by M. G Scott
Mentally and physically, she was exhausted, and she just didn’t have the energy for anything anymore. Thoughts drifted from the photos to her former life in NYC. No, she thought. I’m not going there. I can’t.
But the wave of thoughts kept coming, over and over, until they swarmed her: her lucrative job, a great Manhattan apartment, her career. Some would have given their right arm to be a culinary instructor for the world’s top aspiring chefs. It was a career that had been completely architected by her mother; yet she comfortably had followed along for nearly fifteen years. She had been successful, popular, and just a phone call away from the stars.
And then it all came crashing down in one solitary moment—
A knock at the door scattered her thoughts. Who was bothering her? She rubbed her eyes, unaware she had fallen back asleep. She looked down at her soiled clothes. She was a mess. The guest knocked again—this time on the door’s glass. She turned toward the door, squinting to see who it was. Why so relentless?
One way or the other, she was going to have to deal with it. Sighing loudly, she warily pushed herself from the couch and staggered over to the window. She peeled back the blinds and caught the impatient figure of Brieman pacing back and forth. Her heart jumped. What a nice surprise, she thought. Without giving it a second thought, she pushed back the lock and opened the door. A fresh breeze pushed into the house. “Hi,” she murmured as she used a free hand to push a mess of hair to one side.
“I don’t suppose you recognize me,” he asked playfully.
“How could I not?” It was hard not to forget the chiseled look of a man she sorely liked.
An awkward silence followed.
Brieman’s eyes dropped to her shoulder. “Where’s the sling?”
“It feels a lot better,” she replied feebly, hoping he didn’t notice the lie in her voice.
He shook his head as if he knew. “Do you mind if I come in?”
“Only if you promise to tell me you got my message.”
He pulled a bag from his jacket. He waved it in front of her. “Yes, I did … and I’m sorry I didn’t respond sooner. That’s why I got you this.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?” And then she said, “This is so not getting you off the hook, Dr. Brieman.” She opened the bag and laughed. “A pager?”
“Yeah, remember the days before texting? I figured I’d give you my old one—it would be a good way to get a hold of me.”
She laughed. “Although kinda corny, this might just be enough for me to forgive you.”
He stepped toward her. “Look. I’m sorry. Rounds at the hospital were killing me.” He eyed her clothes and then snuck a peek inside the house. “But then again, had I known you were in this bad of shape, I would’ve gotten here sooner.”
“I’m okay. Just feeling a little down.”
“About me?”
She shook her head. “It’s not just you. It’s something else.”
He nodded toward the door. “So can I come in?”
The man apologized, she thought. That was good enough for her. She opened the door further. “Hope you don’t mind messes.”
“I didn’t think you would ever answer that door,” he said as he stepped inside.
“Something bothering you?”
“How long since you ventured out?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. A couple of weeks.”
“Don’t you have stories to cover?”
How was she going to answer this one? She moved past him, into the kitchen. “I’m not employed anymore.”
“Does this have anything to do with Carla Sanchez?”
Very intuitive of him. “You could say that,” she replied.
He looked at the empty wine bottles scattered on the counter. “Been drinking too, eh?”
“Not the last day.”
“Great. You’re on the rebound.”
“Would you like some?”
He shrugged. “Better me than you.”
Sabrina reached into the refrigerator and grabbed an open bottle of Chardonnay. “Don’t expect to get hammered. It’s all I have.”
He eyed her. “I’ve been worried about you.” There was seriousness in his voice.
She looked out the kitchen window. “Life always seems to throw a curveball at me.”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” She framed her eyes on his body. There was attraction but now wasn’t the time.
“C’mon Sabrina. Don’t lie to me.”
“Ok. Fine. It’s just that I’m thinking my short life as a reporter is a complete bust.”
“Hey,” he said softly. “It’s only one job.”
“Maybe so. But I’ve decided to go home.”
“Home? You’re not a native? I never would’ve guessed.”
His attempt at sarcasm wasn’t working. “That’s not the least bit funny.”
“I’m sorry. I was just trying to get you to loosen up.”
He apologized twice in one hour, she thought. That’s a trait that would never get old.
“So where is home anyway? East Coast?”
“Nice guess. New York. Manhattan. But then again, is there really any other part of the state worth visiting?”
“I hope there is. I’m from Rochester.”
“Oh.” Embarrassment crossed her face. “Apart from Rochester, of course.”
“And my parents are from Buffalo.”
“And Buffalo.”
“My brother lives in Niagara.”
A smiled worked its way out. “Okay. You got me.”
He chuckled. “What did you do back there, anyway?”
“Taught school.” She kept her answers simple. If he were really interested in her, he would have to work harder.
“A school teacher? That’s a bit of a change from a reporter.”
She laughed. “Nothing like that.”
“Oh?”
“For budding chefs. I was an instructor in a culinary school … a very established one.”
“Really? I never would’ve guessed by looking at this place.”
“Funny.”
“No. Really.”
“It was a huge passion with me. Besides, I got to work with some of the most well-known chefs in New York, not to mention the Eastern Seaboard.”
“Did you have a specialty?”
“I did … fresh from the ocean pan-seared Chilean Sea Bass. Try to slide by with a farm-raised broiled version and you will flunk.”
He put a hand on the kitchen counter. A smile curled along his lips. “So you’re a badass in the kitchen?”
She was enjoying the volley. “Nope … just passionate about cooking. Besides, good food equals good company. Maybe I can show you sometime.” She bit her lip. Did that just come out of her mouth?
“I just might take you up on that.” He paused. She could see he was thinking about something. “Then why’d you throw all that away? I mean to come here and start over?”
Game over. “Can we talk about something else?”
He put his hands up. “Okay. Maybe another time then.”
The two stared awkwardly at each other. It was wrenching it came to this after the friendly banter they just had. Why did she have to be so defensive? Just tell him everything, she thought. Get on with your life.
“All this talk of food is making me hungry,” Brieman finally said. He hesitated, unsure whether to continue. “C’mon, let’s get some dinner and figure this thing out.” He reached out and put an arm around her shoulders.
She didn’t move away. He had made a decision to stick with her and that made her all that more attracted to him. “Don’t you need to get back?”
“I do. But there’s this great little romantic place hidden deep within the hospital—light barely gets there, which makes it that much more eclectic. It’s not crowded. Plus you get to clean your own table before you sit down and, now this will definitely be the selling point, you get to pick whatever food you want from a glorious buffet w
ithout having to sift through a menu.”
Sabrina cozied up to him. “Hmm, sounds enticing.”
“So what do you say?” Brieman asked as he placed the half-finished wine on the counter.
She looked into his eyes with a broad smile. For more than ten minutes, she was actually happy. And then she looked down at herself. “Look at me. I’m a complete mess. I need to take a quick shower. Do I need to think about bringing anything?”
“Just your clean self. That’s it.”
He worked another smile out of her. For a moment, she thought about packing an overnight bag, but that might’ve seen a bit assertive. No, she would let him take the first step. “Great. Make yourself at home and I’ll be back in ten minutes. I promise.”
“No rush.”
As she headed toward the bedroom, she was distracted by her cellphone buzzing twice, signaling a voicemail. The vague memory of her phone ringing nonstop a half hour ago came back to her. “Is that you on my voicemail?” she called to Brieman. “You tried to call me before you pushed your way into my apartment, didn’t you?”
“Now that’s where we’re going to have to work on our reporting skills,” he replied. “You assume way too much.”
She picked up the phone. “Let’s see what message the good doctor left for me,” she replied, ignoring him.
He laughed.
She hit the green voicemail button. It was Mona. As she listened, she suddenly regretted not paying attention to it sooner. Her voice sounded urgent. She needed to see Sabrina right away … so much so that she had already decided on a time and place that evening. Sabrina stopped the message and noted the time. “We’ve got to go.”
“Anything wrong?”
“I don’t know. It’s Mona.”
“Who?”
“She’s a woman I met at BioHumanity. She’s beside herself right now and wants to talk, but wants to do it in person.” She pointed to the clock. “In twenty minutes at an old shuttered restaurant along Highway 131.”
Brieman shook his head. “There’s no way that’s going to happen. We’re too far out.”
She dialed the number Mona called from. Maybe she could back it up fifteen minutes. The phone rang ten times and then Mona’s voicemail picked up.
“No luck?”
She shook her head.
“Look, why don’t I drive? There may be a chance with some back roads.”
“You have to get back to the hospital. How is that going to work?”
“Like this.” He grabbed his cellphone and punched a few keys. “I just made myself unavailable.”
“What power you have.”
He pulled her toward the door. “C’mon. Time’s a wasting.” A convertible Porsche sat just outside her house. It was midnight black but looked like it had never been driven.
“New?”
Brieman started the car with his key fob. “Nope … just too many hours at the hospital to enjoy it. Hop in. We’ve got some time to make up.”
Chapter 35
Mona rubbed her shoulders. It was a chilly night as the sun slid behind the hills. Standing in the weed-infested parking lot, a hand on her car, she gazed at the abandoned restaurant before spinning around and eyeing the gravel road that led back to the highway. Where were they?
It was a mistake leaving a message and assuming Sabrina would come. She should have waited until Sabrina called back. But that was the problem: There wasn’t any more time. She needed to let somebody know what was going on and Sabrina walked into her life at just the right moment. And she was the perfect person to tell.
Tires crackling against the gravel stole her attention.
Finally.
She looked at her watch. Ten minutes late. But they were here. She shielded her eyes against the oncoming headlights. The car, no, it was a Jeep—a black one—pulled alongside her Honda.
Her heart beat more rapidly. Why didn’t this feel right?
Both doors opened and then shut with a firm thump. The crunch of gravel could be heard as two sets of footsteps gravitated closer. She backed up, stumbling along the abandoned building. A man and a woman suddenly appeared in the dim light.
“Can I help you?” was all she could muster. She had no idea who they were.
“I think you can,” the woman replied.
“Are you lost?”
The woman laughed. “Hardly.”
“Then what is it?” Mona’s heart beat faster.
“We’ve been tracking your every move the last few weeks. We know what you’ve been up to.”
She kept a hand on the building. “Who are you?”
Another laugh. “Let’s just say we’ve been retained to find you.”
She relaxed. Retaining was much better than hurting. “By whom? BioHumanity?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then whom?” Mona pressed.
“Somebody who’s very concerned about you.”
A quick breath. “Tell whomever sent you that I’m fine.” She took a step toward her car.
The man held out a hand. “Not so fast.”
Mona looked at it then at his eyes. “What right do you have to say that?”
“Like we said …”
“You’re not making sense.” She brushed past his hand. He grabbed her arm and ran it behind her back. “You’re hurting me,” she shrieked.
“We need to have a little talk,” he whispered into her ear.
“Please let me go,” Mona pleaded.
He handed Mona to the woman. “We need a little more privacy.” He knelt by the boarded up door and pulled with both hands. The decaying wood splintered with little force. He repeated for two more boards and then slipped through the opening. His head popped back out. “Hand her to me.”
The woman pushed Mona through. The abandoned restaurant didn’t stand the test of time. Aqua-blue booths littered the floor while chairs were randomly scattered across broken tile. It was probably five years since the fast food joint served a customer and yet there were still a few napkin dispensers and plastic spoons strewn across the tables. The man grabbed a nearby chair and righted it. He pushed her into it. Her body started trembling as she tried to follow his eyes. He grabbed two more and they all sat.
“What are you doing?” she spat at them.
“It seems you’ve been doing some things behind your company’s back.”
“What?” She was confused.
“Tell us about Eric Sanchez.”
“There’s nothing to tell. He was my boss. He died trying to save his reputation.” A gulp of air. “I’m sure you know that.”
“I think there’s more you’re not telling us.”
She looked over his head. “No.”
He stood up. In one fluid motion, he flipped open a switchblade and jammed it into her thigh. Mona screamed as the pain burst from her leg. She grabbed her leg and slumped over as blood oozed from the hole.
“Now let me ask again: What do you know about Eric Sanchez?”
“Ohhh,” Mona cried. She put a hand up. “Please! What do you want to know?”
“Let’s start with his research.”
“He found something in his stem cell research that disturbed him.” Her voice was filled with agony.
“We know that.”
She held the leg tighter. “He recorded it in a journal.”
“Did you read it?”
She closed her eyes, hoping that would lessen the pain. She nodded slowly.
“What did it say?”
“I didn’t understand most of it, but he mentioned harvesting hearts,” she whispered.
The man leaned back. “I see.”
“How did you end up with it?” the woman asked.
Mona’s eyes opened. “It fell into my lap.”
“Explain.”
She hedged.
“I don’t have time for this.” He reached forward and slammed the tip into her stomach.
She looked down in horror as her pink top stained red. No!” she cried as
she doubled over. “Please. I don’t want to die.” Tears were spilling uncontrollably, almost allowing her to forget about the shearing pain. “He left it in my house.”
The woman’s eyebrows narrowed. “How did it end up there?”
“We shared everything,” she blurted.
The woman laughed. “Really. An affair? That’s a nice little bit of gossip.”
“There’s a woman you’ve been talking to. Tell me about her,” the man demanded.
“She’s just a reporter. She wanted to learn about Eric’s life, that’s all.” Mona groaned as the pain swirled inside.
“Did you tell her anything?”
“No. Nothing. I swear.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To tell her all I knew.” She shook uncontrollably. She put her head into her hands, not caring they were covered in blood.
“What were you going to tell her?”
“The journal. And his hunch …”
“Which was?”
Tears flowed down her face. “That he was going to be murdered.”
“Is that why he left it with you?”
She nodded, barely able to hear them through her sobbing.
He stood. “Then you know what you have to do.”
Mona stared blankly at him.
He nodded with a cruel smile. “I think you know what I mean.”
She struggled to her feet, but collapsed. “No. I can’t give it to you. I don’t have it.”
“Wrong answer.”
He moved forward.
She tried protecting herself, but she collapsed onto the floor, the chair falling to one side. He grabbed her and spun her onto her back. The knife was pointed at her throat.
“I’ll give you one last chance,” he hissed. He was so close she could feel the warmth of his sweat.
“I swear, on my father’s grave.”
Chapter 36
Chunks of asphalt, some big as a brick, blocked their path as Sabrina and Brieman pulled slowly into the vacant parking lot. “At the intersection of 101 and 130?” Brieman asked.
