word for it. I'd like to get Mike on the phone and let him tell you, okay?"

He looked over at the nurse, "Okay?" he asked.

She nodded.

"My name is K.C., by the way," he smiled. "Here, I'll even let you use your own cell phone."

Fran reached for it.

"I had to twist Officer Steven's arm to get this," he said with a grin.

Fran took the phone and punched in Mike's private number.

"Hello, hello, is that you?" Mike answered.

"Yes, it's me."

"Oh, thank God! Are you all right."

"Yes, I think so. I'm a little shook up. I guess I must have passed out, or something, and woke up in the hospital."

"Do you know what happened?"

"Well, not yet. I'm starting to remember some of it, but not all. The last thing I remember was talking to you and then..."

"Never mind. Don't say any more right now until we can talk in private. You aren't alone, are you?"

"I'm in a private room in some hospital. There is a nurse here and some man who claims that you sent him."

"What does he say his name is?"

"K.C."

"I sent him. But, better ask for some ID to make sure. Is he about six foot, one-eighty pounds, about thirty-five, dark hair mixed with gray, receding hair line?"

"You nailed it."

"My dear, you have got the big-shot head of the FBI in Los Angeles guarding you. Can't do better than that."

"Thanks a lot. I mean it."

"Call me when you get home, okay?"

"Will do."

"You take care."

"You, too."

Fran closed the call, and looked up. "May I please see your ID, sir?"

K.C. flipped out his badge and ID. Fran looked it over carefully. "Thanks for coming, K.C."

"Glad to be here. Now, can we talk?"

*******

On another floor in the same hospital, a surgical team worked over the man who called himself Max J. Underwood. A surgical nurse silently handed instruments to the doctor bending over the prostrate patient, draped in white, except for his chest area. Swiftly, the surgeon cut into his chest and parted ribs with an instrument One by one, the surgeon tied off bleeding blood vessels. An anesthesiologist, clad in a pale green gown, hat, mask, and latex gloves, kept constant watch over several dials and gauges. Another nurse tended the IV entering the patient's body while an assistant surgeon suctioned the wound and dabbed at blood with a white sponge held in tongs, tossing it into the growing red pile in the surgical waste container. The only sounds were the respirator breathing and the beep of his heartbeat on the EKG monitor.

The skillful surgeon worked at repairing torn tissue with sure fingers. It was exacting work. Certain types of bullets are meant to make a mess inside your body. This one had done its job well.

Every few seconds the anesthesiologist read out the vitals. The BP was dropping precariously low. "Shall we order a few units of packed RBCs," he asked. Without looking up the head surgeon merely nodded. A stand-by nurse ordered the blood sent up from the refrigerated blood bank. Minutes passed as the BP dropped even further and the heart labored at an increasingly higher rate.

The head surgeon spoke for the first time, "Where the hell is that blood?" The little nurse ran out, returning minutes later with a plastic container of dark liquid. She quickly fastened the container onto the rack and hooked it into the wide open IV. She adjusted the flow allowing the life-giving fluid to drip slowly into the vein. The entire surgical team held their breath, except for the surgeon who continued to work. He pulled the light closer and looked up, briefly, while a nurse mopped his brow. Minutes ticked by as the BP gradually improved, the EKG streaming monitor steadied and the team began to breathe again, except, they were not out of the woods yet. The bullet was still in there. X-rays showed it dangerously close to the heart. If any vital sac had been ripped, this could be very bad news.

The head surgeon kept a stoical, professional demeanor, but he was very worried. Where is that damn bullet? God, I need a hand here, he prayed for an instant. For some reason the bleeding would not stop, and he couldn't find the origin. He glanced at the blood transfusion. "Increase the drip and go get another unit," he ordered. Gotta find that leaky s.o.b. "More sponges and suction," he muttered.

The assistant reached for another tongs and picked up a second white gauze square, daubing as fast as he dared. The head surgeon shook his head and reached for tongs, himself. Three hands began daubing and soaking up blood, while the little nurse hooked up another unit. With his free hand the surgeon adjusted the light at different angles and peered intently through the magnifier. He poked in a different spot. "Ah there it is!" he exclaimed, and took hold of the bleeder with a forceps. He handed the sponge tool to a nurse. "Keep this clean for me," he ordered. She knew what to do. She and the assistant surgeon kept the area as dry as possible while the surgeon sewed the two ends together with tiny stitches. Gradually the bleeding slowed and stopped and the nurse withdrew her tongs. The assistant continued his mop-up action and soon the area was clear.

"That was the big one," sighed the head surgeon. "That bullet can't be far away." Saying nothing more, he inspected the area. Finally, he held out his hand for a forceps. Ever so carefully he grasped the end of the bullet and tugged at the adjoining tissue. More bleeding resulted, but he continued until the bullet was free. He held it up and glanced, knowingly at his team. His eyes were smiling. The bullet made a tiny plopping sound as he released the bloody missile into a bowl and bent to the task of tying off the last few bleeders.

At last, he straightened up, pressing his hands into his aching back, took a deep breath and smiled. "Close him up," he ordered.

*******

After lunch, Fran slept for four hours, giving her brain time to repair itself. When her eyes opened, they fell on a man in a white coat studying her chart.

"Hello, Fran," he said with a smile.

"Hello, doctor."

"How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thank you."

"Let me just listen you your heart and lungs and your baby. Can you sit up for me?"

After checking her over to his satisfaction he stepped back. "I think we can let you go home, now. Everything seems to be fine. I'll have a nurse come in to get you ready." With that, he turned and left the room.

Fran was confounded. How was she going to get home? No clothes, no money, no ideas.

Just then, a tiny knock on the door and K.C. poked his head in. "Hi," he said.

"Oh hi, K.C. I didn't know you were still here."

"I was gone for a while."

"And now you're back," she said, stating the obvious.

"I've brought you some things," he grinned. He opened a bag he was carrying and took out a pair of maternity lounging slacks, a loose fitting blouse and jacket, some underwear, sox and slip-on shoes. "What do you think?"

Tears started to flow. "Oh thank you, thank you. I didn't know what I was going to do."

Without a word, K.C. handed her a box of tissues.

Fran sniffed and blew her nose.

"I'll wait outside while you change, okay?"

Fran nodded and sniffed again. She started to get out of bed, and then she remembered and reached for the call button.

"Yes ma'am, how can we help you?"

"I'm ready to get up, now."

"Someone will be right there."

After Fran was ready to go, the nurse went to fetch a wheel chair.

K.C. poked his head in again. "Can I come in, now?"

"Yes, please do."

"You are looking much better, Fran."

"Yup, here I am, all dressed up and no place to go."

"That's why I'm here."

"You're taking me?"

"Sure am."

"Oh my goodness. This is too much." She started to puddle up.

"Now don't start that again," he smiled and handed her another tissue.

"Oops, sorry." Fran blew again and tossed the tissue in the waste container.

Nurse Kennedy arrived with the wheel chair. "All ready?"

Fran nodded, slid off the bed and into the chair.

As they rolled down the hall, Fran started to ask a question and then she remembered Mike's warning not to say anything in front of other people.

Fran waited at the curb with Nurse Kennedy while K.C. brought the car around.

Once safely in the car, she turned to K.C. "We need to talk," she said, "I have a bunch of questions."

"So do I, so do I," he mused as he steered out of the parking lot and into traffic.

"What happened to the man I shot?"

"Did you shoot a man?" he countered.

"Oh... I guess I said the wrong thing...."

"Yes, Fran, you never say 'I shot a man.'"

"Did I, or didn't I?"

"Don't you know?" he asked.

"No clue."

"I suggest you figure that out real fast before the cops get you."

"No!"

"Oh yeah," K.C. looked at her sidewise as he kept the car moving smoothly with the traffic.

"Okay, let me start over, okay? "I had a loaded gun with me in my escape bag."

"Escape bag?"

"Yeah, in case I ever needed to leave in a hurry, I always had a few things packed in a bag, so I could grab it and take off."

"Okay, so you had your escape bag. Go on," he said.

"And I had put my licensed gun in the bag."

"What happened next?"

"I remember getting into the car, and feeling terrified. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely get the key in the ignition. I remember pushing the button to open the garage and reaching to start the car... and then... and then..." She touched her fingers to the sides of her head and shook it slowly. She bit her lip and looked at K.C. with a troubled look on her face. "I don't know .... I just can't remember anything until I woke up in the hospital room.

"Fran, you aren't making sense."

"Maybe not."

He waited for her to go on. Finally, he offered, "You asked me what happened to the man you shot?"

She gasped. "Oh... !" and her eyes shifted back and forth. "I did say that, didn't I? But..." she shook her head, took a depth breath and blew it out. She laid her head back. "Let me think a minute."

"Sure, Fran, that's a good idea. Your memory seems to be coming back in waves. Why don't you close your eyes and rest a bit?"

"Can't you just tell me what happened?"

"Not really. I wasn't there and no one has told me much. Besides, I think it is best for your mind if I don't suggest things to you right now, while you are sorting it out. Try to rest your mind now while I drive, okay?"

Fran reached down for the levers beside her seat, adjusted her seat back, closed her eyes and soon fell asleep.

K.C. moved into the fast lane.

*******

In her sleep, she heard the sound of the garage door going up, and started to moan. She began thrashing around against her seat belt.

Fran's car was impounded as evidence, and so K.C. had grabbed an extra garage door opener from a kitchen drawer, when he was out to her house getting her some clothes and snooping around.

He pulled into the garage, shifted the car into Park and watched her as she experienced a dream, or was it a nightmare? He waited until she was quiet for a few minutes and then he opened his car door. She heard it and opened her eyes. K.C. turned toward her and waited for her to talk.

"I started the garage door opening, and then..." she started to say. "...and then I reached for the starter... and then I looked up and saw a dark figure. It must have been a man, silhouetted against the daylight. And so, I reached for my gun."

"Go on, Fran."

"I knew my gun was in my escape bag, which was on the floor on the passenger side of the car. I had my seat belt on, and so I couldn't bend down. But, then I got it loose and I bent down to unzip the bag and get my gun out." She paused while thinking.

K.C. waited patiently. This was good. Apparently the nap helped, and then the sound of the garage door was the trigger. Her memory was coming back.

"I realized that I hadn't locked the car doors. Usually they lock themselves after a minute or so. I was looking down, so I didn't actually see the man, but I heard him open the car door. I was trying to get my gun out. It's all a blur," she shook her head. "It all happened so fast." She shook her head and fell silent.

K.C. waited.

"Can we go in now?" Fran asked.

"We sure can. Let me come around and help you."

K.C. turned off the car, put the garage door down, went around to the passenger side and helped Fran into the house where he got her settled.

"Thank you so much for everything you have done for me," Fran said. "I am truly grateful."

"You are welcome, young lady. Now, with your permission, I'm going to have one of our women stay with you for the night. She will bring supper along. Then, after you have a good night's rest, I will see you tomorrow. Maybe by then I will know more, and you will have recovered more of your memory. Okay?"

"Sounds like a good plan, K.C. Thanks again. You can leave now, if you want. I promised I would call Mike when I got home."

"All right. I'll say good night for now. Your companion should be here in half an hour. Make sure you check her I.D. before you open the door."

"Will do. Good night."

"See you later."

*******

## Recovery Room

It was almost midnight. Visitors had left. Lights were dimmed, the hospital was quiet. Only one area was brightly lit and humming with activity—Surgical Recovery and Intensive Care. A life and death battle was taking place with the patient known as Max Underwood.

His surgery had been successful, so far as it went, but the trauma to his body was too extensive. His surgeon and his primary doctor were in, several times, since the surgery, to check on his progress and make adjustments to his treatment. At last the doctor had retired for the night, in one of the overnight beds provided for staff, with orders to wake him immediately if there was any change. Numerous machines and medical devices constantly monitored every vital sign and administered drugs and fluids. At this point Max was in a medically induced coma. The highest paid and best trained registered nurses cared for the patients in this section. Max was in a special bed for unconscious patients, one that could be moved and adjusted in many positions while insuring that the patient would not fall out or become entangled in any way.

The first twenty-four hours were the most crucial. Max had lost a lot of blood and suffered severe trauma, followed by several hours of surgery. His condition was critical.

There had been no visitors, except for an Officer Stevens and another plain clothes man from some area of law enforcement, who only went by the initials K.C. It was strange there had been no inquiries from family or friends.

The only information the nursing staff had about Max was that he suffered a gunshot wound. Whether it was a drive-by shooting, a drug related deal gone bad, or a shot by a jealous husband was anybody's guess. No one knew and no one really cared. This was a big city. Stuff happened all the time. However, these caregivers were professionals and took pleasure in their work. They would save this man, if at all possible.

The wee hours of the morning were always the worst. That was when the body's natural rhythms were at their slowest. And thus these night nurses would do their best to see that no one died on their shift—a matter of pride for them. Max would make it until the morning crew came on, or else! It would be interesting to see if Max was still there when they returned at midnight the next night. Probably not. More likely, he would either have died or recovered enough to move to a lower level of care. Judging from his condition, it could go either way.

*******

Fran and Max by Dorothy May Mercer

Chapter 3 Two Days Later

Fran was feeling almost back to her old self. She had slept a lot, since the accident—moreover she had taken to referring to it as an accident. Today, she felt well enough to go see her ob-gyn and make sure her baby was still okay.

Fran would wear one of the several disguises that she used whenever she went out. This wig was short and dark brown, almost black, a completely different color and style from her usual hair. She also had two different blond wigs, one curly, one long and straight and a gray haired old woman look.

Each different wig had a wardrobe that went with the style. She also had some very real looking facial characteristics that she could apply with a special kind of adhesive. It was amazing how much a little alteration could change her looks. An assortment of colored contact lenses and a variety of shoes completed the transformation.

The danger was that she would forget which persona she was adopting at any one particular time, and so, she kept a log of where she went and what disguise she wore. For instance, any time she was seeing her ob-gyn, she would always wear the same wig and use the same name. In this case she was Frankie Marsh, Fran for short.

She would never be Fran Whittaker again, but Mike advised her to keep her first name. It would make things immeasurably easier. First names are so ingrained. It would give her one little bit of her real self to hang onto. It was easy to use the name Frankie with Fran for short. On paper, the name appeared to be male, which was one more thing to throw the Syndicate off her trail. A variety of surnames seemed to work well, too. After all, did not many women change their last names with each new career, each new husband?

When she shopped for groceries, Fran varied her disguises, shopped at several different stores and paid with cash. She did not want to become too much of a regular customer in any one place. As time went on, she would gradually do more things, such as go to the movies or entertainment. She might even attend worship, if she wanted, but never to the same church for very long. It would not do to develop close friends. Maybe later, but not now, not until after the baby was born, and maybe not for years after. How long would the Syndicate keep looking for her? Would they ever give up? Fran knew that she and her baby represented a lot of lost money to them. That thought made her shiver.

For today, a trip to the doctor and a stop for a few things on the way home would have to suffice. She counted every day of freedom as a blessing and knew she could not let her guard down. Thank God for Mike and Cynthia. Without their help, she would never have been able to do this on her own.

Fran could not tell her doctor why she asked for an appointment sooner than the regular visit was scheduled. If asked, she would make up some excuse. She need not have worried. No one asked, or even noticed.

Afterward she felt reassured when her ob-gyn said the same thing that the hospital doctor said, "Your baby is doing fine, and so are you. Go home, follow my instructions to eat well, drink plenty of water, get lots of rest, and I will see you again in one month."

When she got home, her message light was blinking. K.C. wanted to know if he could stop by and see her for a few minutes, around seven. "Leave a message at this number, if it's okay. Feel free to put it off for a day or two if you aren't feeling perfectly rested from your ordeal," he said.

Fran was tempted to fib about it and say she was not up to an interview, but something told her there was no escaping. She might as well see him and get it behind her. She assumed that he wanted to quiz her again about the accident. What else could it be? Unless... no he couldn't be attracted to her... could he? Good heavens, it had to be just a professional interest. Where did that notion come from? Well, he was attractive, in a rugged sort of way. Hmm, I wonder if he is married. Well, it did not matter anyway, because she was not interested in ever having any "men friends." After everything she had been through, the idea almost made her sick.

As the time for K.C.'s visit drew closer, she felt even more uneasy. For once she was not hungry, merely nibbling at her dinner and throwing the rest out. So much for following doctor's orders. She had dusted and straightened the living room, even scrubbed the bathroom and made her bed, although there was certainly no danger of him going in there. She ran out of things to do, trying to watch the news on TV and unable to concentrate. By seven PM she was fit to be tied. Darn it, I wish he would hurry up and get here! By 7:10 PM, there was still no sign of him. Honestly, this is so rude!

Finally the doorbell rang. She rose and went to the electronics control room to check the monitors. Ah, it's him, alone. Good. No one else around. Fran counted to twenty, determined to make him wait a bit. The bell rang again. Slowly she strolled to the door, hooked up the security chain, threw the deadbolt and opened the door three inches to the end of the chain. "Yes? Who is there, please?"

"It's K.C. May I come in?"

"Let me see your identification."

He pulled out his badge and ID and placed it in her outstretched hand.

Fran took her sweet time inspecting it, noting K.C. Williams had a last name. She handed it back. Silently she removed the security chain, pulled open the door and stepped back, allowing him to enter.

"Thank you for seeing me, Miss," said K.C.

"Will this take long?" she demanded, making no move.

"Do you mind if I sit down?" K.C. asked, a bit discomfited.

"Well, I suppose, if you must."

Fran knew that she had no call to be rude to K.C. who had gone out of his way to be kind to her. But she wanted to discourage him from further contact, didn't she? He was F.B.I., after all, and no man could be trusted, much less a G-man.

K.C. sat on the edge of his seat. "Uh... well..." he fumbled, "Um how are you feeling?"

Fran looked at him blankly, as if this was a strange question, "I'm fine, thank you."

"No lasting problems, I take it," he said with a nervous smile.

"No."

"Most people would be upset after having shot a man," he offered.

"Perhaps they would," she answered, "but I have never encountered that particular type of experience."

"Ah, so your story is that you did not shoot a man and nearly kill him?"

Fran was startled, but regained her composure. "There is no such story."

"You didn't know?"

"Are you trying to get me rattled, sir?"

"No, of course not! All I'm saying is that apparently you have not inquired about the condition of the man you shot?"

At that, Fran jumped out of her seat. "I will not allow you to accuse me of shooting anyone. I'll have to ask you to leave." She pointed toward the door.

K.C. stubbornly remained seated. "All right, all right, I'm not accusing you. Just calm down."

"I don't think so." She remained standing.

"Well then, if you didn't shoot a man, somebody else did it. That man is lying in the hospital right now, fighting for his life."

Fran gasped and sank into her seat, turning pale. She shook her head. "Oh dear God. I didn't. I swear."

"Do you remember the gun going off?"

She paused for a long time. "Well... maybe... it might have."

"It went off, all right. The police have proof it was your gun that was fired, and they have a bullet that came from your gun."

"What bullet?"

"The bullet the surgeon dug out of the victim after four hours of surgery."

"But... couldn't the man have pulled the trigger?"

"And shot himself in the chest?"

"Oh..."

"I don't think so," said K.C.

"Well, then, it had to be an accident," affirmed Fran, as if that settled it.

K.C. stared at her.

Thinking to change the subject Fran asked, "How did you find my telephone number? It's supposed to be non-listed."

K.C. stared at her.

"Well, answer the question," she demanded.

"I didn't hack into your system, if that's what you're thinking."

"You expect me to believe that, don't you?"

"I wouldn't lie to you," he smiled.

"Now that's funny!" Fran scowled.

"Oh, all right, I'll tell you a trade secret. When I came out to your house to get your clothes, I dialed 011 star on your phone and it gave me the number."

"You're making that up!"

"Would you believe Mike gave it to me?"

"No, that's the last thing I would believe."

"Mike's a good guy. You're right. He won't betray you."

Fran fell silent and K.C. waited. At length her curiosity overcame her. "Tell me about the guy in the hospital, what's his name?"

"You don't know his name?"

"How would I know his name?"

"Officer Stevens said you claimed he was your husband."

"Oh that! I lied. Stevens didn't believe me, anyway. But I don't know it was the same guy. Do you?"

"That's what he told me."

"Look K.C., I'm sorry the guy got shot, but beyond that, I don't know him from Adam. I was terrified he would get in my house."

"So, did you recognize him when he got in the car with you?"

"Ah, so, we're back to that. I already told you, I was looking at the floor and trying to get my gun when some person, I don't know who, came crashing into me. I have no idea who it was. Could have been the man in the moon, for all I know."

"So you didn't get a look at the guy. Right?"

"Right, and I'm not even sure it was a guy, except the figure I saw silhouetted against the light, seemed big, and the body that crashed into me felt enormous," Fran's voice was rising. "I'm not even sure it was the same person. I was leaning over to get my gun. There could have been a whole bunch of people for all I know."

Fran leaped to her feet and started pacing, waving her arms in exasperation. She whirled to K.C. "Why don't you tell me what happened? You know everything!"

"That's not my job."

"Then what the hell are you doing here? Get out!"

K.C. sat back in the chair, crossed his legs and relaxed.

"Oh... you!" Fran stared at him and clenched her fists on her hips.

K.C. merely grinned. "Did anyone ever tell you you're beautiful?"

"Ack!" she shook her head. "Try another line, mister!"

K.C. patted the air in a "sit down" motion. "Please be seated," he said, "You're fine. Now just sit down and take it easy for a minute. Please?"

Fran glared at him and crossed her arms. She took a "just try and make me" stance.

K.C.'s practiced tone was meant to quiet the most agitated suspects. "Relax Fran. No one is going to hurt you. I promise. No one is breaking into your house. You are perfectly safe. Just sit back down, Fran. Relax and be quiet. Just breathe, Fran. I'll answer all your questions." He continued to talk in quiet tone, at a measured pace, pausing between each short phrase, while slowly moving his palm up and down.

Fran watched his hand as it moved. It was almost hypnotic. Without thinking, she unclasped her arms, opened her fists and sank into the soft chair.

"That's a girl, Fran. Now, close your eyes. Breathe. Take a deep breath. Count to ten as you exhale. Very good, Fran. Relax your neck muscles. Another deep breath. Atta girl. Let out those troubles. Those fears. Just let go."

K.C. perceived that he could hypnotize Fran completely if he continued, but thought it best to let her be quiet for a minute while he watched her breathe. She has no idea how beautiful she is at this very moment, he thought. He was convinced she believed she did not pull the trigger. Fran had blocked on that. But, forensics showed her prints on the gun and a partial print on the trigger. It had been a simple matter to obtain her prints, for comparison, off several objects in her house. No other prints were on the firearm. Also, there was gun powder residue on her hand. None on the man's. So far, the evidence was conclusive. The only question remaining: "Was it an accident or was it deliberate?"

K.C. was naturally curious. There had to be some dire reason that Max Underwood was after Fran. The elaborate security apparatus in the house spoke volumes. Why did Senator Mike McBride have an interest in this woman? K.C. had spent some time going through Fran's computer set-up, trying to figure it out. He could not hack in that day, but he would, in time. So far, there was no computer system in the world that he could not hack, given enough time.

In fascination, K.C. watched Fran's breasts gently rise and fall, as her breathing slowed and body relaxed. Let her sleep, he thought. He studied the contours of her face, her luscious breasts, slim legs and feet, the rounded pod in her belly. Her hands were expressive. No ring on her finger. He wondered whether Max Underwood was the baby's father. If so, she was doing a convincing job of pretending she did not know him. No, either she did not know him, or wasn't sure. Could be the latter. There had to be some connection. Clearly she was terrified, that's for sure. K.C. was determined to learn why.

Fran began to stir. She opened her eyes and gazed straight at K.C. He watched as recognition dawned. She straightened herself up and pushed the hair out of her face.

"Good morning, Fran," he smiled at her, watching her like a cat.

"Oh... I must have fallen asleep. Sorry."

"Only for a little while. No problem."

"Can I get you something to drink?" she asked, forgetting she wanted to get rid of him.

"That would be nice." K.C. was pleased at the change in her demeanor. Maybe I hypnotized her after all. He smiled to himself.

"Some wine, coffee?"

"A little wine would be nice, if you'll join me."

"Not now," she patted her stomach. "I'll have some water."

"Water will be good."

Fran headed for the kitchen, K.C. on her heels. He made himself comfortable at the kitchen table and watched while she fetched two bottles from the refrigerator, and placed them on the table. Taking two glasses from the cupboard she inquired, "Ice?"

"Yes please."

"Lemon?"

"That would be nice." K.C. encouraged her to wait on him. He knew that these little gestures were part of his strategy to bring about a thaw in their relationship. He was good, damn good. He would get her to talk. Too bad she couldn't have a little wine.

Fran set his glass in front of him, placed hers across the table and arranged two napkins.

K.C. leaped up. "Here let me help you." He pulled out her chair.

Fran frowned a bit, but sat down, saying nothing as he pushed the chair in for her and returned to his seat.

K.C. lifted his glass, "Cheers," he said with a smile, hoping she would reciprocate.

Fran lifted her glass to his, saying nothing. Her eyes strayed to his left hand. No wedding ring. She quickly looked away as a guilty thought crossed her face for a nano-second.

Noting her eye movement, K.C. took a long drink, set the glass down and leaned back in his chair as if he planned to stay a while and chat, buddy to buddy. He would start the conversation in a non-threatening way. "I was happy to see you get a little nap, you needed it."

Fran nodded.

"Have you been sleeping well?"

"Not so much, no."

"That's too bad, but not surprising considering your ordeal."

"Mmm."

"Well, maybe this night will be better for you."

"I hope so." Why is he asking how I sleep?

"Nice place you have here," he continued, between sips, eyes on hers.

"Well, it isn't much. But, I'm comfortable." She looked away.

"The neighborhood is more mature, of course, but a lot of houses have been fixed up inside."

"I suppose so," she agreed.

"If there is anything that needs doing, let me know," he offered.

"Why do that?"

"Because I enjoy puttering around a house, fixing things. It's my relaxation," he fibbed. Maybe I could fix up your bedroom some night.

"Odd hobby," she observed.

"Not at all. My dad taught me how to fix things. He was a master Mr. Fixit," he chuckled.

"Your dad?"

"He's gone now. A wonderful man, really. I miss him."

Fran had the urge to say "I'm sorry" but bit her tongue. It would not do to be taken in by his charm.

"My mom stills lives alone, north of here a hundred miles or so."

"Mmm."

"I try to get up to see her for the day, at least once a month. She always had a 'to-do' list for me," he chuckled, "It's the least I can do."

"Right." Fran tried to keep her answers short, but it was hard not to respond to this man. She had been so starved for company.

"Max seems to be doing a bit better," K.C. threw out the bait, hoping she would ask for more.

"Max?"

"Max Underwood, you know, the guy in the hospital."

"Oh that Max."

"Is there some other Max?"

"Well, yes, I used to know another Max."

"Around here?"

"No, back East."

"Oh, did you live there long?" K.C. was desperate to keep her talking, by asking innocuous questions.

"Well, the McBrides were friends," she avoided the question.

"Yes, I gathered you knew Mike. Real nice guy."

She nodded, and sipped her water.

"This Max that you knew back then, was his name Underwood?"

"I don't think so."

"You didn't know him well then."

"Why would you think that?" she asked.

"Just that you didn't know his last name."

"Uh..." Fran fiddled nervously with her napkin and looked away.

K.C. could see he had hit a nerve. "Did this new Max resemble the Max you knew back East?" he pressed.

"In some ways, maybe. I don't know."

"I can see you aren't sure."

"Well, I really didn't get a good look, you know. He never came in the house," she said.

"Oh, I didn't realize that. So you didn't let him in at all, then?"

"Oh no, not at all. I looked at his picture on the monitor and stayed out of sight."

Now we're getting somewhere. K.C. pressed, "Did you talk to him at all?"

"Only to ask what he wanted and tell him to leave."

"Why didn't he leave?"

"I don't know. It was crazy. He actually walked around the house, looking in the windows and then he sat down on the back porch and lit up a cigarette. I was scared."

"You had every right to be scared. His behavior was weird, as if he was stalking you."

"I know. That's exactly the word I've been trying to think of—stalker," Fran agreed.

"So what did you do?"

"I sent a text to Mike McBride asking him... well, never mind what I asked. Mike called the police."

"So, let me get this straight, you were hiding out in the back room, while this guy, Max, was smoking on your back porch."

"Right"

"And then you sent a text to Senator McBride and he called the police."

"Right."

"Then what did you do when the cop arrived?"

"I grabbed my gun, car keys and my escape bag and got into the car."

"Go on."

"You know the rest."

"Well, did you actually start the car?"

She thought a minute. "I'm not sure."

""You pushed the button to raise the garage door, right?"

"Yes, and that's when all hell broke loose."

"Ah, I get it," said K.C. trying to appear nonchalant, he said, "I don't suppose you have any idea why this Max Underwood was acting so weird."

"No idea," Fran shook her head.

"What did he say when you asked him what he wanted?" he asked, just as she was taking a sip of water.

Fran's eyes widened. Her hand flew to her mouth."Ah..." She gasped, started to cough, pounded her chest and grabbed for her napkin.

K.C. came around the table and began patting her gently on the back, as Fran coughed and turned pink. He handed her another napkin. At last she stopped, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. "I'm sorry," she croaked, and blew some more. "I don't know what came over me." She tried to smile.

"Maybe you should watch that water, Fran. Dangerous stuff," he grinned.

"Yeah," she nodded into her napkin, "you're right." She snuffled.

K.C. watched her keenly. There's something about that question she's not telling me. He decided not to ask it again, right away, thus trapping her in a lie. Once she lies, she'll have to stick to it. He would come after it in a different way. For sure, this was important.

Silence grew between them.

K.C. waited.

Fran looked away. She could not hold his magnetic gaze for more than three seconds. At length she broke the silence with the question that was haunting her, "You said you've been up to the hospital..." she offered.

"Yeah." She's curious.

"Well, what for?"

"Business."

"Oh," she sounded disappointed. She drew a breath and looked up. "Just business?"

"Yup."

"I guess it's a secret, huh?"

"No, not at all. I have to investigate to see if a crime has been committed."

"What crime do you mean?"

"The man assaulted you, didn't he?"

"Well, yeah, I guess so."

"Either you shot him in self-defense, or he shot himself, or there was another person in the car, don't you think?"

"Oh, I see," she said even though she did not see at all. "B-but..." she began.

"It's all right, Fran. Don't be worried. You did nothing wrong." He had to say it, he couldn't help himself. She just looked so vulnerable, and alone.

"I still don't understand."

"What don't you understand?"

"What has the F.B.I. got to do with it? Seems like it should be a police matter."

"You're right. It may come to that. I, sort of, intervened as a favor to Mike McBride."

"Thank you. But couldn't you be in trouble?"

"In trouble? With whom?"

"I don't know. With your boss maybe."

K.C. laughed. "My dear, I am the boss." He reached for her hand. "Relax Fran, between Mike and me... we'll take care of you."

She looked at their hands, in amazement, feeling the warmth. A man was touching her and it actually felt good. She looked from his hand into his eyes.

K.C. reached out with his other hand and briefly touched the end of her nose. "You're a doll, Fran," he smiled showing his perfect white teeth and the laugh lines around his eyes. He gave her hand a squeeze and let go. "Thanks for the water and the time, but I need to go do some things."

"You're welcome."

"Before I go, is there anything you need?"

How about a hug? "No thank you," she said.

He pushed back his chair and stood to leave, "I'll stop by tomorrow," he offered, hoping she would not object.

Fran followed him to the door. He opened it to leave. "Lock up after me, okay?"

She nodded.

"See ya' tomorrow, babe."

"Goodbye," she watched him walk down the sidewalk to his car. He started the car and turned to wave. She tentatively raised her hand, somewhat stunned. In a moment she slowly closed the door and walked back to the kitchen, in a daze.

*******

Fran and Max by Dorothy May Mercer

### Chapter 4 A New Day.

##

Two nurses helped Max into a wheel chair. This was a red-letter day for Max as he was moving to a regular room. No more IV's, thank goodness. Now he could take meals—real food. Although his chest was still swathed in bandages, his condition was upgraded to stable. He would remain on pain medication and antibiotics, during his recovery period. The bad news was, now he could have visitors, meaning cops. Max braced himself for the interrogations to come.

Right on schedule, the first cop arrived within an hour and stood beside his bed.

"Max?"

Max reached for the controls and elevated the head of his bed. He winced a bit as his chest moved. "Yeah," he acknowledged.

K.C. Williams offered his badge and ID.

Max waved them away. "FBI, right?"

K.C. got right to the point, hoping to provoke a reaction. "I just came from visiting your girlfriend."

Max frowned and looked at him oddly, "You must have the wrong guy, I'm Max Underwood."

"I mean Fran."

"Fran?"

"You know, Fran, the woman who shot you."

"Her name is Fran?" Unconsciously Max touched his chest.

"She got you good, didn't she?"

"I couldn't say, exactly."

"What do you mean?" K.C. asked.

"Well, nobody tells me anything."

"Don't you remember?"

"I've been a bit tied up," he said, gesturing to his infirmity.

"You had a close call."

"Yup."

"The whole thing makes no sense, Max. Why on earth were you assaulting Fran?"

"Assault? Did she say that?"

"She is confused, I think."

"Well, hell, I would never assault anyone, certainly not a woman."

"Sorry, man, but it looks that way."

"I see."

"What were you doing pounding on her door? It looks like you were stalking her?"

"Maybe it looked that way, but I wasn't stalking her, at least not yet."

"You aren't making sense. If not stalking, what would you call it?"

"Searching. I've been searching for someone that I lost."

"And why is that?"

"It's a long story." Max sighed.

"I've got lots of time," said K.C. pulling up a chair, hoping to get some answers.

"Well, where should I start... let's see. It happened in the airport terminal. I was taking care of her, you know, pushing her in a wheel chair when I lost her."

"Go on."

"I've been searching for her, ever since, when I have the time. But I needed money, so I couldn't spend all my time searching."

"Was that at L.A. airport?"

"No... Reagan."

"Reagan International, in Washington?"

"Yeah," Max answered.

"Why there?"

"Well, we were about to board a plane for Albuquerque."

"New Mexico?"

"Yeah, I know this gets weirder and weirder. Anyway, I, sort of, lied to the people at the gate and told them that Fran was sick, had a disease, you know. So, they pulled us out of line and took Fran to an infirmary. I followed as close as I could, but, somehow—I don't really know how—we lost track of each other, and I've been looking for her ever since."

"There's got to be more to this story."

"Yeah, I know."

"Do you think this woman is the Fran that you were looking for?"

"That's what I was trying to find out."

K.C. was silent.

"She could be, but I never got a look at her. I mean, there are a lot of Frans in Los Angeles. My plan was to look at each one of them until I found her."

"You must want to find this Fran Somebody awfully bad."

"Yeah, I do."

"What was her full name?"

"Fran Whittaker."

K.C. shook his head. "I don't think you found her, buddy."

"She wasn't Fran Whittaker?"

"Nope. Sorry."

Max looked away and closed his eyes.

K.C. watched him for a few minutes and then pushed his chair back and left the room.

*******

Back in his office, K.C. put in a call to Senator Mike McBride.

"Senator McBride's office, how may I direct your call?"

"Hello, is this Cynthia?"

"Yes it is, who is calling?"

"K.C. Williams, calling from L.A."

"K.C.! How are you?"

"A bit perplexed at the moment, but fine otherwise, thank you. And you?"

"Just perfect, thank you."

"You sure are, and beautiful, as always," said K.C.

She neatly changed the subject, "Did you want to talk to Mike?"

"Yes, please."

"Hold on, I'll put you through."

"McBride, here."

"Mike, it's K.C."

"K.C.! Happy day!"

"Well, it's a nice day here, but not exactly happy. I'm still trying to figure out what's going on. Maybe you can help me."

"Will do what I can, K.C. I take it you rescued our girl."

"Yes, nice lady, by the way."

"Oh, you noticed."

"Thanks for the introduction, even though it was a bit of a bloody start."

"You're talking about the guy who got shot."

"Mike, something doesn't add up."

"How's that?"

"Well, I've talked to both of them. Not sure whether he was stalking her or what. We're considering assault charges, you know."

"On who?'

K.C. laughed. "Good question! Maybe if I knew why he was banging on her door, I could figure this out."

"Not sure I have any idea."

"Mike, do you know a Max Underwood?"

"Well, Fran knew a guy named Max. Not sure about the Underwood. That could be an alias."

"How did she know a Max?"

"I'm not free to say, K.C."

"Well, I talked to this Max person. He told me that he lost a Fran Whittaker at Reagan International, and has been looking for her ever since. Can you confirm that?"

Mike was silent.

K.C. waited.

"Sorry, buddy," Mike said.

"Me too."

"Well, K.C., let me say this, if this Max is the person I think he is, I don't think that either one of them would have hurt someone intentionally. If you are asking for my advice, it is to go with the accident theory and drop it."

"That's not good enough, Mike, and you know it. You're a cop, remember?"

"I wish."

"Miss the old days, huh?"

"Always," Mike sighed.

"Well, anytime you want to come over to the other side, you've got a job waiting."

Mike chuckled. "Good to know, buddy. Good to know."

"Keep in touch more often, Mike."

"Will do. And keep me informed, okay?"

"Gotcha. G'Bye, Mike"

"Goodbye."

*******

K.C. had a busy day. No time to think about Fran What's-her-name, and her silly problems. Much more important matters had collected on his desk while he was distracted with that woman. K.C. chided himself for becoming sidetracked. He looked at the pile on his desk, sighed, and checked his watch. Okay, he had not gotten to this place of authority without knowing how to get things done. K.C. summoned his assistant and tore into the pressing matters needing his attention. Together they worked non-stop for hours, until he noticed it was dark outside his office window.

"Oh my, what time is it anyway?"

"It's seven o'clock, sir."

"What? Seven? Are you sure?" He looked at his watch. "I'm sorry, I've kept you way past closing time. Look, can I buy your dinner?"

"No, thank you, sir. I need to get home."

"Well, in that case, go ahead, and take the morning off, too," said K.C. as he turned back to his desk.

"Will you be leaving, soon, sir?"

Not bothering to look up, K.C. waved his assistant away. An hour and a half later, he had caught up everything on his desk. Satisfied, he got to his feet, walked to the window, stretched his back and stood watching the lights of the city. His stomach growled and he suddenly realized he had nothing to eat since breakfast. Steady streams of lights snaked along the freeways and streets below, as far as he could see.

Thoughts of a certain attractive woman came, unbidden, into his mind. I wonder what Fran is doing right now, he mused. Is it too late to call her? He thought about that for a minute, trying to put it out of his mind, without success. I did tell her I would see her today, didn't I? Maybe I should call and apologize.

K.C. moved back to his desk and picked up the phone.

Fran's phone rang. She put down the book she was reading and moved to the phone to check the display. Who could be calling? She did not recognize the number. It was a Los Angeles exchange. Must be a wrong number. She turned to go back to reading her book with one ear tuned to the machine as her recorded message came on. It could not be anyone she knew. Probably a robo-call. She had just started to get comfortable, when she heard a man's voice, "Fran, are you all right? Are you there, honey? Please, pick up the phone, okay? It's me, K.C..."

She ran for the phone. "Hello? Hello K.C.?"

"Oh, thank God, are you okay?"

"Sure, I'm fine."

"I was worried when you didn't answer."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was right here."

"Did I frighten you?"

"Well, I don't ever get phone calls especially from that exchange."

"This is my office number."

"You're still at the office?"

"Yes, I had some work to catch up."

"Of course," she said, "I kind of wondered when you didn't call."

"I'm sorry," he said, "I worked right through dinner," he laughed.

"You have a lot of responsibilities."

"Yeah, that's true. I owe you an apology, Fran."

"Oh?"

"I promised I would see you today and then I got busy working. Time got away from me."

"That's okay."

"I don't suppose you would be interested in having dinner," he offered. "We could talk about the case."

"Well... I don't go out much. Maybe sometime..."

"I mean right now."

"Tonight?"

"That's what I was thinking. Gee, I know it's late. I was just wondering..."

"Well, that would be lovely, K.C., but I'm not dressed or anything. You've had a long tiring day. Would you like to come out here and I will fix you some supper?"

K.C.'s heart leaped. "You'd do that?"

"Of course."

"Oh, that would be great. I'll be right over."

"Okay, I'll get started."

"It'll take me about forty-five minutes from here. Is that okay? Maybe an hour depending on the traffic."

"It's a big city."

"Yeah, I know. I hope you don't mind the late hour."

"I don't mind."

"Okay, good. I'll see you soon. Keep a light on for me."

She laughed. "See you soon."

K.C. grabbed his jacket, slung it over his shoulder, and started whistling as he flipped out the light and locked the office door. Suddenly he was no longer tired. How long had it been, he wondered, since he had a date with a woman? Was this a real date? Well, maybe it was just a last minute thing. Whatever...he didn't care what time it was or what was happening. He knew he wanted to spend more time with her, and it had nothing to do with the case.

Fran was amazed, not just that a nice man was coming but that she actually found him attractive. She was so sure that she never wanted anything to do with men as long as she lived, and here she was acting like a fool over the first man who looked at her twice. She took a small steak and some au gratin potatoes out of the freezer, opened a bottle of wine that she had tucked away in the cupboard and set it in an ice bucket. She had time for a quick shower and a little makeup. How long had it been since she felt like dressing up? Three years, four years?

She chose a pair of slacks and a nice top. Looking in the mirror she wondered what to do with her hair. No time to curl it. Just a quick blow-dry with a round brush to give it some motion. She dug around in the back of her toiletries for anything resembling a fragrance. I remember there was a bottle of perfume in here someplace. Ah, there it is. It had never been opened. Should I? She opened the bottle and sniffed. A couple of dabs behind her ears and on her wrists wouldn't hurt, and she was ready.

She hustled back out into her kitchen and started setting the table when the doorbell rang. She almost ran to the door and peeked through the eye-hole. It was him. Fran opened the door.

When he saw her, K.C. broke into the first smile of the day. "Hi." He was stunned. She looked so beautiful!

"Hi yourself," she said. "Well, don't just stand there. Come on in," she smiled and opened her arms.

K.C. hugged her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "You smell so good," he said, "and I haven't had time to get cleaned up."

"Never mind that. You are fine. Here, let me take your coat."

He shucked off his jacket. "I'll just toss it here."

"Nonsense, this is too nice to throw on a chair." She reached in the small closet behind the door, for a hanger, and carefully hung the jacket next to her outer garments. Then she turned toward him and held out her hand. "C'mon out in the kitchen while I fix your supper." He took her hand and almost floated along, allowing her to guide the way, all the while grinning at her.

She indicated a chair at the kitchen table. "Care for a little wine? It's all I have to offer."

"Thanks, that would be great. Can I help you with that?"

"No, thanks, I have it all open." She stretched up to reach a wine glass out of a high cupboard, displaying her cute backside. Setting the glass in front of him she poured a small amount. "Would you taste that and see if it's all right, please? I've had this bottle of wine forever."

K.C. gently swirled the wine, gazing deeply into her eyes. He took a sip and licked his lips. "Mmm, just right," he said and held out his glass. She placed one hand over his as if to steady the glass, held his gaze for a moment and then poured the wine.

"Sorry you can't join me," he said.

"Well, maybe just one sip," she said, smiling.

K.C. stood, circled her with one arm and held his glass to her lips. "Just one sip," he said.

She took a tiny sip from his glass and looked up. He watched her tongue flick over her lips and started to bend toward them, without thinking.

Fran quickly turned away, her body tingling where they had touched. K.C. sat back down to watch her cook as he slowly sipped the wine.

"How do you like your steak?" asked Fran as she turned on the grill.

"However you fix it is fine."

"Potatoes okay?"

"Sure," he would agree to anything she suggested.

She set the potatoes in the microwave. The steak sizzled as she plopped it on the hot grill. Reaching for the pepper mill, she asked, "Pepper?"

He nodded, "Perfect. I just love... uh... pepper," he said as he admired her breasts. Even her rounded belly looked sexy.

Fran cooked with sure, efficient motions. She set the salt and pepper on the table. "I'll let you add your own salt." She watched the steak for a minute, flipped it over with a tongs, and turned on the microwave. Opening the refrigerator she selected a bottle of water and split it between two glasses, adding ice and lemon. In three minutes she donned an oven mitt, fetched a heavy plate from the warming oven, arranged the steak and potatoes and served. She refilled his wine glass and placed the two glasses of water on the table, one for him, one for her.

She started to pull out her chair, when he leaped up and came around to help her. "Thank you," she smiled prettily.

"Thank you," he responded and kissed her cheek. Moving around to his plate he sat down and picked up his knife and fork. "This looks and smells wonderful, Fran."

"I'm so glad you like it," she enthused.

He cut off a bite size piece and placed it into his mouth. Fran watched for his reaction. He chewed carefully and swallowed. "Delicious," he pronounced. "You're a wonderful cook."

She smiled, "I've had a lot of practice."

Hi looked at her quizzically, hoping she would say more.

She said nothing.

"I can't remember when I've had a home cooked meal."

"Oh really. Don't you..." she hesitated, realizing she knew nothing about him. "Well, it's none of my business."

"Sure it is. Ask me anything you want."

"Well, I was just wondering, you know, do you have a family?" She wanted to ask: Do you have a wife and children.

He swallowed another bite. . "Yes, my widowed mother lives alone north of here. I check in with her at least once a month. My sister lives in Oregon. We try to get together once a year over the holidays."

"No other family around here?"

"No one, unfortunately. And you?"

"I'm alone."

"Have you been here long?"

"Just a few months."

"No friends?"

"No. You are my first company."

"Well, then, this is an occasion. What can we do to celebrate?"

"This is enough, K.C. I'm just glad you stopped out."

"You've been lonely," he surmised.

"How did you guess?"

He just smiled. "Fran, I see your set-up, here."

She frowned and looked away hurriedly.

"It's all right, Fran. I won't pry. You can tell me anything or nothing at all. Either way is okay. Understand?"

She stared at him intently, and then a tear started to slip out.

He reached out his hand toward her face. With his thumb he gently touched the tear and then licked it with the tip of his tongue, tasting the salt.

She wiped her eyes and sniffed, "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

He just took her hand and softly kissed each one of her fingers.

"Fran..." he whispered, "I know this is too soon, but I hope... I just hope we can see each other."

Fran knew her body was responding to him. But she also knew this was dangerous. She said nothing, only looked at him helplessly.

"Look, Fran, you don't have to answer now. I'm not asking for anything more. Just say I can come out tomorrow... please. Just nod your head, honey. Can I see you one more time?"

Fran nodded.

"Good," he grinned widely and stood up. "Come on, sweetheart, let's go into the other room. I've kept you up late, and you need to get your rest for the sake of that little one you've got growing in the beautiful tummy of yours." He held out his hand to her and she took it. Together they walked the few feet into her living room.

He turned toward her. "I think I had a jacket."

"Oh yes," she reached in the closet, fetched the jacket, turned toward him and held the jacket open. He turned his back and slipped in first one and then the other arm. She lifted the coat onto his shoulders. He turned and enveloped her in his arms.

God, it felt so good to be held. She laid her head on his chest and soaked up the warmth like a lost kitten. He stroked and patted her back. She slipped her arms around his waist and sighed.

"Thank you for seeing me," he said. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Yes," she nodded and looked up.

He took that as an invitation and bent his lips toward hers. Her eyelids fluttered closed as he settled his lips on hers.

Oh God, her body responded with fire between her legs. He deepened the kiss and pressed her close. She parted her lips slightly and his tongue darted out searing her lips like a torch. A moan escaped as she ached to feel his member with her thigh.

K.C. gradually pulled away as he caressed her breast. 'Good night, Fran," he said and gave her a parting peck on the forehead. "I'll call you, when I get home, okay?"

"Good night," she managed.

"You'll answer the phone this time," he grinned and turned toward the door.

She nodded.

"Don't forget to lock up after me."

"I will."

"Good night." He had to tear himself away even though it was difficult.

She watched him leave and then softly closed the door, slid the deadbolt closed and set the alarm. Leaning her back against the door she sighed and rubbed her breast where he had just touched her. What was happening? This was all too fast. Already she was waiting for his call.

Fran walked back to the kitchen and busied herself cleaning up the grill and putting his dinnerware in the dishwasher. Turning out the lights, she moved into her bedroom and spent a few minutes preparing for bed. Ready quickly, she turned down the bed and propped up on some pillows. She flicked on the TV, reached for the bedside phone and pulled it into her lap.

The phone only had time to make one chirp when she ripped the receiver off the hook. Suddenly she realized she had not checked the calling number. A wave of fear gripped her. She made a funny noise as she gasped in a breath and almost hung up in a panic.

"Fran," asked K.C. "are you there?"

"Oh hi..." she said as the adrenaline stopped flowing and her hand trembled.

"Hi Fran, it's me. Were you expecting someone else?"

"No... no... I'm just relieved it's you," she tried to say.

"I didn't mean to frighten you."

"It's all right. I'm just jumpy."

"You'll get used to me calling."

"Will I?"

"Next time check out the calling number before you answer, okay? I can wait."

She laughed nervously, "I'll do that. But you know it's not every night that a nice man calls me after I'm in bed."

"Is there any other kind?"

Memories of horror flashed briefly. What could she say?

"You have no idea," she managed.

"I guess I don't."

"Mmm."

"Well, honey, maybe someday you can tell me about it."

"I don't think so, K.C."

"I see," he sounded disappointed. "Well never mind, then. I'll just say thanks for dinner and goodnight, Fran."

"Good night, K.C."

*******

Fran and Max by Dorothy May Mercer

Chapter 5 Human-Reproduction Clinic, Carson City, NM

Dr. E. Q. Finkbeiner looked up from his desk. "Yes?"

"Someone to see you, Doctor," a very pregnant white woman entered.

"Send him away, I'm busy."

"He said to show you his card." Elsie extended the card.

Finkbeiner waved it away impatiently.

"He didn't give a first name, just said to tell you Cunning Ham, I think it was, something like that."

"Oh my God, It's Conningham, you idiot! Out of my way." Finkbeiner leaped to his feet and rushed into the outer office. "Mr. Conningham! Sir! Welcome! Welcome! We are so honored to have you here."

"Yes. Well, it's about time, Finkbeiner. What kept you?"

"Nothing, sir, I'm free. Elsie just didn't realize who you were. I apologize, sir. Can I get you some refreshment? Elsie, bring Mr. Conningham whatever he would like."

"Nothing now, my dear," Conningham looked her over, almost leering in his appraisal.

"Come with me, please," Finkbeiner led the way into his office and seated Conningham in the director's chair.

Conningham placed his hands on the desk examining its contents. He turned to Finkbeiner. "Now, Finkbeiner, first thing, where did you get the white woman? She looks to be a good deal more than three months along."

"Yes, she is. She came with me from the Savage Clinic, remember?"

"Oh yeah, she was one of your better surrogates, and already pregnant, too."

"That's right."

"Is she the only one you brought out here?"

Finkbeiner hated to confess, but there was no getting around the fact that one got away.

"Actually I tried to bring two with me."

"What happened to the other one?"

"She's gone."

"Hmm...really? And the others?"

"Some of them were absorbed by your other clinics out East, some were too old to keep."

"You took care of them in the usual way, I presume."

"Don't worry, there's no trace."

"And the one that got away... what have you done about that?"

Finkbeiner blanched and stammered, "Well... uh... we've been awfully busy."

"Surely you've gotten rid of her!"

"No, not exactly."

"Good God, man!" Conningham exploded. "We can't have someone getting loose. She could blow up the whole thing."

"Don't worry, sir, she can't hurt us. Without some evidence, her story will sound like a fairy tale. No one would believe her."

"I don't share your confidence, you moron."

"I'll find her, sir"

"Not if we find her first," Conningham threatened.

"Fine! You go right ahead. I don't want to know."

"We'll do that, and if we don't find her, we're coming after you."

Finkbeiner shuddered, with some relief as Conningham changed the subject.

"I need to have a look at your books."

"Of course, of course, right away, sir. Here is our monthly report, right on the desk."

"No, no, Finkbeiner, I mean all the books."

"Oh, yes, of course," Finkbeiner wiped a sheen of moisture from his upper lip. "Give me just one second here to open the safe, heh-heh."

Conningham squinted, suspiciously, at the nervous little man as Finkbeiner knelt in front of a large safe. His hand trembled as he spun the dial back and forth several times. Opening the heavy door, he pulled out two large binders and set them on the desk in front of Conningham.

"What are these?" Conningham demanded.

"Uh, well, the top one is our ledger sheets for the past three months, since we opened the operation. You'll see it shows our outlay in these pages and income under this tab."

Conningham donned a pair of reading glasses, opened the book and studied each page of outlays carefully. From time to time he looked up at Finkbeiner hovering on the other side of the desk, awaiting his questions. Asking for a calculator, Conningham tapped on it. From time to time he questioned an item.

At length he turned to the income page which showed a mere half dozen entrees. He clucked his teeth and shook his head. "This will not do, Finkbeiner." J.R. is not pleased with the slow progress you are making here. He waved his hand at the beautiful premises visible out the expansive windows. After all J.R. has made a rather sizable investment. You are going to need to step it up, Finkbeiner."

"Yes, sir, I understand, sir. But..."

"No buts, Finkbeiner! We aren't interested in excuses, only results."

Finkbeiner blanched.

"And this other ledger, what is this?" Conningham demanded.

"Those are our personnel records."

Conningham opened the book and slowly turned the pages. "Mmm," he said from time to time. "These are your women?"

Finkbeiner nodded. "Yes you'll see their age, height and weight, date of arrival, status, the date and in what manner they were bred, the breeding history of the zygote, their due date, the price, names of the clients, addresses, and the payment schedule."

"What is that?" Conningham asked, pointing at the word Zygote.

"Oh, that's just a term for those little human critters we make in the lab, you know."

"Oh, you mean for the implants?"

"Yeah."

Conningham nodded and continued turning pages. "You have a good looking stable here, Finkbeiner, as good as a fine Kentucky horse farm," he chuckled. "Yes, un-hum, I think you have a good start."

Finkbeiner beamed and started to relax.

""However, J.R. will want to see a better bottom line. I think we can step up the charges and monthly payments."

"But, what if the clients object?"

"Oh they won't object. Fink, old boy. You know how to handle that. And now let me see the other set of books, the ones you keep back."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I think you know very well what I mean. The books where you keep track of the kickbacks and the percentage you are skimming off of J.R."

"No sir, there are no kickbacks, no skimming. I swear it."

Conningham rose from his seat, walked silently to the office door, closed and locked it. He stalked toward Finkbeiner, towering over him. Finkbeiner retreated in fear, until his back hit the wall.

"The other books, Finkbeiner!" Conningham's voice carried a commanding threat.

"N-n-n... no," Finkbeiner whined and shook his head vigorously.

Conningham pulled a pair of brass knuckles from his pocket and glowered as he slipped them on his hand. In one blinding flash he kicked Finkbeiner in the nuts and crushed him with a blow to the chest. The man screamed and sank to the floor, rolling into a fetal position and clutching his crotch. Conningham kicked him again. Finkbeiner yelled and try to roll away. Conningham merely looked at him, removed the brass knuckles and flexed his hands. "Get up, you weasel. You're disgusting."

Finkbeiner cried louder.

Conningham spat and strode over to the safe. He pulled a small cash box out from under some papers and carried it to the desk. "Combination?"

"3, 2, 3," sobbed Finkbeiner.

Conningham opened the box and lifted out a thick stack of one hundred dollar bills. He riffled the bills, and stuffed them into his pocket with an evil smile. Two more stacks followed.

Leaving ledgers and cashbox scattered behind on the desk, he grabbed Finkbeiner by the collar and lifted him up. "We're going on a tour, Stinkfiner. Show me your women."

Struggling to walk upright, Finkbeiner led the way. They inspected the state-of-the-art laboratory where testing took place, eggs fertilized, and various hormones and other drugs stored, the infirmary where women could lie in labor, and examining room where hormone shots were given, zygotes implanted and the delivery room/operating room combination where babies could be delivered by normal births or caesarian sections. Nearby was the nursery where the babies were cared for until the new adoptive parents came to pick them up. It was midday and so no one was in the dormitory where there was room for sixteen beds, or the isolation room where new recruits were kept until certified free of body lice or disease.

"How many do you have, now?" asked Conningham.

"In addition to Elsie, we have a dozen Hispanic immigrant women under contract now, six of whom are pregnant, three waiting for an implant, two we are preparing with hormone injections."

"That's only eleven."

"One is waiting for a normal impregnation."

"Then this production is all sold?"

"Yes, and we have a waiting list of married couples who are anxious for a baby, just as soon as we can supply them."

"These are heterosexual couples?"

"No, all are gay men. Our advertising campaign in California has been very successful. In fact, we have stopped the campaign."

"Why is that?"

"Word of mouth, sir, is keeping our client waiting list full."

"You need to recruit more brooders from south of the border."

"Yes sir, we will. Our plans are to add three more, which will bring our facility to maximum strength."

"Not so fast, Stinkyfiner."

"What do you mean?"

"We think you can put those three beds to better use."

"How?"

"Reserve those beds for your rentals."

"Rentals?"

"Yes, we need more human carriers for our operations out East. This will be the beginning of your leasing operation. You will recruit, inspect and train the women for use in our Eastern outlets, reducing the need to buy women at the slave auction in Hong Kong. Eventually, we hope to completely switch over to contracted surrogates."

"Oh, how will that work?"

"First you grade and price them according to age, health, desirability. Then you keep them here for an incubation period of, say, six weeks or so, to determine that they are not pregnant, are free of disease and suitable for breeding. Give them the usual beauty enhancements, and physical upgrades. When ready you simply escort them out East to one of our outlets. I suggest you start small, just three beds, turning over every month or two. If it works well, we may decide to expand."

Finkbeiner nodded.

"All right, let me observe your women, now."

Finkbeiner led him down a hall to an observation area, where they could watch the women through large one-way glass, windows. A dozen Latino women were busy at different projects. Some were sewing, others were preparing food, others were bathing and grooming each other and themselves. They were happily laughing and chattering, blooming in good health. A few were starting to show pregnancy already.

"Ah, lovely, Finkbeiner, this makes it all worthwhile. You've done a job here. Tell me, how often do you partake of a sample?"

"Sir!! I never touch them!"

Conningham laughed at his own joke. "Of course, not, Finky. You wouldn't dare damage the goods, ha-ha!!"

"We can't have them contaminated, sir. No one is allowed near them, except, of course, for those that are sold for conventional breeding. Right now, we have just one in that program."

"Exactly how does that work, Stinkfeiner?"

"It is just one of our services, actually it's the most affordable. It appeals to single men who are not fussy about having a half-Latino baby. Usually we offer the lighter-skinned, younger, more beautiful women for that program, but the client can choose from a selection of photographs. We keep careful records of her ovulation periods. When she is fertile we telephone the client who comes in to be with her, after he has been examined, of course. He must be in good health, free of disease, very potent and, of course, rich. We have a special suite set aside for the impregnation period. He can stay with her for the duration of her fertile time, or until she tests pregnant, whichever comes first."

"May I see your catalog?"

"Yes, it's back in my office."

Returning to the office, Conningham asked for the catalog. Finkbeiner proudly laid it on the desk. "We had this done professionally," he boasted. Conningham leafed through several glossy pages of gorgeous women in scanty underwear, and striking sexy poses. "Well done, Finkbeiner. Yes, indeed. I could even sample some of this, myself."

"No sir!"

"Ha-ha," Conningham chuckled, enjoying his attempt at humor. He stood to leave, and patted his bulging pockets. "Good day, Finkbeiner. I'll be reported this to J.R." With that he strode to the parking lot, stepped into his Mercedes and drove away.

Finkbeiner sank into his office chair, reached for a handkerchief and mopped his brow. Extracting a tiny key from his watch pocket, he bent over the lower drawer of his desk, unlocked a hidden compartment and checked the stacks of one hundred dollar bills hidden inside. All was well. He closed the drawer, turned the key and returned it to his pocket with a smile of satisfaction.

*******

Fran and Max by Dorothy May Mercer

### Chapter 6 Senator McBride's office

Looking up from his desk, Senator Mike McBride smiled as his deceptively innocent looking investigator/bodyguard entered the room, "Have a seat, Miss Patterson," he greeted her warmly, "How was your trip?"

"Lovely, thank you, but tiring," said Cynthia, whose cover job was as his part-time receptionist. She leaned back in her chair and blew out a deep breath, having returned late last evening from a trip to Carson City, New Mexico. Mike had sent her out there to investigate the Human Reproduction Clinic that was operating, just outside of Mike's home town.

"Ah, I'm sorry," said Mike. "You should have taken the morning off to sleep in."

Cynthia merely smiled in agreement. "No can do."

"Well, then, take some time off whenever you want."

"I just might do that this afternoon if you don't need me. But for now, let me tell you what I learned. You may have another assignment for me."

"I'm anxious to hear your report." Mike picked up a pencil, leaned back in his executive office chair and watched her keenly.

Cynthia flipped to a page in her small notebook. "The clinic is operating full steam ahead, just as we thought. But it tries to stay under the radar. There is a high fence all around and a locked gate. I only saw one car come and go in all the time, a black Mercedes. The license number turned out to belong to a car rental agency at the airport in Albuquerque."

"Were you able to get the name of the customer?" he asked, twirling the pencil.

"Ah, this time we were in luck, Senator. The guy may have made a careless mistake and rented the car under his real name. He used a Visa card belonging to a Gunner R. Conningham," she spoke triumphantly.

"Conningham? Where have I heard that name?" asked Mike.

"Well, we ran into that guy, once before, in connection with the Savage Clinic that we busted in Maryland. They were dealing in trafficked women, selling babies for adoption."

"The same clinic that held Fran Whittaker captive, right?"

"Exactly."

"So what did Conningham have to do with it?"

"We thought that he represented the Syndicate that ran a trafficking ring, servicing a network of baby manufacturing clinics in the Eastern United States, but we were never able to stick him with anything."

"Yeah, after Fran escaped, the FBI found the Savage Clinic cleaned out, slick as a whistle," Mike remembered.

"Right. Too bad about that, Senator, but wait until you hear the rest."

Mike fiddled with his pencil. "How does that prove anything, so far as Conningham is concerned?" he mused.

"It doesn't necessarily, but guess who is running the clinic?"

"Haven't a clue."

"Dr. Elwin Q. Finkbeiner, formerly of the Savage Clinic, now Director and Superintendent in charge of the Human Reproduction Clinic in Carson City, New Mexico, USA."

"Not the same guy!"

"Oh yeah, how many Dr. Elwin Q. Finkbeiners are there in the world?"

"And so, he beat the feet out of Savage, Maryland and started up a new enterprise in my home town! Son-of-a...." Mike cleared his throat. "We've got to nail that guy."

"Well, that may be easier said than done."

"I have complete confidence in you, Miss Cynthia Patterson, investigator extraordinaire."

"Thank you, boss, but this clinic is operating a bit differently from the Savage Clinic."

"How so?"

"We see no evidence that the surrogates are trafficked or held against their will."

"Really!"

"It's quite a scheme. The women have a ten-year contract for their services. They agree to carry so many surrogate babies in that time, and then they are free to leave. They are waiting in line to become citizens, and they can quit anytime, with notice, so long as they are between pregnancies. As terms of the contract, they have to stay on the premises and cannot have personal contact with anyone outside. They receive a salary that is invested for them, and so, when they leave they have a nice nest egg."

"For crying out loud! But, why would anyone want to do that?"

"It's a good paying job, Mike, and these women are all from south of the border."

"Illegals?"

"Undocumented immigrants, yup."

"But..."

"The current administration allows it, Mike. They are guest workers, so to speak. There is no policy against the hiring of illegals, as long as they are not convicted felons, and even then..."

"Yeah, I know," Mike sighed.

"It appears that the Human Repro Clinic has found a niche, operating on the fringes, but operating legally, so far as I have been able to determine."

Mike leaned forward, tapping his pencil on the desk, deep in thought. "So, how are we going to catch this guy?"

Cynthia merely sighed and looked helplessly at Mike, "Not sure, yet, boss."

*******

Back in Los Angeles, Fran Whittaker, alias Frankie Marsh, prepared for a trip to the hospital.

K.C. was picking her up shortly. Fran was more excited about seeing K.C. than Max, but she felt obligated, at least, to go and see the man that her gun, allegedly, shot in the chest.

K.C. arrived, right on time. Fran almost skipped to the door. "Hi," she swung the door open and beamed. He hugged her tight and planted a kiss. Pulling back he smiled, "Tsk-tsk, sweetheart, you didn't take time to check through the peep-hole."

"Oh my gosh, you're right. I forgot," said Fran with just a twinge of guilt.

"Could it be you were too excited to see me?" he teased.

"Who...you? Whatever made you think that?" she giggled.

"All ready?"

"Yes, let's go," she said, offering her hand.

On the way to the hospital, they chatted up a storm. It seemed so good to be out in a car for a drive, like normal people.

K.C. was more than curious about the reasons for her home's fortress-like defenses, and the odd-looking wig she wore today. Maybe now would be a good chance to ask.

"I see you have a different hairdo today, sweetness. What gives with the fancy new do?"

"Do you like it?"

"It's fine. I was just surprised, that's all."

Fran laughed, "Didn't you realize this is a wig?"

"Uh... I guess not."

"Surely, you didn't think I could just change my hair color twice a week."

"Not sure I would know anything about that," he grinned running a hand over his hair.

"Well, too much coloring would be unhealthy for my hair, I'm sure. Having several different wigs and hairpieces allows me to change my appearance as often as I change my outfit."

"Why do that? I like you the way you are."

"It's a woman thing, I guess."

K.C. saw he was getting nowhere with that line of questioning. He let it go, for now. What he really wanted to see was Max and Fran's reaction when they saw each other. Would there be any recognition? Could that have anything to do with this "new look" she was wearing today? Now that he thought about it, there was something else different about her. He couldn't put his finger on it. Silent while he pondered that question, he tried to glance sidewise at her from time to time without being obvious about it. He would get a better opportunity to study her when they got to the hospital.

Riding up on the elevator, K.C. positioned himself so he could watch her. Fran stood nervously facing the doors as if willing them to hurry-up and open. The minute they slid open she was out the door.

"Fran, honey," called K.C. as he stood blocking the doors from closing.

She took five or six quick steps and then stopped and whirled around. K.C. stood grinning at her, waiting for recognition to dawn.

She opened her mouth as if to speak and then she realized, "Oh... oops..." She started back. "I... I thought this was five," she hurried into the elevator. K.C. let go of the doors and pushed the button for five, carefully looking away to hide his smirk. No need to point out her mistake.

"I'm sorry," she said, "that was stupid of me."

"Not at all, honey. I've done that more than once," he smiled at her. "We're almost there. Here we go," he said as the doors opened again. This time they walked out together and down the hall to the nurses' station. "We're here to see Max Underwood."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Underwood is in 516, just down and to your right."

K.C. knew where Max was, but thought it best to check in, first, "How is he today?"

"He is resting comfortably."

"Has he had a lot of company, today?"

"No, you are the first."

"Thank you."

K.C. placed his hand on Fran's back in a proprietary fashion and guided her down the hall. Outside room 516, K.C. hung back a step, allowing Fran to proceed. The door stood ajar. She peeked inside at the silent figure lying prone, partially covered by only a sheet. His eyes were closed, his chest slowly rising and falling. A muted television set played on the far wall with closed captions scrolling across the screen.

K.C. leaned against the door jam, wondering what Fran would do. He watched as she tiptoed forward and bent over the sleeping man, eyeing him carefully. Nearly frozen in place she gazed intently at his features. What was she thinking?

She tentatively reached out a hand, but did not touch him. Minutes passed, still she did not move, nor say any word. She was close enough to feel his breath. Max stirred a bit, rolling one leg over the other and one arm to the same side. His head moved, but not all the way over. Fran studied it more closely. She looked at his hands. Max moved again, back the other way, revealing part of his backside under the scanty hospital gown.

K.C. wondered, How long is she going to stand there watching that man sleep? An uncomfortable stab of some kind of emotion hit his heart as if... as if... no way could he be jealous. If she wants to stand there dressed up like some kind of Barbie doll and watch that half-naked man sleep...well just let her do it! Good grief! K.C. crossed his arms and changed positions, making a little noise with his feet.

Max's eyes fluttered open. Gradually a beautiful woman's face came into focus. His eyes opened wide and stared into hers. He reached out touching her cheek.

Her eyes filled with tears. "Max," she whispered.

"I must be dreaming..." he said.

She blinked. A tear fell on him. She cleared her throat, "I'm so sorry, Max."

"Why, darlin'?"

"I ... ," she shook her head, "I didn't mean it."

"Shh, it's all right."

"I'm so sorry," she was crying now.

"Franny, Franny, sweetheart, you're here."

She nodded and tried to smile. "Um-huh, I'm here."

"Oh baby, I've looked all over for you." He reached for her hand.

"I know."

"But why did you run? I lost you."

"They were coming, Max. They were after me, not you."

"What do you mean?"

"My baby, Max."

He looked at her stomach.

She put her hand over her stomach with one hand and with the other put his hand on top of it and between her two hands.

Max stared at it in wonder and then looked back up at her and smiled. They gazed into each others' eyes, as Fran blinked back the tears.

"Your baby... it's your baby, now, Fran. How wonderful!"

"But, they'll come after me for the baby, Max. You know they will."

"We can't let that happen."

"But, how?"

"When I get out of here, I'm coming to protect you."

"Max, we can't let them see us together. Don't you think?"

"Fran, I can do it, I can protect you. Together we are stronger."

"I've been so lonely and so afraid."

"They'll never find you, Fran, I promise."

"All right," She nodded.

He removed his hand from the baby and kissed her fingers.

"I'm getting out of here soon, maybe in a couple of days."

"You think so, really?"

"I hope so. But, give me your phone number. No, never mind, don't do that. We don't want to leave a trail for them to follow. You can call here, I think that's safer. I'm usually in here at twelve noon for lunch. So, call me every day at noon, okay? I'll let you know when I'm coming. I'll take two or three different cabs to get to your house, so it will be harder to trace."

"Okay."

"I don't want you to stay long, now and don't come up again. You just wait for me, okay?"

She nodded, "Do you have clothes? Money?"

"No the police took everything."

Fran reached in her purse. "Here take this money."

"Thanks."

"I'll figure out some way to get you some clothes." Remembering her escort, she turned and looked at K.C. who was, miserably taking this all in.

Max peeked around her. "Oh hi, K.C. Sorry I didn't see you there. Come on in."

K.C. walked up to Max without extending his hand. "Max, good to see you're doing better."

"Thanks, K.C. It looks like I'm going to make it."

"Is there anything you need?"

"Not right now, but I'll be needing some clothes. Might look a bit strange running around on the street wearing a hospital gown," he laughed. "I don't suppose the cops will be bringing my stuff back."

"Probably not."

"Not even my shoes and wallet?"

"I'll see what I can do. I'll bring something up tomorrow."

"Thanks a lot, that would be great!"

"No problem." He looked at Fran. "Well, lady, are you ready to beat the feet out of here?" he asked, gritting his teeth, and barely remaining cordial.

"Yes, I'm ready." She turned toward Max. "Good bye, Max. Get well soon."

"Thanks. For you, I'll try harder. Good bye, K.C. Thanks for bringing her up."

K.C. waved and escorted Fran out the door.

They were silent riding down in the elevator. K.C. was not sure what hit him, but it felt like a kick in the gut.

Fran was replaying everything in her mind.

K.C. helped her into the car and got behind the wheel. He looked over, "Is there anything you need to do on the way home?"

She thought a minute. "I should pick up a few things for supper. And it probably makes no sense to drive straight home, anyway."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Just in case someone is following us. I never drive straight home and never the same way twice."

"Oh, really? Why is that?"

She hesitated, "Mike taught me is all."

K.C. fell silent, aware of the ache in his heart, marveling how a heart could break so fast. Well, he wanted to know what was going on with her, and now he knew, or at least he thought so. Too bad it was rotten news.

*******

Fran and Max by Dorothy May Mercer

### Chapter 7 Preparing a Guest Room

Fran spent the next few days preparing a guest room for Max. She needed to clean out a lot of stuff and find another place for storage. She decided to repaint the room and add blinds to the window.

Everything she needed could be ordered online, including the paint and brushes, a bedroom set, mattress, pillows, blankets, sheets. Had she forgotten anything? She worried about how she would set this up by herself. She could ask K.C. to help her but, strangely, she had not heard from him since he dropped her off following their trip to the hospital. At the time, she was too lost in her own thoughts to notice, but now, looking back on it, she realized that K.C. refused her invitation to come inside, and had not kissed her when he left that day.

She missed his daily phone calls, sometimes twice a day. Could something be wrong? Maybe he was out of town. God forbid something awful had happened to him. Could it be? After all, he was a cop. But he didn't go out on operations, did he? Wasn't he the boss? Well, maybe he did, sometimes. He came out to her house when she thought Max was trying to break in. But, she understood that was just a favor to Mike McBride.

Oh dear, her thoughts ran around in circles. She couldn't worry about K.C. He was just a friend, right? Friends don't call every day, do they?

She tried to distract herself by getting the guest room ready. The painting was finished, so she set about installing the blinds, using her limited toolkit, a hammer and assortment of screw drivers. That took up most of the morning and afternoon. She had pounded her thumb a few times, but was otherwise unscathed. Those strings that ran across the top and down the side of the blinds made no sense to her. She could not raise and lower the blinds, so she just left them down, for now.

The furniture had been delivered in boxes, awaiting assembly. She needed to get the bed set up before the mattress arrived. But she was tired. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

The next morning found her sitting on a stool in the guest room, surrounded by parts. She studied pages of mysterious instructions, looking like Greek to her. Okay Fran, take this one step at a time. This promised to be easy, right? Anyone with a screwdriver can do it. First, check the list of parts and remove the items from the box, arranging them in order.

Too late, she had already opened and unwrapped all the parts.

Backing up, she rescued the crumpled wrappings and tried to match them with the proper contents. After an hour of studying the illustrations, and the numbers and letters on the wrappings, she had a reasonable idea what was what. Now, next step, fit Part A to Part B. Find the exact screws that fit.

Just then the doorbell interrupted her. Maybe it's K.C. She almost ran to the door, and then she remembered. Oops, check the display, first. Nuts, it was the delivery people with her mattress. I'm not ready. Oh well.

She had the mattress brought inside and leaned against the guest room wall. Maybe she could move it later, after she got the bed put together. Time for a break.

After lunch and a short nap, Fran discovered the separate instructional DVD that came with the bed. This proved to be very helpful. She moved a computer into the guest room and played the DVD, all the way through. Then she backed up to step one and followed the handsome man as he demonstrated exactly what to do, one step at a time. This proved to be invaluable. It was like having a shop teacher right in the room with her.

By the end of the day, she had the bed assembled, though a bit rickety. She dusted and polished it, stood back and looked, in triumph, at her work, feeling tired but happy. Being pregnant didn't help. All those times she had to get up and down from the floor took their toll. The chest of drawers could wait until tomorrow.

Next day, she removed the instruction manual first, and followed it to the letter. Amazing how much faster this went. She had the chest of drawers assembled and polished by lunch time. Only two boxes remained. These must be the bedside table and the lamp. She unpacked the lamp, figured out how to screw the top in place and set it on the chest of drawers. She moved the remaining unopened box next to the bed. Perfect fit. No need to unpack it, the box worked well enough.

She glanced at her watch, 12:30 PM. Oh dear, I was supposed to call Max at noon. She had completely forgotten to call him for almost three days.

Hurrying to the telephone, she located the hospital's phone number and quickly dialed, asking for room 516, keeping her fingers crossed.

"Hello?"

The voice sounded strange.

"Hello, is Mr. Underwood there, please?"

"No ma'am sorry."

"Oh dear, are you sure?"

"Last time I checked, I was the only one here, but I'll be glad to talk to you. There is no Mr. Underwood here. My roommate's name was Max."

"That's him, Max Underwood. Let me talk to Max, please."

"Like I said, lady, Max isn't here."

"Oh goodness, what shall I do?"

"Why don't you just come on over and keep me company, beautiful?"

"Sir! That is out of the question!"

"No offense, lady. You know what they say, no harm in trying," he chuckled. "Just give me your name, sweetheart and I'll tell Max that you called."

"When will Max be back?"

"Afraid I can't say, lady. Maybe never."

"Are you saying he checked out?"

"Yup, thirty minutes ago."

"Oh, no, I missed him," she almost cried.

"Anything else I can do for you?"

"No, thank you."

"Call anytime then. I'll be here."

"Thank you. Goodbye."

"Goodbye. Nice knowing you," he laughed and hung up.

Fran slumped down at the kitchen table with a heavy heart. What a ditz, I am! She leaned her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands. I can't believe I did that.

She didn't even want to make lunch. Instead she wandered into her bedroom laid down and went to sleep.

An hour later the doorbell and a loud banging on the back door startled her awake. She rolled out of bed thinking, "What now?" The banging continued as she walked to the electronics control room and turned on the display. "Oh my gosh, it's Max! I'm coming, I'm coming! Hold on!" She ran to the back door, moved the dead bolt, turned off the alarm and threw open the door.

Max stood there with a wide grin, "I'm here, Fran, you'd better be ready."

"I'm so ready. Thank God." She pulled him inside and hugged him for dear life. "Thank God. I'm so glad you're here."

"That's a good thing, because I'm not planning on leaving."

"Sit down, Max," she gestured toward a chair, "I'll get you something to drink." She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of lemonade and some snacks. She set out tableware, napkins, and poured the lemonade. Fran pulled up a chair across from Max. Suddenly she was hungry again. She leaped up and hauled out sandwich makings.

Fran and Max whiled away the next two hours, enjoying each other's company and catching up on all that had happened since that fateful day at Reagan International Airport when they escaped from Dr. Finkbeiner. Max had been working his way across the country searching for her. He had a lot of help.

Fran still didn't know how he found her, but surely that would come later.

After a leisurely dinner Fran realized that Max was starting to look tired. After all, he had just left the hospital. "Max, I need a little assistance setting up your bedroom."

"How can I help?"

"Well come with me, Max and I'll show you what I have done."

Upon seeing the room, Max was pleased. "This is going to be perfect for me, Fran, but the bed needs a bit of attention," he laughed at the empty bedstead and the mattress leaning against the wall.

"What we need to do, here, Max, is figure out a way to get that mattress onto the bed, using leverage alone. We definitely cannot allow anything to happen to your stitches."

"Mattresses are unwieldy things to move, aren't they?"

"I won't let you help me unless you give me your solemn promise that you will not do anything to hurt your incision."

"I promise."

"If we can't get it up on the bed tonight, we'll just lay it on the floor and you can sleep there."

"Anything would be better than the hospital."

"Point taken. Max, the first thing is to check out my screws." She took hold of the bed and wobbled it a little. "See I just didn't have the hand strength to tighten those screws down."

"Okay let me try. That can't hurt my incision."

She handed him the screwdriver and watched while he swiftly tightened each one. "Okay, that should do it," he said, straightening up.

She tested each slat to make sure it was secure. "Stand right there, Max while I get some scissors to cut the plastic off the mattress. Fran made swift work of that job, slid the plastic off and tossed it into the hallway.

"Now, let's slide the mattress over close to the bed. If you can just take one end. Ah there we go. If we can get it lined up just so, I think I can flop it onto the bed. You just brace your foot against the bottom while I push the top. Ready?"

"Yup."

"Here we go, one, two, three push."

The mattress fell half-way onto the bed. Fran quickly shoved it on the rest of the way, first one side and then the other.

"Whoopee! We did it! What a team!" They high-fived each other.

Fran stood back and grinned. "Ya-Hoo!"

"Well, okay, now. Lookee here what else I have." She pulled open a drawer in the chest and brought out brand new pillows, sheets, pillow cases, and two blankets. Starting with the sheets, she swiftly made up the bed, plumped the pillows and turned down the bed. "There you go, your highness, your bed awaits."

"That looks so inviting, Fran. Everything but the chocolate mints on my pillow. Thank you so much."

"I didn't order any pajamas or shaving stuff, but I have a new toothbrush and toothpaste. Tomorrow we can get you some clothes and things. It's a small house, with just one bathroom. Fresh towels are in the cupboard. You can go first, so have at it."

"Thanks again, Fran. This is great."

"You are welcome. I'm glad you're here."

"Goodnight Fran."

"Goodnight Max."

Fran settled down to watch TV for a while before she went to bed happy. Tomorrow was another day.

*******

Fran and Max by Dorothy May Mercer

### Chapter 8 Fran and Max, Together Again

Fran awoke after one of the best night's sleep she had had since she moved to L.A. Just knowing Max was here, guarding her, gave her a semblance of peace.

After breakfast, Fran gave Max a tour of her house in a few short minutes, ending in the utility/electronics/control room. Max was fascinated with her electronic "toys" as he called them.

"You have quite a setup, here," he said, "Who did this for you?"

"Do you know Senator McBride?"

"We haven't met, but I know who you mean."

"You must meet him someday. Fantastic guy. Well, Mike's wife, Juliette is, or was, my best friend, my college roommate. Juliette, bless her heart, never stopped searching for me, after I was kidnapped."

"You never told me about this."

"Well, I didn't know the whole story until after you and I lost each other at Reagan Airport. Why don't we go out in the kitchen and have come coffee while we talk, okay?"

"Sounds good," said Max.

Settling down with coffee, Fran continued her story, "As I was saying, Juliette found me at the airport, after traveling all over the world looking for me. She learned that I had been trafficked to Hong Kong, and sold there, on the slave market, but she had no idea that I was brought back to Maryland as a servant and surrogate mother in the Savage Clinic. It was just good fortune that we ended up at the airport at the same time."

"Wow, what a story!"

"Yeah, well, anyway, Juliette and Mike McBride took me in and literally nursed me back to health. We knew that the Syndicate wouldn't rest until they found me and recovered my baby. After that, if they found me, they would probably make sure that I 'disappeared' again, God knows where or how."

Max shuddered. "God help us. We can't let that happen again."

"You are absolutely right," she paused a moment, reflecting on that time. "Well, after that, Mike and Juliette got me some help in setting up my new identity and this new place. I still talk to them occasionally using Skype, and Mike got me an unregistered cell phone that I can use just to call him directly in case of emergency. But, we use that very sparingly."

"You said Mike got you some help."

"Well, one of Mike's trusted employees is an investigator and has a brother with his own Private Investigating agency in Fairfax, Virginia..."

"The Patterson Agency," Max interrupted.

"How did you know!"

"I worked for Glenn Patterson."

"What!"

"Heh, babe," he chuckled, "there's a whole lot of stuff you don't know about me."

Fran was astounded. "But..."

"I wasn't always an indentured servant at Savage Clinic, you know."

"I guess I never thought..."

"Well, I worked for Glenn before I was kidnapped by the Syndicate, just like you were."

"How did it happen?"

"Well, I was on a case for the Patterson agency, on a stake-out actually. It seemed to be a routine investigation into a domestic dispute. This couple had been having differences. The wife had vanished and he thought she was cheating on him. We were trying to find evidence and had traced her to a neighborhood. Anyway I was parked outside, eavesdropping at this one house when, all of a sudden a guy with a gun got the drop on me. Apparently I had chanced onto one of the Syndicate strongholds and they couldn't allow that. They kept me tied up in the basement for a few days and eventually blindfolded me and took me all over the place in cars and on airplanes. I lost track of time and had no idea where I was. Ended up at the Savage Clinic, like you. I was lucky they didn't just kill me."

"That's awful."

"I wasn't even sure what country I was in. You know those women were from all over the world. You and I became friends because we both spoke English. Meeting you there was a Godsend to me, if there was such a thing as God in that awful place."

"Same with me, Max. I was so lost. It was terrible. There was one other woman who spoke English with an accent. Not sure what country she was from. She was awfully quiet."

"What was her name?"

"I think her name was Elsie."

"Oh yeah, she was the other woman that Finkbeiner brought with us to Reagan airport."

"I don't remember that."

"That's because I had to give you a sedative to bring you out of the clinic and into the limo that took us to the airport."

"Why did you do that? Was I fighting you?"

"No, but I wanted to make sure that you were in a wheel chair. That way I could wheel you, myself, while Finkbeiner took care of the other woman and the luggage. I was hoping that, somehow, I could figure out a way to get free from Finkbeiner. And it worked."

"Thank you, Max, and thank God, we got away. How long were we at Savage Clinic together, do you know?"

"At least three years, I think. Could be longer. I tried to keep track of the days, but eventually I lost count."

"So where did you go after we got out?"

"Well, I had to run and hide. I wasn't as valuable as you, but I knew they would kill me if they could find me. I knew too much. They can't allow any slip-ups."

Fran sipped her coffee as she listened in rapt attention.

"Once I got loose, in the airport, it didn't take long for me to figure out I was in Washington D.C.," Max continued. "I have to confess it was necessary to steal at first. I couldn't go far without cash. Felt bad about it, but I tried to only lift a little bit from each person. Took just enough to get the train and bus out to Fairfax."

"How did you do that?"

"The old pick-pocketing skills, Fran. You never lose them."

"So, then, you went to Glenn Patterson for help?"

"That's right."

"I can imagine what a reunion that must have been."

"You know it!" Max smiled, remembering.

"Did you stay there?"

"Not for long. I needed to leave Washington as soon as possible. Like you, I knew the Syndicate would be looking for me, and they have spies all over Washington."

"I suppose Glenn helped you."

"Yeah, he got me a room and helped me work out this disguise."

"It didn't fool me, did it?"

"Yours didn't fool me, either."

"I guess we've been through too much together. I would know you anywhere."

"Yeah, kind of like an old married couple," he chuckled. "Our souls were like sisters."

Fran laughed. "Good one!"

"I've wondered how you found me, Max. It must have been through the Patterson Agency."

"Well, yeah. At the same time as Glenn was helping you get this place, he was helping to hide me."

"But, I can't believe that Glenn would betray me."

"No, not exactly. But, after I tried to hire Glenn to find a girl named Fran Whittaker whom I lost on the very same day that Juliette and Mike found a long-lost friend named Fran Whittaker..."

Fran gasped. "Oh my gosh!"

"... Glenn put two and two together. Yup, didn't have to be a dumb detective to see the connection. The only problem for Glenn was whether or not he could actually take my case, ethically."

Fran laughed, "That explains why Glenn asked me so many questions about my friend Max. He wanted to know who you were and why I left you."

"So, what did you tell him?"

"It was an impulse. At the time all I could think of was saving myself. I was strictly in panic mode. Sorry I had to ditch you, Max, but we couldn't be seen together especially at the airport. Also, I thought you would have a much better chance without me slowing you down. And so I hid in the women's bathroom. That's where Juliette found me."

"O my goodness. You're going to have to tell me the rest of that story, someday."

"Will do, but in the meantime, I think Glenn was satisfied that I would look for you eventually," Fran said.

"Yes, you're right. And so he made up a story about a friend of a friend who might have seen you in L.A." Max roared. "What a liar! He never let on that he knew you."

"So, he didn't really give you my address?"

"No, but he gave me enough clues that I knew where to start looking. I was planning to visit every house in this part of town until I found you."

"How long had you been searching?"

"Oh, a month or so. You are well hidden, babe. I think we are safe here, for the time being, at least until ..."

"I hope you are right, Max."

"I hope so, too."

"Well, let's take each day, one at a time."

"Agreed." Max paused, lost in thought. A slight frown crossed his face.

"You're still worried, aren't you?"

Max considered whether to share his concerns. What would happen when she had the baby? The Syndicate knew her due date. Would they be watching the births around that time? Of course they would, but how would they be able to spot Fran among the thousands of births? Max knew that was her vulnerable point. He would have to figure out something, some way to protect Fran and the baby during that crucial time, but how?

Max shook his head. "I'm all right. Just taking time to get used to my good luck." He pasted on a smile. "What shall we do today?"

"Well, I can use your help setting up the rest of your bedroom furniture, and figuring out how to string up those window blinds."

"Okay, I'm game. Lead me to it. I'm a stringer from way back."

*******

After a week, Max was gaining his strength back. He began to help around the house, and started a limited exercise program.

Fran feared that he would soon tire of confinement in the bungalow. She was really surprised when Officer Stevens rang the doorbell.

"Hello, Officer."

"May I come in?"

"Yes, of course, please come in and have a seat. You remember Max Underwood, I'm sure."

"Well this is a surprise, Underwood. I wasn't expecting to find you here."

"I tried to tell you, Stevens. This is my house." Max sat down on the sofa, spreading his arms and legs out as if he owned the place.

Fran took a smaller chair nearby, and waited to see what on earth Stevens wanted.

Stevens pulled a small notebook and pencil out of his pocket, crossed his legs, propped his notebook on his knee, flipped a few pages and looked up.

"I have a few questions for you Miss Marsh, or is it Mrs. Underwood?" he asked, sarcastically.

"You can call me Fran."

"Now, Fran, on the afternoon in question, is it true that you were frightened by a strange man knocking on your door?"

"I was frightened."

"And when I arrived you pretended that the man was your husband?"

"I don't recall, Officer Stevens."

"So, if this man was your husband, why did you shoot him?"

"I did not shoot anyone."

"After he assaulted you in your car, as you were trying to escape, you shot him."

"No."

"Do you deny that you own a gun?"

"No."

"And you had that gun in the car with you when you were trying to escape."

She just looked at him.

"Did you have the gun with you, Fran?"

"Oh, I see, you were asking a question."

"Answer the question," said Stevens, annoyed.

"Would you please repeat the question, sir."

"Did you have a gun with you in the car?"

"Yes."

"And you shot the gun at the man who was assaulting you."

Fran said nothing. She would only answer questions, not statements, especially if the statements were misleading.

"Did you shoot the man?"

"No."

"Well someone did. Someone shot the man with your gun. We think that someone was you."

Fran waited.

"Do you deny pulling the trigger?

"Definitely."

"Definitely you pulled the trigger?"

"No, definitely I deny it."

"Really, Miss Marsh, it was your gun, your bullets, gun powder on your hands, your fingerprints on the gun and on the trigger. How can you deny it?"

"I deny it. Definitely."

Exasperated, Officer Stevens turned to Max, who was smiling broadly, "Mr. Underwood, Mr. Max Underwood, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"I'm amazed to find you here."

Max merely nodded.

"Is this your home?"

Max nodded.

"Please answer the question, yes or no, Mr. Underwood."

"Would you please repeat the question?"

"Is this your home?"

"Yes."

"How long has it been your home, Mr. Underwood?"

Max looked at Fran.

"It's your home, Max," said Fran.

Max grinned and looked back at Stevens.

Stevens seemed slightly befuddled, and unprepared, at this point, trying to come up with more questions for Max.

"And so, Mr. Underwood, if this is your home, why did you assault Miss Marsh?"

"I did not assault her or anyone."

"So, if you did not assault her or anyone, what were you doing attacking her in her car?"

"I did not assault her or attack her, or anyone."

"That's preposterous!"

Max merely smiled.

"Well, then, how do you explain the gunshot wound?"

"I don't."

Stevens flipped pages, glanced at his watch, and flipped more.

"Will that be all, Officer Stevens?" asked Fran.

"That will be all, for now, but I want you to remain available if we have more questions."

"Of course," said Max.

"May I ask you a question?" asked Fran.

"You may ask, I will decide whether or not I shall answer it."

"Well, I wonder what happened..."

"What do you mean, what happened?"

"Well, I understood that the FBI agent, K.C. Williams, had decided there was no crime and had closed the case. So, why are you out here asking questions?"

"The FBI handed the case back to the police department."

"What? I don't understand."

"K.C. Williams, Agent Williams quit the case, Miss Marsh."

"Seriously? But, why?"

"He's a busy man, Miss Marsh, an important man. He has no time for petty criminals. That's up to the local police."

Fran collapsed in her chair. She hadn't heard from K.C. in a week. She was almost dizzy from the shock. K.C. was leaving the case!

Seeing her distress, Max stood to distract the cop. "Well, we have things to do, Officer Stevens, so if you have no further questions..."

"Nothing more, at this time."

"Thank you for coming," said Max as he moved to open the door for the cop.

Stevens flipped a few more pages. Finding nothing more, he rose, touched his hat to Fran and left the house.

Max closed the door, reset the alarm, slid the deadbolt closed and turned to Fran. "I'm so sorry, Fran. You and K.C. were... ?

Fran nodded.

"Awh... I'm sorry, dammit."

"He hasn't called, Max," she brushed away a tear.

Max looked at her, sadly, and sat back down on the sofa. "I saw the two of you together. There was no question. He was crazy about you."

"I don't know what happened. I just don't know..." She was miserable. "I've been worried all week, but kept telling myself, he's a busy man, a lot of responsibility. Maybe he was out of town or something, you know?"

"Yeah."

Fran leaned back and closed her eyes. This was just another blow, in a difficult life, so far. But, she still had her baby, and her friend, Max. That would be enough reason to live.

*******

Fran and Max by Dorothy May Mercer

### Chapter 9 Fairfax Private Investigators

"Your sister to see you, Mr. Patterson."

"Send her in, please, Miss Hennie."

Glenn looked up from his desk as Cynthia entered, "Hi, Sis," he smiled broadly.

"Hi Glenn," Cynthia Patterson responded.

"What brings you out, today?"

"Mike sent me."

"Might'a known," said Glenn. "Well, since you aren't here to buy my lunch, let's get down to work. How can I be of assistance?"

"Well, this has to do with a former employee of yours, going way back."

"How so?"

"You used to have an employee named Max. He was around, at the time when I worked here, three or four years ago. I don't remember his last name. Do you remember a man by the name of Max?

"Sure I remember Max, big burly guy, right?"

"That's the one."

"Yes, he worked for me about the same time you were here."

"What happened to him?" Cynthia asked.

"He just disappeared one day."

"Disappeared?"

"That happens sometimes, in this business."

Cynthia reached into her portfolio and pulled out two pictures, one frontal and one from the side. "These are a bit blurry, but could this be the same man?" she asked, placing the pictures on Glenn's desk.

Glenn studied the photos carefully. "Where did you get these?"

"Mike gave them to me."

"Oh sure he did! C'mon Sis, tell me where you got these."

"All right, but first, does this man look like the same Max that used to work here."

"It could be, I suppose. Are these recent photos?"

"Yes they are."

"I can probably pull up our employee files and compare."

"Great idea, please do," said Cynthia.

Glenn turned to his computer and tapped in instructions. In a moment he hit "print," and waited for the printer to come to life. "It'll print out here in a minute. So, while we wait, how are you and Danny-boy doing these days?"

"Don't even ask."

"That bad, huh?"

"Oh it's all right, I guess, but a girl can get tired of waiting, you know?"

"He's not getting the message, right?"

Cynthia nodded.

"Or maybe he has no interest in paying for something so long as he is getting it for free," Glenn suggested.

"Glenn! Damn you!" Cynthia exploded and looked for something harmless to throw at him.

Glenn laughed uproariously. "Gotcha'."

"That's none of your business."

"But... what are brothers for?" He laughed when she threatened him with a fist.

The printer started working. Glenn grabbed the page and laid it alongside the two photos on his desk. Cynthia came around to look over his shoulder.

"It's close," observed Cynthia, "but something isn't quite the same"

"Yeah," Glenn pointed, "here and here. Looks like this newer face could have been altered by plastic surgery."

"Ya' think?"

"Maybe not a full face-lift but one of those quickee surgeries, the kind you can have done on your lunch hour," he laughed.

"Supposedly," she agreed.

"Look at the ears," said Glenn. "I don't think he had his ears done. Ears are like fingerprints." Glenn pulled a magnifying glass out of his desk drawer and studied the ears. "Here, use this," he offered the tool to Cynthia.

She studied the photos through the glass as Glenn pointed to similarities. "What do you think?" she asked.

"I think that the likelihood of these three photos being the same person is about eighty percent certain."

"I'll count that as a yes. You're the missing person expert."

"Heh, Sis, I taught you everything I know."

Not true. You've forgotten more than I know."

Glenn laughed and leaned back in his chair. "So, now that you have your answer, what difference does it make?"

"These two photos were taken in Los Angeles with your spy cams, the ones you installed for Fran Whittaker. She goes by Frankie Marsh now. This guy was standing on her front porch."

"Really?"

"The guy claims he is Max Underwood and was associated with Fran while she was held captive at the Savage Clinic. What worries us is how in heck did he find her? There must be a leak in her security somehow, and we've got to plug the leak before the Syndicate discovers it."

"Hmm, I see. Well, I can assure you that when Fairfax Private Investigators installs a system, it won't leak."

"Apparently Fran thinks it's the same Max, because she invited him to move in with her."

Glenn whistled, "As in lovers, ya' think?"

"I don't think, but is there any other reason?"

"Sis, the Max that I knew was gay."

Cynthia's brows rose an inch, "Then why...?"

"All right, I think I can tell you the rest of the story. This is confidential, all right?"

"Got it." She settled back in her chair, ready to listen.

"First of all, you're right, these three pictures are the same guy, who now calls himself Max Underwood. He had a different name back then, which you do not need to know, at this point. Yes, Max worked as an indentured servant, or slave, if you will, at the Savage Clinic, during the same time that Fran was held there. The reason that he was considered as a guard for the women, was he's big and strong, has karate skills, and he's gay. Running a surrogate industry, they couldn't have the women contaminated with outside sperm or STD's. Somehow, they thought that using a gay man as a guard was safer than a heterosexual."

"I guess that makes some sense," said Cynthia, "but he was a prisoner, too."

Glenn continued, "That's right, but they had guards guarding the guards and the Savage Clinic was out in the middle of a swamp. It made escape difficult if not impossible."

"So what was Max doing for you that got him kidnapped?" asked Cynthia.

"The last caper Max worked on, for me, was a domestic dispute. I'd have to look up the records, but at the time, I remember that Max was on a stake-out. Unintentionally, he had stumbled onto a house that was being used by the Human Trafficking Syndicate. One of their guards caught Max with earphones on, and so they nabbed him. They kept him tied up for a few days waiting to get rid of him.

In the meantime, they learned who he was, that he had skills, and noticed that he was big, strong and gay. So, instead of killing him, they trafficked him into their system as a guard. He just happened to have the skills they needed at that time. Lucky for him, huh?"

"One of the few jobs where being gay is a requirement," Cynthia observed.

"That doesn't mean that he couldn't have feelings for the women under his guard. He did all he could to help them, but he was being watched, as well. Eventually, when things got too hot for the clinic, the Syndicate closed it in a hurry.

"The director took Max and two of his best women with him and bailed out to a new location. Somehow, at the airport, Max was able to take Fran and get away. The two of them got lost in the crowd, and the director went on with the other woman."

"That's where we came in," said Cynthia. "Senator Mike's wife was friends with Fran, and so we came to you for help in relocating Fran."

"That's right. But what you didn't know was that Max had come to me at the same time."

"Oh my gosh! Small world!"

"I couldn't take Max as a client because of a possible conflict of interest with the Fran Whittaker case."

"But, surely they wanted to be together."

"Not necessarily. I questioned Fran thoroughly about Max, to be sure. She didn't want to be seen with him, because it would make him a bigger target for the Syndicate. But, she kept the door open for the future."

"And so, you told him how to find her," Cynthia surmised.

"Not really. It was too risky for both of them. And so, I merely allowed him to overhear enough to figure out where to start looking. He's a smart guy. He did the rest."

"So what do you think his reasons are? I mean, if he is gay, why does he care about Fran?"

"Well, who can account for human emotions? The two of them have been through hell together and there is a deep friendship, like war buddies, like family, brother and sister. They are both alone, in hiding and may be there for a long time. Who else can they trust? Is it so surprising that they would stick together and help each other?"

"You're right. I can't even imagine what it must be like," said Cynthia. She thought for a moment.

Glenn moved to the small refrigerator and extracted two bottles of water. "Lemon or cherry?" he asked.

"I'll take the cherry. Thank you." Cynthia opened the bottle and drank. "That hits the spot," she said setting the bottle down on the corner of his immaculate desk.

Glenn placed a coaster under her drink and got one out for himself.

"Thanks, Glenn, you've kept this desk nice."

"I try. Not always easy."

"I've been wondering," said Cynthia.

"Oh-oh, here we go. The Patterson and Patterson team is back."

"Well, it's a long shot..."

"Oh sure. Well, lay it on me."

"Could there be anything in those old surveillance tapes Max made of that Syndicate safe house that might lead us to Conningham?"

"Conningham? Who the heck is Conningham?"

"You know, my boss would dearly love to nail those two, Conningham and Finkbeiner, and put them away, for good."

"All right, you lost me. Conningham, Finkbeiner. Who else?"

"Well, here's the thing, if we could get those guys, the ones who are running the Syndicate, wouldn't that make life safer for Fran and Max?"

"I take it that you think Finkbeiner and Conningham are running the Syndicate."

"We think that Finkbeiner is a little guy, running one of their Clinics and that Conningham is the middle man between the money guy and the clinic directors such as Finkbeiner."

"Very good, Sister, and to think you are all grown up, now. So, how did you figure this out?"

"Well, you remember that Finkbeiner was taking Fran and Max on board a flight to Albuquerque, New Mexico, when they escaped?"

"Yeah."

"Well, Mike sent me out to New Mexico, to investigate a new Human Reproduction Clinic that was operating just outside his home town of Carson City. While I was there I learned that the new director is a Dr. Elwin Q. Finkbeiner."

"Well-well, will wonders ever cease?"

"That's not all. A certain gentleman came to pay a visit. He drove down in a rental car from the Albuquerque airport. His name is Conningham. We were able to trace him back to Washington D.C. and that's all, so far."

Glenn picked up his drink and stared out the window, deep in thought. He swigged on his drink and wondered aloud, "What if we could trace this Conningham back to the big boys?"

"What do you need?"

"What have you got?"

"Credit card number, full name on the card, and address on the ticket."

"Geez, Sis, what do you need me for?"

She laughed. "It's only a start."

"I'll get on it."

"Thanks Glenn."

"Thank me later. Here, take your drink with you."

"Thanks, see ya'."

## Elsie

Elsie hated New Mexico. It was just too darned hot, compared to the countryside where she grew up in northern England. Maryland wasn't so bad. It had been warmer, but not unbearably so. But this New Mexico climate was killing her, especially now that her pregnancy was in the third trimester.

And she couldn't bear that Finkbeiner, or Stinkyfinger, as she thought of him. He actually did stink. His breath was foul and his hands rough when he fondled her breasts. Gol, it was awful! But she had to grit her teeth and bear it. Fortunately he never went any further. Probably couldn't get it up. Elsie laughed to herself thinking about his shriveled-up member.

Someday, she didn't know how, but she vowed to get even, sooner or later. Elsie studied the tall fences topped with barbed wire and the wrought iron gate with spikes on top. Maybe one day she could climb over the fence, but not now, not in her condition. She often pondered what would happen when her time was due.

Elsie had seen how the babies were whisked away, back in the Savage Clinic, but this clinic was different. These surrogates would serve as midwives and nursemaids when the babies came. They were happy to be here. This seemed strange to Elsie, but she realized it was just a job to them and they were well paid for it. Supposedly they could leave after delivering their babies, but Elsie doubted it. Could a leopard change its spots?

No question but Elsie could not walk away. Finkbeiner kept her prisoner, locking her in her little room at night. Would he ever give her a contract like the others? She hoped that someday he would trust her enough.

Elsie printed up their contracts and did the payroll records. She knew he was skimming and where he kept his secret stash. She kept all the records, even Mr. Finkbeiner's fake IRS records and the accounting records for the clinic. Back home in England, before she was kidnapped, she had been a crack accountant and ran a profitable free-lance business taking care of billing and payroll for a half dozen firms.

It had taken her a few weeks to study the tax laws, here in America, but now she had a decent knowledge of how it worked. During her spare time she studied online. When she got out of here, she wanted to be able to earn a living. It would take a while, but she was determined to get back to England.

Elsie had a plan.

*****

## K.C.

Nights were the worst. During the days K.C. kept busy, filling his mind with work. There was always plenty to do. He stayed late at the office, stopped at the health club on the way home, working-out like a demon. He almost closed the place every night. Back to his apartment, after midnight, he fell into bed exhausted, still unable to sleep from thinking about her. Damn women, anyway! How long could he keep this up?

Most nights, K.C. rolled and tossed, drifting in and out of sleep until an hour before dawn when he sank into deep sleep just before the alarm went off. Mornings were killers. God, he felt awful, dragging himself out of bed, into the shower and dressing with zombie-like movements, paying no mind to matching shirt and tie, or sox and shoes. Who cares? Who notices?

Actually the people who worked for him noticed. "What tha' hell is wrong with the boss?" they asked each other. "He's worse than a bear with a thorn under his toenail." For the most part, they tried to stay out of his way, tiptoeing around him and running for cover when he started to growl. K.C.'s disposition had changed overnight, from sunny and happy to scowling and sad. Something had happened. They needed to find out what that something was.

A conspiracy, of sorts, developed around the water fountain, and in the break room. "Some detectives we are if we can't find out what's eating the boss." "Could it be a woman?" "If it's women trouble maybe we can fix it." "Well, it sure came and went awfully fast." "But who?" Speculation was rampant. "What can we do?" The suggestion to hire him a hooker brought a lot of laughs, not entirely out of the question. They were desperate. "Let's follow him and see where he goes after work." "How about, let's hack into his schedule and see where he has been." "Great idea. I'm up for it." "All right, I'll follow him tonight, you check out his date book, and we'll meet here tomorrow."

*******

Fran and Max by Dorothy May Mercer

### Chapter 10 Clinic Office

Finkbeiner leaned over Elsie's desk. She moved back as far as she dared. "Show me how you look up something," he said.

"Look up something?"

"Like, how would I find a certain person?"

"Well, that depends. Is this someone you know, you just need a phone number, an address, or what?"

"I need to find someone."

"Do you have any idea what city?"

"No."

"What State?"

"No, damn it, I told you I don't know. Now, just show me how to do it."

"Well, sir, there are places where you can do a search."

"Good, that's what I want. Now show me." He walked around behind her and watched her type, his bad breath blowing on her back.

"Do you know how to get on the internet?"

"Uh, I've always had a staff to do that sort of thing."

"Okay, well, first you need to find the internet on your computer."

"I've never used it."

"You have one in your office, sir. Just push the button to turn it on. Can you do that?"

"Of course, you idiot. I can turn the damn machine on."

"Fine. Then you look at the display that comes up when you first turn it on. I'll turn mine off and on so you can see what it looks like." Elsie restarted her computer while he waited impatiently. She showed him how to work the mouse. "Now you take your little controller thing, called a mouse, and you can move the arrow on your display like this. See?"

"Okay."

"Yours may not look like an arrow, but just move your mouse around until you spot it. Okay?"

"Right."

"What you want to find is a tiny picture, called an icon. It could look like this one here, or maybe this one here. Place your arrow over the icon, like this and click on the left button on your mouse. Watch closely because it happens fast."

Elsie went on like this until she had demonstrated how he could type in a name and click enter. "Do you have a name for this person that you are looking for?"

"Yes, you moron, of course I know the name."

"Good. Sometimes that is all you need. Why don't you try typing the name into this space first? Let me show you. Watch while I type the name of our clinic in here, like this ... and then I click the button that says 'enter' or I click my arrow right here where it says 'Go' and see what comes up."

"My goodness, look at all the different things on the list," Finkbeiner was amazed. "And there's our clinic, right there and there. It's on there more than once."

"Right, then you see these little arrows on your keyboard. You can scroll up and down through the list of names and choose one to see more."

"How do I do that?"

"Well, just use your mouse to move the little arrow over the one you want and click the left button. Sometimes you have to double click it, like this, and then more information comes up about that listing."

"I'll go try that right now." He walked into his own office and closed the door, leaving Elsie to wonder what this was all about.

Ten minutes later, he screamed, "Elsie, ELSIE! Get your ass in here."

Elsie took her time walking to his office. She noticed beads of sweat on his brow.

"Stupid thing, anyway. It doesn't do a damn thing I tell it to. Show me how to get this f-'ing internet thing again."

Elsie watched him fumble around and gave a few instructions.

"Okay, I've got it now," he said confidently. "Close the door when you leave."

Elsie hid a smile as she left.

A few minutes later, Finkbeiner screamed for her again. This time his face was red. "I've got the internet thing up, but when I type in the name, not a damn thing happens."

Once more, Elsie showed him a few more steps.

He turned away and started typing, so she left again, closing the door.

A third time he yelled, "Elsie, damn it, you dumb broad, get in here and do this for me."

Elsie entered.

"Sit your ass down here and do this for me."

Elsie quickly pulled up a search. "How do you spell the name, sir?"

"F-R-A-N W-H-I-K-E-R. No that's wrong. The last name is Whittaker. W-H-I-T-TA-K-E-R."

Elsie typed the name and hit enter. "Here you go, sir. There are 1,430,000 results. Can you see this one on top of the list? She has a picture."

Finkbeiner leaned closer. "No, that's not her."

"Well, what you can do, now, is to scroll down through the list until you see one that looks possible and then you click on it and see what comes up. Let me show you." Elsie selected one and clicked on it.

"No that can't be the one I'm looking for," said Finkbeiner.

"Okay, then you go back."

"How do I do that?"

"See these arrows up in the corner?"

"Yeah."

"Just move your mouse up there. Hover over the arrow and click once. See how it takes you right back to page one?"

"Okay, I get it. That will be all, Elsie."

She got up to leave and he took her place at the keyboard. Elsie knew, now, who he was looking for. Going through 1.4 million entries would keep him busy for a while. Lucky for Fran Whittaker, the chances of him finding her were just exactly nil. Elsie would give a lot to know what had happened to Fran and Max, too. She prayed that they were safe and far, far away. The good news was that, if he was looking for Fran, she must have made it to safety. This was one more fact to add to her plan.

Maybe she would do a little internet searching, herself, so that she could make sure she didn't accidentally steer Stinkyfinger in the right direction. She smiled to herself, and started a real internet search.

## Washington D.C.

Glenn Patterson was doing his own search with vastly more skill and better results. He already had the name and address of Gunner R. Conningham. Turns out Mr. Conningham had a rap sheet, extensive holdings and a host of shady enterprises. Early in his career he had done time for check fraud. Since then he had been arrested for suspected Ponzi schemes and misappropriation of investment funds, none of which allegations stuck. For the last five years he had been working as a free-lance lobbyist, with several overseas clients.

Glenn decided to put a watch on Mr. Conningham using his high-tech eaves-dropping technology, so secret that he had traveled to the Orient to buy it. Fairfax P.I. was the first outfit in the United States to own it. If G.R. Conningham was involved in nefarious activity, Glenn would know it. Gathering evidence admissible in court would require more conventional methods, of course, but Glenn had several options for putting people out of business outside the justice system.

## Los Angeles

A highly secret meeting was being held in the break room at FBI headquarters.

"All right, men and women," said one guy, in mock seriousness. "You've all had your assignments. We are ready to receive your reports. What are your findings?"

"Well, I'll go first. Let me tell you, I'm pooped today. Last night I hung around until the boss left work. Man, it must have been 8:30 or 9:00 o'clock. I was starved."

There was a chorus of "Awh, poor baby" from the assembly.

"Thanks, people. I know it was for a worthy cause and so I bravely carried on. Truthfully, I thought that was the end. But no, when K.C. left work, he went to his health club."

Groans from the crowd. "What did you do?"

"I did what any G-Man worth his salt would do, I hung around outside waiting for him to leave. Three hours later, I was freezing my keester off and still hungry. The place closes at midnight, mind you."

"He worked-out all that time?"

"Yup."

"Horrors."

"At exactly five minutes to twelve, he came out, got into his car and drove home."

"Did you follow?"

"Yeah, I could barely stay awake, but I followed him home and parked outside until the lights went out in his house about 1:00 AM."

"That's all?"

"Yup, that's it. End of story."

"My Heavens the man is superhuman. He was up again this morning, the first one in the office."

"Yeah, he was here already when I arrived at quarter to eight," said one woman.

"My word!" said another. "No wonder he's grouchy."

"Let's hear from you other people who were hacking into his email and schedules."

"I'll go first," said one. "I looked at the emails back for about a month. Didn't find a thing. Just the usual business stuff. There was a flurry of emails from Senator McBride's office about a fortnight ago, but that stopped."

"Thank you for that report."

"I checked his on-line appointment book," said another. The only woman mentioned was someone by the name of Fran and F.W. He was seeing her every day, sometimes twice a day for a while and then it stopped."

"Wasn't that right around the time that he was smiling all the time, whistling around the office and leaving early?"

"Now that you mention it, I think you're right."

"How about when this Fran person dropped off the radar? Was that when he got grumpy?"

"You may be right. It was close to that time, I think."

"We need to find Fran W."

"Agreed."

"Does everyone agree?"

Everyone nodded.

"All right people. Do your stuff. We'll meet here again tomorrow. Same time."

Twenty-four hours later, they met again. This time, K.C. had been followed for another night with the same results.

"So, how are we doing locating Fran W.? Who is she?"

No one knew.

"All right people. You are the F.B.I.'s finest. Get on it and find this woman. Our peace and quiet depends on it. We'll meet here again tomorrow."

Two more days went by with no success. They were no closer than when they started. "We need a break in the case, people. Bear down."

********

Fran and Max by Dorothy May Mercer

### Chapter 11 The FBI Boys and Girls

Officer Stevens was a busy man. He was ready to dump this case involving Frankie "Fran" Marsh and Max Underwood in the closed case file, after he made one last report to Cynthia Patterson and her boss Senator Mike McBride.

"Senator McBride's offices, how may I direct your call?"

"Hello, may I speak with Senator McBride?"

"Senator McBride is on the Senate floor at the moment. Can someone else help you? Or, may I take a message?"

"Is Cynthia Patterson in?"

"This is Cynthia Patterson. I'll be happy to help you."

"Hello Cynthia, this is Officer Stevens, LAPD. I think we met briefly over the phone at the time of the shooting here in L.A."

"Of course, Officer, I remember you well. We appreciate all you did to help in the emergency. I believe that the shooting victim is recovering nicely, thanks to your quick help."

"Well, here's the thing, Miss Patterson, the case kind of got screwed up when some FBI big shot muscled himself in on the case, which was fine with me. The only problem was he must have gotten bored because he unloaded it back in my lap."

"I see," said Cynthia, trying to sound sympathetic.

"So, here I am, can't make head nor tale of it," said Stevens.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Cynthia.

"Well, there's no need for you to be sorry, you did nothing wrong."

"But, sir, I am sorry that you have had so much trouble with it."

"Yeah, I have. Well, I'm just reporting to McBride, you see."

"All right, I will most certainly tell him you called."

"Tell him that unless I hear something otherwise from him in say twenty-four hours, I am going to close the da ... darned case."

"I most certainly will do that, sir."

"Will that be enough time for you to get him the message?"

"I'm sure that will be ample time, Officer Stevens," she replied, expecting him to say goodbye and hang up. Instead, he seemed to want to talk.

'You know, Cynthia, it is the strangest thing..."

"Oh, how's that?"

"Well, after I got the case dumped on me, I went out to the house for a follow-up interview, just trying to pick up the threads, you know?"

"Of course."

"You could have knocked me over with a feather when this guy, Max Underwood, answers the door. I mean, really, the guy gets shot, almost dies on the operating table and the next thing he does is move in with the danged woman who plugged him. What kind of a deal is that?"

"What do you think, Officer Stevens?"

"Call me Steve."

"Steve," said Cynthia, "please call me Cynthia."

"Well, Cynthia, it is so nice to make your acquaintance," said Steve. "Well, what I think is that the two of them are awfully cozy, and so I'm chalking it up to a domestic dispute, with no complaint filed. Now I'm not sure if she was lying when she told me Max was her husband, you know? Could be he is abusing her, holding her hostage or something."

"They aren't married, that I know of, Steve."

"Oh, so you know these people?"

"Well, yes, I'm acquainted with Fran, not with Max, although I know of him."

"Of him? What is that supposed to mean?"

"I only know that Max is an old friend of Fran's."

"Just friends?"

"Yes."

"How can you be so sure of that?"

"Mm, well..."

"C'mon, Cynthia, give me a hint."

"I'm sorry, Steve."

"Do you have any reason to believe that they are not in a relationship of some kind, good or bad?"

Cynthia remained silent.

"So you do know, but you aren't saying," Steve tried to goad her into saying something.

Cynthia remained silent.

"Give Senator McBride the message, please."

"Yes, sir, I have made a note of it."

"Goodbye, Cynthia."

"Thank you for calling. Goodbye, Officer Stevens."

Stevens closed the folder and picked up his "Case Closed" stamp, ready to get one thing off his desk. Hand in the air, he hesitated, gazed at the pile of folders on his desk and sighed. Aw shit, he thought. That dammed woman! He grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and headed for the car pool. He could not close the case until he was sure. Something was not right. Was that Max character holding the woman against her will? Clearly she was trying to escape, clearly she shot him, and now, McBride's clerk, Cynthia, knew something she wasn't telling. Stevens was determined to get the truth. Should he drive directly out to the perp's bungalow, or should he stop, first, and pick up that no-good FBI Agent K.C. Williams?

Stevens parked at FBI headquarters and stomped past the bull pen, straight toward the director's office, a man on a mission. Pausing at the assistant's desk he announced in a no-nonsense tone, "Officer Steven's to see Director Williams, immediately."

"Yes, sir, and may I please tell Agent Williams what this concerns?"

"Yes, you may, young lady. This concerns the alleged shooting of a certain Max Underwood by a suspect by the name of Frankie Marsh, also known as Fran W."

At the name Fran, several heads popped up out of their cubicles.

The assistant did a double-take. "Did you say, Fran, sir?"

"Fran? Yes I said Fran. Now just buzz me through."

"The name was Frankie or Fran, is that right?" she spoke loudly, glancing at the bull pen. Several agents left their cubicles in their shirtsleeves, holstered weapons strapped across their chests.

"I said Frankie Marsh, alias Fran W. allegedly shot a victim named Max Underwood and I am here to pick up Agent K.C. Williams, if you don't mind," he said sarcastically.

Several agents who had left their cubicles, closed in on Officer Stevens.

"Heh, wait just a minute, what the hell is going on?" He started to back away while the agents drew closer. Two big guys grabbed Stevens by his arms while the rest closed ranks around him. "Come right this way, sir." They hustled him into the break room. One held his chair, another invited him to sit, a third opened the refrigerator and pulled out two drinks, offering Stevens a choice. A fourth brought out dishes of peanuts and chips. "Please help yourself," he said, smiling.

"Enjoy," said another. The men in the group turned chairs around and sat backwards, encircling Stevens, leaning on the chair backs in rapt attention. The women stood behind them.

Stevens drained half the bottled drink and started munching the chips. "This is nice, guys, thanks a lot."

"Are you hungry? Can we get you a sandwich?" offered a woman agent.

"That would be nice. Thank you," said Stevens, tossing a handful of peanuts in his mouth, a few at a time.

"Ham and cheese, all right?"

Stevens nodded.

"Mustard and mayo?"

"Just mayo, thanks."

She cut it in two and served it on a nice plate with a napkin.

Stevens finished half the sandwich, wiped his mouth with the napkin, finished his drink and stood up to leave. "Well, this has been very kind of you, but I'll be on my way, now." Immediately the agents closed around him.

"Sir, if we could have just a few moments of your time, we would be ever so grateful."

Stevens sat down. "What is this, some kind of shake-down?"

"No sir, not at all. Please just one little moment of your time, that's all we are asking. Surely, you can spare a moment."

"All right, what do you want to know?"

"This Fran person, who is she, where is she?"

"Heh look, you people, you want the damn file? Here take it. You can have the whole gol-danged case, if you want it. Just let me out of here. I've got more important things to do."

One of the guys reached out a hand for the file, immediately sat at the table and opened it. The rest turned away from Stevens and gathered around, trying to get a glimpse of the file.

Stevens looked at their backs and shook his head. "So long, guys," he said with a half wave. No one noticed. Stevens shrugged, picked up the half sandwich, the other bottled drink and left the room, shaking his head.

The employees laughed with glee and high-fived. "So, this is the woman who has the boss's tail in a knot."

"Yup, it's Fran W. all right." "Ah ha, here's her picture." "Woo-hee, some babe!" "And here's her address." "Good work, detectives." "Now all we've gotta do is to get them back together."

Silence fell on the group and everyone looked at someone else.

"Um, yeah, together..."

"Anyone got an idea?"

"A surprise party?"

"How would that work?"

"Naw, I don't think so."

"All right, you geniuses, think of something."

"Give us some time, okay?"

"We need a devious plan."

"Right."

"And it better be good."

*******

## Senator McBride's Offices

Glenn Patterson pulled up a chair. "Hi Sis."

"Heh Glenn, how ya' doing?"

"Boss in?"

"No, he's on the Senate floor."

"We've learned some things about your guy Conningham."

"That was fast."

"I've had a man on it 24/7. You knew about his rap sheet."

"Right."

"And so his cover these days is as a free-lance lobbyist. He has a couple of smaller countries as clients, not enough to live on, certainly. Of course we know that he has some connection with the Carson City Human Reproduction Clinic. It had to be more than a proprietary interest, to explain why he would fly out there and back to D.C. for just a two hour visit."

"Right."

"And so, we did some checking. It seems that there is a network of Human Reproduction Clinics on the Eastern Seaboard. We think that Conningham is the liaison between these clinics and the big boy, or boys who own them all. It's no small operation. And there is one head money-man or woman who is known by the initials, J.R., that's all, just J.R."

"Wow!"

"We think that J.R. has connections to a worldwide network of human trafficking. He buys his supply of women from them. When the women are too old to be useful anymore, the network can get rid of them by moving them to third world areas in the Far East where they are either disposed of, or simply put out on the street. Sometimes they can be resold as domestics."

"That's awful."

"I know, Sis."

"But, I don't understand, Glenn. When I was in Carson City, I couldn't find anything illegal about the operation."

"You're right."

"For once!"

"Yeah, like so many illegal enterprises, they are trying go legit. They've found a niche, with the changes that have taken place in the United States, very rapidly, really, it has become possible to do this in at least a semi-legal way. They are hoping to fill their need for women by contracting women from south of the border.

"There is a growing demand for surrogate mothers. I mean, think about it, same-sex marriages are now legal, and so these male couples can now adopt children.

"Adoption isn't easy, however. It has become increasingly difficult because there are so few babies up for adoption. As a result all kinds of couples are turning to the surrogate industry."

"Why are there so few babies for adoption?"

"Well you may be too young to remember, but there used to be a social stigma against single mothers. Back then, there were so few ways that single mothers could support a baby. Now there's day care and jobs and government programs that help. So, single mothers tend to keep their babies, rather than putting them up for adoption.

"Also, abortion was illegal, back then, as well. Now that it's legal, there are thousands more abortions. Many more forms of birth control are available now, and easy to obtain. It used to be very difficult for a young single girl to get birth control. Now it's free. For all those reasons, in the space of one generation, adoptions of babies have become rare."

"Very interesting," said Cynthia. "Put that together with the relaxed attitude of the government about allowing anyone to come into the country, and you have the women who are willing to contract as surrogates supplying the big demand for babies."

"Part of it is the lack of competition. True there are surrogate providers out there, but so many of them are fly-by-night, and private arrangements are fraught with legal entanglements. There is a need for a dependable source, and so that is what the Carson City Human Repro Clinic is trying to provide," said Glenn.

"In a way, it is an experiment for the Syndicate, isn't it? They still have their clinics in the East, but, if this Carson City one works well, they will be converting to the new business model."

"You got it, Sis."

"Thank you, Glenn," said Cynthia. "You have learned a lot in a short time."

"You're welcome, but, never fear, your boss will get my bill," he laughed.

"So, where does that leave us? If this is a legitimate business, do we just drop it?"

"Oh no. There is plenty of other stuff going on. Also, there is no statute of limitations on murder and kidnapping. We can nail these bad guys for what they have done and what they are doing now."

*******

## Carson City Clinic

Elsie was ready to execute her plan. She doubted that Dr. Finkbeiner would be able to recover the searches she had made online. It was her only way of communicating with the outside world. Finkbeiner did not allow a telephone on her desk.

She had found a wealth of information about whistleblowers and had read most of it. The US had laws governing and protecting whistleblowers, and in many cases offering rewards and legal assistance. After careful consideration, she chose a certain legal firm. Their website promised a confidential free consultation. Waiting until Finkbeiner had left his office for lunch and his usual afternoon nap, Elsie quickly opened the website and nervously waited for a chat window to pop up offering help. It was now or never.

The first online interview was intended to be a screening of potential clients. The law firm was in the business of making money. While they would provide the promised free consultation, from there they would pick and choose the clients whom they wished to represent based on their estimation of the profit potential, that is, was there a wealthy employer who could be sued for damages, or was there hope of a government reward. Elsie understood how this worked and she intended to get all the free help possible.

At first the law firm was excited about Elsie's prospects, but after a few days, when they learned of her employer's connection to the Syndicate, they thought better of it and backed off. Instead they referred Elsie to two possible sources of help, the FBI and a Los Angeles charity that helps victims of human trafficking. Elsie was disappointed, but at least she now had the email addresses of two sources of help.

Elsie set up a private email address, changing the password daily, hoping that Finkbeiner would not discover it. She now knew that he was almost computer illiterate. Nevertheless, she couldn't afford to take chances. Her life depended on it.

First she tried the charity. A kind lady answered the email. Elsie shared her situation. The lady expressed her extreme alarm and sympathy. However, they were only set up to help people who had escaped from captivity. "Only law enforcement can get you out of the situation. I can contact the FBI for you, dear, and then they can bring you right here to our facility. You can live here and we will take care of you, provide you with any help you need, clothing, food, legal help, transportation and so on. We have a large group of volunteers from every discipline, medical doctors, for example. You can deliver your baby here, if you want."

"Oh, that would be wonderful," Elsie typed. "I've been so worried about my baby."

"Of course you have. Well, worry no more. We would love to take care of you and the baby, until you can get on your feet."

"Thank you, thank you," typed Elsie.

"Now, my dear, we must make plans to get you out of there, safely, as soon as possible. Shall I contact the FBI for you?"

"Yes, but please be careful."

*******

## Max Worries

Meanwhile at the Bungalow, Max had spent the morning online trying to figure out how to keep Fran and her baby safe. He knew that the Bungalow was well-defended, but what would happen when her baby came? Fran was not thinking that far ahead. It was up to Max to defend her. Fran's ob-gyn planned to deliver at a nearby hospital, just like always. No problem.

What worried Max was that the Syndicate wanted that baby and would go to any lengths to grab the baby and get rid of Fran. They knew when the baby is due. Will they find her? Max was determined to locate a private clinic to protect Fran and the baby when the time came. But whom could he trust?

As luck would have it, Max came across the Anti-Human Trafficking Coalition in L.A., the very same one that Elsie found. Their website promised help for abused women held against their will, including complete anonymity and twenty-four hour protection. Max decided to telephone the director, a Darla Ambrose. Taking no chances, Max used the land-line telephone to call Ms. Ambrose. He knew that modern communication devices such as email and cell phones can be overheard. One could not be too careful.

Ms. Ambrose answered. "Anti-Human Trafficking Coalition, Darla speaking, how can I help you?"

"Hello, Darla, may I speak with you a moment?"

"Yes, please do."

"For now, I would rather not give my name, if that is all right."

"Suppose I call you 'Sonny,' how would that be?"

Max laughed, "Sonny-boy, I love it!"

"Okay, Sonny, tell me your story," Darla invited.

"I'm calling for a friend with whom I am living. I helped her escape from a terrible situation where she was held against her will. We are hiding out, now, in a safe place, but I'm worried about the future, because she is expecting a baby. I'm afraid she will be discovered when she goes in to have her baby."

"Well, Sonny, we may be able to help you, depending on how far away you are. We have safe houses, here in Los Angeles that will take her in and keep her safe while she delivers and afterward."

"That's too far away, I'm afraid," Max prevaricated, afraid to give any clues to his location.

"Can she get here ahead of time, perhaps?"

"What do you mean?"

"We have rooms where she could stay while she is waiting."

"You mean, like, if I brought her in, say, two weeks before her due date?"

"Right."

"That sounds good."

"We also have affiliates in every state in the union. I don't know where you are, but that might work better for you."

"I think L.A. will work, so how do I get in touch?"

"Well, Sonny, I really can't give you any more information over the phone. We need to check into your friend's identity and make sure you aren't one of the bad guys," she laughed.

"Um, how shall we do that?"

"Can you come in?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Okay, do you have our hours and location from off the web site?"

"Yes"

"Well, just come on in, then, whenever you can."

"Thank you, I'll see you later."

"Good bye, then."

"Good bye."

Max hung up, wondering how on earth he could make sure that this woman was legit, and not some informer for the Syndicate.

*******

Fran and Max by Dorothy May Mercer

### Chapter 12 The Dirtbox

## Washington D.C.

Through their surveillance of Conningham's home and office, the Fairfax P.I. Agency was expanding the scope of their investigation. They now knew there were three of Conningham's secret human reproduction clinics operating under the radar, one in Massachusetts, one near Miami and one in rural Virginia. Each one was located in a remote area surrounded by a tall fence and difficult terrain, either swampland, or impenetrable wooded and mountainous areas. Even though well hidden, they were positioned within driving distance of large metropolitan areas.

The clinics marketed their babies through lawyers who handled the sales as legal adoptions. As soon as the surrogate babies were born, they were whisked to otherwise legal adoption agencies where they were cared for until the happy new parents could pick them up. These agencies were licensed and inspected. They regularly received children, placed for adoption by legitimate means, by the Courts and Child Welfare Services, plus the occasional baby given up for adoption by young single mothers.

These agencies were always short of money and so when the Syndicate lawyer offered a nice fee for the temporary care of newborns while he completed a private adoption, the agencies were more than happy to provide the service without asking too many questions. The secrecy surrounding legal adoptions, while intended to protect the identities of innocent parties, also provided cover for the clinics and lawyers. Those adoption records were sealed by the courts.

Attorneys General in the respective states regularly cooperated with the FBI in efforts to root out human trafficking in their jurisdictions. They were somewhat hampered in their investigations by the necessity of showing evidence of wrongdoing before they could get a court order to examine records or to do eavesdropping on private phone calls and emails.

The Fairfax P.I. Agency had no such restrictions, and so it was incumbent upon Glenn to turn over any evidence he had to the authorities, that is—should he choose to do so. In the case of Gunner R. Conningham Glenn was only too happy to advise the Attorney Generals and the FBI of his findings. And so, an elaborate operation was undertaken to gather the necessary evidence to make arrests and bring charges.

Covering three different states and numerous professional law firms and medical practices, plus adoption agencies, there was plenty of money spread around in the form of kickbacks, commissions and fees, not to mention the host of people involved, from the big fish on down to the minnows. It soon became apparent that a special FBI task force was needed to coordinate the efforts of law enforcement.

The FBI Director assigned the investigation to the Assistant Director in Charge of Human Trafficking Incidents, the ADC of HTI. She, in turn, appointed a full-time Task Force in charge of this Operation, a TFO. The TFO consisted of guest PI Glenn Patterson, four crack FBI officers, and a US Marshall, under one supervisor—FBI Agent Jim Harmon, an old friend of Mike McBride's.

Their task was to gather evidence admissible in court toward the goal of staging a mass arrest of all the perpetrators in this large operation, at the same time rescuing trafficked individuals and transporting them to safe houses where they would be deprogrammed and provided with services as long as needed.

Agent Jim Harmon called a meeting of his people to make plans, "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you for coming," he began. "We have a very important task which will consume us for a few weeks. I am confident that once completed you will be gratified with the results and happy to have had the opportunity to be of service.

"We are going to gather evidence and coordinate a huge roundup of criminals engaged in the lowest form of abuse against human beings. Dozens of women have been trafficked and sold into slavery as surrogates, unable to escape and in many cases having no idea where they are. We are not going after any worldwide trafficking ring, although that would be a great thing to do. What we are after is the actual farms or clinics where women are kept like so many brood animals whose sole purpose is to produce offspring.

"The babies are ordered by innocent American couples, in good faith, believing that the transaction is perfectly legal. The cost to these couples can be up to $100,000. There are different ways of doing this, sometimes the egg or sperm, or both, of the couple is used, other times the eggs and/or the sperm are purchased from outside sources.

"Our operation will be three fold. One, we will identify the crimes and the criminals involved. Two we will coordinate a huge roundup and arrest operation. Three, we will provide care for the victims that are rescued. This could be women, men and babies. And four, we will process the evidence that is gathered from the clinic offices, computers, cell phones and so forth. We will be working with Attorneys General and ultimately Special Prosecutors in three different States, Florida, Maryland and Virginia.

"In the end, we will be coordinating several hundred people over a dozen different agencies. Consequently, the need to prevent leaks is of utmost importance. Should even so much as a hint escape to the Syndicate, our efforts could collapse, as these people have ways of shutting down operations, almost overnight. Bear in mind, the Syndicate has spies everywhere. Any questions?"

"Sir, I don't understand how so many women could disappear overnight."

"Excellent question. We know that there is a worldwide network of human trafficking rings. The United Nations estimate of the number of human beings kidnapped and/or sold into slavery is twenty-seven million. Many of the women have been placed in brothels, but a significant percentage are working as indentured servants, in factories, fast food places, gas stations, all over the place. There is also a percentage of men, and especially young boys forced into the sex trade. It happens all over the world.

"And so, if our plans are leaked the women can be very quickly moved overnight into the network where they can be sold, leased or shipped wherever there is a need."

"Hard to believe."

"Yes, I know how you feel."

"So we aren't going after the ring, but just these baby-making clinics right?"

"Yes, that's right. I think you will find that is a big enough job for us, now. Of course, once prosecuted, whatever evidence we collect will be available to other agencies and task forces who are fighting the human trafficking networks worldwide. I think our eyes will be opened to the extent of that effort in every State in the Union."

"But, what about the women and babies. How will we take care of them and protect them? We can't put them in jail."

"I think you will be surprised to learn that there is a large group of volunteers, nationwide, working to care for people who escape a human trafficking situation. There are local chapters in every state and city. Some of the smaller chapters place the escapees in private homes, but a significant number maintain group homes with every sort of help that is needed. These group homes are the ones we will work with in advance to prepare facilities that can take these women. We will appoint one of you to that particular task, interviewing, investigating and setting up intake places for the women, babies and a few men."

"I'll be happy to take that assignment," said one of the women agents.

"Great, I'll put you in charge of that."

"Is there any particular reason I'm here," asked the U.S. Marshall. "Does this have anything to do with the Marshall service?"

"Well, yes, aside from the obvious ones of transportation and the smuggling aspect, we wanted you for your Cessna airplanes with their 'dirtboxes'. That is one of your personal areas of expertise, I understand."

"Yes, I work in that area."

"What on earth are 'dirtboxes'?" someone asked.

"This technology is so secret that only Fox News knows," the Marshall laughed.

"Oh, that explains why I know nothing about it," another laughed.

"Well, the 'dirtbox' refers to an actual box, about two feet square, that we take up in small Cessna airplanes. The boxes are capable of receiving and redirecting data from cell phones and towers. The device can mimic a certain cell phone tower, redirecting the data to one of our servers and then back out into the system with no one being the wiser. Our mammoth servers can then analyze the data and conduct various searches.

"Also, they can fly around town and collect the data straight from the cell phones down below."

"So you are listening in to my private phone calls, you dog!"

"You just thought they were private," he laughed.

"It's just like listening in on the old-fashioned party lines," said another.

"Well it isn't a whole lot different from the NASA eavesdropping programs, except we don't have to ask the telecommunications companies to give us the data. We just borrow it without their knowledge," said the Marshall with a twinkle.

"Well, all we need is one or two of your Cessna 'dirtboxes' to collect data from the cell phones of the criminals on our target list," said Jim, "plus any more folks we run into in the course of our investigation."

"We can do that, but, once we get the area narrowed down, we can do the same thing from a car or van. We can help in transporting any prisoners that you have. Also, I will take care of getting the proper search warrants from a judge. That way we'll have the evidence all wrapped up nice and tight."

"Good, I'll get the name of our judge to you, later."

"Oh are you are using some particular judge?"

"Yes, we are trying to keep the information limited to as few people as possible."

"Got it."

Agent Jim Harmon went on to instruct and assign work to the rest of the people in the group. The three remaining FBI agents would each be in charge of one the three clinics. Their jobs would be to plan and execute the raid, using local law enforcement and any others they could recruit from available FBI and US Marshall Service personnel.

*******

## Los Angeles

Darla Ambrose, the "can-do" chairperson of the Anti-Trafficking Support group in Los Angeles set herself to the task of rescuing Elsie from the Carson City Human Reproduction Clinic. Elsie was pregnant and so—first things first—Darla lined up an ob-gyn who had room for a charity patient in her third trimester.

Later, Darla hoped to place Elsie in a home in northern California or maybe Seattle, where the climate would seem more like home to Elsie. But for now, Darla thought it best to keep the arrangements close to L.A. where she would have better control.

Next, Darla checked out her chain of safe houses, to see where she had vacancies. Ideally, she needed one that would be close to the ob-gyn, hospital, and public transportation, besides being very safe and well-protected. Each one of her safe houses had its own particular characteristics. Some were more hidden than others. These homes catered to women on the run or those who were in danger of retaliation by their former captors.

Darla found a couple of places that would suffice and put a "hold" on the reservations. Among her many attributes and experiences was a short stint as a travel agent. Darla knew how to set up a reservation system for her safe houses that worked like a well-oiled chain of Marriott Hotels.

The final step in her preparations was to contact the FBI. She had become well acquainted with K.C. Williams during past rescues, and so she put in a call to the director, on his private cell number, knowing that he would take her call if possible. K.C. was a personal supporter of the Anti-Trafficking League, with both time and money.

"Darla, how are you?" K.C. answered on the first ring.

"I'm just super, thank you, darlin', and how are you?"

"Can't complain," said K.C. with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm.

Darla was expert at reading voices. Clearly, K.C. had had his better days. Pausing for a moment, she considered whether to pursue that and decided not to say anything just yet. K.C. was a private man. "Have you got a minute?" she asked, instead.

"For you, anytime."

"Well, I need some help in your official capacity. I think you are going to enjoy this one, darlin'." Darla called all her friends darlin'. It saved on remembering names. Besides she loved people.

"Don't tell me you have a damsel in distress for me to save."

"How did you guess?"

"Just lucky."

"You won't believe this one, darlin', right here in the good old US of A, we have a genuine victim of trafficking."

"Do tell."

"Yup, and she has access to a computer and time to get online. She found us by doing a search. This lady was kidnapped from her home in northern England. Imagine! She is highly educated and owned her own business. That was four years ago. Since then she was sold to an outfit in Maryland that ran a baby farm, so to speak. They bought young healthy women and put them to work as surrogate mothers for couples wanting a baby. The babies were marketed through a law firm. A few months ago that place folded and our girl, Elsie, was brought to New Mexico where she is working for the same doctor in an all-new clinic, marketing babies to gay couples in California. Elsie is pregnant and wants to escape and keep her baby."

"I take it she can't get away," said K.C.

"The place is set up like a prison farm with high fences topped with barbed wire, and a locked iron gate. It is surrounded by desert. Also, the director locks her in at night."

"We'll have to get in somehow. Is Elsie the only one?"

"She says there are other women, but they are not slaves, like her. They are under contract and are paid. Apparently all of them are undocumented workers who are recruited from south of the border."

"Are there guards?"

"Apparently not, because the other women are happy to be there. There is very little need for employees because the women take care of themselves so far as cooking, laundry and so on. The director is a medical doctor, and so he does all the lab work and implants. There may be other employees. I'll have to ask Elsie."

"How do you communicate with her?"

"She set up a secret email account. I'll give it to you so that you can write and ask her anything you need to know about the set up. Once you get her out, I have everything ready here so I can take her in. You just get her out and bring her to me."

"Well, I hope it's that simple, Darla. But nothing ever is. This is going to take a few hands from here, and I'll be working with the New Mexico people, as well."

"Perfect, I knew you would do it, K.C. darlin'."

"Listen, I've got to run, but send me an email to my private address, with her name, address, age, and the name of the clinic, plus any other details you have. I will get the rest from Elsie."

"Will do it right away, K.C. and thank you so much."

"Don't thank me yet."

"I will anyway, darlin', thank you," she laughed. "Now K.C., tell me, are you feeling okay, doing okay?"

"I'm doing okay."

"Are you sure? I thought you sounded a little down."

"Maybe a little, Darla, but I'll survive."

"Oh K.C., I'm sorry, you're too nice a guy to be having any kind of disappointments."

"It's just a broken heart, Darla. It'll heal."

"Oh-oh, girl friend trouble?"

"I guess you could say that."

"That's bad news, darlin'."

"More like ex-girl friend."

"Oh shit, K.C. you don't deserve that."

"Who said we always get what we deserve?"

"Good point. I don't suppose you'd be interested in an old broad like me."

"You're too good for me, Darla."

"All right, darlin', I hear you just fine. But if you change your mind, you know my number."

K.C. laughed.

"There, I made you laugh. That's better."

"Goodbye, Darla."

"Goodbye, darlin'."

*******

## The Bungalow

Glenn's day was shaping up as busy as a mixmaster, a tilt-a-whirl of activity. Plans for the triple-raid were thundering like the Niagara River to the falls. And yet, when the call came in from the Bungalow, he had to find time to take it.

"Hi Max, make it quick."

"Is there any way you can authenticate a certain Los Angeles Anti-Human Trafficking group, for me? I'm looking for a safe place to take Fran for her delivery time," Max tried to keep his question as brief as possible.

"Yes, I can do that. Give me the name, address, phone number, and I'll have Cynthia call you back, okay?"

"No need, Glenn. I'll call Cynthia."

"Things are popping here. Gotta go."

"Thanks Glenn. Goodbye." The phone was already dead.

Max wondered what the heck could be so important. Could be a million things, couldn't it? Somehow Max had a worrisome feeling it had to be important for Fran—just a feeling—but Max knew to trust his feelings. There was no time to lose.

Max dialed Cynthia and put her to work checking out the L.A. outfit as a possible safe house for Fran. It struck him that having a place where they could flee whenever he sensed the Syndicate was getting close, would be a good idea, too. Having an emergency bag packed was of little value if there was no place to run. The more he thought about it, the better he liked it. "Call me back as soon as possible, Cynthia," he pleaded.

*******

Fran and Max by Dorothy May Mercer

### Chapter 13 Plans

K.C. welcomed the distraction of a rescue mission for Elsie. This could be the very antidote his broken heart needed. In contrast to his usual humdrum office work, his undertakings for Darla Ambrose and her chicks were always exhilarating and extremely rewarding.

The "boys and girls" in the FBI break room noticed the difference. "Heh, gang, have you noticed the boss seems to be coming out of his blue funk?"

"I hadn't noticed, but now that you mention it, by golly, I think you're right."

"What do you think we should do?"

"Well, maybe we should hold off on any reunion plans with Frannie baby."

"I'm thinking the same thing."

"Could be she was just a passing fancy."

"I hear he has some new babe on the hook, anyway," K.C.'s private secretary put in.

"No kidding!"

"Might have known, it wouldn't take long, fickle men, anyway," said one of the women."

"You got that right," another woman agreed with her.

"Heh," rejoined one of the men, "why not? The world is our oyster."

"Yeah," said another, "so many beautiful women, so little time."

The men laughed, the women scowled.

"So, who is this new babe?"

"Elsie something or other, I think."

"Hm, Elsie, well, well."

In his office, with the door closed, K.C. was busy online messaging back and forth to Elsie, gathering as much information as possible about the personnel and the building site. He put that together with satellite photographs of the compound, until he had every building labeled including its interior layout, entrances and exits.

The FBI people in Tucson and Las Cruces were ready to cooperate with the raid. The Prosecutor in Luna County was consulted to prepare arrest warrants. The sheriff of Luna County would present the warrants, when the time came. This would be a very quiet easy arrest. K.C. did not anticipate resistance, but surprise was of the essence. The only problem was getting through the gate without alarming Finkbeiner thus giving him time to hide any incriminating evidence.

K.C. typed an inquiry to Elsie, "Does Fb have any guns?"

"Not that I know of."

"How can we get through the front gate?"

"The regular delivery truck, maybe?"

"What day and time?"

"Fed Ex comes about 3:00, UPS comes about mid-morning."

"Which would be best for you?"

"Morning, I think. Fb likes to be here to release the gate and get the deliveries in person at the front door."

"Okay, we'll set that up. I'll let you know what day."

"God bless you."

"Thanks, and you, too."

******

## Washington D.C.

Cynthia finished checking out the Los Angeles group, and getting the information for Max. He needed to know right away, and so Cynthia found an empty room where she could make a private call. She locked the door from intruders, not that she was doing anything wrong. It was just that Senator Mike's instructions were to never say anything about Max and Fran's circumstances or mention their names in front of anyone, meaning no one in the office or anywhere else.

Max answered on the first ring.

"Hi Cynthia, is this you?"

"It's me, friend, and I have your information for you."

"Thank you, Cynthia, that's incredibly fast. What did you find out?"

"This group in Los Angeles, the Anti-Human Trafficking Guild, or Group is one of the biggest and best in the country. They were also, one of the first, being in California and so close to the traffic lanes from overseas and from south of the border. There is a lot of trafficking activity there, and so there is a need for safe houses and rehabilitation type services. When these women with children, or young boys, alone, manage to get away, they sometimes escape with nothing. Many have been abused, are sick and dirty."

"I guess we were better off than some," Max realized.

"Probably it wasn't due to your captors sense of compassion, but because it was good business to keep the surrogates healthy."

"I hear what you're saying," Max replied.

"There are anti-trafficking groups all over the country, and they network together to take care of their clients and to educate the public of the problem.

"Like I said, the Los Angeles branch is one of the biggest. It's a big city, after all. It's also one of the oldest, and some say, the best."

"That is very good to hear."

"I don't know whether it's the best, I mean, who can determine that? But they do take care of a lot of people and they are organized to provide every kind of health service that is needed. A lot of the women they take in are pregnant, of course, and so they have extensive care facilities where the women can be completely anonymous and protected. After childbirth, they take care of the babies."

"It's a relief to hear that, Cynthia."

"You've been worried."

"Yes, very worried."

"Well, I think you can relax a bit, now. You have time before you need to do anything."

"Maybe, but I will sleep a lot better if I can get this behind me."

"Well, good luck."

"Thanks Cynthia. I'll keep you posted."

After dinner, Max told Fran about his concerns. He shared what he had learned about the safe house in L.A. "What do you think?" he asked her.

"Well, truthfully, I guess I should have considered the possibility that the Syndicate would come after me in the hospital, but I gave it no thought. Do you really think they would go to the trouble?"

"I don't know, babe, I just don't know. But, I'm worried about it. Certainly any regular hospital will not let me stay all night with you. So, in that case, who will protect you and the baby?"

"Well, if it will ease your mind, then I guess we should, at least, look into this place."

"Cynthia had nothing but praise for the group."

"That's good."

"Here's what I would like to do. Suppose I go meet this Darla Ambrose right away? She would not give out any more information over the phone, which is a good thing. She wanted to make sure I was one of the good guys," Max laughed.

"Okay, that sounds like a plan."

"Do you want to go with me this first time?"

"Should I?"

"Not unless you want to."

"Well, why don't you go alone and get an impression? If you feel good about it, I will go with you the next time."

"Okay, I've got their main office address. I think I'll just drive over there, now."

"But it's almost eight o'clock in the evening. Won't they be closed?"

"The website says open 'til 9:00 P.M."

"I'll be fine here, don't worry. Just be careful."

"I will I promise. Lock up behind me."

"Okay."

Fran and Max by Dorothy May Mercer

### Chapter 14 The NM Raid

Everything was set. The UPS driver understood to hold off his regular delivery that day. Elsie was trying to remain calm at her desk when the fake UPS delivery van approached the gate. One man drove the truck. The others were hiding in the back.

Finkbeiner was the only person who could unlock the gate from a control panel in his office.

At the wheel of the truck, K.C. was outfitted in sunglasses and an authentic UPS uniform. He maneuvered the van up to the speaker stand outside the gate and pushed the call button.

A disembodied voice came over the speaker, "Human Repro Clinic, state your business, please."

"UPS delivery."

A buzzer sounded and the gate slowly swung open. Just like that, they were in. K.C. swung the van around to the front door, picked up a package and an electronic signature device and stepped up to the front door. Elsie had informed him the exact way to behave, buttons to push, and words to use. K.C. pushed a button next to the entrance. A tone sounded. "Delivery for E. Finkbeiner."

The voice responded, "Leave it at the door, please."

"This one needs a signature, sir."

"You're not our regular driver. Where's Ted?"

"I'm the sub. Ted's out for the day."

"All right hold on. I'll be right out." In a moment, Finkbeiner appeared at the window. He examined the driver and truck. Satisfied, he opened the door and stepped out. K.C. quickly grabbed the door before it could swing closed. At that moment, the sheriff's posse leaped from the van, guns drawn, quickly surrounding Finkbeiner. The Luna County sheriff, in uniform, loomed over the shocked director. "Elwin Quentin Finkbeiner, I have a warrant for your arrest on the charges of kidnapping and income tax evasion."

"No, no," screamed Finkbeiner. "You have the wrong man." The sheriff grasped Finkbeiner's hands in front of him and placed them in handcuffs while a deputy patted Dr. Finkbeiner for weapons. He found a small pistol tucked out of sight under Finkbeiner's shirt, and held it up for the sheriff to see. "Let me go," screamed Finkbeiner.

"You have a right to remain silent..." the sheriff read him his rights. "Do you understand?"

"I want my lawyer," cried Finkbeiner.

By now several marked sheriff's cars had arrived. Finkbeiner was placed in the back of a car and taken away to the Luna County jail to be booked.

K.C.'s team prepared to spend the rest of the day collecting evidence from Finkbeiner's office, but first, K.C. stepped inside, greeting the woman standing at the reception desk.

"Elsie?"

"Yes, I'm Elsie."

"I'm K.C. Williams."

Tears blossomed and streamed down her face, "Th-thank God, it's you." She ran into his arms, sobbing.

What else could he do? This was the payoff. He wrapped her in his arms. "You're safe, now, Elsie," he cooed.

Behind his back his L.A. FBI team raised eyebrows, grinned and gave each other thumbs up.

K.C. managed to loosen one arm and turn to his team, "What are you staring at? Get busy!" he commanded and pointed toward the inner office. Solemnly they filed past him, hiding their mirth.

Turning to Elsie, K.C. asked, "How about your things, are you ready to go?"

"Yes, I stuffed it all inside a pillow case. I'll show you." They walked down a hallway to a linen closet where she had hidden her stash. "This is all I have."

K.C. slung it over his shoulder. "Okay, let's go." Together they walked across the yard and out the gate where K.C. had hidden his vehicle. He held the door open for her. Elsie paused and looked around. She stretched out her arms and spun completely around, "I'm freeeeee," she cried, in disbelief and utter joy.

K.C. smiled from ear to ear, "Yes, Elsie, you're free."

Elsie raised praying hands. "Thank you God," she said fervently.

"Your carriage, Cinderella," said K.C. holding the door open and sweeping his hand toward the seat.

Elsie stepped into the car rubbing her hands on the soft leather, "This is beautiful!"

K.C. moved behind the wheel and smiled at her. "Shall we?" he asked.

Elsie nodded.

"All right, then, please fasten your seat belt." He pulled his own seatbelt over, clicked it into place, and reached for the ignition. Soon they were gliding down the single lane access road toward the freeway.

Elsie pointed excitedly at the passing desert landscapes and scenery, chattering away, "I can't believe this is happening. I never thought you'd come. Oh thank God," she exclaimed over and over.

K.C. grinned, "Can you be quiet for just one minute? I have a couple calls to make."

A woman answered, "Darla Ambrose, how may I help you?"

"Hi, Darla, it's me."

"I've been waiting on pins and needles."

"Everything's cool."

"Have you got our girl?"

"No problemo."

"Wonderful!"

"She's sitting right here beside me, trying to believe it's true."

"How soon?"

"We're on our way. Should be about nine hours."

"Are you going to drive straight through?"

"I don't know. Let me consult with your guest, first."

"I'll hang on."

K.C. turned to Elsie, "Say hello to Darla Ambrose."

"Hi Darla, It's me, Elsie."

"Elsie, darlin', you're free at last. Congratulations!"

"Thank you. I'm so happy."

"We have a nice place all ready for you, just as soon as you get here. You are safe with Agent Williams, dear, so take care of yourselves and drive safely, but hurry. I can't wait to see you, darlin'."

K.C. said, "If we drive straight through it will take us about nine hours. We won't get in until about eight or nine this evening, or we can stop at a hotel for the night. What do you think, Elsie?"

"I'll feel a lot safer if we keep going."

Turning back to the phone, "She wants to keep going, Darla. But, I'll maintain a close watch on our little mother, here. If she starts to fade on us, I'll stop for the night."

"Good thinking, sir. Keep me posted. I may go home for a few hours, but I'll have my cell phone on. I want to be here when you arrive."

"I'll have my phone on, too. We'll look forward to seeing you."

K.C. hung up and phoned Cynthia.

"Senator McBride's office, Cynthia Patterson speaking. How may I direct your call?"

"Cynthia, it's me, K.C. Williams. I have good news."

"Wonderful. I can always use good news."

"We have Elwin Q. Finkbeiner in the hoosegow, and I'm sitting here next to a very happy Elsie, on our way to L.A."

"Fantastic! Mike will be pleased. So, did you have any trouble?"

"Who me?"

Cynthia laughed.

"We're America's finest. We stay out of trouble."

"Never in doubt," said Cynthia.

"We'll probably arrive at the safe house around eight or nine tonight."

"Great! Well, you take care of that precious cargo."

"Will do. Ten-four."

Cynthia laughed, "Good bye."

K.C. closed the call and turned to Elsie. "Do you think that you could get some rest, now? It's a long drive. I've brought along some pillows and blankets for you right behind me in the back. You can adjust the seat all the way down into a bed."

"Thank you for being so thoughtful, K.C. I most certainly will get some rest, soon. But, right now, I'm still too excited."

"I understand. So, tell me about yourself. How did you get into this mess in the first place?"

Elsie talked for half an hour telling about how she was snatched from her home town and sent to a slave market. She wasn't sure where, but it was a foreign country. Then she was brought all the way to America and put to work as a surrogate mother in the Savage Clinic in Maryland. She told about the day that she learned she was going to New Mexico. "It was a day like any other, when all of a sudden Max came after me and said 'Grab your stuff. We're leaving'."

K.C.'s head whipped around, "Max! Did you say Max?"

"Yeah, one of our guards was named Max. He was the one who had the most personal contact with the girls."

K.C. shook his head. There were lots of men named Max. This was a coincidence.

"And so," Elsie went on chattering while he drove, but K.C. barely heard her. She was saying something about the limo and Dr. Finkbeiner and Reagan International airport. "So we were waiting to get in line to board the airplane. You know how they always call the people in wheel chairs first, and so Dr. Finkbeiner and I had to wait while Max pushed the wheelchair up to the boarding line. I wasn't paying much attention, until Dr. Fink jumped up. He grabbed my hand and pulled me out of my seat and started trying to run after them and..."

K.C. tuned in, "Run after who?"

"Well, yeah, they were all in this car-like thing, you know those buggies that drive around taking people here and there inside the terminal, and it was driving away and Finky was yelling and everything, you know, screaming "Stop, stop!" But, of course, they didn't stop. They just kept going and pretty soon turned a corner and were out of sight. Finky was so upset. I've never seen him so distraught."

"So, you were saying this Max person drove away in one of the go-carts."

"Well, no, the airport security people were driving the go-cart taking Max and the woman somewhere."

"What woman?"

"The other slave girl, like me, only she was asleep, unconscious, I think, and so Max was pushing her in a wheel chair."

K.C. was silent for a few minutes, until he saw a place where he could pull off the road. Stopping the car, he turned to Elsie, "Elsie, this is important," he said, looking at her earnestly, "Who was the woman? What was her name? I have to know."

Elsie's eyes grew wider. "Why are we stopping?" She looked around in alarm. "What are you going to do to me?" A look of sheer terror crossed her face.

"Oh Elsie, swetheart, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. Here, I'll start the car again. You are very, very, very, completely safe with me. Truly you are. Please believe me."

"Okay," she said, looking around. "But, I don't understand why we are stopped."

"Well, it is something that you told me about Max and another girl. I'm wondering if it could be the same person that I may have lost, okay?"

"So, what can I tell you?"

"Please tell me you know her name."

Elsie shook her head. "I don't know. All I knew was Max."

"Okay, but can you describe her?"

"Well, yes, she was about my age, a white woman, maybe an American because she spoke English with Max a lot. I think they were friends because of that. She worked in the kitchen and I was assigned to the laundry room, so we never had much of a chance to talk to each other. But, Max was the main personal guard over the women, you see, so he knew most of us. None of the other women spoke English, but we managed to communicate, somehow, when we needed to."

"So there must have been other guards, as well."

"Yes, but Max was the only one who was allowed near the girls. He escorted us whenever we had to go to the examining room, and when the babies were born. That sort of thing."

"Was Max one of Finkbeiner's cohorts?"

"Oh no, he was a slave, just like the rest of us."

"But, he was trusted with the girls." K.C. was puzzled.

"Of course."

"Of course? Why do you say that?"

"Max was gay."

K.C.'s mouth dropped open. He gasped, closed his eyes and blew out a breath. Slowly, he shook his head. His lips formed a silent Oh my God!

She reached for his hand, "What's wrong? K.C., what's wrong?"

He just looked at her and slowly shook his head, "I've made a... a terrible mistake."

"Oh please, don't say we have to go back."

"No, no, Elsie, it has nothing to do with you. We're fine." He put the car in gear and carefully pulled out on the highway.

She waited until they were safely underway.

K.C. drew another deep breath and blew it out. "I'll tell you in a minute."

"Sure, take your time."

"Well, it's about the girl," he said, at last. "The girl with Max."

"I see."

"I met her."

"Oh."

"Actually, I met them both. Max and her."

"Both of them?"

"Yeah, I met them both."

Elsie waited as they continued down the highway. She was quiet now, waiting while he told his story.

"Well, it's a long story."

"We've got time."

"I can't tell you all of it, because, same as you, she escaped."

"Good for her."

"And she is hiding, now, same as you. Hiding from the Syndicate. So, I can't reveal any of that, or tell you her name."

"I wouldn't tell."

"Of course you wouldn't, but, you know, the walls have ears," he laughed. It felt good to laugh.

"I can tell you this much. I fell for her," he spoke so quietly that Elsie could barely hear.

"Well, that's wonderful," said Elsie, "isn't it?"

"Let's just say, I blew it."

"Oh, no, not you."

"Yeah, me, I walked out."

"K.C.!"

He merely sighed.

"Well, why on earth... never mind... I'm sure you had a good reason."

"Oh yeah, I had a reason, all right. It just wasn't a good one."

"Oh."

"Like I said, I made a horrendous mistake."

"Mistakes can be fixed, K.C. If it's not too late."

"Oh you can bet your boots, I'm gonna try."

"That's the spirit." Elsie stifled a yarn.

"Maybe you should try to take a nap now."

"Okay." She reached for the pillow and blanket and lowered her seat all the way back. Snuggling down, she closed her eyes, "Good night."

As he drove, K.C. had a lot to think about.

*******

Fran and Max by Dorothy May Mercer

Chapter 15 The Eastern Raid—Seven Days Away

Everything was ready for a raid in exactly seven days. Three large teams were all set to raid the three clinics in Massachusetts, Virginia and Florida. Smaller teams would arrest individual lawyers and doctors working in other offices in the nearby cities of Boston, Miami and the suburbs around Washington D.C.

The adoption agencies would be served with "Cease and Desist" orders, but no arrests would be made there, for now, not until it was determined how involved each one was in the deception. Ideally the arrests should all take place at once, thus precluding any warnings going out. However that seemed unrealistic, it would probably take a few hours for everything to happen.

Most importantly, Glenn Patterson and his staff were charged with picking up the big guy, Gunner R. Conningham and his entire staff. Although some of the staff would not be charged, it was important to keep them incommunicado until all the arrests were made, lest a warning get out.

Glenn was in his office putting final touches on his plan when Cynthia called.

"Glenn Patterson."

"Hi Bro, it's me."

"What's up?"

"I've got good news and bad news."

"No time for games, Sis, just tell me."

"The FBI has raided the Carson City, New Mexico Human Repro Clinic."

"Oh my God, we're screwed!"

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news."

"Oh shit. We aren't ready to go. How in heck did this happen?"

"I only know that the Luna County sheriff arrested Finkbeiner."

Glenn raked a hand through his hair, paused in thought. "Luna County, huh?"

"Yup. What can you do?"

"I've got to try and stop them."

"Too late, Glenn."

"All right, I'll handle it. You can help."

"Anything."

"I'll get ahold of Jim Harmon and see if we can move the Go Date up four days. And you call the Luna County Prosecutor and the Sheriff's Dept. and have them hold Finkbeiner. Okay?"

"I'm on it, Glenn."

"Call me back as soon as you know."

Cynthia quickly got online and jotted down the names and numbers. She left the front desk and moved into what had become her private office and locked the door. First she dialed the sheriff.

"Hello. Luna County Sheriff's Department."

Cynthia consulted her list, "Sheriff Cochise, please. Washington D.C. calling. This is an emergency."

"I'll put you through."

"Cochise."

"Sir, this is Senator McBride's office. I'm calling on a matter of extreme importance."

"McBride, huh? He's a good man. He even stopped in here, when he was campaigning. Shook my hand. I voted for him."

"Thank you, Sheriff Cochise."

"You're welcome. So, to what do I owe the honor of this call?"

"This is Cynthia Patterson, Senator McBride's assistant. We have learned that you recently arrested a Dr. Finkbeiner."

"My goodness. Word travels fast."

"Well, we've been following Finkbeiner for some time now. We're happy that you got him, but, sir, your timing couldn't be worse."

"How's that?"

"Well we have a very important raid planned here, not just Finkbeiner but the higher-ups and three more clinics, worse than the one you just raided. The problem, we see, is that if you arraign Finkbeiner and if you give him the one phone call to which he is legally entitled, he is going to sound the alarm to all the rest of the network."

"I see. That will throw a monkey wrench into your plans."

"Exactly."

"Well, I can hold him three days without charges. Will that be enough?"

"Our raid was scheduled to go off in seven days, but my partner is on the phone as we talk, trying to get it moved up. There are hundreds of law enforcement people involved."

"Damn, I'm sorry. Well, I can keep him for a longer time and refuse him the phone call, but that will probably ruin our case against him."

"I know."

"So, what do you want me to do?"

"Well, plan on holding him just three days. I'll let you know how plans are coming along at this end."

"We'll wait for your word. I'll see what I can do to stave off the phone call, too."

"Thanks, Sheriff. Now, I'm supposed to call the Luna County prosecutor, as well."

"I wouldn't do that, just yet. What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

Cynthia laughed. "All right. I'll keep you posted."

"Let me give you my private cell number, just in case. It's 940-411-9114."

"I've got it, thanks again."

*******

Glenn had wasted no time in notifying Jim Harmon, who, surprisingly, took the news in stride. "You know what they say about the best laid plans, Glenn," Jim noted.

"Sorry, Jim."

"Not your fault, Glenn. You knew this was going too smoothly."

"Not really."

"Well, buck up, friend. We'll just make some adjustments. What say we move it up to two days from now? Exactly forty-eight hours. Give that Sheriff in Luna County a little more leeway. Can you do it?"

"I'm ready now. Just say the word."

"Maybe we can do twenty-four hours. If not, then, forty-eight hours."

"We're standing by."

Jim Harmon wasted no time in notifying the other members of the TFO, who notified their teams, in turn. A few assignments had to be switched, and a few new recruits brought in because some members of law enforcement were tied up elsewhere.

By the end of the day, changes were made. It was a GO for tomorrow morning at 10:00 AM.

Cynthia was a part of Glenn's ground zero team. They had been tracking Conningham's every move since this whole thing started. By eight o'clock the next morning, they were stationed outside Conningham's apartment building, waiting for him to emerge from the parking garage.

"There he goes," said Cynthia.

Glenn pulled out into traffic, directly behind Conningham's black Mercedes sedan. Two more unmarked vehicles were stationed at either end of the street, waiting for orders.

"Fall in behind," Glenn ordered car number two. The other car would stay in front, heading toward Conningham's office. The three cars stayed in constant communication weaving in and out of traffic.

"Hold it," said Glenn. "He's not heading toward the office. Stand by."

Glenn stayed tight behind the Mercedes. "I think he is heading toward the Beltway."

Sure enough, Conningham had other plans for today. Glenn and the other two soon positioned themselves near the Mercedes, blending in with the rush hour traffic. "Do not stay too close. We won't lose him, with the GPS attached to his car." Glenn had tuned his finder into the Mercedes GPS beacon. Cynthia watched it crawling across the screen on the Beltway, just ahead of them.

"What do you think he is going to do?" she asked.

"Well, we need to watch him just as soon as he switches lanes near an exit ramp."

"The next one is the Dulles Access Toll Road."

Glenn keyed in his mike, "Hang back and be prepared to exit when I give the word. The next one is in one mile.... There he goes moving over. I think he is going to exit at Dulles Airport Access. Everyone get in the right hand lane."

"Get off here," Glenn commanded. "Report in."

"Car two reporting. We're good."

"Car three, all right here."

Traffic moved rapidly toward the airport, stopping for the toll booth. Glenn had an Easy Pass toll credit card, so he was able to wave the card and speed right through. The other two had to wait in line to pay toll with cash. By then, the Mercedes was well down the road toward the terminal parking area, with Glenn right behind him.

"Car two. We're through."

"Car three. We're through. Can't see you at all."

"Get off on Saarinen Circle and bear left. He's heading toward the hourly parking. Just grab a ticket and come on in. I'll stop him."

"Roger."

"Roger."

"Keep bearing left. Don't go on the through lane. He's driving down the rows looking for a spot. End of the row, turning left again. Dammit! Almost lost him."

"Car two, through the ticket booth."

"Okay, stay left and left again. I think you can head him off. We are driving up row one.

"Shall I block it?"

"Yes, block it. Car three try to pull up behind."

Car two swung cross-ways of the street. "Car two, in place. I see a black Mercedes coming. He's going to try and slide through."

"Stop him."

Car two pulled in front of the Mercedes.

Glenn angled his car behind. He and Cynthia sprang from the car, guns drawn. Glenn pressed his gun to the window. "Don't move!" he yelled. Two uniformed officers leaped from the unmarked car in front, just as the third car drove up from behind. Two more officers ran up, guns drawn, circling the Mercedes. Glenn and Cynthia backed away.

"Come out with your hands up," yelled the officer.

Conningham slowly lowered the window. "What is the meaning of this, officer?"

"Unlock the door and keep your hands up," instructed the officer, motioning with his gun. Conningham looked at the four guns trained on him and very slowly hit the unlock button.

With one hand the officer opened the door. "Get out."

Conningham moved out of the car with difficulty, while keeping his hands in the air. "There must be some mistake, officer. I've done nothing wrong."

"Let me see your driver's license, sir."

"It's in my back pocket."

"Okay, slowly. No sudden moves."

Conningham opened his wallet and showed his driver's license to the officer.

The officer scrutinized the license and compared the picture. "You are Gunner R. Conningham, sir, is that correct?"

"Yes, officer, but I don't understand. What is this all about?"

"You are under arrest, Mr. Conningham."

"Arrest! What are the charges?"

"Read him his rights," the officer spoke to his partner, who pulled out a card and read from it, "You have a right to remain silent. Anything you say may be held against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, dammit. I want a lawyer," said Conningham as his hands were cuffed behind his back.

"Right this way, Mr. Conningham," said the officer as two of them led him to the back of a police cruiser, waiting nearby. One of them took Conningham's arm while the other officer protected his head and assisted him to duck into the back seat of the cruiser. Conningham perched awkwardly on the edge of the seat to protect his hands. "Where are you taking me?" Conningham screeched. No one answered as they shut the doors, locking him in.

Glenn reported the arrest to Jim Harmon. "Good work, Glenn. Things are popping here, as well," said Jim. Glenn and his two other cars left quickly to proceed to their next stop. They headed to Conningham's downtown offices to arrest his staff and to begin the process of packing up the computers and records to take into headquarters for analysis.

Members of the staff submitted without resistance and were sent off in cruisers to the lockup. None of them would be released until all had been before a judge. It would take at least three days to process them all.

Meanwhile at the clinics the scenes were nothing less than pandemonium. At the Virginia clinic, one hundred officers surrounded the buildings while the administrator and his assistants were led off in handcuffs. Minor staff and guards ran in all directions, while uniformed police shouted in bull horns. "You are under arrest. Do not run. Remain standing. Stop or I'll shoot."

A linguist shouting, "Halt" in different languages, managed to stop the majority of the runners. Finally, shots were fired overhead. At that sound, most stopped with their hands up. One or two kept on running into the woods. Officers with police dogs followed and soon caught them. All the men were made to lie face down on the ground, while officers went from one to the next, searching for weapons and handcuffing everyone. Then, they were allowed to sit on the ground with their hands behind them, guards standing by with automatic pistols, ECDs and MP5s.

It would take some time to separate the victims from the jailors. Very few of them actually spoke English or understood what was happening until they saw the female police officers emerge from the building helping the two dozen slave women, wrapped in blankets, into two luxury busses.

A handful of the women were carrying newborns. Those were grouped together, as they would be taken to a safe house with nursery facilities.

The men in handcuffs began speaking to each other, some in English, others in strange languages. They were beginning to make sense of what was happening.

Soon a moving van backed up to the front entrance and lowered a tailgate. A crew of men and women, in jeans and work shirts, pulled hand dollies off the truck and entered the front doors, preparing to load evidence, whole file cabinets, computers and anything else of import from the laboratory and examining rooms. They would be here for a couple of days, sorting through evidence.

Glenn leaned against the hood of his car, reporting to Jim Harmon on the progress. Cynthia rested inside the car, her head back, eyes closed. From time to time, Glenn poked his head in to pass along a report on how things were going at the other two clinics. They were particularly interested in the arrests of individual lawyers and doctors, the worst of the worst, so far as they were concerned. One by one, they crossed names off the list, until only a handful remained. It might be days, even weeks before those last few were rounded up.

It was five o'clock in the afternoon, when Glenn wearily opened the passenger side door. "It's a wrap. Take me home."

Cynthia alit, moved over to the driver's side and slid into the seat. She held out her hand, "Your keys, please."

"Oh yeah," said Glenn as he dug into his pants pocket.

Cynthia started the car and drove out the long access lane.

Glenn laid his head back and was immediately asleep.

Cynthia dialed Sheriff Cochise in Luna County.

"Cochise here."

"Cynthia Patterson calling. We did it, Sheriff. We got 'em today, almost every one. The rest we'll find in the next few days. Thanks for waiting."

Well, well, good work, Cynthia. I'll bet you're tired."

"Actually if has been a long day. I'm on my way home now."

"Good girl."

"Well, you can do whatever you want with Dr. Finkbeiner, now. I hope your prosecution is successful. Good bye and thanks again."

*******

Fran and Max by Dorothy May Mercer

Chapter 16 Encounter

On his way to interview Darla Ambrose, Max reflected on his good fortune. He had escaped from Finkbeiner and his evil men. And now he was safe and relatively happy. He hoped he would like this Darla Ambrose and her birthing facilities, for Fran's sake and for his own peace of mind.

His only sorrow was seeing Fran suffer a broken heart. After all she had been through, she deserved more than this. How happy she had been with K.C.! At the time Max was amazed at how quickly the two of them fell in love. He had hopes that K.C. would marry her and give the baby a real father. Max was as disappointed over their breakup as Fran was, but in a different way. The truth was he could have fallen in love with K.C., as well.

Max knew he would never be more than a doting uncle to Fran's baby. I'll do my best, Max sighed.

Lights were blazing in the building when he drove up. Looks like someone is still working, thought Max. He walked up the steps and rang the buzzer. "Max Underwood to see Ms. Darla Ambrose, please."

"Hello Max and welcome. Let me buzz you in."

The door buzzed. Max opened it and stepped inside, gazing at his surroundings, looking for a directory. Just then a fiftyish woman with a jolly smile bustled out of a corner office. "Hello, hello Max and welcome. I'm Darla Ambrose," she sang in a melodious voice, holding out her hand.

Max grasped her delicate hand in his big paw. "Delighted to meet you. I'm Max Underwood. I've come to see your facilities."

"Of course, of course, Max. We have a great place here. Let me show you around, and get you some material that describes our mission."

"Well, I'm interested in seeing the actual home where my friend will be staying and the birthing quarters and nursery."

"I'm afraid those are in another building. It's not too far from here, though. Would you like to go over there for a few minutes?" she chimed.

"Yes, I'd like that."

"Okay. Well, excuse me a second. It so happens that I have another couple who arrived just a few minutes ago, who want to see that place, too. We all can go together, can't we?" she smiled as if this was a party and she was the hostess.

"Uh... er... well, I don't know."

"Oh, is there some problem?"

"It's just the identity thing. I think I told you that we are hiding from the Syndicate."

"Of course, I understand. After all, that is what we are about here, isn't it?" she chuckled. "I think I can assure you that you will be perfectly safe with this gentleman. He's with the FBI," she explained as if that solved everything. She hustled off to fetch the other couple who were waiting in her office.

Before Max could protest she led the other pair out, "Well here we are all together. Isn't this nice? Now, you'll forgive me if I don't disclose your names," she chortled, and motioned them to come along as if they were so many school children following the teacher out for recess. Max stood rooted to his feet, the color draining from his face as he gaped at the other man and the very pregnant woman hanging back and looking downward, her face hidden.

K.C. Williams was equally astonished. "My God, Max, it's you!" he exclaimed and rushed forward to clasp Max's hands and clap him on the shoulder. "I'm so glad to see you. How's Fran?"

Max stiffened. "I'm not glad to see you, you son of a b____, after the way you broke her heart. Don't give me the glad hand."

"Max, please forgive me. I beg you. I've just learned I made a horrible mistake. As soon as I'm free here, I want to come and see Fran. I hope she'll take me back. I was wrong, Max. Tell me she's okay."

Max said nothing.

"Please," K.C. begged.

"Why should I? It's not my heart that's broken. It's hers. You walked out on her, you cheating worm, you creep, you a-hole!"

"You're right. I deserved that. But, I'm going to beg her for a second chance."

"Well, mister, you just try that and..." Max paused and thought better of what he was about to say, "... it's up to Fran what she wants. But, I'm not going to help you."

"Fair enough, Max. I won't expect any help. But, please just tell me she's okay."

"She's alive and well, if that's what you mean. But happy? What do you think?"

"And her baby?"

Max nodded and looked away.

Amazed, Darla Ambrose and Elsie stood by, taking this all in. Neither one knew what to make of it. Finally Darla offered, "Uh ... well, gentlemen, it's almost closing time, are you coming with me?"

"You go ahead," said Max as he clamped his cap back on his head, whirled and stomped off.

K.C. called after him, "Tell Fran I'll be out to see her."

"Tell her yourself!" Max slammed outside.

The three of them watched him leave and flinched as the door banged shut.

*******

Driving back to the bungalow, Max steered like a robot, still stunned. His thoughts replayed the encounter with K.C. amid a ragged jungle of emotions. He called K.C. every name he could think of until tears formed in his eyes. He couldn't go home like this, and then he realized he thought of the bungalow as "home." What if Fran took K.C. back? Where would Max go? He had no other home. He wanted Fran to be happy, but... what would happen to him?

Max sank deeper into depression. He had started this trip with high hopes. Now, he could not allow Fran to go into that place, where she would very likely be placed in the same home with K.C.'s new girlfriend... well actually it must be an old girlfriend judging by how pregnant she was. That s.o.b. was two-timing Fran all along!

Ambrose had referred to the two of them as a "couple." They could be married, but no... probably not. Otherwise why would an FBI man need a safe house for his girlfriend? He was probably planning on dumping that woman, as well. Oh shit, what a mess! Max didn't know what to think. Where can I go? What can I tell Fran? I've got to think this through.

On impulse, Max pulled into the first bar he spotted. I'll just stop here for a few minutes and get ahold of myself. Inside he took a stool at the bar and ordered a Vodka martini to settle his nerves. Just one. It wouldn't do to get arrested for drunk driving. Jail was the last place he needed to be. Sipping on his drink, his eyes adjusted to the gloom. He swung around on the stool and gazed out at the darkened room and the happy couples at the various tables—all men. Max realized he was in a gay bar. Just my luck, he thought, deriding himself. I'll fit right in.

Max had known from an early age that he was gay, but he had never acted on it, not that he wouldn't, maybe someday. He just hadn't met the right person. He had given up disparaging himself long ago. This was his life and he accepted himself as is. Life had thrown him a curve, and it was up to him to make the best of it. Max drew a deep breath and finished his drink.

He paid his bill and left the bar, feeling more relaxed. Leaving the parking lot, heading home, he thought, I'll just have to tell Fran it didn't work out.

*******

After a restless night, Max sat at the kitchen table, drinking his third cup of coffee.

Fran busied herself clearing up the breakfast dishes. She noticed Max's dark mood, but chalked it up to his disappointment over his findings yesterday. She tried to cheer him up, "Max, stop beating yourself up over this. It's not your fault. You did your best."

Max just shook his head and studied his coffee cup.

They both jumped when the doorbell rang. "Who could that be at this hour?" Fran froze.

Max leaped from his chair, as if to protect her. "You get in the control room and look at the display. I'll go to the door."

"Don't open it!" Fran warned.

"I'll just peek." Max agreed. He hurried to the door when the doorbell rang again.

"It's a florist delivery," Fran called out. "Don't answer, it could be a ruse." Fran watched as the uniformed driver set something down on the step and walked back to his truck. "He left something on the step," Fran exclaimed in alarm. "What could it be?" She left the room to join Max as the van pulled away. "Did you see what it was?"

"I've never seen a bomb that looked like that," said Max.

"Like what?"

"It's a vase with one flower in it, wrapped in green florist tissue paper." Max immediately remembered K.C.'s parting words. One measly flower. Cheap bastard.

"What should we do?" asked Fran, standing behind Max, for protection.

"You stand back, I'll get it," Max offered.

"Wait, I'll go check the display, first." Fran was gone for a couple minutes. "I don't see anything," she called out.

Max opened the door and fetched the package. He walked out into the kitchen and set it in the center of the table. "Here you go, Fran, it's addressed to you. He handed her the tiny envelope. "Read it if you want to." Max sighed and sat down with his back turned. He did not want to see her reaction.

Fran took the envelope, gingerly opened it and withdrew a small folded note with pink hearts on the front. When she opened it and read the words, she gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth.

Max heard her gasp and he knew. K.C.'s campaign had begun.

"Oh my," said Fran. She moved to the table and picked up the slim silver vase. She held the single yellow rose to her nose.

Max looked at her beatific expression and his heart melted. It's from him. She's happy again.

*******

Fran and Max by Dorothy May Mercer

### Chapter 17 Reunion

For the next twenty-two days flowers came from K.C. each with a note. Every day, one more flower was added until there were twenty-two crammed into a huge vase. The living room was overflowing with yellow roses. Fran was blooming as much as the flowers. She kept the treasured notes under her pillow and read them over and over. The very first one said, "I love you," and was signed K.C. The second day he wrote, "I love you, I love you." The third day, "I love you, I love you, I love you," and each day one more "I love you" was added. The envelopes grew bigger and bigger to accommodate the longer notes.

On the twenty-third day a bottle of champagne accompanied twenty-three roses. On the note, after writing "I love you" twenty-three times, K.C. added a PS. "Tommorow I'm taking you out. Be ready at six o'clock."

K.C. was rolling the dice.

In the break room at FBI headquarters people were baffled by K.C.'s demeanor. Before the rescue mission, K.C. was serious, seemingly buried in his work. He wasn't snapping at the employees, so much as ignoring them. Everyone agreed this was an improvement, perhaps the best they could hope for. After the raid and rescue of the good-looking babe named Elsie, they expected to see a romance bloom. But as far as they could tell, K.C. wasn't seeing her. This was mystifying, but so what? No one knew what to make of it. For the next two weeks, they noticed the boss seemed to be drifting off into space occasionally. They, more or less, waited for the other shoe to drop.

On day twenty-four K.C. left work way early. Fran was beside herself with excitement. The day dragged by in slow motion. Max could feel himself accepting the inevitable. She wasn't just giving K.C. a second chance. She was "all in." Max could only keep his fingers crossed and hope that, this time, the two of them would click.

Fran was nearly immobilized with anticipation. Max had to take care of her, reminding her to brush her teeth, and take a bath. He fixed the meals. Fran was so starry-eyed she barely touched her food.

By 5:30, she had been ready for an hour and was hanging out in the living room, peeking from around the curtain every few minutes, sitting down, standing up, and wringing her hands. Every now and then, she would look at Max and giggle like a schoolgirl. Max watched her with amusement and some amazement. He had never seen anything quite like the way Fran was acting. Was this what love did to a person? God help them if K.C. was late.

Finally at 5:45, a long white limo pulled up in front. A well-dressed man approached the front door, his top half completely hidden behind an immense bouquet of red roses, two dozen to be exact. "Someone's here," said Max. "It looks like a vase of flowers with feet." Fran halted in her tracks, unable to breath. "Well madam, will you get the door, or shall I?" asked Max. Fran managed a small nod. Max threw the door open for K.C. Fran took one look at him and cried, "Oh." For an instant, time stood still. K.C. waited. "Here, let me take those," said Max, smiling as he took the bouquet from K.C.'s arms. Max set it on the coffee table and tiptoed away. Behind Max, K.C. managed one step forward into the room and smiled at her, questioningly. Fran squealed and ran headlong into his arms.

K.C. squeezed her as tight as he dared, kissed her quick and whispered in her ear, "I love you, my dearest." He pulled back and smiled She merely smiled widely. "Will you give me another chance?" he asked. Fran nodded vigorously, tears in her eyes. K.C. bent his head and took her lips tenderly. Fran fitted her body to his, he deepened the kiss. Fran kissed him back, her entire body tingling. K.C. traced her upper lip with his tongue. Fran parted her lips, inviting him in. K.C. molded his body to hers and kissed her deeply. He pulled back, "Do you love me, too?" He waited. "Say something, please. Do you love me even a little?" She nodded, tears streaming down her face. He picked her up, whirled her around and kissed her again. At last they came up for air and just stood there, holding each other looking into each other's eyes and grinning from ear to ear. He took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her tears. "Don't cry, sweetheart. I'm here and I'm not leaving you. Not ever." She smiled through the tears. He laughed at her and kissed her forehead. I hope those are happy tears. She sniffed and nodded, laying her head on his chest. He just held her and swayed, patting her on the back. This felt like heaven. Gradually they moved to the sofa and sat as close as possible. From time to time he kissed her and said, "I love you, Fran," "I love you, my darling."

At last he reached into a pocket. "I bought something for you." He pulled out a little case, and Fran gasped. "I wanted to buy a huge diamond ring," he explained, "but the woman in the jewelry store suggested this one. It's a friendship ring." He opened the case. "Well, more like a promise ring, but it can be whatever we want it to be." Fran stared at the precious stone in its gold setting. "Will you wear it for me?" K.C. pleaded.

Fran gazed into his eyes as if searching for something. Then, she seemed to make up her mind. She held out her left hand and razed the fourth finger. "All right. I'll wear it," were her first words, barely audible. She waited.

K.C. lifted his arm from around her and removed the ring from the tiny box. He set the box on the coffee table, took her hand in his and glided the ring onto her finger. Holding it for a moment he spoke tenderly, "I promise... to never leave you."

Fran looked at the ring for a moment, raised her eyes to his and caressed his cheek with her hand. "I love you, too, K.C. Williams."

They held each other's gaze, totally lost in the moment, oblivious to Max as he entered the room.

Max stood still for a moment, and then cleared his throat breaking the spell. "Excuse me, you two, but I'm thinking this may call for a celebration." He held a tray with three crystal flutes. "Champagne, anyone?" he raised an eyebrow.

They looked at him and laughed. Standing arm in arm they reached for a flute. "This is wonderful, yes, let's celebrate." Max set the tray down and lifted his own flute. "To you," he said. They clicked glasses.

"To us," said K.C.

"To my two best men," said Fran, and she sipped. They joined her.

Moments later, K.C. gallantly invited Max to join them for dinner.

Max laughed, and shook his head, "Thank you, but maybe another time. You know what they say, 'Two's company, and..."

"Three's a crowd," they echoed, laughing.

They finished the champagne and turned to leave. "Take care of her," said Max.

*******

Fran and Max by Dorothy May Mercer

### Epilogue

Now that hard feelings were a thing of the past, Max was able to take Fran to meet Darla Ambrose. Plans were all set for Fran to move into the safe house, two weeks before her due date. By now, the friendship ring had been reset with a larger diamond. It would be a first marriage for both of them. K.C. offered to marry her before the baby came, but Fran preferred to wait until afterward. She laughingly answered "I can't imagine a man on his honeymoon in bed with a blimp."

Besides, this baby would start out life as a Whittaker. Fran had her reasons. She wanted K.C. to be sure he really wanted to marry a woman with "baggage." Let him change poopy diapers and experience a few nights walking the floor with a colicky infant, and then see what he thought.

Besides, when she went on her first and only honeymoon, she wanted to be slim, sexy and beautiful.

To Fran's surprise, K.C. fell in love with the new little girl and fought for his turn changing her and rocking her to sleep. Fran had to take the baby from him, to put her in her crib. "You're going to spoil her," she accused.

"Yup, if you'll let me," K.C. grinned.

At last, Fran relented and set the wedding date. The fight was on between the FBI in Los Angeles and Fran's friends in Washington D.C. as to who best to host the wedding. Unable to choose between them, K.C. and Fran got out a map of the United States and measured exactly halfway between. "The wedding will be in Oklahoma City," they announced to everyone's consternation. No amount of arguments could dissuade them.

And so, the wedding took place at a luxury hotel in the heart of Oklahoma City, on a beautiful day. K.C. was splendid in his tux, Fran glowing in her white gown. K.C.'s best men were the agents from the L.A. office. Fran's attendants were Juliette McBride, her best friend from college, Cynthia Patterson and Elsie, who had given birth seven months ago to a healthy baby boy. Max gave away the bride, and then took a seat next to Darla Ambrose in the front row.

The reception, at the hotel, went on until late night. Fran and K.C. had left as soon as they dared for the honeymoon suite.

They would catch a plane the following day to a beach resort in the Dominican Republic for their joyous two week honeymoon, while the chief baby-sitter, Max, stayed home with the baby.

The End

Fran and Max by Dorothy May Mercer

Author's Notes: We hope you enjoyed this wonderful tale of the McBride Romances. If you haven't read the intriguing sequel, Cynthia and Dan, Cyber War, we definitely recommend it. Please continue for a Sneak Peek.

Meanwhile, the best way to thank an author and producer is to please leave a short positive review, and to scroll through more Dorothy May Mercer books.

And now, please continue listening for a sneak preview of Cynthia and Dan, Cyber War another adventure in the McBride Romance Series.

Note: This is a Sneak Peek

Cynthia and Dan, Cyber War-Excerpt

Cyber War

A McBride Romantic Suspense

Author: Dorothy May Mercer
Chapter 1 –

The Plan

Cynthia gazed across the desk at her brother. "Glenn, I think this will work. I really do."

"Um, well... I'm not so sure. I hope we can pull it off..."

"Think about it Glenn, no one will ever suspect. We just need a few people we can really trust."

Glenn twiddled a pencil between his fingers and gazed at the fish tank built in to his paneled office wall. "Like who?"

"Well, could we use Dan?"

"Dan MacIntyre?" He swiveled his Steelcase executive chair around, tossing the pencil on his mahogany desk. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Well, why not?" she drew up her chest from her perch across the desk from him. "Is there something wrong with my boyfriend? Hmmmf!" She crossed her arms.

"No, no, don't get your tail in a knot, Sis."

"Well then," her voice rose, "what's wrong with Dan?"

"Do you want it in alphabetical order?" Glenn smirked.

"Oh you...you..." Cynthia looked for the nearest object to throw at him.

Glenn ducked, stifling his laughter.

"What's so dammed funny?" she demanded rising from her chair, hands on hips.

"You're so cute when you're mad." Glenn held up his hands in a defensive position.

Cynthia fumed.

Glenn made the peace sign. "Calm down, calm down, I was just kidding."

"Right!" she scoffed.

"Truly, I was kidding. I'm sorry, Sis. Now, just sit down and listen for a minute."

She glared.

"Please, Cynth, just sit down. Give me a chance to explain."

Unhurriedly, she perched on the very edge of her chair. "One minute, no more. And make it good, or I'm outta here."

"All right. Here's the thing. Listen, there's nothing wrong with Sergeant Dan. He's a great guy. I really mean it. But, for this caper, we need to stay away from law enforcement. That's all."

"Oh," Cynthia pouted and eased back in her chair. "I see."

Glenn went on. "We need a tight elite group of really smart people. I'm thinking of, oh, maybe, someone out of the spotlight. Someone young, kind of geeky-nerdy, maybe. Not necessarily ivy league."

"Like a young Bill Gates."

"Yeah, but unattached."

"So we can't use Juliette McBride."

"Heavens, no!"

"I wish we could." Cynthia bit her lip. "She'd be perfect."

"Yeah," Glenn sighed. "Too close to the senator."

"Too dangerous for her."

"I know. Too dangerous for both of them. Shall we give it some thought?"

Cynthia sipped her coffee, set it down, and idly stirred in some artificial sweetener.

"So, what do you think?" Glenn asked.

"Um, well...can it be someone who works in the government offices?"

"I guess that depends. Who do you have in mind?"

"Well, I noticed this kid, an intern, I think. Probably just here for the summer. But, he has that look about him. Thick glasses, kinda scruffy shoes, bent over, a bit skinny."

"So?"

"I don't know. There was just something about him. He's always got his nose in a book or a computer. Kinda shy. Doesn't seem to notice anyone. If he was a cartoon character, there would be a light bulb over his head."

"It might be good to get someone from out of town. Check into it, Sis. You always have a sixth sense about these things."

"Okay, I'll find out what he is 'into' and get back to you."

"All right. Good. And I've got my staff doing research on social media. I think we'll have a list of target sites, by the first of the week."

"Good plan. I'll do what I can, but, you know..."

"Yeah, you're busy. So am I."

"We can do a lot of the planning, but the online stuff is going to take time."

"Time we haven't got."

"A couple of young kids from the Midwest, who know their way around the net, would be perfect."

"I can set them up with everything they need, a totally private identity, a room full of the highest tech snooping equipment, super high speed computers, anonymous web sites, foreign search engines and I.P. addresses."

"I know you can, Glenn, and I'm counting on you. We'll get these people."

Glenn offered his hand, palm out. "It's you and me, Sis."

Cynthia slapped him a high five and a fist bump. "Cyber war, Bro."

"Together!"

"Together!" She bared her teeth, clenched a fist, turned and smartly strode out the door.

Cynthia and Dan

Cyber War

By Dorothy May Mercer
Chapter two, Almost a Spyder

Cynthia slung her bag over her shoulder and hurried from Glenn's modern office building, her mind running through the long checklist she had today. She was already way overdue getting back to the office, from her lunch hour. It was a forty-five minute drive out to Fairfax, Virginia from the Hart Senate Office Building, in central Washington D.C., where she worked for Senator Mike McBride.

In one graceful move she eased her cute bottom into her red MX-5 Miata roadster, and prepared for the drive back downtown. Traffic would be moving this time of day. The message light was blinking on her cell phone as she eased out of the parking lot. No time to look at it now. She needed to hurry.

Mike would never say anything. He was the best boss ever and his generosity was beyond belief, but still, she hated to take advantage of his good will. Cynthia loved her job as chief of security, investigator and body guard for the senator, as well as part-time receptionist, a job she kept as cover. Life was good for this country girl from rural Virginia.

Well, not quite perfect. Cynthia's thoughts turned to her relationship with Sergeant Dan MacIntyre, of the Fairfax PD. Things were not exactly troubled. Truth was there was very little passion in the relationship, neither good, nor bad. It was more like comfy and hum-drum, you might say. Cynthia wondered what she should do about it, or whether she should do anything.

When they first met, it was so exciting. Golly, he was to-die-for handsome in his splendid police uniform, tall and strong, and when he smiled, his whole face lit up. Cynthia remembered holding hands on their walk back to the car, making her palms burn. Their first kiss was tender and sweet. His lips were so soft and downright delicious. She could feel the tingle all the way down her spine to her toes.

It had been a tiring day. They were out with Mike and Lady Dog and all the men and women from the Fairfax PD task force, searching in the wild areas of the county for a murder victim. After a long day, Dan had volunteered to drive her home. They were both hungry and had stopped for a bite at a small restaurant. His whiskers had grown out since his morning shave and it scratched her cheek when he kissed her goodnight.

The thought of food snapped her mind back to reality, reminding her that she had skipped lunch. _Oh well, it's a worthy cause,_ she thought. _We're gonna get these guys._ Everyone was worried about the way the terrorists seemed to be able to take advantage of social media to recruit young people from all over the world, even right here in America. Something had to be done to stop them!

Cynthia had taken her plan to her brother, Glenn Patterson, owner of Fairfax Private Investigators. She knew that Glenn had access to high-tech methods, and equipment so new that even the CIA did not have it yet. Glenn had contacts all over the world. He made it his business to stay one step ahead of the bad guys, and the good guys, too, for that matter.

Cynthia's eye caught the traffic light ahead as it turned yellow and then red. She cruised to a stop and reached for her cell phone. Now would be a good time to check her messages.

_Ah, here's a message from Dan._ She opened it, eager to hear from him.

"Hi Babe, what's up? How about grabbing a bite and a movie tonight? 'Bout 7?"

She quickly texted back. "Ur on! See ya at 6:30, ok?" She tapped "send" and hung the phone back in its cradle, just as the traffic light turned green. Cynthia expertly shifted through the five gears, accelerating up to cruising speed in just seconds.

It was a nice enough day to drive with the top down. She relished the feeling of wind on her face, even if it messed up her hair. _Not a problem,_ she thought.

She maintained a chin-length sassy hairstyle, requiring little more than a blow-dry with a round brush each morning. A quick comb-through in the elevator would set it to rights. It cost a little more to get a good cut and styling every six weeks, but it was one of those "must-have" items in her budget.

Cynthia's mood brightened considerably at the thought of seeing Dan tonight. He could not take her out all that often, since his cop's salary did not allow for it. The Washington metro area's living costs were among the highest in the nation. Besides, Cynthia was almost sure he was paying off student loans, although Dan never said so. His spending habits were conservative. Sometimes Cynthia wished he was more relaxed, less serious, and more open with her.

_I guess I'm pretty lucky my mom and dad paid my way through college,_ she thought. So many young people leave college in debt and then have trouble finding good jobs and paying it off. Cynthia silently thanked her folks and the good Lord she had a great job and was not in debt. Well, except for her car payments, this is.

Cynthia skillfully guided the sports car around traffic, enjoying the feel of the car's contoured bucket seats and the road-handling attributes. She knew that her dad was a bit taken aback when she bought her first car, the MX-5 Miata. It wasn't exactly the Alfa Romeo Spyder that her mom drove, years ago, when she was fresh out of college and single, but was the closest thing to it that Cynthia could afford right now. Too bad Mom sold that car, back then, after she got married and the babies came along. It would be worth a fortune today. But Cynthia's MX-5, with its five speed transmission, retractable hardtop and very sporty design was plenty good enough for a working girl.

Swinging down the fast lane of the freeway, Cynthia was tempted to open it up, to see what it could do, but she remembered her promise to her dad. _Don't worry, Dad. I'll be careful._ Besides it would never do to get a speeding ticket. Her dad said the sleek lines of the little red car made it look like it was going fast, even when standing still. She smiled at the thought.

Cynthia exited the freeway and began the stop-and-go progress through the downtown streets to her parking garage. Stopping for a red light, she picked up a one-word return message from Dan: "6:30" signed with a smiley face.

As she neared her office building's parking ramp, she began to hear sirens--a common sound in any big city--but these seemed more numerous and strident than usual. Then she noticed a lot of people milling around on the sidewalks and looking up. Her cell phone sounded Danny's tone. Using one thumb she punched it on. "Take cover!" was all it said. _What tha'?_

Traffic had pretty much come to a halt, to allow emergency vehicles to pass. Too curious, by nature, Cynthia inched forward. This route would take her right by the capitol. Finally, men in uniform completely blocked her path, motioning her over to the side. Cynthia grabbed her phone and stuffed it in her bag, containing her weapon and high-def camera. She dashed toward the capitol. Unable to get through the security line blocking her path, she paused for a moment, chest heaving. "What's wrong," she asked the nearest officer. He shrugged and motioned her to move back. Standing on tiptoe she strained to see something—anything. People streamed toward her, scooting under the outstretched arms of the security personnel and rushing off.

Finally one well-dressed man, strolling casually toward her, with little concern, paused to glance at his watch. Cynthia touched his arm. Absently he reached to brush it off. "Sir, sir, one moment, please. Excuse me," Cynthia pleaded. He stopped for a second, plainly irritated, until his eyes fell on hers. "Well, helloooo there, beautiful!" His lips curved up and his hand reached to tip a hat only to realize he wore no hat.

"What's going on?" Cynthia asked.

"Nothing important," he smiled. "Here, let me help you," he said taking her arm and steering her toward the sidewalk.

"B-b-but..." she protested as she hurried along beside him, gripping her handbag.

He glanced around until his eyes fell on a nearby coffee shop. Looking down at her he bathed her in a devastating smile. "Here we go," he said with no further explanation. Gripping her arm, his long legs ate up the distance with strides twice the length of hers.

Cynthia half ran, half stumbled to keep up. "W-what?"

"In here." He gestured and steered her through the door. "Come along." Quickly he surveyed the fast-filling room and guided her to a booth in a far corner. He helped her into a seat and positioned himself facing the door.

"Now, just a minute..." Cynthia started to protest.

"You'll be safe here," he interrupted.

"I don't see how you know."

"Trust me."

She squared her shoulders. "Are you kidding me? I have no idea who you are, sir!" she announced, prepared to flee at a moment's notice. She drew her handbag close into her lap and surreptitiously unfastened the latch. She certainly could not use her gun in here, but it gave her a feeling of security, knowing it was handy. Who was this stranger, anyway?

"I'll get you something to drink," he offered.

Cynthia gazed at the menu posted over the counter. Her stomach growled.

"You must be hungry," he noticed with a slight grin.

"I missed lunch," she admitted as her stomach growled again. "Excuse me," she laughed.

"Well, let's see, what looks good to you?"

They gazed at the menu.

"Something quick, maybe?" he offered. "Look, Miss...Miss...uh...er..."

"Cynthia."

"Miss Cynthia, I guess we are going to be stuck here for a bit of time, while the authorities sort out this mess. We might as well have lunch, wouldn't you say?"

"I just left my brand new car sitting on the street."

"Oh no, you didn't!"

"'Fraid so, darn it. I left the key on the seat."

"Bad idea."

Cynthia felt miserable. "I really should go see if I can find it. If you'll excuse me." She half rose out of her seat.

"Wait just one minute, Cynthia, before you go." He pulled out his cell phone, pushed a button and began talking quietly into it. Looking up he asked Cynthia to describe the car.

"It's a 2016 MX-5 Miata by Mazda, retractable hardtop, bright red."

"License number?"

"ILUVDAN," she told him.

He raised an eyebrow, "I-L-U-V-D-A-N, right?"

She nodded and looked down, starting to blush.

"Mmm, I see." He whispered the number into the phone. "Yep, you heard me right," he nodded and curled a lip at her. "We'll wait here for you." He snapped the phone closed and put in on the table. "Now, young lady, let's see what we can get for you to eat. How does today's special sound to you?"

"Anything," replied Cynthia.

"Well, there's hamburger and fries, chicken fried steak or a Phili sandwich with your choice of potato.

"Um, well, I guess the Phili sandwich with sweet potato fries and coffee."

"Excellent choice." He beckoned for the waitress and passed on the order.

"And water, please, if you don't mind," Cynthia added.

"Make that two waters," he said, "with ice and lemon, please."

Cynthia watched in silence as the waitress smiled and left quickly, her thick rubber soles squeaking on the highly polished floor. She attached the order to a clip and hurried over to the water fountain. Grasping two large glasses she scooped up ice and held them under the water faucet. Placing them on a tray with straws, lemon, two mugs and a carafe of coffee she moved back to their table, served the water and poured the coffee.

Cynthia idly used her teeth to remove the end, slipped off the paper covering and stuck two straws into the water. Her companion watched, fascinated, as Cynthia wrapped her luscious lips around the straws and sucked. She reached for the lemon slice, squeezed a few drops into the water and licked the lemon slice, before resuming sucking. At last she looked up, only to meet his two eyes directly. "Oh!" She hastily averted her eyes.

"My apologies, Cynthia, I didn't mean to stare."

"Oh, no problem." She stirred the ice in her glass. "I guess I'm a little nervous."

"Do you work here in the capital city?" he inquired, congenially.

Avoiding the question, she answered, "I'm a little worried about my friends."

"And not your car?"

"Well, that too, of course. I just wish I knew what was happening."

"Perhaps I can find out something for you." He reached for his smart phone again, typed in a message, and laid the phone down where he could watch the screen. He sipped on his coffee and waited for an answer.

Cynthia watched the screen in fascination. When she looked up, his piercing gray eyes never left her face, peering directly over his coffee mug. "Perhaps you wonder how this works." He nodded toward the phone.

"Oh no, sir, I have one just like it."

"Um-huh, by the way, you may call me Sky, if you want."

"Sky, I see. I'm Cynthia."

"Yes, I know."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot." She half smiled.

"There's a brave smile, Cynthia. Good for you." Just then the smart phone made a small tone and a message appeared. Cynthia strained to read it upside down.

Sky scrolled through the message. "It seems that an apparently harmless drone landed on the White House lawn. The Secret Service has no idea whose it is. It could be some kind of terrorist test, you know. All the government offices have been evacuated. City schools are in lockdown. Downtown traffic is gridlocked. Estimated time to clear up the mess is three hours. Ah, here is our luncheon." He regarded her, as he discretely snapped the phone closed and slid it into his pocket.

Cynthia had a million questions, but she could say nothing more, just then, except to give the waitress a nod and a thank you.

Sky quietly shook out his napkin, placed it in his lap and said "Excuse me a moment," as he bowed his head for a few seconds, crossed himself, raised his fork and gazed at her in question.

Stunned into immobility for just a second, she realized he was politely waiting for her to signal that the meal was started. Cynthia recovered, picked up her sandwich and took the first bite. Shortly he joined her and soon they were both happily munching away.

"These sweet potato fries are delicious," she remarked.

"Yes, one of my favorites," he agreed, after he chewed and swallowed. Sky patted his mouth with his napkin and took a sip of water.

_Clearly this man has impeccable table manners,_ she thought. Her curiosity was aroused. Who was this man? He seemed to have incredible connections. She knew a lot of people on Capitol Hill, as well as most of the important people in Washington. And yet she was sure she had never seen him before.

Sky finished his meal and pushed the dishes aside. He pulled his coffee in front of him and signaled the waitress for a refill.

"How was your meal?" the waitress asked as she filled their cups.

"Mine was excellent, thank you," said Cynthia.

"As was mine," Sky agreed.

"Can I bring you some dessert?"

"No thank you."

"None for me, either. Just keep our coffee cups filled, and bring our check when you have time. No hurry," said Sky. "Looks like nothing is moving outside."

"I see what you're saying. Must have been some kind of fracas up on Capitol Hill." She shrugged and motioned toward the TV set on the wall, tuned in to CNN, with the sound turned off.

"Have you heard anything?" asked Cynthia.

"Not really. I've been kinda busy. A lot of people stopped in."

"I see that. Will you need our table?"

"No, you're fine. Just enjoy yourselves." She moved off taking the coffee pot around to her other customers.

Sky sat back, relaxed, and reached into his suit coat for a cigar. "Mind if I smoke?" he asked.

"I rather doubt that smoking is allowed in any D.C. restaurants," Cynthia replied, realizing he must be new to the city.

"Perhaps the police are too busy right now to come and arrest me, do you think?" He smiled, and gestured with his cigar.

"You could certainly try," Cynthia remarked, "but very possibly you might offend some of the other patrons."

"Do you think they would throw me out?"

"Worse things could happen." Cynthia was enjoying this banter.

"I'd like to see that little waitress try it," he ventured.

"Go ahead, I dare you."

"I never respond to dares. Not since Jimmy Jones challenged me to a fist-fight in third grade."

"What happened?"

"I got a bloody nose, and Jimmy got the girl."

Cynthia snickered.

"You're laughing at me!" he accused.

"You're funny." She covered her mouth, but her eyes still laughed. Just then the phone made a ring tone.

"Excuse me a moment," said Sky. He opened the phone. "Yes?" He listened and nodded. "Hold on." Looking up he said, "Cynthia, my dear, he has your car."

"Oh my goodness! That's wonderful!" she exclaimed.

Sky touched his mouth to caution her to speak softly. "He says it's all right. He raised the hardtop and locked the car."

Cynthia started to say something.

Sky held up one finger, indicating to wait a minute while he listened. "He says the car is totally blocked in." Another moment passed. "He says he can either bring you the keys, or he can stay with the car."

Cynthia shrugged, looking devastated.

Sky spoke into the phone. "Stay with the car, for now. I think we are going on up to the tower apartment. When you can get out, bring the car around and give me a jingle, okay?" Sky nodded with satisfaction and flipped the phone closed. He signaled for their check, extracted a bill and slipped it under the check.

"Come, Cynthia," he smiled. "I need a more comfortable place to enjoy my cigar." He stood and offered his hand.

Out on the street, the congestion was even worse than thought. Nothing moved. Horns sounded. Taxi-drivers yelled at each other and got nowhere. Buses belched exhaust fumes. Too many people had simply abandoned their cars in the middle of the road. The sidewalks were crowded with people trying to get home any way they could.

Sky pulled her up against the building so they could talk. "Let's make a plan," he suggested. "Do you live nearby?"

"No, I have an apartment outside."

"Can you get there by subway, or train?"

"Not easily, no."

"Well, then, perhaps you had better wait for your car. My man will bring it around. But, it may take a few hours, don't you think?" He nodded at the traffic jam.

"Yes, I suppose a lot of these cars will have to be towed out of the way, first."

"I have a place, close by. You are welcome to it."

"Oh, I couldn't."

"Perhaps you have a better idea."

"Uh..." She shrugged helplessly.

"Hmm?" He waited.

"But, I can't allow you to... I mean, you've already done too much. You bought my lunch, rescued my car. I... I...ah..." She looked around for some other person to help her.

"Looks like I'm your only offer, Miss Cynthia."

"I'm ever so grateful." She acquiesced.

"Come, this way." He offered his hand and led the way, keeping up his usual pace. Cynthia hurried beside him, not wanting to get lost or left behind.

"Just one more block and around the corner," Sky encouraged her. Soon they arrived at a gleaming tower.

A uniformed doorman held the door. "Good afternoon, Mr. Eastman, and Miss." He tipped his hat.

"Afternoon, Ben. How's the family."

"Just fine, sir. Baby is doing so much better since you sent the new doctor."

"That's good to know, Ben. We'll be staying for a couple of hours while the authorities get the traffic jam cleared downtown. We're waiting for Jerry to bring my guest's car around. Right now it is totally socked in."

"I'll ring you up when it arrives, sir."

"Very good, Ben." Sky turned to Cynthia and escorted her through the lobby to a bank of elevators. Sky selected the express to tower. He held his palm up to the identity screen and quickly punched in a series of numbers, taking care to shield the code from any prying eyes. The doors whispered open. Sky pressed his warm hand into the center of her back to guide her inside. The doors closed.

Cynthia leaned against the mirrored wall and closed her eyes, the better to hear the music. She did not sense the car as it glided to a stop and opened.

"We're here, Miss Cynthia," said her host. "Shall we?"

(To Continue:)

Cynthia and Dan, Cyber War may be purchased at Smashwords and other outets. Enjoy!

Go to MercerPublications.com for links, discounts and promo codes to outlets for Dorothy May Mercer novels.

  * If you purchase any digital book, we know you will not "return" it for a refund. Sometimes, customers do so, perhaps unaware that it causes a charge-back and puts a black mark on the author's record.

  * While you are shopping, please consider another book by Dorothy May Mercer. Watch for many more by this wonderful author, coming soon.

  * For your enjoyment, watch for The Washington McBride Series which includes the prequel to Fran and Max, called The Savage Surrogate.

