Acceptable Risk

by Lynette Eason

  “My father.” She glanced at the note and gaped. “Why does Mrs. Howard have my father’s address and phone number?”

  “Not gonna say how, but I know that address and that’s a pretty swanky crib,” Jimmy said. He swept a hand out to indicate her place. “What you doing living in this—uh—ghetto?”

  Jimmy always cleaned up his language for her. She found it funny and endearing. He knew she was in the military, but the sign of respect touched her. “For various reasons, Jimmy. The main one being I don’t get along with my father.”

  “I get that. You don’t gotta say nothing else.” He swiped a hand across his mouth. “I gotta split. You got my number if you need anything else.”

  “Thanks, Jimmy.”

  “’Course.” He backed from the room and disappeared into the hallway.

  Sarah pulled her phone from her pocket and called her father. He answered on the second ring with an abrupt hello.

  “It’s Sarah.”

  A pause.

  “So, you’re talking to me now?”

  “Why does my neighbor, Mrs. Howard, have your address and phone number on a sticky note?”

  Silence.

  “General?” she pushed.

  “She . . . uh . . . got in touch with me and said she needed to forward your mail to me. I came by and picked up the bag she had, and then we forwarded the rest to my address.”

  “You have it?”

  “I believe I just said that.”

  Sarah’s brain spun. “Wait a minute. How did she even know you were my father? I’ve never told her.” She never talked about him to anyone.

  He cleared his throat and the evidence of his nerves unsettled her even more than she already was. “General?”

  “I dropped by one day shortly after you moved in and told her to call me if she thought you needed anything.”

  Sarah fell silent, unable to wrap her mind around it. “Why?” she finally managed to sputter.

  “Because I needed someone to keep an eye on you.”

  Mrs. Howard was her father’s spy? “I’m coming to get my mail. Just put it on the front porch. Please.” She forced the word out in as pleasant a tone as she could muster. “Or, better yet, have Mrs. Lawson do it. Thank you.” She hung up and realized she was shaking. She curled her fingers into fists.

  Gavin eyed her with . . . what? She raised a brow.

  “He cares about you,” he said.

  “He’s using my neighbors to spy on me.”

  “He’s worried about you. If my sister or daughter was living here, you’d better believe I’d have some kind of spy network in place.”

  “You . . . you . . . ahhh . . . never mind.” Unable to figure out how to make him understand that the man didn’t worry about anything but his precious career, she let it go. For now.

  Gavin’s phone rang and he snapped it to his ear. “Caden? What’s up?” He listened for a few seconds, nodded, and caught her eye. “Thanks for the update.”

  He hung up.

  “What?” she asked.

  “They found Max.”

  “And?”

  “He’s dead. He was killed in a car wreck a few weeks ago.”

  Gavin stayed next to Sarah as she walked up the front steps of her father’s home. When they’d arrived, she had to have him buzz them in.

  Now she rang the bell and Gavin marveled at the differences between them. When he visited his parents, he simply walked in and hollered that he was home. Granted, those visits had been few and far between lately, but that was one constant that would never change. He’d always be welcome in his parents’ home and he’d never feel like he had to knock to gain entrance.

  “They have the wrong Max,” she said staring at the front door. “Wilmont said Max told him to deliver the pills. That Max has to be very much alive, because that was yesterday.”

  “I know, but it doesn’t make sense that that’s the only Max they were able to find at the hospital. And he wasn’t even an employee.”

  “But he was there on a regular basis. Dressed in scrubs and wearing an ID badge.”

  “I agree. It’s not adding up.”

  The door opened and an older woman with gray hair slicked back into a neat bun smiled at Sarah. “Sorry it took me so long to get the door. Come in, come in. Your father’s in his study.”

  “I don’t need to see him. I just need to get whatever mail he has.”

  “It’s in a box in the kitchen.”

  She raised her brows at Gavin, and Sarah sputtered. “Oh, Mrs. Lawson, this is my friend, Gavin Black.”

  Mrs. Lawson inclined her head at Gavin. “So nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” Gavin said.

  “Why don’t you follow me?” She turned on her heel to lead them through the foyer and into the small hallway that led to a kitchen any cook would be proud of.

  A white box sat in the middle of the ten-person table. Sarah made a beeline for it and pulled out a thick manila envelope. “This is the only thing that could pass as a package,” she said. She glanced at the front. “And it’s got my name but Mrs. Howard’s address on it. From Dustin.” Tears welled and she swallowed hard while still looking at the piece. Her fingers trailed her brother’s name in the left-hand corner.

  Gavin stayed put, giving her the moment.

  Footsteps in the hallway caught his attention, and Sarah stilled when her father stepped into the room. Gavin noticed her instant defensive stance. If she’d been a porcupine, every quill would be in the man’s throat.

  Sarah ignored him and slid a finger into a small hole at the flap and pulled. She reached inside and removed a stack of papers, a notebook, and what looked like a white envelope. “It has my name on it.” She opened the seal and pulled out a handwritten letter.

  “‘Dear Sarah,’” she read, her voice low and gravelly. “‘I miss you, baby sis.’” She looked at Gavin. “I was older, but he called me that because I was smaller than him.” Her eyes dropped back to the letter. “‘I’m sending this to Mrs. Howard because I know she’s getting your mail. I’d give this to you in person, but something happened the other day that’s got me a little paranoid. I think someone tried to kill me.’” She winced and Gavin held still, knowing she needed to do this. “‘I’ll tell you about that later after I find out if I’m right or not. If Caden hasn’t already told you, I’m doing an inpatient program at the VA hospital here in Greenville. I told myself it was to find out what happened to a friend of mine, but the truth is, I probably was hoping it would help me in my own struggle. Things are tough, Sarah, and I’m tired. Don’t tell the general, he’ll think I’m weak, but here’s the thing. I’ve got PTSD. You don’t know how much it pains me to admit that, but I’m telling you so you understand where I’m coming from. I’m involved in a trial drug program. I signed up for it willingly because I suspect that it’s not all on the up-and-up, but I can’t figure out why. So, you might say I’ve signed up to be a guinea pig to get some answers. Although, I’ll admit my surprise that the drug is an amazing thing. The nightmares have stopped, the constant anxiety and jumpiness is gone. I haven’t had a flashback in weeks. I can sleep again. I honestly don’t know how to describe the relief.’”

  A choking sound came from the man still standing just inside the door, and Sarah paused but didn’t look up. She drew in a shaky breath and blew it out slowly. The general scrubbed a hand down his cheek, and Gavin couldn’t decipher the look on his face.

  “‘And yet,’” Sarah continued, “‘something’s going on. People are dying by suicide. I’ve done some research into those involved and some things aren’t adding up. There’s a psychiatrist in Kabul who’s working with several doctors in the States. Her name is Emily Winslow. Any patients who exhibit PTSD symptoms are sent to her hospital. She makes the diagnoses and prescribes the medication. She then writes the discharge order and sends the patients home to be treated at their local VA hospital.’”

  The general gasped and Sarah finally looked at him. “Did
you know?”

  “No.”

  “But you were the one who asked her to discharge me with the diagnosis.”

  “I did, but not because I knew anything about this trial.”

  “Was Dustin officially discharged?”

  Her father shook his head. “I found out he got out the day he . . . died, but I never asked whether his tour was up or if he was discharged. I’m guessing since he was in the VA psychiatric ward for close to three months, Winslow discharged him like she did you.”

  “Might want to find that out.”

  He nodded. “Keep reading, please.”

  “‘Anyway, I saw the piece you did on the bombing of the orphanage in Kabul. That was truly great work. I could feel the pain. Your article wept with those suffering and I was so proud—’”

  Her voice cracked and she swiped a stray tear. Gavin wanted to gather her in a hug and take away her pain but didn’t think it was the right moment. Another shuddering breath and she read on.

  “‘—so proud to tell everyone you were my sister. You’ve got a real gift for words and I hope you’ll continue to use that gift to keep impacting lives.’” She paused. “‘I don’t think I’ve ever told you anything like that before and I just felt like I should. Okay, back to the issue at hand.’” Sarah focused on Dustin’s final words. “‘I’ve included a list of all of the vets who were a part of the program. I had to get a friend to help me hack into Winslow’s computer, but I found what I was looking for. I don’t know that she’s actually hurting people, but not sure she isn’t either, because people are dying. It took me a little bit to figure out the names on the list are people who were a part of the program. When I came across my name, the drug they’re testing, and the dosage amount, it was pretty easy to deduce the rest of it. But then there was a second list. Twenty-six names, also with the name of the drug and the dosage. I tried to get ahold of a few of them to ask if they were part of the trial and I couldn’t get one person on the phone. I found obituaries for six of them. They’re from different parts of the country, but that can’t be a coincidence. Since I’m not sure someone isn’t trying to kill me, I figured with your bloodhound nose and bulldog tenacity, I’d send this to you and you’d figure it out. Please be careful. Ask Caden for help if you need it, but don’t let anyone else know I sent you this stuff. The journal is just for you to put in my safe-deposit box. You know where the key is. Don’t read it. It’s not your business. I just want it someplace safe in case the worst happens. And now that I’ve said that, you’re the only one I trust to do the right thing and actually not read it. A journalist with ethics. That’s a new concept, isn’t it? Seriously, thanks, Sarah. I’m looking forward to seeing you at Thanksgiving. Tell the general . . . well, I don’t know what to tell him. Tell him I hope we can all do Thanksgiving together and I’ll call him soon. I’m talking to Caden so you don’t have to tell him anything. Ha. I love you, baby sis. I can’t wait to see what you do with this story. This might just be the one to catapult you into that dream job you used to talk about. Anyway, I’ll keep sending information as I come across it. Bye for now. Dustin.’”

  Tears slipped unchecked down her cheeks, and the general backed out of the kitchen, palms pressed to his eyes.

  Gavin stepped next to Sarah. “Can I do anything?”

  She shook her head and sniffed, grabbed a paper towel from the roll near the sink. “No, there’s nothing anyone can do.” She nodded to the package. “What do you think about this?”

  “I think Dustin thought he was on to something. And that note doesn’t sound like a man who was thinking about killing himself.”

  “No, it doesn’t. So what changed?”

  Gavin leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “I don’t know, but I think if we follow the trail that Dustin’s left us, we might find out why. Someone wanted that package bad enough to trash your place looking for it—and then stage a hospital fire in order to snatch you in a moment of chaos. That says a lot right there.” He paused and frowned. “Sarah?”

  “What?”

  “Why did he send the package here? Why not to your address in Kabul? Or even the school where you were known to be teaching each week?”

  “I sent him a text that I had some leave coming up. I was going to fly home to see Ava for a couple of weeks, hang out with Caden for a few days, then head back to Kabul—as long as I wasn’t in the middle of a story. Dustin knew I’d eventually stop by my apartment.” She paused. “He also knew my neighbor would be collecting my mail. And . . . he knew he’d be here.” She rubbed a hand down her cheek and switched gears. “I wonder if Lucy’s sister was involved in this drug trial.”

  Gavin picked up the papers from Dustin and flipped through them. “Quite a stack here.” He pulled out a map of the United States. “Check this out. What do you think those little red dots mean?”

  “I don’t know, but they stretch from coast to coast.”

  He spread the papers out on the island. “There are two sets of data with names and meds and dosages just like Dustin said.” He pointed. “There’s his name.”

  “So, this is the list of those who volunteered for the trial.”

  “Looks like it.”

  Gavin pulled out another list. “So, who are these people?”

  She scanned the paper and gasped.

  Gavin stilled. “What?”

  Sarah tapped a finger on a name they both recognized. “Brianne Davis,” they said in unison.

  “And look whose name is just above hers,” Sarah said.

  Gavin’s eyes met hers. “Helen Craft.”

  “I guess that answers that question.” She nodded. “And the last name on the list.”

  “Terry Xia?” He straightened. “I think we need to have a talk with the detectives.”

  “I’ll call Elliott when we get on the road. Right now, I’m going to tell your father goodbye,” Gavin told her.

  “Help yourself. I, for one, am itching to get out of here.” She walked out the front door after giving Mrs. Lawson a hug.

  If Travis and Asher hadn’t been stationed outside the gates, Gavin would have stopped her. Instead, he let the men know she was headed for his truck while he hunted the general down. He found him in his office and offered his condolences once more. With a wave of his hand, the general dismissed him. Gavin didn’t take it personally. He could tell the package and Sarah’s attitude hung on him like an albatross.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Gavin said. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

  “Just keep her safe.”

  His distracted order almost made Gavin pause and spur him to ask if there was something else going on, but the man didn’t invite that kind of relationship, so Gavin kept his questions to himself. He hurried to the kitchen and grabbed the rest of the mail Sarah had left, then rushed down the front steps to his truck. She was sitting in the passenger seat, the contents of Dustin’s envelope spread over her lap and the dashboard.

  “I wish you would’ve waited for me.”

  “This place is a fortress.” She turned a page. “No one’s coming through those gates unless the general opens them.”

  “Or someone forces him to.”

  She shot him a pained look and went back to Dustin’s materials. Gavin decided to shut up and not even mention the possibility of a drone strike. It sounded far-fetched, but so did Iraqi terrorists on American soil looking to take Sarah out because of her father.

  Far-fetched, but not impossible. Nothing was impossible.

  However, while Sarah had an impulsive side, she wasn’t stupid and could think for herself. Every moment he spent with her just reinforced that. And yet, the desire to protect her—even from herself—wasn’t something he could just ignore. So, he’d do his best and pray that was enough.

  Sarah rubbed her forehead.

  “Headache?”

  “Yes.”

  He opened the glove box and handed her a bottle of ibuprofen. She took two and replaced the bottle. �
��I need to call the detectives,” Gavin said, “or call Caden so he can meet us and we can show him what we found and he can call the detectives.”

  “Sure.” She leaned her head back once again and closed her eyes, her fingers clutched around the manila envelope. “Sounds good.” A slight pause. “Let’s go to Caden’s house so we can study this stuff some more.”

  “I like that plan.”

  He let Travis and Asher know what they were doing, then drove in silence for a few minutes. Sarah still had her eyes closed, and her frown pulled her brows together over the bridge of her nose.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “Dustin.” She glanced at him. “I just can’t get past my confusion about his actions. I know I sound like a broken record, but if there wasn’t concrete proof that he jumped, I’d swear he was murdered. I feel even stronger about it now that I’ve read this letter.”

  Gavin nodded. “I have to agree with that.”

  “Tomorrow, I want to go by the VA hospital.”

  He shot her a frown. “Why? What do you have in mind?”

  “It’s just an idea. Maybe a stupid one, but Dr. Kilgore is involved in all of this somehow—and probably that nurse, Donna.” She paused. “I have a feeling they’re closer to the bottom of the food chain, though, and someone else is calling the shots with whatever is going on at the hospital.”

  “Then we’ll see what we can find first thing in the morning.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-ONE

  Lewis dropped his head into his hands and studied the photos in front of him. He’d taken a huge chance in opening the package Dustin had sent Rochelle . . . Sarah. As soon as Mrs. Lawson had told him she was coming to the house and that she’d asked about her mail, he’d known something was up. Only something of dire importance would bring her into the same air he breathed, and he’d gone looking.

  Fortunately, he’d been extremely careful and she hadn’t noticed the small slit or the extra tape. He’d read Dustin’s letter and hadn’t seen anything terribly incriminating in it. He’d simply placed it in a new envelope and written her name on the front, copying Dustin’s writing as close as he could. He’d had to wait two hours for his hands to quit shaking in order to write her name—a clear sign of just how rattled he’d been by the pictures and other information Dustin had sent.