Chapter Twelve
Remi sat in the passenger seat of the cruiser, her fingers tapping away on her phone as she pulled up every record she could find on Allie Harper.
“Anything?” Brody asked as he drove toward Bulverde and the address that Allie had given them.
There was an urgency in his voice. One that Remi totally understood. This could be the lead they desperately needed.
“Some,” Remi said, and she relayed what she had.
“She’s twenty-two. No criminal record. Parents both deceased.
She grew up in foster care. Until about nine months ago, she was a student at the University of Texas, studying psychology.
Then nothing. No job records, no rental history, no activity on any official documents. She just dropped off the map.”
Which, of course, fit if she’d truly been a surrogate impregnated with a stolen embryo. She wouldn’t have wanted to be on the grid so that someone could track her down.
Other things didn’t fit, though. Like why was she stepping forward now? That was a huge question weighing Remi down, and it meant she and Brody had to consider this was a ruse. Something meant to lure them into an attack.
That was the reason they’d taken precautions.
They were both wearing Kevlar vests, and two of Brody’s deputies, Harlan and Jolene, were following them in a second cruiser.
If they needed backup, they’d have it, but just in case Allie was the real deal, Harlan and Jolene would remain out of sight so they wouldn’t spook the woman.
Following the GPS, Brody took several turns, not into the town of Bulverde but to the far outskirts of it to a trailer park.
It was tucked away behind a row of tall oak trees, the gravel road uneven beneath the cruiser’s tires as Brody pulled up to the lot number Allie had given them.
The place was quiet, the kind of temporary site that people passed through rather than settled in.
Brody shut off the engine, and Remi scanned the area. Nothing immediately stood out. No obvious threats, no cars idling nearby. Just a handful of other trailers, most with drawn curtains and signs of people who had either already left for work or weren’t interested in being seen.
They stepped out of the cruiser and walked up the short metal steps to the trailer’s narrow front door.
Brody knocked, and a deep, throaty bark erupted from inside.
Remi instinctively took a step back, her pulse kicking up at the sheer size of whatever dog was behind that door.
Something big, protective and not the least bit friendly.
Remi heard some movement inside before a shadow passed behind the window’s thin curtain. A moment later, the curtain eased back just enough for a set of wary eyes to look out at them. She recognized the woman from her DMV photo: Allie Harper.
Allie’s gaze darted between them before landing on Brody. “Badge,” she called through the window.
Brody exchanged a glance with Remi before pulling his badge and holding it up. “Sheriff Brody Walker, Lost Canyon PD.”
Allie squinted at it like she was making sure it wasn’t fake, then hesitated. “And her?” She jerked her chin toward Remi.
Remi pulled out her PI license and held it up. “Remi Cross. I’m working with him.”
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the door unlatched with a metallic click. “Come in,” Allie said. “But make it quick.”
She yanked back the door, her free hand still locked around the dog’s thick leather collar. It was a German shepherd, and clearly the canine wasn’t any more at ease than his master. Allie wasn’t just scared, she was terrified.
The inside of the trailer was as cramped as expected.
The small living space held a worn couch covered by a faded quilt, a tiny table shoved against the wall, and a compact kitchen with barely enough counter space to hold a coffeemaker and a couple of mismatched mugs. It smelled like coffee and the dog.
Allie locked the door behind them, her movements quick, practiced. Then she pulled back the curtain just enough to scan the outside before letting it drop again. The way she kept her back to the door, the way her fingers twitched against the dog’s collar told Remi just how on edge she really was.
Brody stayed near the entrance, arms crossed, his stance solid but not threatening.
“You said you could help find my son,” he said.
Allie finally turned to face them. “I can give you some details, and maybe you can use it to locate him.” She paused. “Ten months ago, I was approached by a woman named Shelby Connelly. If you can find out who she is, she might lead you to your son.”
Remi didn’t recognize the name, but she mentally filed it away. “How did she approach you and why?”
“She found me online,” Allie admitted. “I had joined a couple of surrogacy forums, thinking about it as an option, but I hadn’t actually applied to any official agencies yet. Then Shelby reached out. She said she’d pay me fifty thousand dollars to carry a baby for her.”
Brody exhaled through his nose, but he didn’t say anything.
Allie let out a bitter laugh. “I was broke. About to drop out of school because I couldn’t afford tuition. Fifty grand sounded like a miracle.”
Remi kept her expression neutral. She understood desperation. “Did you look into her background?”
Allie nodded quickly. “I did. I wasn’t completely clueless. I checked her out. At least, I thought I did. There was an online footprint, records that showed she owned a successful real estate business. Nothing shady.” She paused. “But I know now that was all fake. There was no Shelby Connelly.”
That didn’t surprise Remi one bit. “Did you ever meet Shelby in person?” Remi asked.
“Yeah. Twice. First time was at a coffee shop in San Antonio. She wanted to meet face-to-face before we moved forward.” Her fingers flexed around the dog’s collar as she exhaled. “The second time was a couple of weeks later when I signed the contract.”
Brody frowned. “She had a contract?”
Allie nodded. “It looked real. Everything was professional. Medical coverage, legal jargon. I didn’t know enough to question it.”
Remi exchanged a glance with Brody. Someone had gone through the trouble of setting up fake documents, a background and a whole identity. This wasn’t something put together on a whim.
“What did she look like?” Remi pressed.
Allie hesitated, then rubbed a hand over her arm. “Late thirties or early forties. Blond hair, shoulder-length. Really polished, like the kind of woman who always has her nails done, always wears heels. Not flashy, but put-together.”
Remi’s mind immediately went to Christina Turner and Eloise Davenport. Both women could have fit that description if they’d altered their appearances.
Remi pulled up photos of them on her phone and turned the screen toward Allie. “Either of these women?”
Allie studied the images for a long moment before shaking her head. “No. Similar look, but not them.”
Remi felt the first stirrings of frustration. That would’ve been too easy.
“Did Shelby ever mention if she was trying to have a child for herself, or did she say she was arranging this for someone else?” Remi pressed.
Allie’s face tightened. “She said it was her baby. That she’d gone through the IVF process and just couldn’t carry a pregnancy herself.”
Brody’s jaw clenched. “And you had no reason to doubt her.”
“Not at the time.” Allie sighed. “But I do now.”
Yes, hindsight probably felt like it was mocking Allie right now, but from the sound of it, this Shelby had put up a convincing act.
Remi kept her gaze locked on Allie. “Did Shelby have any other unusual requests for the surrogacy?”
Allie let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. A lot. A biggie was that she wanted me to keep the pregnancy completely secret. She said she didn’t want her ex-husband finding out.”
Remi jumped right on that. “She mentioned an ex-husband?”
Allie nodded. “She said that he was violent and that he was a cop. That if he found out about the baby, he’d try to take it and cover it up. That’s why she wanted everything done quietly.”
Brody shifted beside her. “Did you ever ask for details? A name of the ex?”
“I didn’t push,” Allie admitted. “She made it clear she didn’t want to talk about him. And, at the time, it made sense. People go to extreme lengths to protect their kids.”
Remi bit back a curse. If Shelby Connelly was a fake identity, then everything she’d told Allie was likely a lie, including the story about the ex-husband. She was probably just who the real culprit had hired to do this initial phase of what had turned into the nightmare going on now.
“What other demands did Shelby have?” Remi prompted.
Allie gathered her breath. “She insisted I stay in a vacation cabin for the entire pregnancy. She didn’t want me around other people. Said it was for my safety.”
Remi saw Brody’s shoulders go rigid.
“She isolated you,” Remi said quietly.
Allie nodded. “Yeah. The cabin was nice. Fully stocked, comfortable. But I wasn’t supposed to have much contact with anyone. Only a doctor who came to do checkups. Shelby paid for everything.”
“A doctor,” Brody repeated. “Do you have his name?”
“Arnold Wallace,” she quickly answered and then stopped and shook her head. “Don’t bother to look him up. He had a fake ID, too, but I was too stupid to realize it at the time.”
Tears shimmered in the woman’s eyes, and Remi reached over to take her hand. The dog objected to that with a low, menacing growl, so Remi settled for a look of sympathy.
“You’re not stupid,” Remi assured her. “You were taken in by someone who clearly had a plan of action.”
Allie shrugged as if she didn’t quite buy that, and she blinked back more tears before she reached for a nearby drawer. That put Brody and Remi on alert until they saw Allie wasn’t going for a weapon but rather a folded piece of paper. She took it out and handed it to Remi.
“That’s the address of the cabin,” she said. “I figured you’d want it.”