The Target (26 page)

Cheryl placed the device on the tray exactly where it had been, shoved the syringe back in her purse, and hurried out of the room. In the hallway, she spotted a man with a big camera and a tripod talking to a woman in a white doctor’s coat. They were setting up for the video already. Relieved that she’d completed her task just in time, Cheryl walked in the opposite direction, then made her way toward a back exit. Too nervous to wait in the clinic lobby, she went back to her car and pulled off the white coat. She was tempted to drive around until her nerves settled, but decided she didn’t want to lose her parking spot. The lot was already filling up, and once the reporters arrived, it would only get more crowded.

A small sandwich shop next door proved to be a perfect place to wait. The large spans of glass gave her a view of the clinic, and the shop served a decent cup of coffee. She ordered a bagel too, but couldn’t eat it. Twenty minutes later, Brickman’s SUV pulled into the lot. When he climbed out, she blinked in surprise. She hadn’t seen him in a few years and was surprised at how much weight he’d gained. No wonder he was getting the SlimPro implant.

Cheryl tossed her bagel in the trash, left the sandwich shop, and crossed back over to the clinic. An attractive woman in a red suit entered the building just ahead of her. Was she a reporter? Sometimes not watching television or any news made her feel disconnected, but most of the time she was glad to not be bothered with the distraction.

Inside the clinic, she found an empty chair in the corner about twenty feet from where Brickman and another man were staging for a press conference. They’d moved a tall lectern into place, and the fat bastard stood behind it, his hands on the top. Brickman had dressed well for the occasion in a charcoal-gray suit with a light-blue shirt, but neither concealed his girth. The lectern would hide most of his belly from the cameras, but it wouldn’t do anything for his upper body. Jonas had been so handsome when they were together, but his face was now buried under a thick layer of insulation.

More reporters gathered around the lectern. Brickman was too busy checking his tie and his notes to look over and notice her. Ten minutes later, he announced that he was ready to take questions.

The woman in red spoke louder than the rest. “Is this weight-loss effort connected to your run for mayor? And what if it fails?”

Cheryl nearly choked on her coffee. He was running for mayor? How did she not know this? More important, how could she stop it? Even though she hated politics, she wanted to protect her town from this heartless thief.

Brickman gave a tight smile. “I expect the people of San Diego to judge me on my platform and success as an entrepreneur, not my body. I’m getting the SlimPro because it’s effective, and I want to improve my health. I also want to show consumers that the product is safe and that the insertion is easy and nearly painless.”

Another reporter, a middle-aged man, cut in. “The product’s clinic trials indicate that only fifty-eight percent of the participants experienced a significant weight loss, and another twenty percent had some weight loss. What if this doesn’t work for you?”

“I’ll try something else. I’ve never given up on anything important.”

The woman in red asked about people gaining weight back when they stopped using the implant.

Cheryl was no longer listening. The bastard was running for mayor and gaining voters’ sympathy with this publicity stunt. He was shameless. She had to stop him. Should she finally go public with his treatment of her? Maybe sue him for her share of the SlimPro profits—‌just to give him some negative publicity?

Cheryl tried to tune back into his press conference, but her phone rang.

“It’s Holly.” Her assistant was whispering.

“Speak up please.”

“I can’t. The FBI is here. They have a search warrant, and they’re taking everything.”

Cheryl’s heart skipped a beat. How much did the feds know? “What are they looking for?” Cheryl tried to sound calm.

“I don’t know. I didn’t read the warrant.”

Was it real or another attempt by Brickman to steal her product? “How many agents?”

“Four.”

Good god, it was real. Panic gripped her and she couldn’t think straight. What if they had caught K and offered her a plea deal in exchange for testimony? Had the feds already searched her records? Cheryl was good about deleting texts, but the information could still exist at the phone company somewhere. Heart hammering, she tried to plan for the worst. If she went to prison, what would happen to her research? Would Santera abandon it? He’d never fully supported the idea.

And what about Amber? Her daughter would not only lose her mother, she might never get a treatment for her disease.

Cheryl stood, legs shaking so badly she had to grip the chair for support. She couldn’t go to prison. It was that simple. She wouldn’t survive in a cell, surrounded by idiots and criminals, with no access to a lab. A better option was to go into hiding and conduct her research in private. That life wouldn’t be much different than how she lived now. Amber might even be happier. Saul would take her daughter in. From there, Cheryl could cross into Mexico if she had to.

As she stepped toward the door, she heard Brickman say, “This product is the result of years of research and dedication. I have great compassion for people who struggle to maintain their weight, and I’m thrilled to finally be able to help them.”

Lying motherfucker!
She couldn’t let him get away with saying that. Not any more. Cheryl rushed toward the group, ready to grab a microphone.

Another reporter stepped toward Brickman. “One of your employees said you’d been questioned about the murder of James Avery. What’s your connection?”

Cheryl’s heart seemed to stop. Then her thoughts shattered into sharp pieces that rained down, each one cutting into her soul. Her father was dead? When? And the bastard had killed him? Confused, she froze in place. Why hadn’t her father’s wife told her? That jealous little cunt. Just because Cheryl had cut her father out of her life long ago didn’t mean she didn’t deserve to know he was dead. How dare Veronica keep it from her? Another sharp thought: How had she let herself become so isolated?

Grief and rage engulfed her—‌dark, sucking pain like she’d never experienced. Cheryl couldn’t bear the grief, so she focused on the rage.

Jonas Brickman had done this, and she would make the bastard pay.

The reporter’s question hung there, while Brickman’s face tightened and his eyes narrowed into slits. He spun around and walked toward the center of the clinic. Cheryl hurried after him. Someone grabbed her arm and tried to stop her. She shook them off and reached into her purse for her gun.

Dallas opened her eyes and glimpsed blocks of white and silver. But everything else was blurry, and the back of her head hurt like hell.

A voice in the distance said, “She’s coming around.”

Where was she? She tried to sit up, but a gentle hand pushed against her shoulder.

“Not yet. Take it slow.”

The room came into focus. Medical equipment, a partitioning curtain, and a man in a white coat. She was in a hospital. Her eyes closed again as she tried to remember what had happened. She’d been running on the beach and had passed under the pier. Someone had smashed her on the head. Dallas sat up, pushing the hand off her shoulder.

“How did I get here?”

“Two drunk young men brought you in around five this morning. They said they found you on the beach near the pier.”

“I don’t remember anything.”

“You were hypothermic. We spent hours warming you up.” He smiled. “But the cold water kept your brain from swelling, and we think you’ll make a full recovery.”

She shivered, instantly aware that she was still cold. “I have to get going. Where are my clothes?”

“Slow down. We need to know who you are before we let you go.”

“Jace Hunter.” She inched toward the edge of the hospital bed.

“It looks like you were assaulted and left to die. A police officer wants to question you.”

Left to die.
The phrase scared her. And she hated to be scared. But she was still alive, so dwelling on it was pointless. “What time is it?”

“Around one o’clock. In the afternoon.”

Oh fuck!
She’d lost more than half a day. River was probably freaking out. And Brickman’s procedure was scheduled at the clinic in an hour. It seemed important to be there. Dallas pulled out her IV line and swung her legs down to the floor, unconcerned about the flapping hospital gown. “I have to go.”

“You haven’t finished your antibiotics. Your white-blood count is high, so we assume you have an infection.”

“Just give me some sample packs to go. Where are my shoes? And my key and phone?”

“Your shoes are on the shelf over there, but I don’t know about your key or your phone. You were on the beach with waves washing over you.” The doctor’s voice was gentle. “You could have died.”

“I’m sure that’s what she had in mind.” Decker’s slick little operative must have circled back and followed her. Boy, she’d really blown that encounter.

“Who attacked you?”

“Don’t worry, my people will handle this.” Habit made her keep her agent status to herself.

“You should talk to the police officer.”

She didn’t have time for that. “Please bring my clothes.” Maybe the cop would give her a ride home, so she could retrieve her bag with her other phone and weapon.

“They were wet and bloody, so we threw them away. But a nurse will find you something in the lost and found.”

Bloody?
Dallas felt the back of her head and came in contact with a gauze bandage. “How much hair did you shave off?”

The doctor gave a sympathetic smile. “A couple of small patches that you can cover with the rest of your hair. And eight stitches.”

Not that she cared about her hair. She would shave her head if an assignment called for it. “Thanks for patching me up.”

“Take it easy for a while.” The doctor left the room.

Dallas stood and took a few steps. Yep, she was fine. She made a trip to the bathroom and was startled by how haunted she looked without makeup and proper body temperature. As she waited for a nurse to bring clothes, she realized her hair smelled like seaweed. None of that mattered. She had to call River. But the hospital room didn’t have a landline, just a call button for the nurse’s desk. Everyone used cell phones now.

A nurse brought her a baggy brown skirt and a lime-green T-shirt with a surfboard logo. “It’s all I could find in your size.”

They could have been worse. “Thanks. I had a house key in a zipped pocket in my shorts. Do you know if it’s still around?”

The nurse turned to a shelf on the wall and handed her the key.

“My cell phone?” It had been in an open back pocket.

She shook her head. “Sorry.”

Dallas dressed in the borrowed clothes, ignored her blinding headache, and pulled on her still-damp running shoes. Out in the hall, she found a young male officer waiting in a chair. “Hello.” She grinned at him. “Will you give me a ride home?”

“I’m glad you’re okay, but I need to get a statement from you.”

Dallas leaned in and whispered, “I’m a federal agent on an undercover assignment. We know who assaulted me, and we’ll nail her on several charges.”

The officer looked her over, skeptical. The lime-green shirt obviously wasn’t helping.

“You can call the bureau on the way. Let’s go.” Dallas started down the hall, and he got up and followed. She turned back. “But first, I need to use your cell phone and let my contact know I’m alive.”

River tried to talk her into sitting out for a while and taking it easy, but Dallas ignored her. “I’m going home to change and pick up necessities, then I’ll drive over to the clinic.” She glanced at the officer, not sure if she should use sensitive names out loud. At this point, it probably didn’t matter. “What if Decker shows up there? Can I arrest her?”

“Not yet. The team is serving search warrants at TecLife. As soon as we find anything solid, we’ll bring her in.”

“I saw Decker meet with someone who later tried to kill me. Isn’t that enough?”

“You said the unsub hit you from behind, so you can’t really ID her. Be patient, we’re almost there.”

“Did you find the perp in the database?”

“No, but we’ve got law enforcement all over the state looking for her.”

“Good luck. She’s a chameleon. Anything else?”

“The TecLife bacteria killed Palmer, which is why we’re getting the warrants. Good work.”

“It’ll stand up in court?”

“Curtis Santera gave you permission to take the sample.”

A version of the truth that was close enough. “Keep me posted.”

River started to speak, stopped, then finally said, “You had me very worried this morning, and I didn’t like it. Please be careful.”

Dallas chuckled. “It’s a medical clinic, where an overweight man is having a minor procedure. What could possibly happen?”

As Cortez drove toward the clinic, he kept second guessing himself and almost turned around. Maybe it was more important to question the scientists in the building where Avery had likely exited the walkway. Brickman’s wife had claimed her husband was home the evening Avery died, and as a mayoral candidate, the man had everything to lose by involving himself in a murder. Unless Avery knew something about Brickman that could derail his political career. Cortez still thought it was someone else in the company. Or two lower-level employees working together. It had probably taken more than one person to drag Avery into the cannery and bind him to the chair. Unless he’d been drugged first. Yet Brickman was a big man who could have pulled it off by himself.

His mind more settled, Cortez pulled off the interstate and turned on Broadway. A few blocks later, he spotted the clinic and its packed parking lot, including a couple of TV news vans.
Dang.
He didn’t want this to become a public spectacle. If he was wrong about Brickman, the man might sue him. Should he wait? He could go back to ProtoCell’s R&D facility and question everyone. Brickman wasn’t going anywhere and wouldn’t be hard to find later. Cortez pulled into the parking lot and sat, trying to make up his mind.