The Black Market DNA Series: Books 1-3

by Anthony J Melchiorri

  The adrenaline surged through her as she and Murray burst through the entrance to the hospital. She ran to the security guard. “A couple of gunmen held me up.” She pointed out the door.

  “What? Where?” The guard’s mouth fell open, and his brow furrowed.

  “Just on Redwood.”

  The guard dashed off, his comm card in one hand and his other reaching toward his holstered gun.

  “They didn’t hurt you, then?” Murray asked, looking up at Robin. His eyes darted across her body.

  She shook her head. “No, really, I’m okay. They stole my comm card.” She stopped herself before she told the man what else they’d stolen. As a member of the IRB committed to the ethics of research involving human subjects, Murray would disapprove of the additional cargo she’d transported out of the hospital.

  “That’s okay. Comm cards can be replaced.” He patted her wrist. “Lives cannot.” He glanced at the name badge she still wore on her shirt. “I’m sure you’re well acquainted with that fact, aren’t you, doctor?”

  “That would be accurate.” She folded her arms across her chest. More than anything, she wanted Chris’s arms to be wrapped around her, to be comforted in his embrace, but the thought of venturing out of the hospital any time soon, even when the sun peaked over the horizon, made her shudder. She glanced at the box of cigarettes poking out from Murray’s pocket. A rush of gratitude flowed through her, making her thankful he’d chosen that time for a smoke break. How lucky she’d been that he was around the hospital at all that early. A hint of skepticism cracked through the relief and gratitude. “You say you were on a smoke break?”

  The short man nodded and patted the pack. “I know, doctor, these things take lives.”

  “Apparently they saved mine.”

  “It was good fortune and nothing else that saved your life.” Murray held out his hand. “Conrad Murray.”

  Evidently he didn’t realize she already knew who he was. “Robin Haynes,” she said, returning the handshake. “Thank you for saving my life.”

  “I’d say those long legs of yours saved your life. Got away before those people even realized it.”

  “I’m not sure. More likely, they didn’t want to commit a murder with any witnesses around.”

  Police sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder. “Ah, the cavalry has arrived and not a moment too soon,” Murray said, shaking his head. “I’m assuming they’ll want to talk to the two of us. Were you headed anywhere in particular?”

  Robin regarded Murray, her heart still pounding and uncertainty saturating her thoughts. He’d ostensibly saved her life, but it all seemed too convenient, too coincidental. “Just going for a walk. It’s been a long night in the ward.”

  Murray squinted at her name tag again. “Oh, pediatric oncology. I can only imagine—” His mouth opened wide as he appeared to finally recognize her. “Ah, I know your name. Robin Haynes. You and Christopher Morgan recently submitted your protocol to the IRB, didn’t you? A study on a therapeutic to reverse gene enhancements. HDXT, right?”

  “Right. If my sources are correct, you shot us down.”

  The squat man held his hands up in a defensive gesture. “I think the idea is an interesting concept. Don’t get me wrong.” Blue and red lights filled the hospital lobby as two police cars stopped in front of the building. Two officers exited from each car and entered. “But I think we’d better resume that conversation later.”

  ***

  Ana closed her eyes and held her head up as hot water streamed over her face and through her hair. The tiled floor of the department’s shower room turned red as Luciano’s blood washed from her skin. The questions, the interrogations, everything had been a blur. She struggled to recall her answers to why she’d been in evidence, who she’d seen, how the fire had started.

  She felt certain about two things. First, had Luciano died in her arms, taking his last rattling breaths. Second, Gordon Huff had started the fire in the evidence room.

  But she hadn’t told any of the interrogating officers or detectives of Gordon’s role in the whole affair. While investigators had examined the security footage, it appeared the camera system had been hacked before the attack. There was no evidence of the two men’s actions beside Ana’s witness statements and Luciano’s bloodied corpse.

  The men had used a weapon with the power to tear through the supposedly bulletproof glass with a golf ball–sized steel projectile. That dense metal ball had torn through Luciano’s skull and smashed into the wall behind his desk. A firearm causing that amount of damage meant the attackers had access to weapons far beyond the means of the average street criminal.

  Yet that hadn’t been the deterring factor preventing Ana from identifying Gordon Huff’s involvement in the attack. If he had somehow been part of an orchestrated assault to obscure the existence of evidence related to the Baltimore Telegraph case...

  She shuddered, wondering if other officers were corrupted like Gordon. Pulling her hands through her wet hair, she realized it wasn’t a question of if other officers were corrupted but how many. She’d known Gordon for years and doubted he had the capability to hack PD’s security system. Someone else had been helping him, ordering him around even. He was probably a pawn.

  She dried off in the locker room. She’d already tossed the collared shirt and slacks Luciano bled out on, so she grabbed a set of sweatpants and a hooded sweatshirt she wore when working out in the department’s gym. As she slipped on the top, the pungent scent of sweat filled her nostrils. But it smelled better than the stinging coppery odor of another officer’s blood.

  She slammed the door on her way out.

  Detective Gary Harkins stopped in front of her. “Whoa, Ana, hell of a night.” He gave her a sympathetic look. “How are you doing?”

  She wondered if Harkins, another investigator in the Bio Unit, had turned criminal like Gordon Huff. She found no reason to believe it but couldn’t help the parasitic skepticism clinging to her thoughts. “I’m doing a hell of a lot better than Luciano.” She stomped away.

  “I’m sorry,” he called. “What’d I do?”

  After turning the corner, she stopped and pressed her hands to her face. She stifled the tears threatening to surge forth, the raw anger ready to explode from her lungs in a yell, the frustration urging her to slam her fist against the wall.

  She took a single deep breath and held her head high. She could go to the feds. But if her department had already been comprised, she didn’t know who she could trust in the FBI. The last time she had called for their assistance in raiding Tallicor’s facilities, the criminals working there had been warned of the incoming SWAT forces.

  I’m on my own.

  Then she remembered who she had meant to call earlier, before she’d been caught up in the invasion of the evidence room. She wanted to take any information she could gather on the experiments Ross Garret had been conducting in the Baltimore Telegraph offices to Chris and Jordan for analysis.

  Dodging past Gary, she sprinted back to the locker room.

  “What the hell?”

  She ignored him and ran to the garbage can where she’d stuffed her clothes. The ferrous smell of the blood-saturated garments hit her again, and she willed her stomach to stop churning. Plunging one hand into the pocket of her slacks, she retrieved the supplement, the single Blackbird pill she’d stolen earlier from the crime scene in the Telegraph offices.

  Holding it between her thumb and her index finger, she examined the last possible remaining piece of evidence the Baltimore Police Department had regarding Ross Garrett’s murder.

  And she didn’t intend to let the department get their hands on it.

  Chapter 15

  Chris ran to Robin when he spotted her at a coffee table talking to a barista. He dodged between a man holding a bouquet of balloons and a family milling about the information desk of the University of Maryland Medical Center lobby. Happiness and relief surged through him when Robin waved at him.

&n
bsp; When he reached her, he threw his arms around her and pulled her from her seat. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  “That makes two of us.” She kissed him.

  The barista waved at Robin. “I see you’re in good hands.”

  “Thanks for keeping me company,” Robin said. “I appreciate it.” Her lips met Chris’s again. “You know, I thought I was going to die today. I thought that was it.”

  Chris ran his hand through her hair, thinking for a second he’d come close to never being able to do so again. “I’m glad you were wrong for once.”

  “Don’t get used to it.” Robin smirked. “If it weren’t for Murray, though...”

  “Murray?”

  Robin nodded.

  “The pudgy guy from the IRB—your Donny DeVito—saved your life?”

  “Danny.”

  “Danny DeVito,” Chris said. “We owe that guy. Even if he’s being a bit of a stubborn bastard. Hell, he can reject whatever experimental protocols of ours he wants if he can help save your life.”

  Robin jabbed her finger into his chest. “I haven’t given up on the IRB yet. I talked with him after the incident this morning.”

  “Of course you did. You never lose an opportunity to get work done, do you?”

  Robin ignored him. “Apparently, he works across the street at the Feinman Insurance Group. Awfully convenient for him, being a member of the IRB committee and all.”

  “Judging by everything I’ve heard about the guy from you and Dr. Reed, I wouldn’t put it past Murray to take his position so seriously with the IRB that he took the job at Feinman so he could be close to the hospital.”

  “You might not be so far from the truth. Anyway, Murray told me he’s an early riser. Gets up before the songbirds and all that.”

  “And that’s why he happened to be outside when you were mugged?” Chris raised an eyebrow. It seemed like quite the coincidence—fortunate though it might be—he’d been at the scene of Robin’s attack.

  “More or less. He always takes a walk around the block for his smoke break—before, during, and after work. Told me if he smokes while exercising, he’s basically breaking even in life.”

  Chris laughed but ceased as he mulled over the implications of Murray’s presence that morning. “So given the man is against our protocols and has a thing against genetic enhancers, you think it was a lucky coincidence he was there?”

  Robin’s eyes widened, and she leaned in, speaking in a hushed voice. “I thought the exact same thing. It seems like too much of a coincidence. Wait until you hear what I have to tell you and Jordan. I promise that won’t help quell any of those paranoid conspiracy theories going through your head.”

  “You know me too well.” Chris stepped back from her as he took her hand. “I’ve got a cab waiting out front. Despite Jordan’s initial protests, I convinced him it might be best for us to take the day off and try to sort this mess out.”

  The sun beat down on them with its white intensity as they stepped outside. Chris noticed Robin glancing around nervously. He tightened his grip on her hand. “I’m with you now.”

  She nodded. “Don’t ever leave me, okay?”

  He squeezed her hand again as they ducked into the idling cab. “I couldn’t if I wanted to.”

  ***

  Chris and Robin marched between the looming ivory columns decorating the garish lobby of Jordan’s building. He never let her hand go as the elevator rose to the penthouse level. When the polished steel doors slid back, a gurgling fountain greeted them, its lights changing colors.

  “I’m in the kitchen,” Jordan’s voice boomed.

  The scent of simmering onions and bacon confirmed the man’s claim.

  Jordan set down the spatula. He rounded the counter and embraced Robin. “Ah, the good doctor has arrived, safe and sound.” He kissed each of her cheeks then stepped back to the frying pan. As he stared down at the omelet, he waved a hand to indicate the L-shaped couch in the living area. “We have a guest, although I think her adventures have caught up to her.”

  The lumpy gray shape on the cream-colored cushions did not spark any immediate hint of recognition in Chris. He cocked his head until he spotted the strands of matted brown hair and the snub nose of the sleeping woman in sweatpants and a sweatshirt. “Dellaporta?” He turned back to Jordan.

  “Is she okay?” Robin asked in a low voice, her worry evident. She left Chris’s side and knelt by Dellaporta.

  Of course. Robin’s first thoughts always centered on her patients, around other people who might be sick or injured. He felt guilty that his first reaction had been surprise rather than concern.

  “I think so.” Jordan scooped the omelet onto a plate and served it on the counter. “But she appeared to be pretty shaken up when she got here. She said she wanted to wait until you two were back, and I said I’d make breakfast for her while we waited.” He shrugged. “Looks like she needed something else more than she needed eggs. How about you two?”

  Chris looked at Robin.

  “Definitely,” she said.

  As Jordan finished another omelet and set it out for himself, a sudden gasp caused all three of them to turn around.

  Dellaporta sat upright, her eyes wide, her face pale, and her mouth gaping. The color returned to her face as her expression turned serious and calm. She rubbed her eyes and trudged over to the marble counter where the others had congregated.

  Chris sniffed as she drew near, catching a whiff of sweat. He’d normally make a joke about the odor drifting from Dellaporta’s casual getup, but the look on her face when she’d awakened urged him to consider otherwise. “What’s going on with you?” He tried to sound concerned, but he chided himself for how callous he came off.

  She stared straight at Jordan. “Coffee?”

  Jordan nodded and poured her a cup.

  “Thanks.” She took the mug and stuck her nose in it as she sipped. When she looked up, she caught Robin’s gaze. “Can you all give me a bit to let the caffeine set in? I’ve had maybe ten minutes of sleep in the past forty-eight hours.”

  “Fair enough,” Robin said. “I’ve got a story to tell.”

  Robin relayed the previous day’s events, starting with the problems with her patients. She didn’t tell them their names, nor did she say what kind of cancer her pediatric patient suffered. She assured them those details needed to be withheld; the appearance of the genetic enhancement delivery vectors in her patient and his mother was the real concern.

  “So can we get a look at these computer models and the data?” Jordan asked.

  Turning away, Robin closed her eyes. Chris reached out and squeezed her hand as she continued.

  “I’m afraid not,” she said before explaining the events that had unfolded when she tried to leave the hospital. After she finished, creases formed across her forehead. Her eyes darted among Chris, Dellaporta, and Jordan. “Maybe I’m crazy, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Conrad Murray has something to do with all this. I mean, those men never even took a shot at me. Maybe they didn’t want to shoot me, maybe they never planned to kill me. Murray must’ve been in on it.”

  She stopped a moment to catch her breath. “And since it seemed like they knew I carried evidence of genetic enhancements, I would be willing to bet this whole orchestrated mugging has something to do with one of those black-market genetics groups.” Her eyes narrowed, her voice shook. “I bet Conrad Murray is being paid off—if he isn’t a manufacturer or dealer himself—by an enhancement group.”

  Jordan traced a finger around the rim of his coffee mug. “I don’t think so.”

  “Really?” Chris said. “Seems reasonable to me.”

  “No, no, no.” Jordan placed his fork down. “Look, remember when tattoos were not electronic dermal implants you could change at the flick of your comm card?”

  “You mean the old permanent ink ones?” Robin asked, chewing a bite of egg.

  “Exactly. Back then, do you think tattoo artists and parlors tried to shut down d
ermatologists and clinics offering tattoo-removal services?”

  “No, of course not,” Chris said. He sat straighter. A grin broke across his face like a schoolboy’s, but he didn’t care. He knew Jordan was right. “Hell, the tattoo parlors probably supported tattoo removal services. If tattoos could be removed, if they could be reversed, then they wouldn’t seem like a lifelong commitment. Maybe you wouldn’t think twice before getting one.”

  “Which would mean more business for the tattoo artists.” Robin slapped the counter. “So that supports Murray’s argument that offering a genetic enhancement reversal therapy might increase illegal enhancement use.”

  “That’s my guess,” Jordan said, “which is why I doubt your old nemesis in the IRB is a mole for a criminal enhancement group.”

  “Screw what you think you know,” Dellaporta said.

  The other three turned to her. Heavy purple bags hung from under her eyelids, and red blood vessels spider-webbed across her eyes.

  “You can’t assume anything about anyone.” She licked her lips as her nose twitched into a snarl. Robin reached out to pat Dellaporta’s wrist, but the detective pulled her hand back.

  Robin leaned in closer to Dellaporta and spoke softly. “Tell us what happened to you last night.”

  Dellaporta seemed to go into a trance as she relayed the events that had taken place in the evidence room. Chris’s stomach twisted into a knot when she described the grisly scene involving Luciano. Her eyes stared straight ahead, seeming to focus on an invisible point on the other side of Jordan’s kitchen. When she finished, she produced the single remaining pill they’d found in the Baltimore Telegraph offices.

  “This is all we have left.”

  Jordan’s comm card buzzed, and he pulled it from his pocket. “I apologize, but I need to take this. I want to assure you that normally I would ignore any and all calls, but this one may be important to us.”