Expose

by Saranne Dawson

  At the moment—and for the past half hour—they were listening to a lecture on what was known about how various mind-altering substances actually worked. To Kate, it sounded much as it had three or four years ago—all guesswork, couched in incomprehensible language.

  “So,” Sam said into a pause, “what you’re saying is that you understand the area of the brain that can trigger uncontrollable violence, and you know what substances can trigger it, but you don’t know exactly how they work.”

  Kate smiled. Trust Sam to boil down a lengthy lecture to one sentence.

  “Right. Known substances, that is. But especially in the illegal drug trade, they’re always coming up with new combinations—analogs mostly. Those are drugs that are similar to, but not quite the same as, drugs we already know about.”

  “But if someone without a history of violent behavior suddenly becomes very violent, those treating him would know what substances to test for—right?”

  “I’m sure they would. There aren’t that many of them, really.”

  “Could any of them be long-acting enough to cause a first episode of violence six months or more after they were taken?” Kate asked, thinking about Charles Scofield.

  “That’s not likely.” He paused, frowning in thought. “There’s been some research done in the past to see if the brain could be permanently altered as a way of curbing violent tendencies. But it was only animal research and the results weren’t promising enough to continue.”

  Kate exchanged a glance with Sam. “Are you talking about surgery of some kind?”

  The researcher shook his head. “No. The hope was that a drug or combination of drugs could be found that would act on that part of the brain and curb antisocial tendencies.” Kate couldn’t quite suppress a shiver, and the researcher saw it and nodded. “That’s why it was stopped. We were funding it, but we quit because of the ethical questions involved.”

  “Is it possible that some company could have continued the research on its own?’’ Sam asked. His voice was casual, but Kate knew that the question was anything but.

  “Oh, I suppose it’s possible in theory, but it isn’t very likely. There wouldn’t be any point to continuing the research with animals beyond where it had already been done, and the FDA wouldn’t approve tests on humans.”

  The shiver Kate had felt earlier now became a bone-deep chill. She didn’t look at Sam, because she was sure his thoughts would mirror hers.

  “KATE,” SAM SAID in a warning tone as soon as they’d escaped from the loquacious researcher. “This is not a Michael Crichton novel.”

  “But maybe a Robin Cook,” she countered. “Sam, it makes sense! They’re using those kids at New Leaf as human guinea pigs and the kids at the farmhouse are the failures.”

  “Until you can define ‘they’ more precisely, I’m not going to discuss it.”

  “Fine, then don’t discuss it! I’m going to have the very great pleasure of saying I told you so. I can feel it, Sam. I know I’m right.” She picked up the car phone that was finally activated.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “The Ferret. Maybe he’s found something by now that he can connect New Leaf to one of the drug companies.”

  Sam took the phone away from her and put it back in its holder. “How many times do I have to remind you that these calls aren’t private?”

  “Is someone following us?”

  “How would I know in this traffic? We’ll go to the office.”

  “You’re really bugging me—you know that? I think you’re jealous.”

  “I think I’m cautious, which is what makes us a good team,” he replied smoothly.

  “I don’t see how you managed to win one Pulitzer, let alone two.”

  He ignored that. “Have you forgotten completely about Newbury and Armistead?”

  “Of course not! But New Leaf is the story, Sam.” She was silent for a moment, then folded her arms determinedly. “I’m going back out to the farmhouse tonight—with or without you. If Charles Scofield is there, then we can bring in the police.”

  “Wanna bet that if he was there, they’ve already moved him?”

  “That’s certainly possible, but we won’t know until we check. Are you coming with me?”

  “No, I’m going to let the crazy woman I love walk into danger by herself. Why didn’t I fall in love with some sweet, simpering little thing who’d be content to live in my reflected glory and cook for me?”

  “That’s a very good question, Sam. Do you have an answer?”

  He sighed theatrically. “Unfortunately, no. Some character defect, no doubt. A fatal flaw that makes me want nights of passion, followed by days of arguing.”

  “Actually, that sounds rather interesting to me.”

  “Yeah?” He shot her a quick glance. “Then please explain why you wanted a divorce.”

  “This isn’t the time to talk about that.”

  “There won’t ever be a time to talk about it, because there’s nothing to talk about. You made a mistake, that’s all.”

  “Oh? And what about you? You agreed to the divorce.”

  “What was I supposed to do? Beg you to let me stay? Promise to be someone I’m not?”

  Kate said nothing, but his words struck home. She’d never before admitted it, but that was exactly what she’d wanted. She’d wanted him to reaffirm his love and commitment even when she told him it was over.

  Face it, Kate, she told herself. The real reason you don’t want to discuss your relationship is that you come off looking like a real twit. And even worse, he knows it.

  “Well?”

  “Well what? I don’t know if I made a mistake or not, and this isn’t the time to talk about it.”

  Sam shot her a sidelong glance as she turned away from him to stare out the side window. Progress, he thought, hiding a smile. She’s beginning to put her very sharp mind to the task of sorting out her own feelings and actions.

  She’d definitely made a mistake, but he knew that he wasn’t exactly blameless, either. What he still didn’t know—and would probably never know—was how they’d let things get so far out of hand. They loved each other and enjoyed each other…and yet somehow, they’d let it go.

  Had it been easier for them to let it go because they knew they’d pick it up again sooner or later? Sam didn’t like that thought much and he knew she wouldn’t either, but there it was. They were both crazy and they lived in a crazy world.

  He wondered if she could possibly be right in her suspicions about New Leaf. If she was, it was going to be one helluva story—and it would be all hers. He wanted that for her far more than he’d ever wanted anything for himself. Except, of course, for wanting her to be his wife again.

  WHEN THEY HAD PARKED in the garage beneath the Post’s offices and gotten into the elevator, Sam pressed the but-ton, and Kate reached over to press the one for the floor below.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Sneaking in through the fire stairs in the hope that Damon won’t see me,” she replied.

  Sam rolled his eyes. “You have Damon wrapped around your little finger and always have had.”

  “Hah! You’ve been away for three years, remember? You haven’t heard his tirades.”

  “I don’t have to hear them. I can remember them well enough.”

  “Damon yelled at you?” she asked in surprise.

  Sam nodded. “Long before you came. He didn’t stop until I won my Pulitzer. Then he told me he knew I had it in me. So consider yourself blessed if he’s yelling at you.”

  Kate considered that. “I can count on the fingers of one hand—with several to spare—the times he’s praised me.”

  Sam chuckled. “Yeah, but it felt real good when he did, didn’t it?”

  She smiled and nodded. It had felt very good.

  “He gave me hell about dating you, you know.”

  “He did?”

  “Uh-huh. He said that he didn’t want me derailing your career because
the really good ones didn’t come along all that often.”

  She stared at him. “I don’t believe that!”

  Sam shrugged. “It’s true. He didn’t know you very well then.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him to mind his own business in somewhat more colorful language, as I recall. I also told him that nobody was going to sidetrack you. Then I said that he’d better get used to it because I intended to marry you.”

  “When was this?”

  “Right after we started dating.” Sam drew her into his arms and gave her a hard, demanding kiss. “I always knew what I wanted, Kate—or at least I knew the moment I met you. So did you. The only difference between us was that I accepted the inevitable a lot quicker.” The elevator doors opened on a group of somber-looking businessmen. Sam glanced at them and gave her another kiss before releasing her. Then he grinned at them. “Newlyweds,” he pronounced.

  Kate said nothing as they walked down the hall and to the fire stairs, then began the climb up one flight to the Post’s offices. The truth was that, at first, she hadn’t trusted Sam Winters any further than she could have thrown him—which is to say, not at all. His reputation had preceded him. Sam had been known to pick up and discard women so fast that she wondered how he’d ever kept their names straight. She’d been attracted to him from the beginning, of course—who wouldn’t be? He was handsome and charming and already an established star at the Post and elsewhere.

  She, on the other hand, was a nobody with surprisingly little dating experience. Not that men hadn’t asked her out; that had never been a problem. But she’d been too busy, working several jobs and going to school, then forced to continue holding down two jobs even after she landed her first reporting job because the pay was so low.

  His comments about Damon surprised her, as well. During her first few years at the Post, she had lived in constant fear that he would decide she wasn’t up to the job of working at a major paper. It annoyed her that Sam hadn’t told her this before, but a little voice inside whispered that she wouldn’t have believed him if he had.

  Kate hated to think of herself as being insecure, even though she was increasingly certain that she had been. Sometimes, it was downright embarrassing to have to confront your former self.

  She pushed open the fire door just as Damon was leaving the men’s room. He stopped and stared at them, then laughed.

  “I suppose you think I don’t know about the tricks my reporters play to avoid me. Keeping that door propped open is a violation of fire regulations.”

  “I guess it won’t work to tell you that the elevator got stuck,” Kate grinned unabashedly.

  Damon pointed. “Into my office—both of you.”

  So they told him everything, except for Kate’s plan to go back out to the farmhouse. Damon sat there toying with the worry beads the staff had given him for his birthday last year.

  “You’re onto something,” he said at last. “And unfortunately, you aren’t yet at the point where we could call in the police or the FBI. But I don’t like my people putting themselves at risk and I probably wouldn’t like whatever you’re not telling me.”

  He frowned in silence for a moment. “We need proof, and all we’ve got so far is speculation. It’s good speculation, but the folks on the floor above won’t let it see print without proof.”

  Kate nodded. He was referring to the legal department that was always on guard against possible lawsuits.

  “Even if The Ferret comes up with a connection between a drug company and the boot camp, or a connection between Newbury and the drug companies, it probably isn’t enough. Your best hope might be if the police find that counselor—dead or alive.”

  Kate winced at the mention of Tony. Somehow, over the past day or so, she’d subconsciously accepted the likelihood that Tony was dead.

  “Okay,” Damon said. “Stay with it. Barnett and Jackson are back from vacation, so I can cut you some slack for a while.” He turned to Sam. “Holcroft’s been waiting to hear from you about joining the Writers’ Group. Have you made up your mind yet?’’

  Sam shook his head. “I need some more time to think about it, Damon.”

  Kate watched him, surprised to realize that she hadn’t given any thought to Sam’s future. It felt like he was back at his old job. Considering how decisive he usually was, she wondered why he hadn’t decided about joining the syndicated group.

  They left Damon’s office, nodding at his admonition to be careful. Kate suspected that if Sam weren’t also involved in this story, Damon might have pulled her off it. But he trusted Sam to rein in her impulsiveness and keep her from taking risks.

  Maybe, she thought, we really do make a good team. But she was still determined to go out to the farmhouse again—Sam or no Sam.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I don’t like this,” Sam growled as he pulled the Porsche off the road.

  “You’ve said that already—numerous times.”

  “That doesn’t make it any less true.”

  “Well, I’m going—that’s it.” She opened the door.

  “You know damned well that you’re not going without me and I’d like to think that if I weren’t here, you’d have the sense to call it off.”

  “Sam, the proof we need is in that farmhouse—Charles Scofield. And you were obviously wrong about their moving the kids, because someone’s there.”

  They’d already driven by the farmhouse on the other road and had discovered that it was too well lit with outside floods for them to sneak up that way. So now they were planning to approach from the woods at the rear as they had before.

  Sam said nothing as he took the gun from the glove compartment, then wondered aloud how many laws he was breaking by carrying a concealed weapon that wasn’t even registered to him.

  “So don’t conceal it. Carry it in your hand.” She picked up the flashlight and started into the woods. With any luck, they wouldn’t need it. The moon was nearly full, but it was periodically obscured by clouds.

  Sam stuffed the gun into the back of his waistband and followed her. A few moments later, the moon disappeared behind some clouds and Kate switched on the flashlight. Sam grumbled that it was so bright it would attract aircraft.

  “I have a little one to use when we get to the house,” she told him. Then, as they started up the hill that lay between them and the farmhouse, she turned to him. “Do you really think my theory that New Leaf is being used as some sort of laboratory is off the wall?”

  “No, I don’t,” he replied thoughtfully. “But don’t you see, Kate? If you’re right, they’ve got to be really desperate to keep it a secret”

  She nodded her agreement, then sighed. “I just wish that The Ferret would come up with something for us.’’

  “He could be onto something.”

  “What?” she said, coming to a halt. “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “Because that’s all he told me.”

  “But why didn’t you—”

  “Kate, allow him his little pleasures. That’s the way he likes to operate. He won’t tell us anything until he’s sure.”

  “In other words, I’m being too pushy.”

  “Uh-huh. There’s a time for that and a time for patience.”

  Kate rolled her eyes, even though he couldn’t see her in the darkness. “Next, you’re going to be saying go with the flow or some other sixties nonsense. Sometimes you drive me nuts, Sam.”

  “I know, and you can drive me to distraction.” He squeezed her shoulder, then trailed a hand lightly down her back. “But consider the alternative.”

  “What alternative?”

  “Not seeing each other at all.”

  She was silent after that as they continued to make their slow way up the hillside. The moon came out again, but by now they were deep in the forest, so it didn’t help much.

  “I don’t want that,” she said finally, her tone far too casual for the import of the words. “Is that why you haven’t ag
reed to join the syndication yet? Are you still thinking about leaving Washington?”

  “The town’s not big enough for both of us,” he replied evenly. “And I can write anywhere.”

  “You wouldn’t be happy living outside the beltway,” she stated firmly, just before she tripped over an exposed root.

  Sam grabbed her quickly, then seemed disinclined to let her go. “I won’t be happy anywhere if it’s not with you,” he said softly. “And you feel the same way.”

  Caught securely in the strong circle of his arms, Kate couldn’t deny that. She loved him, but why wasn’t that enough?

  He let her go and they set off again. “One way or another,” he said, “this is going to be over soon and then you have to decide.”

  Decide what? she asked silently. Choose between being miserable without him—or being miserable with him? Then, just as they reached the crest of the hill and saw the farmhouse below them, she realized that she wasn’t miserable with him. If that revelation had come at any other time, she would certainly have pondered it, but Sam was already making one last attempt to dissuade her.

  “I’m not even a very good shot. I didn’t hit the bull’s-eye once.”

  “So what? We aren’t going to shoot anyone. You just need to look as though you could shoot if someone threatens us.”

  “It’s not always that simple.” He stared down at the farmhouse. “Well, at least they don’t have any outside lights in the back.”

  It was true. The entire rear of the house, both inside and outside, was dark. A faint glow could be seen through one downstairs window that was probably from the light that was on in the front part of the house.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Just past eleven. Pretty early for everyone to be in bed.”

  “Not out here. These people tend to go to bed earlier…like my folks.” She smiled, remembering Sam’s first visit to her parents. He couldn’t get used to dinner being called “supper” and to the “early to bed, early to rise” mentality of rural folk—not to mention having total strangers speak to him on the street.