A Shot of Red (14 page)

Mia hurried inside and closed the door, flipping the dead bolt, then ratcheting up the heat. She put her gun on the bathroom counter and tore her cold, wet clothes off, leaving them in a heap on the bathroom floor. Her body shuddered.

Breathe…

Hyperventilating in the river had petrified her, even though she knew it was a symptom of cold shock. But knowing what to expect and actually experiencing it were totally different things.

The bracelet she wore that Brent had left for her caught her attention.

“What is going on, Brent?”

With the way things had been going tonight, she half expected someone to answer. She unclasped the bracelet and set it on the countertop next to the gun, turned off the running water, and eased into the bath.

Mia’s mind raced as she thought about everything that had happened in the short hours she’d been in Lucerne. She debated over what to tell Lila when she Skyped her. The contents of Brent’s safe-deposit box had given her more questions than answers, and something she’d done had alerted a killer that she was here.

She trembled, her throat swelling with emotion, tears prickling in her eyes.

I could’ve
died in that river.

She squeezed her eyes closed. Crying wasn’t going to solve anything. After several minutes, she got busy bathing and washing her hair. As the water cooled, she ran more hot water into the tub until she started feeling warm from the inside.

After her bath, she dried her hair, put on warm pajamas and blotted the bloody scrapes along her jawline. They seeped and stung, but dealing with a few ugly scrapes beat the hell out of being dead.

Mia took the gun into the bedroom and set it on the night table, its dark-gray steel glinting in the lamplight. The sense of security it gave her might be false, but she was grateful for it just the same. She spread a towel on the floor and dumped the contents of her purse on it, heartened to find that everything else had stayed reasonably dry inside the zipped leather, just like the gun.

She tried to make herself presentable to Skype Lila, deciding to turn her head at an angle to hide the scrapes. Not much escaped Lila’s keen eye, but Mia hoped she could avoid telling her grandmother that she’d been thrown in an icy river by a would-be murderer—if he wasn’t one already. The thought sent a shudder through her.

She sat in the bed, draped in blankets with her laptop in front of her, and made the call to Claude’s computer.

Soon Lila’s face filled Mia’s screen and Mia’s heart tumbled. She finally felt safer for real. Her tears welled again. She pressed her lips together tightly and swallowed hard.

Stress lined Lila’s face, and her brow furrowed as she narrowed her gaze. “Dear God, Mia,” she said. “What happened?”

…

Gio decided to go home around 6:00 p.m.—maybe the earliest he’d ever left work. But after his night with Mia, and an all-nighter last night, he was beat. It was past time to give his dependable deputy a chance to run things during the big time—at least for a few hours. No way could Gio be effective any longer without some rest.

He parked his bike on the street in front of his town house, slogged up the sidewalk, and collected the mail from the overstuffed mailbox that he hadn’t checked in at least a week. It was probably a bunch of junk, but he bypassed the trash can, took it inside and tossed it on the kitchen counter just in case. The housekeeping service must have come because the place was clean. He’d lost track of what day it was at this point, so he had no idea when they’d been here. Sometimes he wondered why he even had this place, considering the little time he spent here. Tonight it felt even emptier than usual.

Gio opened the fridge and grabbed the only beer left in there. He popped the top and took a slug, wishing like hell he had a few more on ice even though he probably couldn’t stay awake long enough to drink them. Flipping through the mail, he tossed aside coupon flyers and real estate postcards, but the
Cycle World
magazine caught his eye. The sweet Ducati 1199 Panigale on the cover nearly seduced him onto the couch to read the article about it, but he needed a shower worse.

He took the magazine and his beer upstairs. If he could keep his eyes open long enough after his shower, he’d read the article before he went to sleep—a welcome change from communications plans, press releases, and virus statistics. He tossed his phone on the nightstand and nearly turned the television on before he headed for the shower, but he stopped himself just in time. He needed a little peace…and another slug of his beer.

“Give it a rest, man.”

The shower was long and hot, the water pressure high. Thoughts of Mia stirred in his mind and teased his body. He might never be able to take another shower without thinking of the steamy one he’d had with Mia. Damn, he hoped that wasn’t their last time together, because he was nowhere near finished doing all the things he’d imagined doing with her.

He clenched his jaw, kind of pissed that she hadn’t at least texted him after he’d left her a voicemail last night—especially since he’d done as she’d asked and kept quiet about Brent’s video, despite his nagging conscience. But she was sick. How sick, he didn’t know, and that really worried him.

He toweled off and tried not to think about her.

Think about the Ducati…

But he’d been in this mindset before. After their first night together and right after she’d left for Haiti, he couldn’t get her out of his head. Her scent…her taste…her touch. She stayed fresh on his mind for months. Then it had settled into a dull longing that she’d awakened into 24-7 got-to-have-her by letting him in again.

He walked into his bedroom and pulled the covers back on the king-size bed that took up most of the room in the historic town house. Just as he grabbed the
Cycle World
and sat on the bed, his phone rang.

Don’t answer it.

But when he glanced at the screen and saw “Lila Moncure,” his heart leaped into his throat. Had something happened to Mia?

He picked up the phone and swiped the screen. “Hello.” He tried not to make it sound like a question.

“Hello, Gio. This is Lila Moncure. Do you have a moment?”

Gio’s pulse thundered in his ears. “Yes ma’am. What can I do for you?” He propped his elbows on his knees, bracing himself for news he’d bet he didn’t want to hear.

“You can come to your front door. I’m walking up your steps right now.”

Chapter Sixteen

Shit!

Adrenaline surged through Gio faster than that Ducati could go zero to sixty. Lila Moncure was at his front door and all he had on was a pair of blue boxer briefs and a four-day beard. He rushed to put on a decent shirt and a clean pair of jeans, and shoved his feet into some casual shoes.

His head started to pound. If Lila Moncure had anything good to tell him, she wouldn’t be here at his house. The doorbell rang. Gio combed his fingers through his damp hair as he went downstairs, suddenly thankful the housekeepers had come even though the place stayed fairly clean.

A new question ricocheted in his mind with every step he took toward the door. Was Mia critically ill? And if she was, why would Lila think
he
needed to be informed—in person? Had Mia told her grandmother that she and Gio were…what?
Involved?
Damn, he hated to be blindsided.

He flipped on some lights and opened the door, struggling to keep twelve different emotions from playing across his face. “Mrs. Moncure,” he said politely. “Please come in.” She wore a white wool coat the same color as her hair. Her blue eyes looked a shade darker than usual. A knot tightened in Gio’s chest.

“Thank you, Gio. I’m so glad you were home.”

Gio wondered if he felt the same. But even if he hadn’t been home, Lila Moncure was resourceful enough to have found him wherever he was. He glanced out toward the street where Claude waited in the Mercedes. Gio waved, and Claude nodded back. “Would Claude like to come in, too?”

“I’d like this to be between the two of us.”

Gio closed the door, his mouth going dry. “I see,” he said, although he didn’t. “May I take your coat?”

She unbuttoned her coat, revealing a tailored dress that was a dead match for the color of her eyes. Gio helped her take it off and started to hang it in the hall closet.

“Don’t bother with that,” she said kindly. She took the coat from him and laid it over the back of the oversize upholstered chair just inside his living room.

“Something to drink?” Gio wanted to skip the pleasantries and get right to the meat, but this was Mia’s grandmother—the president and CEO of Moncure Therapeutics and the mother-in-law of his boss. Sure, they’d been at business events and dinners together, but this was the first time he could remember the two of them ever having a conversation alone.

“I appreciate your manners,” she said. “But I’m fine.”

He gestured toward the chair with her coat on the back. “Have a seat?”

She sat and tucked her purse at her side. Gio settled at the edge of the leather couch across from her. He could barely stand the pressure of wondering why the hell Lila Moncure was here in his living room at eight o’clock at night—or ever.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “What can I do for you?”

She took a second to answer. “Please understand that this conversation should remain confidential.”

Gio lowered his eyebrows and nodded. He liked that she had the confidence to come to him with sensitive information, but he hated not having the vaguest idea what that information was. Mrs. Moncure was a no-nonsense lady, never big on small talk, so he kept his mouth shut and waited. She was shrewd in the most respectable way, and when she leveled her blue-eyed gaze on Gio, he could swear she was looking right into his soul.

Mia’s eyes…

He threaded his fingers together and squeezed tightly.

“Mia doesn’t have the flu,” she said, her gaze never leaving him.

Relief coursed through him, along with a flood of new questions he thought best not to ask. Why was that information confidential, and why did news about Mia require a personal visit from her grandmother? Did Mrs. Moncure know about their…relationship? Gio had no idea what to even call it, or if it had enough life to require a name.

“That’s good news,” he said because he couldn’t think of anything else while his thoughts were in chaos.

Mrs. Moncure pursed her lips. “Unfortunately, it’s the only good news I have.”

This could be a new version of torture. Gio forced himself to breathe steadily, trying to corral some patience and restraint. “It’s been that kind of day.”

“You have no idea.”

But he thought he was about to.

She rested her elbows on the arms of the chair and lifted her chin, as if she was bolstering herself for what she was about to say. “We have a
situation
.” She said the word as if it were poisonous.

Surely she couldn’t be talking about the epidemic. That situation had already blown up. All. Day. Long. He hoped everyone in the United States and beyond had heard about it by now, and was taking action to protect themselves.

She rubbed her thumb and index finger together—something he’d seen her do at times in high-stress situations. “It appears there’s doubt that Brent English’s death was an accident, and that it was related to questionable circumstances at Moncure Therapeutics. Specifically, Brent suspected there was something nefarious going on with the vaccine formulation. I understand you’re aware of that.”

Gio’s pulse rapid-fired. He nodded once. “I learned about it yesterday, but I was asked to keep it confidential.” He wished the knot in his chest would loosen now that Brent’s suspicions were no longer a secret between him and Mia. Or had Mrs. Moncure known all along? “Were you or anyone at Moncure aware of anything suspicious?”

The crease between her eyebrows deepened. “No. But I’m working backward using the information Mia is uncovering. The vaccine went through rigorous testing, just like all our past vaccines. We sent it to health care providers with confidence. Brent’s suspicions could’ve derailed a sabotage plan that was in the works, so he might have died a hero. Even so, someone was willing to murder him to keep their scheme a secret.” She clasped her hands in her lap, her face lined with a worried expression Gio had never seen on her before. “Tonight, they tried to kill Mia, too.”

An iron fist clamped around Gio’s heart and he shot to his feet, his protective instinct shifting into overdrive. He balled his fists, ready to murder whatever son of a bitch had touched her—with his bare hands. “Is she all right? What happened?” He’d totally tipped his hand to Mrs. Moncure. If she hadn’t caught the emotion in his words, she’d no doubt seen it in his actions.

“She was standing on a bridge,” Mrs. Moncure’s voice trembled. “A man came up behind her, picked her up, and threw her into a river.”

Gio winced.
A river?

“The water was frigid and the currents were dangerous, but she managed to swim to safety. She’s in Switzerland and—”

“Switzerland?” And here he’d been thinking she was in New York all this time, wondering which freezing river she’d plunged into, how far it had been between the bridge and the water, and how Mia had survived. He got the feeling he was towering over Mrs. Moncure in his small living room, so he forced himself to sit back down on the couch, even though he needed to move. Any hope of sleeping anytime soon was definitely shot at this point.

“Brent left some evidence of what he had found in a safe-deposit box in Lucerne. She was the only other person who had access to it,” she said. “I hesitated to let her go, but we couldn’t afford to wait to find out what might be going on with the vaccine, and who might be involved. Even if their plan was thwarted, we need to take action. And justice needs to be done for Brent. He was a valued employee of ours, and he was very special to Mia.”

Gio nodded. “I understand.” But why was she telling him this?

“I need you to go help her, Gio.” Mrs. Moncure gazed at him with pleading eyes. “I need you to go to Switzerland.”

Another barrage of questions assaulted his battle-weary mind, and the first one shot out of his mouth. “Why me?”

Mia’s grandmother gave him that soul-deep stare. “Because I’ve seen the way you look at her when you think no one is watching.”

Heat rushed to Gio’s face. Damn, had it been that obvious?

“I don’t need to tell you that I’m more of a mother to Mia than Catherine, and I know my granddaughter as if I gave birth to her. When she looks at you, I see fear and longing that breaks my heart. She’s afraid of how deeply she feels for you. Mind you, she’s never told me that, but Mia’s not one to share her feelings—especially since her dad died.” Sorrow weighed in Mrs. Moncure’s words. He had heard how much losing her son had changed the dynamic of the Moncure family forever, and not necessarily for the better.

Gio could only hope Mrs. Moncure was right about Mia and how she felt about him. He’d have to find a way to help her work through her fear. And as for the way he looked at Mia? He couldn’t deny it. But if Mrs. Moncure had seen it, who else had noticed it, too?

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Everyone else is too busy with their business to catch the things I see.”

He’d known the woman was shrewd, but now he would swear she was a mind reader.

“I don’t know what’s going on between you and Mia,” she said, “but I’m pretty certain you have an emotional investment in her. You also have a lot invested in the One Shot campaign and the vaccine that’s going to halt a flu epidemic.”

Gio gave her high marks for optimism, considering how bleak things were looking right now.

“I consider you part of our inner circle,” she continued. “I trust you to keep our business confidential, and not to sell out—which I suspect is at the root of what’s going on here.”

Gio tried to follow her and figure out where she was headed, all while struggling to keep his emotions from blocking his way.

“So here’s my proposition,” she said. “I want you to go to Switzerland. Mia needs your help. I could get a private investigator, but that would be a security risk itself. Moncure Therapeutics can’t afford even a whisper of a leak that something questionable might’ve been going on during the development of our vaccine. No one knows about this except Brent’s mother—who has only topline information—Claude, Mia, you, and me. I don’t intend to tell Catherine, Matthew, or Richard until we have more facts.”

Gio’s mind raced with all the reasons he had to say no. But how could he?

“Mia needs someone with her who knows the people involved—the emotions and the stakes,” Mrs. Moncure said. “Someone she trusts, whom she can confide in, and who can make her feel safe, even if she’s not.”

That was a crap-ton of pressure to put on anyone. Gio might be willing to take it for the chance to protect Mia, but…

“I want to help.” He shook his head, the thought of someone harming Mia making him tighten his fists until pain shot up his arms. “You seem to know how much. But how can I leave my job right now? You’re clearly aware of what a critical time it is, and things could be worsening by the day. If Senator Moncure doesn’t know what’s going on, then how could I pull this off?”

Her expression told him she was ahead of him by miles. “You come down with the flu.” She let the idea settle.

That’s what Mia had done, and no one had questioned it—even him, and he’d known about Brent’s video. Why would they? The U.S. was in the throes of an epidemic, and anyone could contract the virus. Why not him?

“I’m in the loop on what’s going on with the communications plans,” she said. “You’re not with an alphabet agency, nor the White House. You’re on the bench at this point. There’s nothing your deputy couldn’t handle, especially with your direction. You could be sick, but still be in touch.”

“If Senator Moncure finds out that Mia and I are…” He had no idea how to express it. “I won’t have a job to come back to.”

Mrs. Moncure nodded slowly, her expression rueful. “That could be the case.”

The pounding in Gio’s head turned into a dull ache and he wondered if he might be getting the flu for real. He bowed his head and tried to focus on the debate he was having with himself, as if there were really two sides. He had to go to Mia. He had to take that risk. Someone had tried to kill her. Anger boiled up inside of him. He’d be damned if he’d let that happen again.

He sat up straight and set his gaze on Mrs. Moncure. “I think I’m coming down with the flu.”

Her eyes sparked with approval. She opened her purse, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to him. “Here are your tickets to Zurich. Your plane leaves in three hours.”

…

Mia blinked awake at the sound of clocks chiming outside—and not just a couple of them. It took her a moment to get her bearings.

Hotel…

Lucerne…

Her body went rigid as the events of last night came rushing back to her. Despite the warmth of her room and the pile of blankets on top of her, she shivered. Someone had tried to kill her—or at least terrify her. Whatever their intent, she could’ve died, and whoever had tossed her in the Reuss River had been okay to risk either outcome.

She might live. She might die. Whichever… What kind of person thought like that, and could live with themselves? Mia was determined to find out.

The clocks kept chiming and Mia wondered what time it was. She pushed back the covers, got out of bed, and opened the curtains to reveal an overcast gray morning, and several of the clock towers where bells were ringing. Across the river was the Musegg Wall, part of the rampart walls dating back to the 1300s, and amazingly, almost entirely intact. On her trip here with Lila and her father, she’d been fascinated by the Rapunzel-esque towers built along the wall. As the cacophony of chimes continued, she remembered visiting several of the towers, especially the Zyt Tower that housed the oldest city clock, still working since the 1500s. It probably rang the first chime that wakened her, since it had the privilege of chiming every hour one minute before all the other clocks in Lucerne.