She couldn’t take much more. Finding out that she was pregnant had been devastating enough. She’d shattered like protons in a super collider. Could she take another life-changing jolt?
There was no other choice. I need to know everything. It was time to pull herself together. She picked up her cell phone and tucked it into her purse. She needed answers.
When she returned to the sofa, Blake slipped back into the office with a plate of fruit and a ham sandwich. The sight of food momentarily eclipsed her other concerns. She wolfed down half the sandwich in huge bites. Not the most ladylike behavior but she needed her strength.
“Eating for two?” he asked.
“Apparently so.” She swallowed. “I should thank you for helping me when I fainted. You’re good at taking care of people.”
“I have paramedic training.”
The way he’d treated her—elevating her feet, covering her with a blanket and giving her water—was standard procedure for shock. “Your dad mentioned that you’re in the military.”
“Correct.”
“I was an army brat, so I know all about you guys. Let me guess. You’re in Special Forces.”
“Good guess.”
“You’re one of those scary dudes who can take out ten armed terrorists with a spoon and a paper clip.”
He shrugged. “Not ten. Maybe six.”
“I appreciate your ferociousness. I really do. But what I need from you right now doesn’t involve physical mayhem. I want answers. There’s something you’re holding back, something else you haven’t told me.”
His reluctance showed when he paced away from her and went to the window—putting physical distance between them. “I’m not sure you can handle the truth.”
“You’re not saying that right. In the movie, it was like this.” She made a fist and did a bad Jack Nicholson impression. “You can’t handle the truth.”
“I loved when he did that.”
“Me, too.” Laughing, she realized that she was as comfortable with Blake as she was with the guys in the lab. Who would have thought that an antisocial mathematician like her would get along with Mr. Perfect? “Tell me, Blake.”
Blake looked down at her from his superior height. He’d shed his suit jacket and necktie. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to the elbow, revealing muscular forearms. “I don’t know where to start.”
“The beginning?” Biting into an apple slice, she chewed with deliberation, refusing to be distracted by his masculine gorgeousness.
“Before he died, my dad sent me an e-mail. It was like a confession. He’d done something he regretted deeply.”
“With Dr. Prentice?”
Blake paced on the worn Persian carpet in front of the desk. “Twenty-six years ago, on that army base near Roswell, Prentice was experimenting with frozen embryos. My mom was in her late thirties and thought she’d never have a baby. Prentice offered my father a solution.”
He paused to pick up a framed photograph on the desk. “My mom never knew the truth about me. Biologically, I wasn’t her child. I’m the result of an embryo created from two outstanding donors—people with high IQs and exceptional physical ability.”
“Genetic engineering.” That explained why Blake was so perfect. “Prentice was trying to create superbabies.”
“Though he had ethical reservations, my dad agreed to monitor the experiment.” He set down the photo and returned to the chair beside the sofa. “He measured the intellectual and psychological development of the supposed superbabies. Using subjects like you.”
“Me?” she squeaked.
“You’re highly intelligent. Your health is excellent.”
“But I’m not perfect. All I have to do is look in a mirror to see that my mouth is too big. My nose has a weird curve at the tip. Besides, if I’m so genetically attractive, why don’t I have a slew of boyfriends?”
“You’ve put all your energy into your intellect,” he said. “When other girls were dating, you were studying.”
She waved her hands to erase the memory of herself peering out from behind a stack of books to watch the other teenagers flirting and kissing in the library. Not that she’d been a recluse. She had gotten along well with guys and had had boyfriends. But there had always been something that got in the way. Her romantic life had been complicated to the point of nonexistence. “A truly superior specimen should be able to have it all.”
“That’s the part that fascinated my dad—the effects of nurturing and environment on subjects who started life with a genetic advantage.”
“Wait.” She hadn’t even considered this angle. “If I was genetically engineered, the people who raised me aren’t my biological parents. Did they know?”
“None of the parents knew. That was part of the study.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against his father’s desk. “You seem to be taking this well.”
“In a sick way, it makes sense. Why not help nature along in the selection process? Why not make sure the most highly evolved people produce offspring?”
“Because it’s wrong to manipulate people.”
“It’s morally shady,” she said.
“It’s fraud.”
“But logical,” she said. “Now I understand why Prentice impregnated me. He wants to create a second generation.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know.”
All she wanted was to get home, surround herself with silence and figure out how to restructure her life to accommodate a child.
Outside the office door, she heard other mourners arriving. They’d be eating, drinking and sharing memories of Dr. Ray, seeking solace in the company of others. Blake should be out there with his father’s friends and colleagues. On the day of his father’s funeral, he deserved closure.
She stood and straightened her shoulders. “I’m glad you told me, Blake. I don’t blame your father. Not in the least. Dr. Ray was a good man.”
“I know.”
“Can I have my car keys? I need to go home.”
He looked surprised. “I thought you were staying here tonight.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather be alone.”
“What about Prentice? I need to get in touch with him.”
She took her cell phone from her purse, scanned her contacts and gave him the number for Dr. Prentice’s private cell phone. “That’s the best I can do.”
As he handed over the keys, their hands touched. A spark of static electricity raced up her arm. She wondered if she’d ever see him again.
BLAKE STOOD ON THE PORCH and watched her drive away. He understood her need to be alone. When he had read the e-mail informing him that he wasn’t biologically his father’s son, Blake had felt as if somebody had punched him in the gut. Eve had a lot more to deal with. Finding out that she was pregnant without her consent or knowledge had to be a hell of a shock. Her life wasn’t any of his business, but he hoped she wasn’t considering adoption.
A couple of years ago, when he had been in college, his girlfriend had thought she might be pregnant. She’d knocked him for a loop. The only comparable feeling was when