Made to Be Broken (Nadia Stafford 2)

Clearly then, the buyers had to be special cases. Those who couldn't pass the background checks, those who were unwilling to wait years for a match, those with very strict requirements for race, gender, and coloring - getting a baby that "looks like Mom and Dad" - above all, clients wi

lling to pay very dearly to see their cradle filled.

So was this a special service offered by the agency? Or a single greedy employee making deals on the side? Finding out wouldn't be easy.

We'd left the lodge Sunday night after our two remaining guests went to their room. They'd be gone today and we had no more bookings before Friday. I'd told Emma I was pursuing Sammi's case, and might be gone for a few days. I'd check in daily, and make sure I was back by the weekend. As for "John," he had a nibble on a job in Toronto, so I'd be dropping him off there.

We'd been watching the door to the Byrony Agency since eight-thirty. Four employees had gone inside - two women and two men, both of whom, from our angle, had matched the description Fenniger gave of his contact.

At nine-thirty, the first couple arrived. At 10:15, they left, their steps slower, the husband's hand against the small of his wife's back as she stared down the street with empty eyes, clearly having had their hopes dashed. Even if I'd never wanted a child, I could imagine what it would be like to be told I didn't qualify to be a parent.

In a few hours, when their shock and disappointment had time to crystallize into despair, would they get a phone call? "Hello, it's Joe from the Byrony Agency. I was just reviewing your file. While you don't qualify for regular private adoption, I'm in charge of a special project we're testing here at the agency, and I think I might have some good news for you."

He'd offer a few more words of encouragement, enough to make them eagerly agree to the first meeting. After feeling them out over several sessions, he'd feel confident enough of their answer to make the offer. Their special needs could be met by special girls who wanted to get their lives back on track and, more important, hand their babies over to parents whose devotion would be unquestioned, parents willing to pay more than the price of a used car for a child. Provide this girl with the money she needed to go to college, to move away, to restart her life, and she would give up her child and all rights to that child, make the clean break that she was certain was in everyone's best interests.

One baby, at premium cost. A healthy, beautiful, well-adjusted baby with pictures they could see in advance. The mother paid and gone from their lives forever. Of fi cials bought off to provide legitimate adoption papers, with no fear of future repercussions.

How closely would the prospective parents examine such a deal? One glance at the faces of that couple leaving the office, and I knew the answer. With their dream within reach, they wouldn't dare look too closely.

About five minutes after the first couple left, a second arrived.

"They seem to have a steady flow of clients," I said. "Or prospective clients, at least."

Jack nodded.

The couple paused at the door, double-checking the name on the plaque, consulting a PDA, then flipping through papers in a folder.

"Their first visit, I bet," I said.

"Probably."

"Bet they get a lot of that."

"Probably."

I watched the couple go inside. "I imagine it wouldn't be very hard to - "

"No."

"May I finish the idea before you shoot it down?"

"Don't need to. Gonna suggest making an appointment. Playing parents. Long shot."

He sipped his coffee. I waited, giving him the chance to expand on that. Futile, of course, but I always do, just to be polite.

"What's a long shot?" I asked.

"Getting the offer. Won't do it for everyone. Gotta be just right. Try it? Big risk. Little chance of payoff."

"I wasn't thinking we'd play prospective parents and hope they'd offer us a black market baby. I'm not that deluded. But if you have a better idea for getting inside and taking a look at the office, the layout, the security setup, the staff..."

"Huh." Another slow drink of coffee. "Good idea."

"I do get them, on occasion."

Chapter Thirty-three

Jack expected I'd want to wait for Quinn, so I could play this ruse with a husband closer to my age, but Quinn's acting skills were minimal. As Jack said, he preferred to play things straight. A small role with little stretching, yes. This required far more. It required Jack.