Never Miss

by Melissa Koslin

  “What do you mean? Lyndon, are you feeling all right?”

  “It’s quite obvious you’re not in the middle of exams,” Lyndon said. “Why would you lie about something so innocuous? And why are you being cagey? Has someone threatened you?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Kadance dropped her hand from Lyndon’s arm, ready to give him space, but he kept holding her other hand. She resisted the urge to put her hand back on his arm.

  Lyndon’s voice lowered. “I know you. This is not your standard behavior.”

  Grant smiled a little, like a parent might smile at a child saying silly things. “Understanding behavior has never been your strong suit.”

  “I’m also highly observant. I may not always understand the causes of behavior, but I recognize changes.”

  Dr. Grant said nothing.

  “What’s going on?” Lyndon pushed.

  Kadance guessed Lyndon had lowered his voice to hide his anger, but she heard the dangerous strand threaded into his tone. Based on his expression, Dr. Grant did not hear it.

  “This may be hard for you to hear, having been valedictorian at every one of your graduations,” Dr. Grant said with that same indulgent tone. “But you’re not perfect.”

  Kadance noticed the slightest flicker of Dr. Grant’s eyes and the hint of emotion. “You’re jealous,” she said to Dr. Grant. “Of Lyndon.”

  Lyndon looked at her. She kept her focus on Grant, and Lyndon turned back to him as well.

  “Is it because of his multiple doctorates?” she asked Dr. Grant. “Has he published more papers? Is he more respected in the medical community?”

  Dr. Grant’s expression started to slip, darker.

  Lyndon just stared at him.

  “Three doctorates,” Dr. Grant said. “Do you realize how ridiculous that is? He had more credentials than I did when I was teaching him.”

  Lyndon continued to stare at Grant, but his expression shifted from shocked and confused to furious.

  Kadance continued pushing Grant so Lyndon wouldn’t have to. “He didn’t think himself better than anyone. Why did that bother you?”

  “He’s always thought of himself as better,” Grant said. “He didn’t even socialize. Still doesn’t. No one is smart enough to keep up with him.” Grant stood. “Well, there is at least one person capable of outsmarting you.”

  “What did you do?” Kadance asked. “Did you steal his research? Take his computer?”

  “You mean did I break into his apartment? Of course not. I would never lower myself to that.”

  Kadance lifted her chin as she deciphered what Grant was not saying. “You didn’t break into his apartment, but you did steal from him.”

  Grant crossed his arms.

  “You stole something,” Kadance said. “Then you gave it to someone. That’s who broke into his apartment. That’s who tried to kill him.”

  Grant dropped his arms. “Kill him?”

  “What did you steal?” Kadance asked. “Who did you give it to?”

  eight

  “WHAT DID YOU STEAL?” Kadance demanded again.

  Lyndon finally spoke, voice low and dangerous. “How did you steal it? I showed you all my work. Everything but that.”

  Grant seemed to be slowly deflating. “There were some notes on your desk in a folder, hidden under other files. I took a picture.”

  Kadance expected Lyndon to move toward Dr. Grant, maybe even intimidate him physically. He was younger, taller, and certainly much stronger. But he stood there, still holding her hand.

  “Why?” Lyndon asked. “I might have shared it with you had you simply asked.”

  Grant straightened. “Why? So you can show me how much smarter you are?”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” Kadance said. “He doesn’t care.”

  “You really think that? If he doesn’t care, why does he publish so much?”

  “To share his findings,” Kadance said. “To help everyone.” She sighed. She knew this about Lyndon having spent only a short amount of time with him—how did Dr. Grant not know? “Who did you give it to?”

  Grant crossed his arms.

  “Who!” Kadance demanded.

  Grant shifted back, and Lyndon looked at her.

  “I . . . don’t have a name,” Grant stammered.

  “How do you communicate?”

  “A forum on medical research. Someone messaged me. All I have is a screen name.”

  “How did you get the picture of Lyndon’s research to them?”

  “I posted it, and—”

  “You posted it? On a public forum?”

  “Only for about twenty seconds so he could get a screen shot. Then I took it down.”

  Kadance worked to control her tone. “You say ‘he.’ Do you have any way to confirm it was a ‘he’?”

  Grant paused. “His screen name is MedGuy.”

  “Do you have any idea why this person wanted Lyndon’s research? Did they specifically ask for him, or did they ask about Ebola research in general?”

  “They . . . uh . . .”

  “Can you bring up the forum posts so we can read the exchange?”

  “It’s been deleted.”

  Kadance glanced at Lyndon to make sure he was okay with her asking all the questions. He was still glaring at Dr. Grant and still holding her hand. Very odd. Odd behavior for him and odd that it wasn’t annoying her. She decided to keep pushing forward so they could get out of there as quickly as possible. “Tell us what you do remember about the exchange,” Kadance said to Dr. Grant.

  “I don’t really remember.”

  Kadance’s voice lowered into a steely tone. “Try.”

  “I . . .” Dr. Grant dropped into his chair.

  “This person flattered you,” Kadance said. “Am I right?”

  Grant glanced to the side.

  Kadance smirked. “This person called you the foremost authority on the subject, or something to that effect, right?”

  “I hold a chair on several—”

  “That’s a yes,” Kadance said. “After that, how did they convince you to give them confidential research?”

  Grant lifted his chin but didn’t look at Lyndon. “If he’s so concerned about others and so benevolent, why would he mind giving all his research away?”

  “Because it’s dangerous,” Lyndon growled.

  Kadance let her questions about the content of the research go for now and focused on getting everything she could out of Grant. “Answer my question,” she said to Grant.

  “Who are you to come in here and demand all this anyway?” Dr. Grant said to Kadance.

  “I’m not the one who stole intellectual property, Dr. Grant. Right now, I’m serving as a buffer between Lyndon and you. You should be thankful you’re talking to me, not him. You should be thankful he has enough self-control to stand there and let me do the talking.”

  “None of this has anything to do with you.”

  “You’re absolutely right. You should still be thankful I’m here. Now answer my question.”

  Dr. Grant barely glanced at Lyndon and then back to her. His tone lost the edge of defiance. “He said he works for Doctors Without Borders in Africa and is looking for any help he possibly can to help fight the disease.”

  Lyndon tightened even more. She squeezed his hand to ask him to keep calm for a few more minutes. He squeezed back. Somewhere deep in the back of her mind, she memorized what this felt like, holding his hand. It would never happen again.

  “Did they mention Lyndon specifically?” she asked.

  “I . . . Yes, I think so.”

  “Did they refer to him as Lyndon or as Dr. Vaile?”

  Grant paused. “Lyndon Vaile, I think.”

  “Did they say anything specific about him, other than about his research and his accomplishments in the medical field?”

  “I think I . . . remember a conversation about disappointment he hasn’t accomplished more.”

 
; Kadance realized . . . “You had a lot of conversations over time with this person, am I right?”

  “I speak with a lot of colleagues.”

  “What else did you tell them about Lyndon? How much did they already know?”

  “He said he’d read all Lyndon’s research, but it wasn’t enough. They can’t effectively fight the disease.”

  Man, this person played Grant like a master. “Did they seem to know about Lyndon personally?”

  “Just that I’m his teacher.”

  One of many teachers, one whom he thought he could trust. “What did you tell them about Lyndon?”

  “Nothing important.”

  “What do you mean ‘nothing important’?”

  “I didn’t give out his address, or anything. Whatever happened isn’t my fault.”

  “What exactly did you tell them?” Kadance demanded. “Did you tell them he keeps his research at home? That he buys storage units for a living?”

  “None of that is a big deal.”

  “Someone tried to kill him at a storage unit auction. Then someone ransacked his apartment and tried to kill him again.”

  Grant’s eyes got wide, and the wrinkles in his forehead deepened.

  Kadance looked at Lyndon, and her voice was quieter, softer. “I think that’s about all he has that’s useful. We should get out of here.”

  Lyndon nodded. Then he turned to walk out of Grant’s office, still holding her hand. Kadance looked down to make sure Mac kept trotting along beside her. She loved that Mac never minded when she had to be aggressive; he saw another kinder side to her, a side she really wanted to believe was who she truly was.

  They were out of the building before Lyndon let go of her hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “No.” He was silent the rest of the walk to the car, and his normal expression of bland intellectual curiosity had turned dark like storm clouds about to erupt.

  Kadance watched their surroundings carefully. She didn’t like Lyndon being out in the open like this, especially so close to home.

  They got in her car, and she started the engine. “Are you ready to get out of town now?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer. She started driving and let him simmer for a few minutes.

  Finally, he asked, “Will you drive around for a little bit?”

  “Okay.” She glanced over at him. He glared out the windshield, as if barely containing the urge to throw a fist through the glass. The change bothered her—not because he made her at all nervous, but because this wasn’t him.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re a horrible liar.”

  He took a controlled breath. “I know.”

  “You said talking is good for you, right? It helps you work things out.”

  He nodded.

  She glanced over at him again and caught something more than the anger. “You’re hurt. Let yourself feel that.”

  He looked over at her. “I’m enraged. He put people in danger. You could have easily been shot twice now.”

  “You’re hurt too. I can see it. It’s okay to be both.”

  He ran both hands through his hair.

  “You’re not used to so much emotion,” she said.

  “I’ve purposefully built my life on logic, not emotion.”

  “Because emotion is too hard.”

  He said nothing.

  “But if you don’t deal with it, it’ll eat you alive.”

  He took a breath, slower. He let a few seconds pass. “This is my weakness—understanding people.”

  “You can’t find the logic in why he would be so jealous and so willing to betray with almost no cajoling.”

  “He’s the only person with whom I’ve shared any of my work.”

  “And he’s probably the only person who understands how brilliant you are, and so the only one with cause to feel that level of jealousy.”

  He looked over at her. “You do have a scientific mind.”

  She laughed under her breath. “I just have more experience with people.”

  “The fact remains that we don’t know if my theory is factual or foolhardy.”

  “Can I ask what that theory is? You give away all your other findings, right? What made you keep this one to yourself?”

  “It’s a hypothesis on its way to theory. Not ready to be shared.” He paused. “And it could put people in danger. I can’t see all the angles yet.”

  “How could a scientific hypothesis put anyone in danger?”

  He hesitated.

  “I walked into this on my own, remember? You don’t need to protect me. I’m probably in the crosshairs already anyway. I should understand what we’re talking about.”

  He sighed. He sounded not so much frustrated, more resigned. “I started looking into the origins more closely, hoping to find something helpful, some common bond to all the various viruses within the genus Ebolavirus.”

  “Did you find a common bond?”

  “I think so.”

  “What is it?”

  He paused. “I think Ebola is man-made.”

  nine

  “MAN-MADE?” KADANCE ASKED. “Why would someone do that? Is that even possible?”

  “Yes, it’s entirely possible, given the correct knowledge base and motivation. As to what would cause that motivation, I have no idea.”

  “But . . . most major diseases have been around a long time, right? How long has Ebola been around?”

  “Since 1976. And we can pinpoint where it first manifested—near the Ebola River in the Congo.”

  “Could it have just been in nature but dormant, and only when people disturbed the wildlife did it infect humans?”

  “Something to that effect is usually the consensus. But there are several points that keep bringing me back to my hypothesis: One. If it was naturally occurring, I think it’s likely it would have been found in more than that one specific area. Two. If it was naturally occurring, it would have likely found its way into human populations long before 1976. Three. It was first found in primates, so some infer that humans simply didn’t come into contact with these specific primates until 1976. But not all the strains are found in primates, so I hypothesize that it did not originally manifest in primates but that someone used them as test subjects for certain strains.”

  “So, you think someone made the original strain as well as all the others?”

  “Perhaps one or two are mutations that occurred sporadically after the initial virus was released, but yes, I think most of the strains were designed. Someone experimenting, perfecting.”

  “But who?”

  “Someone with a strong understanding of microbiology.”

  Kadance pulled off the road into a parking lot and stopped. “Based on everything that’s happened, it sounds like your hypothesis is right.”

  “I can’t make that assumption. It’s the most logical leap, but what if I take action based on incorrect assumptions? It could make everything worse.”

  “That’s why I say you should just leave town, disappear.”

  “And what if someone plans on spreading the disease? Using it as a weapon? I can’t walk away and do nothing.”

  Kadance rested her head back on her seat.

  “I’m not asking you for anything,” Lyndon said. “You should leave town now, before you get any deeper into this.”

  She stared out the windshield at the beige stucco front of a bank for a few seconds.

  He reached into the back seat, surely for his bag.

  Kadance set her hand on his arm. “No. I’m not leaving you here in some random parking lot. You can’t go back for your truck. I’ll drive you where you need to go—just tell me where.”

  He paused. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “You’re not asking. It comes down to the same thing—you won’t just disappear and let this drop for fear you could’ve helped others, and I won’t leave when I can help you.”<
br />
  He looked at her.

  She took her hand off his arm and put the car back in drive. That same quivery sensation had shot up her arm at their contact, and she wasn’t sure how to react to it. “Where to?” She glanced at Mac in the back seat in the rearview mirror. He was sitting there with those big, round amber eyes looking right back at her. When Lyndon didn’t answer, she added, “It’s important to you to help if you possibly can. Then you should take whatever help you can get so you have the best chance of helping others.”

  He nodded.

  “Where to?”

  “I’ve been thinking about talking with an African Studies professor. I met him when I was at school at UCLA.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “He retired. But I know where his neighborhood is. He mentioned it in a random conversation one time.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Several years.”

  And he still remembered. She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “You don’t think he’s moved?”

  “It’s a family home. I don’t think he’ll leave until he’s dead.”

  She pulled up to the street. “Give me directions.”

  He told her which way to go, and she drove.

  “I’m impressed,” he said.

  “Impressed about what?”

  “How you handled Dr. Grant.”

  “I was hoping you didn’t mind that I kind of stepped in.”

  “I was at a loss once I realized he was hiding something. I appreciated your help.”

  “I think you just needed a few minutes to process that your friend wasn’t really your friend.”

  “I think that’s accurate.”

  “And understandable. You don’t let yourself get close to people, and so being betrayed by one of the few people you did have some kind of relationship with hurt even worse.”

  “Anger is a more accurate word than hurt, I think.”

  “You’re angry because you’re hurt.”

  He looked over at her. Then he lowered his gaze and looked away.

  She had the strangest urge to reach over and hold his hand. She ignored the urge. “So why infectious diseases anyway? Why did you choose that as your field of study?”

  “I chose my fields of study specifically so I could better understand Ebolavirus.”

  “Is there some kind of personal connection there?”