Free Fertile Ground by Rochelle Krich Page A

all these horrible rumors.”
    Lisa hoped so, too.
    She saw two more patients, then checked with Grace, who still hadn’t heard from Matthew. And he’d left no new messages on Lisa’s home answering machine. Over the nurse’s halfhearted protest Lisa entered his office and thumbed through the pages of his black leather-bound desk calendar.
    Nothing.
    The drawers revealed nothing. Neither did the neatly stacked folders on his rosewood desk. The message pad was blank. There was a lone ball of crumpled white paper in the antique brass trash basket. She picked it up and
    smoothed it open. He’d written “data lies?!” and “forget sig!”
    She studied the cryptic writing. “Forget sig” was probably “forget signature.” Whose signature had he forgotten? And what data was he referring to? She stuffed the paper into her jacket pocket. She would puzzle it out later.
    “Mrs. Martin is waiting in five,” Selena told her when she returned to Reception. ““The highway patrol has no report of an accident involving Dr. Gordon’s car, gracias a Dios. There’s no police report on him, and he hasn’t been admitted to any of the local hospitals. Why are you frowning? No news is good news, mi hija.”
    “Sorry. That is good news. I was thinking about something else.” What was the paper doing in the trash basket? The custodians emptied the baskets every evening when they cleaned the building. Lisa’s basket had been empty this morning.
    She made sure not to rush through the examination with Linda Martin and spent time answering her many questions. Then, telling Selena she’d be right back, she hurried downstairs to the lab.
    Charlie McCallister told her he’d arrived at the clinic at seven in the morning as usual, but he hadn’t seen Matthew all day. Neither had Norman Weld, the soft-spoken lab assistant, or any of the other lab technicians.
    “Wish I could help,” Charlie said, putting his arm around Lisa. “He’ll show up, you’ll see. And you can give him hell for pulling this Houdini act, right?”
    “Right.” She forced herself to smile.
    “It’s all bull, by the way—this stuff about embryo switching.” His voice, normally jovial, was hard with anger. “Not on my watch. Not in my lab. That’s what I told the Hoffmans.”
    “The Hoffmans were here?” She squinted at him, puzzled.
    “They came to check their frozen embryos. I took them next door, lifted the vials from the vats, showed them that their embryos were properly labeled. They seemed relieved.”
    She felt sorry for the Hoffmans, who shouldn’t have to
    worry about the safety of their frozen embryos, and was grateful that Charlie had been able to calm their fears.
    Back on the ground floor, she headed for her office, then changed her mind and walked to the main entrance. The uniformed guard was outside, his back to the wide glass double doors; his arms were folded across his chest. When she opened the door, he turned quickly to see who had exited the building.
    “Hey, Doc.” A gun protruded from the pocket of his black uniform trousers.
    “Hey, Victor.”
    At six feet five inches and two hundred and twenty pounds, the dark blond former boxer was an imposing figure. He was mean-looking when he scowled, but he was always nice to Lisa. Too many poundings to the head had taken their toll, but he was excellent at obeying orders, and his eyesight and hearing were keen.
    He clacked the gum he was chewing. “Look at ‘em.”
    He inclined his chin toward his trunklike, muscular neck and nodded in the direction of the two men standing in front of a white van in the clinic’s large, crowded parking lot. Lisa had already noticed them. They’d been leaning against the van. At her appearance they’d jumped, as if electrified, and bent their heads together in conference. Now they were staring at her.
    “They don’t know, is something going down or not?” Victor said. “Are you important or not? Drives ‘em crazy.” Another satisfied smack