"Until Russia happened,” the voice countered. “But you remember Russia, don’t you? I bet you do.”
“Yeah, I remember,” Gregor snarled under his breath. "And if you’re talking about Patient Zero now, I’m guessing that means another body in my city."
“It would be one less problem on your hands, Mr. Gregor."
"You're kidding, right?" Gregor shook his head and couldn't help but laugh. He'd heard some ridiculous things in his day -- it came with the territory of being a publicly-visible billionaire -- but it was awful rich for someone hiding behind a telephone and a voice distorter to ask for his help when their own mess was just pulled out of the bay.
"Think of what you could do if you got your hands on the original test subject,” the digital voice grabbed Gregor's attention. "Dr. Roberts wanted to start Project Fusion up again. What if you did that on your own, no one to split the money with?"
Rich as he was, Gregor had to admit that was a tempting offer. The potential number ran in the billions, and he was already thinking about what he could accomplish with that kind of money. As it was, he only had half the police force in his back pocket. With that kind of money, he could start working more on the higher-ups. Detectives and uniforms were only but so helpful. If he could get captains and associate commissioners in his pocket, to say nothing of city councilmen and state representatives, it would make life much easier in several respects.
"Fine." He sat at the head of the table again with a sigh. "Just one problem: how am I supposed to erase someone who's essentially a robo-soldier?"
"You let me worry about killing Patient Zero. I have my ways.”
Before David Gregor could protest, the line went dead.
Chapter 17
Ramon balled up a piece of paper and tossed it across his desk, grunting in frustration at an afternoon of phone calls that led nowhere and tracing of financials that didn't prove any more fruitful. He'd had his share of frustrating days in the short time he'd worked Homicide, but this was shaping up to be one of the worst. He shook his head, pouring the rest of his mug down his throat before pushing himself out of his chair.
"How can there be a murder at the Inner Harbor and no one sees it?"
Jill sighed and rubbed her temples. Her partner met her gaze, and they shared a brief, knowing look. She tossed her pen onto the desk and stood before folding her arms across her chest and leaning back against the desk. "Well, we have leads, we just can't do anything with them."
Ramon shook his head. "Not officially."
"So let's go with what we do know." Jill approached a white dry erase board adjacent to her desk, chewing on her lower lip as her green eyes danced over the contents. "Dr. Trent Roberts was found dead two nights ago at the Inner Harbor, when his body was pulled out of the Chesapeake Bay. Official cause of death is massive blood loss due to having his throat slashed. Uniforms found a briefcase at Dr. Roberts' yacht, but it was empty save for his business card. Minimal blood spatter on the yacht, indicating either that he was killed elsewhere, or that he was killed facing away from the yacht and then immediately dumped into the water."
"That can't be." Ramon shook his head. "That doesn't account for his arm or the fact that his heart is missing."
"Right." Jill sighed and shook her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her right ear. "We know he had extensive relationships with military brass. Where are we on contacting the Pentagon?"
"The person I spoke with," Ramon rolled his eyes, "who refused to tell me his name, disavowed any knowledge of Dr. Roberts."
"Of course they did."
Jill returned to her seat, adjusting her ponytail. It was more of a nervous tick or anything, something to keep her hands occupied while her mind ran circles over what little concrete information they actually had. She frowned and scratched an imaginary itch on the back of her head, staring at the white board.
"Do you have any contacts?"
Jill shook her head. "None that don't lead back to me."
Ramon planted himself in the chair next to his partner's desk, adjusting his coat and glancing over his shoulder. Captain Richards' office was dark, the door closed. "Shouldn't you tell Cap?" He held up his hands in front of himself when Jill shot him an angry glare. "Not about who you are, but the fact that you knew the victim."
Jill's brows shot up. "And risk getting thrown off the case?"
Ramon shook his head. "He wouldn't --"
"Yes, he would. And he'd be right." Jill grabbed her pen, writing a few more notes on a yellow legal pad before standing and grabbing her coat. "Conflict of interest."
Ramon stood and joined Jill as she walked toward the door. She instinctively reached for the gun on her hip and the badge latched onto her brown leather belt. They were her security blankets, so to speak; even when she was off-duty, she just felt better if she had access to her shield and her piece. In the absence of those, a certain black body suit and sword were suitable backups.
"Where we goin'?"
Jill cast a sidelong glance at her partner before staring at the closing elevator doors. "There's someone you need to meet."
Chapter 18
Joel Freeman downed half of his beer in one swig, slamming the bottle onto the chipped hardwood table. The din of O’Shea’s was muted at this time of day, and the normally dim fluorescent lighting had an air of life to it in the daylight hours. It almost felt like an entirely different place, particularly since there weren’t many patrons at this hour. Freeman stared at Jill before turning a leering gaze to the young Hispanic man sitting to her right. When he'd told her to inform her partner about her secret, he didn't mean for her to drag him full-on into the situation. Simply telling him that she was a cyborg and a superhero would've sufficed.
"You told me this wasn't cop business." He groused. "Yet you brought a cop with you, and you've got your badge and gun."
Jill leveled her former commanding officer an even gaze. "You're in my city, we do things on my terms."
Freeman shrugged and finished off his beer. Sliding the empty bottle along the table, he grabbed a handful of nuts and poured them into his mouth. He stared at Ramon as he chewed, trying to see what the young man would do. He looked green. Jill probably got saddled with him to show him the ropes, let him see what life in Homicide was really like. Jill was no babysitter, though; if the guy was with her, chances were he was good.
Ramon held Freeman's gaze, never wavering. He matched Freeman's smirk once their impromptu staring contest ended. "Cop business is getting us nowhere."
Fortunately for the three of them, O'Shea's was quiet in the middle of the work week. Aside from the barkeep and two waitresses, they were the only people in the joint. Jill felt weird keeping her voice down, considering every other time she found herself in this bar, she was practically screaming at the top of her lungs. She caught a glimpse of the TV; Mayor Chris DeMico was holding a press conference. With the sound off, though, she couldn't figure out the topic.
She turned her attention back to Freeman. "We've got no witnesses." Jill leaned forward. "No fingerprints. Nothing."
Freeman shrugged again before flagging down a waitress for another beer. He noted that Jill and Ramon were each drinking water. For cops who claimed they were off-duty, they weren't acting the part. "What, you want me to conjure a witness out of thin air?"
Jill answered by grabbing the business card she'd kept hidden in her coat pocket, sliding it across the table in front of Freeman. She watched as his eyes dipped south, taking in the card and reading the name. She watched Freeman draw in a sharp breath, the wrinkles around his eyes tightening. She leaned forward again, confident that her suspicion had been confirmed.
"Where did you get this?" Freeman shot Jill an accusatory glare.
Jill shrugged. "It was in a trash can on a nearby yacht."
She ignored her partner staring at her, a mix of confusion and awe on his face. The business card was news to Ramon, as was the notion that David Gregor might somehow be involved. Ramon sat ba
ck and nursed his glass of water, eyes darting between his partner and the rugged, older gentleman across from him. Freeman screamed military, even in civilian clothes, and truth be told? If the Pentagon was involved in secretive scientific experiments, was it really out of the realm of possibility that there was also a billionaire benefactor-slash-bankroller?
Freeman pushed the card back to Jill's side of the table. "That's not a tree you wanna go barkin' at, kid."
"So Gregor was involved with Project Fusion."
Freeman scratched the back of his neck, and Ramon saw his chance. "Lotta big tech involved with Project Fusion. Someone had to foot the bill."
Freeman gave a half-smile, half-grimace, grabbing the bottle the waitress had left for him and taking another long swig. He was stalling more than anything. Setting the bottle down, he wiped at his mouth with the sleeve of his coat. "Kid's smart."
"Course he is." Jill gave Ramon an encouraging elbow to the shoulder. "He's my partner."
"Was that all Gregor was?" Ramon was feeling a bit chesty now. "A bankroller?"
"Far as I know."
Jill squinted. "Did Gregor ever meet Dr. Roberts?"
"Not that I can recall."
"Did you?" Ramon again.
Freeman straightened against his seat, grabbing his beer again and polishing off the rest of the amber liquid. He grimaced, pulling a crumpled-up twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and tossing it onto the table. "Tell 'em to keep the change." He stood, pulling on his leather jacket before looking at Jill. "Don't contact me again."
As Freeman walked out, Jill grabbed a napkin, wrapping it around the empty beer bottle and stuffing it into the pocket of her coat. She gave Ramon a sideways glance as she did, before finishing off her water and standing. He joined her, hands stuffed in his pockets.
"Was it something I said?" he quipped.
Jill smiled at him, nudging his elbow. "It takes a lot to rattle a man like Joel Freeman. Him running off like that should be a badge of honor for you."
"Yeah, well," Ramon held the door open for Jill as they left the bar, "I'll feel a lot better if we get an actual lead."
She gave her partner a knowing grin. "Let me handle that."
Chapter 19
Fortunately for Ramon, Jill had been tailing Gregor under her alter ego almost from the beginning. Not that Jill could actually do anything with the intel she had grabbed -- there was no authority behind any of her discoveries, and she knew any investigating she did under the guise of Bounty had to be kept to herself. It wasn't like she could call the FBI and tell them they were on the right track with their human trafficking investigation. The longer Jill lived this double life, the more she realized her vigilante exploits carried with them morally ambiguous decisions. Strangely enough, she had been okay with that to this point, but now that she found herself knee-deep in a case that threatened to send her two lives crashing together head-on, she wondered how much longer her ambivalence would last.
Near as the FBI could tell, Gregor was funneling sex slaves to Thailand in return for massive drug shipments that his associates could turn around and sell in Baltimore's urban centers -- particularly in West Baltimore. The Narcotics division had been overwhelmed with cocaine and heroin cases over the past eight months -- a problem exacerbated by statewide budget cuts that threw out almost eight percent of Baltimore's police force. It also didn't help that almost half of all Baltimore cops were getting money from Gregor, one way or another.
Jill wanted to know how many of those cops worked in Narcotics. Or the SVU. Hell, even Homicide. How many of those she worked with day in and day out were taking money on the side? How many of her colleagues were trying to do what they could to help their families, tying themselves to such a powerful, ruthless man? Jill decided a long time ago that if such an offer ever came her way, she would break Gregor's knuckles. Let him kill her in retaliation. Jill would rather rot than turn rotten.
She hid in an empty conference room, her surroundings pitch black except for what was bathed in moonlight shining through the window. The view was staggering from fifteen stories high. Jill could see the Inner Harbor and her hometown's skyline. No matter how many times she took in those sights, they never grew old. They always made her heart go aflutter, and they always brought a smile to her face.
Hiding in the shadows, only the red of her left eye -- the infrared -- would give her away. She smiled, her black lipstick matching her leather bodysuit. The holster for her katana was snug against her back, and Jill made sure her long brown locks sufficiently framed her face -- which was hard to do in a dark room with no mirrors. She huffed a stray lock out of her face, going perfectly still once she heard the door click open.
Harsh light spilled into the conference room, David Gregor walking in with a smartphone stuck to his ear. Jill noticed that both his jacket and his tie were off before he shut the door behind him, cloaking himself in pitch black. She held her breath, listening to his footsteps mingling with his end of the conversation.
"Mr. Gibbs, move my three o'clock tomorrow to Thursday. I have an important luncheon with the mayor and I don't know how long it will run."
Gregor stepped into the moonlight, his back to Jill. She heard his voice lower, unable to discern his words. She crept along the shadows in silence, forcing herself to keep a steady breath, even as her heart pounded thunderously in her chest. This was the closest she'd ever been to Gregor, physically or otherwise. She almost didn't know what to do with herself. Almost three years of knowing all of his dark secrets, sitting on all his dirty laundry, realizing she couldn't really do anything with it had been frustrating. But if Gregor was involved somehow in Dr. Roberts' death, that might have been the break she needed. It wasn't quite Al Capone and tax evasion, but it would be just as good.
Jill was on Gregor before he could react, his phone dropping to the floor as she pinned his arms behind his back with her left arm and grabbed his neck with her right hand. He grunted and his entire body went rigid. Once the shock wore off, Gregor realized he could still breathe -- the hand around his neck wasn't squeezing -- but before he could speak, Jill swung him around and slammed him face-first into the conference table.
She yanked on his arms, eliciting a pained grunt. Jill allowed herself a brief grin before leaning forward, her lips inches from his ear. "Good evening, Mr. Gregor."
Gregor gritted his teeth, and she could smell sweat mingling with his aftershave, a harsh aroma assaulting her senses. He shivered and twitched against her, and Jill could feel his legs struggling against her. His eyes darted everywhere they could, trying to catch a glimpse of his assailant in the dark room. But with Jill positioned to his right, and his face turned to the left, all he was going to get was a voice.
"Who the fuck are you?!" His voice conveyed more fear than he'd hoped. "What are you doing here?"
"I've got questions." She released his arms, only to grab the back of his shirt collar, yanking on it until her face was level with his. The fear was evident in Gregor's eyes. Jill fought hard to suppress the smile playing at the edges of her mouth. Strands of hair littered her peripheral vision; as dark as the room was, there was no telling how menacing she looked -- especially once her infrared eye started glowing. "You've got answers."
"What the --?!" Gregor was cut off mid-question when Jill turned him back around and slammed his face into the table again. She heard his nose break, pressing her elbow against the back of his neck to pin him in place.
"Ah ah ah," she scolded. "I said I had some questions."
Gregor stopped fidgeting under her, his nostrils flaring as he sharply exhaled. He wasn't relaxed, but she got the impression that he realized the predicament he was in. It helped that she occasionally added pressure to her elbow. It was a lot heavier thanks to the enhancements made to her skeleton, and she had a decent idea of how uncomfortable that extra weight was sitting on his neck. She smiled again. Truth be told, Jill was enjoying this a little too much.
"Dr. Trent Roberts." She added a
little more pressure. "Did you know him?"
Even trapped under his mystery assailant's grip, gritting his discomfort and pain, understanding wormed its way into Gregor’s mind. He closed his eyes and remained as silent as he could, letting his body go limp. Maybe if he showed this woman that he wasn't a threat, she would quit manhandling him. At last, he opened his eyes again. "So... Patient Zero."
Jill slammed his face into the table again with a growl. "Did you know Dr. Roberts?!"
She frowned when Gregor started laughing before spinning him around to face her. Blood trickled from his nose, mixing with his goatee.
"I know a lot of people."
Gregor's defiance was frustrating, but not unexpected. A man didn't get into his position by being pushed around easily, so Jill had a feeling this would require more than just sneaking up on him and smacking him around a bit. Still, it would be nice to be wrong once in a while, for things to go smoothly. Naturally, this case was not going to be one of those things.
"What about Joel Freeman?" Jill spat through gritted teeth. "Do you know him?"
"Unless you have a badge, and a warrant, I won't be saying a word." He spat blood onto Jill's face, impressed when she didn't recoil. "And don't think you're scaring me. You're just some half-assed robot. C3PO with a sword."
Jill wrapped a hand around Gregor's neck again, her gloved fingers squeezing this time. He grunted and gasped for air, his muscles going tense again. "You called me Patient Zero." Her voice was calm, steady. "You know what I am, even if you don't know who I am. And honestly? I never expected you to answer my questions, Mr. Gregor."
She drew the katana hanging from her back, watching as fear finally crept into the man's eyes. She lifted the blade over her head with both hands before swiftly bringing the blade down. Gregor flinched and closed his eyes, fully expecting to feel the hot, searing cut of the blade slicing through skin and muscle. Seconds passed and he felt nothing.
Bounty Page 7
