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A viable experiment had to be replicated, after all. He knew that.
A surrogate female provided no DNA connection to the child born of the donated embryo, but her womb provided the gestational home that influenced brain development. She would have to be kept in perfect health. Absolutely perfect health. Her nutritional intake during the pregnancies would also have to be monitored closely. Her exercise, her hours of sleep. Everything.
Yes. He’d keep this one alive, he decided.
For several years.
He checked on Oakley. Gregory was struck again by how she resembled that mother she would never know. Had never met even once.
Oakley had been born of a surrogate, as had more than half of her siblings. Oakley’s paternal DNA had come from a scientist who had been instrumental in developing alternate energy sources. He had been compensated significantly by the sperm bank for his contribution at the time.
Gregory had carefully selected him from all the candidates, making good on the deal he had arranged with his colleague years ago when they had first conceived the idea of a sperm donation program and IVF clinic.
Now, he would turn his focus to finding the perfect surrogate.
To do that he needed to be where the smartest young women would be. Fortunately, he could achieve that easily enough.
He had helped a friend six months or so ago—he was getting a bit fuzzy on some details lately—with some sociological studies on intelligence on the FCU campus. He had reports on more than sixty-two young college-aged women. Intelligent women. Highly so.
Young and healthy and perfect. With photographs and demographics. Health records.
Those results were somewhere on his hard drive.
Right there and just waiting for him to choose the perfect one.
But first, he needed one of Denita’s daughters. He just had to decide which one. There were so many to choose from.
Perhaps one of Bonita’s girls?
If she proved healthy enough.
Bonita.
How soft Bonita’s skin had looked in the cafeteria light. How well she had aged. He had wanted to touch her, to see if she was as silken as her sister had been.
Bonita had looked even softer. And no wonder. She had lived a far more shelter, privileged life than her elder sister.
Almost eight years younger. Precious and well-cared-for. She looked like Denita should have looked at almost fifty. If he had better cared for the woman he loved, Denita would have looked just like Bonita did now.
Oh, how he wanted Bonita now.
She consumed him almost as much as his work. Gregory was coming to accept that somewhat. She had captured what remained of his soul. Just like her sister had before.
He would have her.
It was just a matter of time. He would have his Bonita. Or die trying.
His entire body tightened in anticipation for what was to come.
But first…
He would have Vaughn get him one of Denita’s daughters, now. And he knew the perfect one. Gregory picked up the phone.
42
That redheaded bitchwas there again. She was always with that skinny, dark-haired kid. He imagined having that redhead to himself again. Vaughn thought about her a lot now that she was a full-grown woman. Oh, the fun he’d have with her. Just a few hours.
He did get a kick out of watching the dark-haired girls and how they just seemed oblivious to everything around them. Those kids were lost in their own little worlds. Had the whole absent-minded professors thing going on.
