Intense. Like many of her powerful clients, Justice Greystone had a way about him that projected authority and control. Fallyn decided right then, with his dark eyes tunneling into hers, that she preferred to be on his good side. “Got it.”
“The ME already contacted Metro PD with the information about the drug interaction, so be expecting a call from them.”
“I will. Thanks.”
He nodded, threw a wave at Tony, and left.
She turned and found Tony staring at her. She stared back, sizing him up.
“What?” he finally said. “Do I have something on my face?”
He reached up, ran his hand over his mouth and his jacket flapped open again, showing off his broad chest and flat stomach. There was a gun hanging in a holster under his right arm.
Power, authority, control. Just like Grey. “Do you get along with your boss?” she asked.
His brows lowered a fraction. “I haven’t been with the team long. Still feeling my way around. Why?”
It was easier to analyze him than think about the fact Heather hadn’t shared her health issue. “Just curious. You both exude testosterone like bulls. Usually makes for a lot of ill will when you work together.”
All Tony did was grunt, but she saw the slightest quirk of his lips.
“I’d like to know more about the drugs in my sister’s system,” Fallyn said. “Especially before I have to talk to the cops. I’m going to huddle up and do some research. You game?”
“Absolutely. How about some breakfast? I’ll order it.”
Her stomach flipped. “Honestly, I’m not hungry anymore.”
Frustration passed over Tony’s face. Brief, but it was there. “Understandable, but you need to keep your strength. Some toast, at least?”
For some reason, she wanted to make him happy. Toast was a small concession. “I can probably do toast. Jelly too.”
He smiled and snatched up the hotel phone while she grabbed up the autopsy report and marched into the suite’s bedroom.
He followed a minute later, shrugging off his suit jacket as Fallyn fired up her laptop at the desk. He took out his phone, and plunked down on the edge of the bed, holding up the phone so she could see he was connected to the Internet. “What do you want me to search for?”
“I’m going to Google Long QT syndrome. Could you look up that drug Grey was talking about?” She leaned over and spelled it from the autopsy report. “P-e-r-i-s-o-l-a-d-o-l.”
“Got it.”
Fallyn read article after article, most of them serious medical papers that were way over her head. Room service arrived with toast, bagels, tea, and coffee.
Munching on a piece of toast with strawberry jelly, she finally found an article she could understand. “Get this,” she said to Tony. He was downing more coffee. “Long QT syndrome is a disorder of the heart’s electrical activity in which delayed repolarization of the heart following a heartbeat increases the risk of episodes of irregular heartbeat. These episodes may be brought on by a variety of reasons, including exercise and stress, and may lead to palpitations, fainting, and sudden death due to ventricular fibrillation.”
Exercise, stress—Grey had mentioned both were triggers and the article confirmed he was correct. “I wonder if she started taking all those supplements and vitamins after she found about her heart problem,” Fallyn said. “Her medicine cabinet at home is full of them.”
“Herbs and supplements can be dangerous to take while on other heart medications.” Tony swiped at a screen on his phone. “Some can cause excessive bleeding, lowered blood pressure, and a host of other complications.”
Finishing off her toast and brushing crumbs off her hands, Fallyn closed her laptop. “I don’t remember seeing any prescription meds at Heather’s place. I need to go have a look at her medicine cabinet.”
Tony was leaning back on the bed with one hand, his phone still in the other. He’d run his fingers through his hair, disheveling it. It was a good look, mussed hair. The rolled up sleeves of his button-down revealed a muscled—like the rest of him—forearm covered in an intricate tattoo. A compass woven with a sunburst and flowers that wrapped completely around from wrist to elbow. And, ooh, she wanted to know about that tattoo.
“You want to go back to the townhouse? Right now?”
“The police kicked me out, but they should be done collecting evidence by now, right? Even if they’re back for more, I’m going in.”
One side of his mouth lifted in a half smile and he hauled himself off the bed. “It’s not a bad idea. We could get a jump on this thing before the cops. Control the story.”
“I like the way you think, Tony Gerard.”
Midday traffic was much lighter than the morning rush. On the way to the townhouse, Fallyn pulled out her cell. Over a dozen calls and almost as many voice mails.
Crazy ass day.
But the voice mails had to wait. First, she scrolled through her contacts and found Allan Thymes’s number. There was no answer, so she left a message, asking him to call her back. She placed her next call to Jordan.
“Did you know Heather had a heart condition?” Fallyn asked.
Jordan hesitated. “A heart condition? What kind of heart condition?”
“One she was seeing a specialist for. You never made any appointments to a heart doctor for her? Or any other specialist?”
“She saw a nutritionist a couple of times. I didn’t think anything about it because it was right around the time she started her new diet and exercise routine.”
So Heather had been keeping secrets from Jordan too. “Was Heather obsessing about her weight?”
“Fallyn,” Jordan sounded perplexed and a little exasperated, “where is all this coming from?”
“Sorry, Jordan, I’m just trying to figure a couple of things out. Was she taking diet pills or obsessed with exercising?”
“Of course not. She had a full schedule and could barely squeeze in her weekly Pilates class, but she did. She ate well and took lots of vitamins.”
And yet, something had backfired.
Fallyn ended the conversation and tipped her head back against the headrest. First the tablet and now this revelation about Heather’s death.
When they arrived at the townhouse, anxiety pumped through her veins. She was out of the car before Tony put it in park.
“Dammit, Fallyn!” he bellowed. “I need to clear the place and make sure no one’s in there!”
She didn’t wait, hustling across the road. Yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the breeze.
Ripping it down, she flung the door open and grabbed a heavy, bronze candlestick holder Heather had loved as she passed the table in the foyer.
“Fallyn!” Tony stormed through the door, grabbing her elbow and whirling her around. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The place was still an utter mess but absolutely quiet. She could hear her breath whizzing in and out of her mouth, her pulse pounding in her ears. No cops or anyone else.
She raised the candlestick to show him. “It’s okay. I’m armed.”
Tony rolled his eyes and maneuvered her to the side. “Stay here and let me do a sweep.”
God, she hated bossy men. She jerked her elbow out of his grip. “Bullshit. I’m not staying here. I’m going upstairs to the bathroom.”
He was breathing slightly hard, too, having run across the road to catch up. Or maybe he was pissed because, my oh my, he had a look about him. “Listen up,” he said. “I get what you’re doing right now and that you need answers. I’ve been there. You getting killed because you’ve busted in on someone searching the place won’t help you protect your sister’s privacy. You have a job to do. So do I. My job puts you first. If you’re safe, you can do your job. So, right now, you’re going to plant your ass where I tell you so I can clear this house. And maybe keep you alive. Got it?”
Something released in her. A subtle click in her chest. Her shoulders dropped an inch, tension falling out of them like a
balloon bursting. Her lips turned up. “Okay. So that was kinda hot.”
He rolled his eyes. “Stay put or we’re gonna go at it.”
She might welcome that. A couple rounds with Tony Gerard would do her good. “Do you threaten all of your clients?”
Light from the wall sconce glittered in his eyes as he moved into her personal space and stared down at her. “So far, just you.”
Intimidating, much? She stood her ground, took a deep breath as he held his hand out, grabbing hers and squeezing.
“I’m here to help you,” he said. “Please believe that.”
“Can we compromise?”
“How?”
“I’ll follow behind you while you do your sweep.”
He didn’t like it, she could see it on his face. “Besides,” she said, “I’m safer with you.”
Ha. That got him.
He smiled, shook his head. “Unbelievable.”
“You know I’m right.”
Still holding her hand, he pulled her behind him, then let go as he started the sweep and it was all she could do not to be freaked out.
Not because she didn’t like his touch.
Because she did.
By the time they got upstairs to the bathroom medicine cabinet, perspiration had broken out along her hairline. She unbuttoned her coat and Tony helped her off with it. Avoiding his steely eyes and ignoring the sensations zinging through her from his touch, she avoided the broken glass from the picture frame still on the floor and went into the bathroom. There, she grabbed all of the bottles from the cabinet and came back to dump them on the bed.
Together, she and Tony sat on the bed and started going through the vitamins and supplement bottles. Sure enough, there were two small prescription bottles mixed in with them.
Neither sported the name Perisoladol.
Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket. She dug it out and let go of an annoyed sigh. Metro PD. A detective had left her a message earlier that he wanted to talk to her about her sister’s death. He was apparently persistent.
She clicked on the ignore button and sent it to voicemail. Until she understood exactly how and why her sister had died, she wasn’t going to talk to the detective. For God’s sakes, her sister had barely been gone twenty-four hours. Give me a couple of fucking hours to grieve.
She’d just put the phone down when it rang again. This time it was Dr. Thymes. “Fallyn, my dear,” he said. “My answering service told me you called. I’m so sorry about Heather.”
Dr. Thymes was at least 70 if not older. He’d been their doctor since they were kids. “Thanks for calling me back, Doc. I have a question for you. I assume you knew about Heather’s heart condition. Did you refer her to a specialist?”
“Indeed I did. Dr. Chen.”
Both prescription bottles listed Chen as the prescribing doctor. “Was Dr. Chen the only specialist Heather was seeing?”
“Fallyn, you know with the HIPAA laws and all, I’m not supposed to share information.”
“My sister is dead, Dr. Thymes.” There. She’d said it. Finally uttered the hateful word. Fallyn fought the wave of panic, shook her head. “At this point, Heather doesn’t care.”
Thymes cleared his throat as if he didn’t like her tone or the fact she was asking him to violate his deceased patient’s confidentiality. He complied anyway, probably because he was an old friend as well as their doctor. “Dr. Monica Chen is the best cardiac doctor on the East Coast. If anyone could help Heather, it was her.”
“So you didn’t refer Heather to anyone else?”
“As far as I know, Dr. Chen was her only other doctor.”
“Do you know if Heather might have been taking a drug called Perisoladol?”
The doctor repeated the drug name. “Definitely not with her type of heart condition.”
Then how did it end up in her system? “Thank you, Doc. Give Helen my love.”
“I will. Say hello to your father for me. He’s due for a checkup, you know. Especially after this.”
She didn’t know, but she added it to her growing to-do list.
Once they’d disconnected, she sat staring at the dozen or so bottles on the bed. “There’s no Perisoladol here, and our family doctor said that no competent doctor would prescribe that for her.”
“So maybe she got it off the street,” Tony said. “Kept it at her office or something.”
“Heather wouldn’t buy shoestrings from a drug dealer, much less a prescription medication. Besides, she was too smart to mix medications without doing research on them, and as you and I found, there’s plenty out there about Perisoladol and QT syndrome.” She waved a hand over the vitamin and supplements bottles. “Heather was so thorough, she probably knew the Latin names, uses, and side effects of every herb and concoction here.”
“Could your sister have been suicidal?”
Fallyn blanched. “Suicidal?”
“Sorry, that was tactless.” He raised his hands. “Just throwing it out there. Maybe she got her hands on one big dose knowing it would end it for her.”
“Never. I may not have known everything going on in her life, but she wouldn’t have done that. She wanted people to think she was perfect and she was pretty damn close. Her ego alone would have kept her from killing herself. She believed she could actually change the world, make it a better place. She had a mission. A calling. A purpose.” She shook her head. “No suicide. Definitely not. Why take all these health supplements if she didn’t want to live? Why bother taking the heart medications in the first place if she wanted to end her life? There’s no way she would have put her life in danger.”
“And no doctor would have either.”
Fallyn glanced at him. “Which means?”
Tony scrubbed his face with a hand. “Pure speculation, but maybe someone intentionally gave her that big dose of Perisoladol.”
Her blood ran cold. The implication was staggering. She couldn’t believe it, even as the words left her mouth. “My sister might have been murdered.”
Chapter Six
Fallyn led the charge down the long hallway of the Hart Senate Office building after they made it through several layers of security. Her quick strides scorched the floor. She could get those long legs moving when she put her mind to it, even in those damn heels.
She swung a left at the end of the corridor. Two doors down she stopped, gave the doorknob a flick and marched into an office. Bam. She was in. Tony followed her, shutting the door behind him.
A young woman, probably not even of drinking age, with short dark hair and a cute face sat at the reception desk, phone to her ear. As she spoke, a series of beeps and rings from the other lines echoed in the office. The young woman pressed two fingers into her forehead.
Busy day. Not unusual, Tony supposed, since they’d just lost the woman who ran this office.
He glanced around at the muted gray walls and oiled white trim. The place had a beachy feel. Kinda struck him as odd for a senator’s office, yet the Heather Pasche neatness and tidiness were present.
“Yes, ma’am.” the girl said into the phone while Fallyn hovered. “Thank you. I will have Jordan call you as soon as she’s back.”
She hung up. “I’m so sorry.”
She tapped buttons on the phone, silencing the other two ringing lines and looked up, her gaze landing on Fallyn, her dead boss’s twin.
If this girl didn’t know Heather had a twin, well, she might be thinking a ghost just wandered in because her mouth slid open and hung for a few seconds.
“Oh my God,” she said.
Fallyn stuck her hand out. “Fallyn Pasche. Heather’s sister. We haven’t met. You must be the intern.”
The young woman stared at Fallyn, her eyes glued to her face, mesmerized. With Fallyn’s hand hanging in midair, the intern’s gawking stare would have them sticking the landing in awkward territory.
Tony stepped up, gently pressed his hand against Fallyn’s wrist while he cleared his throat. The intern dragged her
gaze to Tony.
“I’m Tony Gerard. Supreme Court security and a friend of Fallyn’s. She needs access to Heather’s office.”
“Oh, um…”
“Yes,” Fallyn said, not missing a beat at him throwing his job title in there. “Heather has personal items that are missing. I think they’re probably in her desk.”
“I, uh.” The intern pinched her nose. Her badge ID read Emily. “Wow. I’m sorry, I can’t do that.”
Fallyn’s tone was downright frosty. “Excuse me?”
The intern winced, obviously realizing she’d just shot down a grieving sister. “Ooh, that was bad. I’m sorry.”
If Tony were a sighing man, he’d offer up the mother of all sighs. This kid? Way out of her league. What the hell were these people doing leaving a college kid alone after the death of a United States senator. One more time, he glanced around the small office, hoping someone might pop out of one of the closed doors—most likely offices—and rescue the intern.
Nope. No one popping. Unless he considered Fallyn’s red face and her head about to blow off. He held up a hand. “Is Jordan available?”
The intern snatched up the phone. “Jordan. Yes. She’s in the cafeteria, having lunch with her dad. Let me call her.”
Repressed energy flew off Fallyn, lacing the air, filling the small space with all that impatience, and nearly knocked Tony on his ass. He’d give her credit because she wanted to push by, get on with her search, but she stood still, her body stiff—controlled—as she absorbed the fact that a college kid had just refused her access to her dead sister’s office.
The intern cast her eyes downward, her gaze shooting to the phone, the desk pad, the stack of folders, everywhere but at them.
Yeah, way out of her league.
“Hi,” she said into the phone. “Ms. Pasche—uh, Fallyn—is here and needs to get into the Senator’s office. Would you please call me back?”
She disconnected and finally looked up at them, her lips forming a shaky smile. “She didn’t answer.”
“Well,” Fallyn said, “as you can imagine, I have a lot to do. Unfortunately, I can’t wait for Jordan. Here’s an idea I’m sure we can agree on. I’ll go into Heather’s office, start gathering what I need and you can go fetch Jordan. Then, if Jordan has a problem with me being in there, which, given the circumstances she won’t, she and I can discuss it. That gets you out of the middle.”
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