Under the Microscope (14 page)

“She mentioned the name,” Raine said. “But you don’t have to talk about her. She doesn’t really have anything to do with the two of us.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Hear me out.” Max glanced at her, then returned his eyes to the road. “Charlotte reminded me of you in some ways. She was divorced and childless, and had a good job until the company was bought out and they cut her loose with nothing. The job market was tough, so she picked up a few shifts at the hospital gift shop and tried to make it work. That’s where I met her.” He shrugged. “I noticed the resemblance, but she was completely different from you in other ways. For one, she wanted a husband and kids.”

“In other words, she wanted to be a stay-at-home mom.” Raine braced herself when he made another high-speed lane change. She wasn’t sure whether he was trying to outrun pursuit or something else. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I respect the choice. It’s just not what I’m looking for and we both know it.” She let her hand drop to her belly, where Rory’s child had once
grown. “And it’s not that I don’t want kids ever. It’s just that…” She blew out a breath, frustrated. “How did this get to be about me?”

“It isn’t. I was telling you about Charlotte and why I don’t do rescues anymore.” He paused, then continued, “She moved in with me pretty quickly, maybe too fast, but sometimes these things happen quickly. I helped get her into a nursing program, found her part-time work at the hospital. She was getting on her feet, getting stronger, and…” He shrugged. “It stopped working.”

Raine tightened her fingers on the door handle as she remembered what Ike had said. “She didn’t need you anymore.”

She expected an argument. Instead, he inclined his head. “Maybe. It’s taken me a while to admit, but yeah, that’s probably part of it. Once her gratitude wore off, we weren’t a very good fit. I came home one day and she was gone without a word.” He grimaced. “Felt familiar.”

“Except that I didn’t take off with your furniture. I didn’t take anything of yours.”

“She took
things.
You took something else.”

Unwilling—maybe even unable—to go farther down that path, Raine said, “I didn’t mean to. I don’t know what I meant to do, but regardless, I didn’t handle it well.”

“It’s over,” he said firmly. “And probably for the
best. Once your life got itself back on track, you and I would’ve been a worse fit than Charlotte and I turned out to be. You’ve already got yourself a family. Rainey Days.”

“That’s right.” But was it, really? Jeff wasn’t who she’d thought he was. Tori was a friend, true, but her other employees were acquaintances at best.

Raine was reminded of the melancholy she’d felt while watching the Thriller ad and seeing the love on-screen. Silence stretched thin between them, tense with the things that had been said, with the things that were left yet unsaid. Then Max yanked the wheel, sending the car hurtling out of the high-speed lane without warning.

Raine squeaked and hung on to the door handle as they flew into a rest area going way too fast, by passed the gas pumps and returned to the highway without stopping.

Max glanced over at her. “Sorry. Just checking for a tail.”

“See one?”

“No.”

Raine pinched the bridge of her nose where a tension headache had taken up permanent residence four days earlier. “Then don’t you think it’s time you told me what the hell happened back at
the hotel? Why were those men shooting at us? And who is Charlie?”

He took one hand off the wheel and patted her knee. “Don’t worry about it. You’re safe with me.”

She picked up his hand with her thumb and forefinger, returned it to his side of the car and dropped it in his lap to make the point. “In case you missed the first half of our conversation, we agreed that I’m not a damsel in distress. I’m every bit as much of a functional, capable woman as your Einstein, and I’d appreciate it if you’d treat me as such. You can start by briefing me on my case. Got it?”

That earned her a long, measured look followed by a short nod. “Okay. If you insist.” He paused, then said, “Have you ever heard of The Nine?”

“Like from
The Lord of the Rings
?”

“Not quite. Or maybe that’s where they got the name, but not the premise. It’s a myth.” He blew out a breath and contradicted himself. “At least I thought it was a myth. But then my very reliable informant tells me he has evidence that The Nine are behind the Thriller deaths and the attacks on you and me.”

A chill skittered through Raine, a sizzle of mingled excitement and dread. Excitement at the thought of identifying a foe. Dread that the case seemed to be growing bigger and more dangerous than either of them had imagined it might. “Tell me more.”

He eased up on the gas as they flew past a speed trap, then put the hammer back down when the cop didn’t pursue. “Supposedly,” he said, “The Nine is a group of very powerful doctors and scientists—exclusively men—who have taken it upon themselves to regulate the progress of the biotech industries. Their resources are rumored to be nearly unlimited.”

“That’s like something out of a B-rated movie.” Raine looked at him, waiting for the punch line. When it didn’t come, she said, “It’s impossible, right?”

“It should be. But what if it isn’t? It never seemed logical that a single enemy could be powerful enough to simultaneously engineer the four Thriller deaths while attempting to frame you, then blowing up the office when it seemed like the frame might not be working.”

Raine shivered, though Max had cranked the vehicle’s heater up to the highest setting. She was quiet for a moment before she said, “According to Ike, Jeff’s sick brother got his transplant last month, paid for by a private benefactor.”

Max nodded grimly. “That’s consistent with this crazy theory of Charlie’s.”

“Did he have any proof?” Raine couldn’t believe she was even considering this as a valid possibility. That
they
were considering it.

“A data disk. He said I should use it to take down The Nine, that they suppressed a drug that could have saved his wife. I’ve got Ike looking at it now. She’ll call me on the disposable cell when she has something.”

“What do you think could be on the disk?”

He shrugged. “Not sure.” Then he glanced at her. “But Charlie’s day job was acting as an attorney for Pentium Pharmaceuticals.”

“Which has a Thriller competitor in the pipeline,” Raine said, voice growing grimmer as too many seemingly unrelated pieces of information started to fall into place. Anger surged alongside confusion and she turned to Max. “Why aren’t we taking this to Detective Marcus?”

“Because while I think we can trust Marcus, I’m not sure about his superiors, and I have my doubts about Agent Bryce. Besides, all we’ve got are conjectures based on an urban legend. You think that’s going to stand up if someone higher in the system is working to block us? I don’t. Worse, the cops still have the data ghosts, which go a long way toward suggesting that you’re in on it.” He shook his head. “I’m not willing to take the risk.”

“In other words, we need to find enough evidence to prove this urban legend regardless of who is applying pressure, then take it to the authorities.”

“While also staying ahead of the guys who tried to gun us down earlier,” Max added.

Raine thought of the silver-haired guy. “Did you recognize the man who got out of the limo?”

“No, but I’ll call Ike with a description. She can do her thing while we’re working this end.”

“Trying to figure out how and why the dead women were killed.” Raine hugged herself. “God, somehow it all seems much more real now that we’re talking about the who and why of it.” And now that she’d been shot at. The fire and the explosion had been awful, but they had been destructive forces aimed at buildings, not direct attacks.

The early morning chase left no room for debate. Someone wanted her and Max dead.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softening a shade. “You’re not a victim or a rescue, but I’ll protect you anyway. You know that, right?”

A lump pressed unexpectedly in her throat when she nodded. “I know.” She would have to make that be enough, for both their sakes. She sniffed back a surge of wistfulness. “And since I’m not a victim or a rescue, I’ll expect you to keep me informed and let me be involved in talking to the families.”

When he hesitated, she said, “This is my career we’re talking about, Max. My life.”

Finally, he nodded. “Okay.”

She held a hand across the small space. “Partners?”

He snorted. “William wouldn’t think much of me replacing him.” But he took her hand. Instead of shaking it, he held it for a long moment while his skin warmed hers. Then he squeezed her fingers, sending a fine hint of warmth across her nerve endings, one that intensified when he said, “You got it.”

But he didn’t say the word, emphasizing what Raine already knew. He would always see her as fragile and in need of protection. Never as his partner.

Never as his equal.

THEY BYPASSED NEW YORK CITY, to avoid both the traffic and the possibility of picking up a tail, on the off chance that the offices of Vasek and Caine were under surveillance. Still, they ran into traffic and it was nearly 10 a.m. before they reached the suburban Philadelphia address Ike had found for James Summerton, the husband of the first reported victim.

When Max had parked in the driveway and shut off the rental car, Raine sat for a moment, gathering her courage.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes. We need to do this. And it helps knowing that if we find a real explanation for what happened, it might give the victims’ families some added peace. Maybe not now, but later.”

But still, sick knots coiled in her stomach as they walked past a boxy sedan and followed the neat brick pathway up to a single-level house. The walls were white vinyl, and the shrubs flanking the side door were wrapped in burlap and coated with a layer of ice and snow. The house looked tucked in for the winter, with only the half-mast flag in the front yard and the strip of black bunting across the kitchen window attesting to the recent tragedy.

When Max moved to the door, she waved him back. “I’ll do it.” She mounted the short flight of stairs and rang the doorbell, hearing it chime inside the house.

There was no response.

She pressed the bell again, then opened the aluminum storm door and knocked on the inner wooden panel. “Mr. Summerton? Anyone home?” Maybe he’d gone to work, she thought, though that seemed odd so soon after his wife’s death.

Then she heard a baby’s fitful cry. The sound brought back that first phone call and the sound of a man’s voice saying,
My wife Cari is dead…she took Thriller…we have a baby.

God.

Suddenly panicked, Raine turned and stumbled down the steps. Max caught her upper arm in a firm grip. “Running away?”

“No.” She stopped as the door opened behind her. “Of course not.”

Only she had been about to run, and they both knew it.

“Can I help you?” A man stood on the other side of the door with a cloth slung over his shoulder and a puzzled expression on his face. He was in his late twenties or so, average looking, dark haired and green eyed, wearing decent catalog clothes. He focused on Raine, scanning her from her sensible boots to her jeans and sweater. “Are you from the nanny agency?”

Behind him, the baby’s wails escalated rapidly.

Raine stepped forward and raised her voice to be heard over the cries. “Mr. Summerton, I’m Corraine and this is Max.” She used her full first name in the hopes that he wouldn’t immediately connect her with Rainey Days. “We’re with a group that’s investigating pharmaceutical-related deaths. I hate to bother you right now, but could we have five minutes of your time?”

While she spoke, his face transformed successively from hopeful to shattered, then wary. “Are you reporters?”

“No,” Max said from the bottom step, where he seemed smaller and less imposing than he did on level ground. “We’re with Vasek and Caine Investigations.” He opened his wallet and pulled out a
business card. “Can we come in and ask you a few questions?”

Summerton looked ready to refuse, but just then the baby’s cries went silent. He cast a panicked look over his shoulder. “Fine. Shut the door behind you.”

Raine entered the house with Max at her heels, and followed James Summerton through the kitchen and into a small sitting room. She got a sense of a tidy, ordered home overlaid with a layer of clutter. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink and things looked vaguely out of place, as though they’d been put down and forgotten by a man used to his wife picking up after him.

“There she is!” Summerton made a valiant effort to interject joy into his voice, but Raine could see the toll of grief in the slump of his shoulders when he leaned down and plucked a small, pink-clad child from a folding crib. “There’s my girl!”

The baby—little more than a year old—looked over his shoulder at the strangers and opened her mouth to howl.

Then she stopped. Smiled. Cooed.

And reached for Raine.

“No, baby. She’s here to talk to Daddy.” Summerton shifted his grip on the little girl and gestured Raine and Max over to a pretty chintz-covered couch. “Go ahead. Sit.” He looked around blankly. “Can I get you anything? I have…”
He trailed off. “Hell, I don’t know what I have. Cari takes—took care of the entertaining. And the grocery shopping.” He looked around again as though expecting her to be there.

“We’re fine,” Max said quickly. “And we don’t want to take up too much of your time. We’re just looking to get a sense of your wife’s medical history, and maybe some of the events surrounding her passing.”

Raine winced at his forthrightness, but it seemed to work on Summerton. He visibly collected himself and shifted his grip on the baby once again as she squirmed, still heading for Raine.

Thwarted, the little girl burst into loud, miserable tears.

“I’m sorry,” Summerton said, trying to shush the baby and looking close to tears himself. “I’m sorry, she misses Cari. Shush, sweetie, it’s okay. Daddy’s here. I’m sorry.”

“Here. Let me.” Raine transferred the dribble rag from Summerton’s shoulder to her own and plucked the baby from his arms. With motions honed by too many hours of babysitting to count, she perched the child on her shoulder and soothed her with a combination jiggle-bounce and circular back rub.