A Taste of Tragedy

by Kim McMahill

  Sofia grimaced. If I make such good decisions, how did I let myself get mixed up with J.R. on a personal level?

  She was even beginning to question their business relationship. He seemed so sincere behind closed doors, but in her experience, all men did while they were getting what they wanted. Eventually, though, they tired of the same woman and moved on to someone new and younger. As far as business was concerned, she feared how much he would ask of her and how far she would go to please him.

  Sofia sighed, resigned to the reality of her position. There was no point in arguing further. If she refused to go, there would likely be someone at her office on Monday morning “monitoring the situation.”

  “How soon do I need to be there?”

  “Well, first thing in the morning, of course. Now, they couldn’t run a manufacturing facility without a production manager, could they?”

  “That’s not enough time to develop a cover.”

  “Just use Candace Rogers. We went to all that work to create that profile and you barely used it. Besides, that name hasn’t been released widely to law enforcement or I would know.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea? Just because they haven’t put out an APB yet doesn’t mean they haven’t connected the dots. Maybe they’re playing their cards a little closer to their chests after learning about the bogus investigator reports.”

  “You worry too much. If they have made the connection, by the time they post an All-Points Bulletin and some law enforcement officer actually pays attention and figures out you’re in Arizona, you’ll be gone and we won’t use the alias again. This has to be taken care of in the next few days. There really is no point in letting this situation drag on.”

  “Very well.” Sofia capitulated.

  “I’ll have my private plane fly you out, which will reduce the risk of going through airport security. Be ready in two hours.”

  Sofia ended the call and finished running the last few blocks to her condo. She had a lot to do in a very short period of time.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Dawn hadn’t broken, yet Aaron was already hiding in the scrub next to Morgan’s house. He wasn’t crazy about the idea of creeping around in the dark in rattlesnake country, but he needed to make this quick. His ears were tuned in to every sound of the desert, and his eyes had adjusted well to the light of the fading stars and moon, eliminating any need for artificial light.

  As he crouched in the cover of the shadows, his stocking feet absorbed the coolness from the dirt. The feeling took him back to his first theft. The cheap rubber soles of his only shoes had worn through, rubbing a hole through his socks. At first, the flesh on the balls of his feet blistered. Eventually, the skin had calloused over, eliminating any feeling of pain, cold, or heat. But that didn’t make his situation fair.

  He’d desperately needed new footwear and had picked out a target. Every day, he’d watched the same teen, and nearly every day, the young man had on a different pair of sneakers. He studied his usual route and the shoes. He was sure they would fit. One evening, he followed the guy until they reached a spot with few others around.

  Walking up to the young man, he shoved his finger, concealed in his sweatshirt pocket, into his side and demanded the shoes. The terrified young man, thinking he had a gun in his ribs, quickly kicked out of the shoes and darted off the moment Aaron lowered his hand. It had been too easy, and had started him on the path toward his destiny and Sofia.

  The sound of the garage door raising broke through Aaron’s thoughts. He waited patiently as Morgan backed her car out, turned around, and the headlights disappeared down the lane. After several more minutes, he could no longer hear the vehicle’s motor. It was time to move.

  He crept out of his hiding place and jogged to the house. His visual inspection of the exterior of the home the previous day revealed no security cameras, so he didn’t bother to conceal his movements as he made his way to the sliding glass door at the back of the house.

  Climbing the three stairs leading up to the raised deck, he pulled on a thin pair of gloves. It took only moments to pop the lock on the sliding doors. Inserting a wedge in the track was such an easy way to add a layer of security to these types of doors that it always surprised him how few people bothered.

  Once inside, he punched the power button on the computer and quickly searched the rest of the house while the machine booted up. He found nothing interesting except for a photo on the mantel of her in a man’s embrace. They looked so happy and in love that it made him wonder if she was widowed. If she was divorced, it seemed odd she would keep the picture displayed. It didn’t really matter. He doubted he would ever learn about her personal life.

  After locating no information relating to the e-mails or the MFHG3 sample, he focused his attention on the computer. Looking through all the folders in the documents on the hard drive he found the three messages in a folder labeled “Important.” He was pleased to see that she had her e-mail set to stay logged in, so a simple click on sent messages revealed that she hadn’t sent any new e-mails to anyone since the time she would have discovered Stan’s messages.

  Aaron retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and tapped the first programmed number.

  “The bad news is she did download the e-mails to her computer here, the good news is it doesn’t look like she’s sent them to anyone. I’ll delete the files and damage the system.”

  “Good work. Get back here as soon as you can. I’ve got a bad feeling that J.R. isn’t going to let us handle this in-house after I told him yesterday that I suspected she took a sample from the plant.”

  Aaron disconnected, stowed the phone, and focused on the machine on the counter. With several clicks the files were gone. After accessing a few more locations on her computer, he was confident he had wiped out all the automated backup copies that might exist.

  He had good computer skills, but as an extra measure of insurance, after powering the computer down, he held it under the faucet, making sure to run water over the ports, keyboard, drives, and any other openings that might allow water inside the computer. He shook the excess water off the machine, figuring the rest would dry before she returned, and placed it on the counter exactly as he had found it.

  A few adjustments with the tools in his pocket, and he was able to repair the latch to disguise the fact it had been breached. Locking the sliding glass doors from the inside, Aaron let himself out the front door, locking it behind him.

  Jogging to the trailhead parking lot where he had left his rental car, Aaron glanced at his watch. If he didn’t get stuck in traffic when he reached the city, he should arrive an hour or so behind Morgan. He would call once he was on the road and make up some excuse for being late. He doubted she would question him since it was well known, especially to her, that he ultimately reported to Preston.

  * * *

  Unlike the previous Sunday night, Morgan had slept like a baby. Spending the entire day outside exploring the hills had pushed all the fear about her job out of her mind, and ample quantities of fresh air always seemed to tire her out completely.

  This time, her drive into Phoenix on Monday morning seemed like a minor inconvenience for the opportunity to spend a wonderful weekend in Sedona. She had found contentment in talking to old friends like Joe and Susan and exploring the hills behind her house. She felt grounded again, her priorities falling back into place.

  Maybe being married to Nick had made her more suspicious of people than normal. Hopefully, she would hear back from him soon, and he could put her concerns to rest once and for all. She wanted nothing more than to focus on building a life here. She normally enjoyed her career, but it would no longer rule her life. If she got a second shot at personal happiness, she wouldn’t blow it again.

  Morgan drove straight to GCF. She parked her car in the underground garage and made her way up to her office. Aaron’s desk looked just as it had when she left Friday, which she found odd. She had no idea how early he came in, but he always look
ed as if he had been at work for hours by the time she arrived. Rather than being concerned for his safety or upset with him for being late, she felt relieved. His presence unnerved her, and she doubted she would ever be able to trust him after the desk key incident.

  Logging on to her computer, Morgan scanned her calendar for the day and week and checked her e-mail. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary—a meeting with the financial team in the morning to go over her marketing budget for the rest of the year, and then a meeting with marketing later in the day to break the bad news she was sure to get from the finance folks. From her experience, budget meetings seldom went the way she hoped.

  Her direct line rang. Knowing Aaron still wasn’t at his desk, she answered.

  “Ms. Hunter, sorry, I’m running a little late. When I got up this morning, I realized I had no hot water. I notified the building superintendent and he assured me it would be fixed today. Anyway, to make a long story short, I went down to my gym to shower for work and then back to my apartment to dress, and now I’m stuck in the worst of morning rush hour traffic. As you know, I usually try to get there well before the traffic snarls heat up.”

  “No problem. You put in plenty of hours, so it’s not an issue. Thanks for calling.” Morgan hung up the phone and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Something was going to have to be done about Aaron. She couldn’t be effective if her assistant had her on pins and needles. Knowing everything she did and said would be reported to her boss was unacceptable.

  It was clear where Aaron’s loyalties rested. Maybe she could trade assistants with Preston or another vice president. That would be a very touchy subject, so it would have to wait until all the other questions running through her mind were settled.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Nick was surprised to see Devyn sitting at her desk. They had both worked late into the night, or more accurately, early morning, with the drug bust, closeout briefing with the other agencies, and paperwork.

  “You’re here early,” he stated.

  “And you’re not. What gives?”

  “We had a long night, or did you forget?”

  “You know, I was a little grumpy having to participate in an interagency sting operation that hasn’t been my baby from the get-go. I prefer to be in charge, but it was fun. My mind has been so focused on the Risky Research case that it was a nice distraction. There’s nothing like tackling a slimy, drug-dealing creep to get your motor running.”

  “Now I remember why you’re single. That statement would send most men packing, but I bet Sheriff Harris might just find that line of thought sexy. Maybe we can even bring him on board next time as a little romantic getaway for the two of you.”

  Devyn scowled at him but didn’t retaliate.

  Nick loved working with Devyn, but he’d never met a woman that got more excited about arresting someone than going on a true vacation. The thought of a vacation drew his mind to his and Morgan’s honeymoon in Mexico. He remembered every detail of the tiny two-piece she wore, of the luxurious bungalow on the beach they had shared, and all the time they’d spent enjoying being together, their jobs hundreds of miles away.

  He absently reached out and adjusted the mariachi gnome, straightening it on his desk. When he looked up, Devyn was studying him. He shook the thoughts from his mind and cleared his throat.

  “We’ve got squat on the Risky Research case, so we’d better get to work. I never had a chance yesterday to put out the info on Candace Rogers, aka Janice Green, so I’ll get that done today,” Nick said as he rifled through the stack in his inbox three times.

  “Looking for something in particular?”

  “I expected an overnight package to be waiting this morning.”

  “When are you going to let me in on what’s going on? For days, you’ve been uncharacteristically distracted, you keep staring at your phone, and now you return from your daydreams looking for a package.”

  Before Nick could answer, a young officer approached his desk.

  “Morning, Nick. This came yesterday, but since you were out I thought I’d hold on to it and bring it up when you got in this morning. It is addressed only to you, and I thought it might be personal,” the young woman stated as she glared at Devyn.

  Devyn grinned smugly in response. Several months ago, the officer had asked Devyn if she’d set her up with Nick. Devyn knew she’d probably laughed too hard and had declined to help in a less than polite manner. The woman left in tears. Since then, Devyn had become more of a pariah than ever with the female population in the building, but it hadn’t stopped them from throwing themselves shamelessly at Nick.

  “Thank you,” Nick replied as he grabbed the small box from the officer’s hand and stared at the return address.

  “There’s no name in the return address, but since the writing is so elegant, I thought it might be from someone you know.”

  “Give me your knife,” he ordered Devyn.

  Devyn handed him her pocketknife and gave the disappointed young woman a shrug and smirk. The woman took the hint and stormed off.

  Nick slit the box open and held a small vial up to the light. Next, he took out three folded sheets of paper and quickly read through the short messages.

  “Nick?” Devyn watched as the color drained from his face.

  “You’re back in the Risky Research game. Get this sample analyzed and read these. I have to go talk to Conroy. I’m heading to Arizona. You can drive me to the airport,” Nick stated as he strode out of the room.

  Devyn sat for a moment, stunned by Nick’s behavior. She picked up the papers and read through a brief cover note from “M” asking for analysis of the vial and three attached messages. Her eyes froze on the name Dexter Fowler.

  How can this be?

  She was torn between jumping for joy at getting a break in the case and complete confusion. A million questions swirled through her mind. Where did Nick get this stuff? Why hadn’t he told her about it? He was clearly expecting a package, but apparently surprised by the contents. And who was “M?”

  Her first instinct was to chase after Nick and demand answers, but he was obviously shaken by the box’s contents, and he’d asked for her help. She suppressed her urge to go after him, picked up the vial, and headed for the lab.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  “What are you doing here, Sofia?” Preston demanded as he walked into his office and saw her sitting in his over-sized leather chair behind his desk.

  He knew exactly why she had come, but he wasn’t happy. He suspected J.R. would send someone, but not his special pet. The fact that J.R. felt the need to call upon her did not bode well for his future.

  Sofia smiled, stood, and extended her hand. “Candace Rogers, your new Healthy and Delicious Foods division plant manager.”

  “I told J.R. I had everything under control,” Preston hissed through clenched teeth.

  “Apparently he didn’t agree.”

  At the meeting last week in Miami, J.R. was clearly concerned about the way he was handling the situation uncovered by Morgan Hunter. When Preston had learned about Stan’s attempt to get a private analysis of MFHG3, Coterie had taken care of everything, so he wasn’t surprised they were here now. Preston didn’t know the specifics of what happened to Stan or the analyst Stan sent the sample to, but both men were silenced.

  Normally Preston was perfectly okay leaving the dirty work to someone else. He didn’t have the stomach for it, but it still was emasculating to have J.R. send a woman in to clean up his mess. When he talked to J.R. yesterday, he could tell that the boss’s confidence in him had slipped even further. Now, damage control was out of his hands.

  “And what are you supposed to do?”

  “Monitor the situation and trouble-shoot as necessary.”

  Preston rubbed his face with his hands, eyes closed, trying to massage away the headache he felt coming on. How could he have known that hiring Morgan would stir up such a mess? He thought the MFHG3 questions were behind him, bu
t she had stumbled onto information left behind by Stan. This was all Stan’s fault, not Morgan’s, but he feared she would have to pay the ultimate price for her accidental discovery.

  If the truth about MFHG3 got out, it would destroy the company he had built, and if the company could be tied to Coterie, it might bring the whole consortium down. That’s what really worried Preston. He knew J.R. would stop at nothing to keep his group functioning, even if that meant eliminating a member.

  “I suppose there is no point arguing with J.R.’s newest plaything.”

  Sofia had to suppress the urge to demonstrate her most deadly martial arts moves on the man. Unfortunately, she could understand how he had drawn that conclusion, and it was partially her fault. She could have done a better job keeping her distance from J.R., but she had been flattered by his attention.

  In a moment of weakness, she had broken her number one rule to never mix business with pleasure. She was drawn in by his romantic gestures, and he was the first man confident enough to try to get close to her. She enjoyed the pursuit, but when they parted and she returned to her daily life, she always doubted his feelings. Men in his position seldom knew how to truly love one woman.

  “No, you would be wasting your breath,” she replied, shooting him her most intimidating glare.

  “So, what do I do?”

  “First, destroy your altered sweetener and return to using the product as it was originally developed and submitted to the Feds for GRAS status.”

  “But that will cut the slim profit margin by at least forty percent. Do you know how difficult and expensive it is to get hoodia and monk fruit in sufficient quantities to produce enough MFHG3 for our use? The only place hoodia grows naturally is the Kalahari Desert in South Africa. Monk fruit has only recently moved from being grown by small family orchards on steep forested mountain slopes to a more organized grower network.”