Kelley Armstrong - Made to Be Broken

Soukis moved on to our requirements. As for gender, we had no preference. Same with age, so long as the child was under a year. But race? That was another story.

"It doesn't matter to me at all," I said. "A baby is a baby." I snuck an anxious look at Jack, who nodded a "same here," but without conviction. "But where we live… that's the problem. Wayne's business is there, so we won't be leaving anytime soon, and the town is very… racially homogeneous."

"White," Jack said.

"As someone who works with children, I know firsthand that it doesn't matter how accepting the parents are. If the surrounding society isn't as accepting, it can be very difficult for the child. So we'd need to have a, uh – " I dropped my gaze as if in shame. "Caucasian baby. Other wise, we'd have pursued international adoption."

"That will make it harder," Soukis said.

My gaze dropped another fraction as I added a mournful "I know."

Jack reached over to squeeze my hand.

Soukis asked a few more questions, then explained the next steps. If no complications arose in the background check and home study, we'd be put on the waiting list, but with our "requirement," it would probably be a three-year wait, maybe longer.

I let my disappointment seep out while Jack squeezed my hand and whispered words of support and reassurance. Then he asked me to give him a moment alone with Soukis, just to run over some of the financial details again. He stayed behind in the office, and shut the door all but a crack, so I'd hear their voices.

As I left, I realized our late-day appointment came with a huge bonus. The agency's workday must have ended at five and, being a Monday, no one was keen to stay late, so by 5:15 the office was empty.

I started in the reception area. My gaze kept sliding to the dual temptations of the filing cabinet and computer, but I needed more time with them. I concentrated on figuring out how Jack and I could safely break in.

I zoomed through the front room, having already gotten a decent overview when we'd been admitted. No alarm system. No camera. Just a regular lock and dead bolt, like the street-level door.

I quickly moved on to the office. I could hear Jack and Soukis, their voices muffled and low, but still audible.

"Deb doesn't know about any of that," Jack was saying. "I'm not hiding it from her. There's just no reason to bring it up now, right? Ancient history. The credit stuff, well, it comes with the territory, starting a business. The assault was a bar fight that got out of hand when I was a stupid kid. And the DUI ten years ago… I wasn't a kid, but still stupid, you know? The divorce and the stress at work… It's all in the past and none of it has anything to do with Deb, but I'm worried it's going to hurt our chances of adopting a kid."

"It could."

"Shit."

"In fact, I hate to say it, but it almost certainly will."

Their voices faded as I moved into the farthest office. There were four offices in total – five employees, including the receptionist. None of the doors had locks. The filing cabinets did, but they'd be easily picked, the sort that only stopped someone casually trying to peek inside.

The computers would be the biggest stumbling block. I could download e-mail and data files onto a flash drive, but that was the extent of my knowledge… and I was pretty pleased with myself for knowing that much. If the operating system was password protected, I was screwed. I'd have to check with Evelyn and see whether she knew a way to bypass it to grab files. Another charge for my tab.

The voices surged louder as I moved to the office across the hall.

"I get their reasoning," Jack was saying, "but I'm not the same guy now. Deb's the best damned thing that ever happened to me. She'd make a great mom, and if she can't have a kid because of me, first because of this… sperm thing, and now because of shit I did before I met her…" His voice trailed off.

"I understand."

"Do you?" Despair tinged Jack's voice. "I love that woman. The only thing I want is for her to be happy. I'll do whatever it takes to see that happen. Do you get that?"

"I'm not sure…"

"Hell, I don't know what I'm asking. Just, you know, some way to grease the wheels."

"If you mean anything illegal…"

"Not that. I wouldn't – " A short, embarrassed laugh. "Yeah, I would. Hell, there's not much I wouldn't do to make her happy, you know? But this is a completely legit business and I get that. I just thought, you know, sometimes there are ways… around stuff."

Their voices fell again as I hurried back to the main room, knowing Jack's talk was coming to a close. He'd planted the seeds. If they bore fruit, it wouldn't be tonight.

Five minutes later, we were back on the street.

"Any nibbles?" I asked.

"Hard to say. Seemed sympathetic."

"How could he not be? I knew what you were doing and I still felt bad for you. A perfect play. The right pitch. The right tone. Just an ordinary guy who loves his wife and wants her to be happy. If Soukis is involved, I bet you'll be getting a call."

"Doesn't matter. Just a side play. Main point – "

" – was getting an inside view of the setup and security. The biggest obstacle will be getting through that street-level door, where anyone can see us breaking in. The only windows are up front, and the fire escape is there, which is just as risky – if not more so – than coming through the front door. But we'll come up with something, and after that door is open, it'll be a cakewalk. I'll give you the details over dinner."

I swung around the corner, my fingers grazing the streetlamp. "I was thinking steak before our stakeout, if that's still something you like."

"Always"

"Good. I saw a place a few blocks over. We should probably drive, with your foot – "

"I'm fine. Warm enough. We'll walk."

I nattered on about Jack's great performance for the first block before stopping myself. "Sorry. I really don't need any more sugar today, do I?"

"Things are going well. You're happy. Nothing wrong with that."

"Thanks. Oh, and for a more tangible thank-you, I picked up something at the mall."

From my purse, I pulled a pack of his special brand of cigarettes. His eyes lit up, probably the same way mine had when he'd handed me candy this morning.

He reached for it.

"Not so fast," I said. "It comes with a price. You'll get them after the stakeout, and I'll get a story. You still haven't told me how you hurt your foot."

He nodded, gaze swinging to look down the road. My cheeks heated and I thrust the package at him. "I'm kidding. Like I said, it's a thank-you for – "

He didn't take it. "I'll tell you. Said I would."

"You don't have to if it's – "

"Tonight. After the stakeout. Cigarette and a story. Gotta warn you, though. Not very interesting. Just damned stupid. And embarrassing."

"Those are the best kind. If even you can screw up now and then, there's still hope for me."

We had a great dinner. Jack once told me that growing up he'd dreamed of being rich enough someday to have steak every night. He'd tried it, following his first job, and gave up after a few weeks, but a steak house is still his restaurant of choice.

So finding one was a way to put him into a good mood, relaxed, even voluble… or what passed for voluble with Jack. After a quick rundown of the security – couched in terms appropriate for a public setting – conversation turned to the more personal… or what passed for personal with Jack. He told me a story about an old job – also modified for the setting and containing no information to identify the target, location, or even time period, but entertaining nonetheless.