Under Cover

by MaryJanice Davidson

  “Sir? Your purchases?” The clerk handed him the extra bag and, humming under his breath, Eric walked to the elevators. He had bought quite a few outfits for Renee; who knew when she could safely return home?

  Well, that wasn’t exactly the truth. He hoped to convince her to come back to Washington with him. She deserved a vacation after the week she’d had. Once they put this whole mess to bed—

  Ahhhh, bed. There’s a word. Or, more important, a place.

  —they could take off somewhere. Anywhere she wanted. For at least two weeks. Possibly longer.

  He opened the door with his key card. “Got your clothes, sweetheart,” he called out.

  Silence. Not even the shower. He felt a tingle of alarm and impatiently dismissed it. She wouldn’t They had agreed. They would stick together and make a plan. She wouldn’t just take off. Besides, he’d taken the precaution of having the adjoining door bolted.

  Why would she need the other suite when she could just walk out the door?

  He ignored the inner taunt and put down the bags. He poked his head in the bathroom and nearly screamed. It looked like someone had been killed in there. His toiletries were scattered and broken, all over the floor. Only his shaving kit had been left alone, but it had been liberally decorated with mouthwash. The toilet was full of—argh! There was his money clip… his wallet… and his cell phone!

  Bastard was written on the mirror in shaving cream.

  “Oh, shit,” he said aloud. What could have happened? Had she found out he’d bought six boxes of condoms? Ribbed for her pleasure? Did—

  The phone rang and he jumped for it “Hello? Renee?”

  “Cripes, Axelrod, I’m waitin’ all day down here,” Pete Random growled. “Where the hell are you two?”

  “Pete.” Jekell’s right-hand sleaze. A nice enough guy, if you didn’t mind the fact that he’d break your arm on a bet. “Did you call earlier?”

  “What are you, crazy? like we didn’t just talk on your cell phone twenty minutes ago? You sound a lot better, by the way.”

  “Twenty minutes ago?” He felt his head spin.

  “Look, we’re coming in. Get the bim, get your shit, we’re going down to Anodyne and finishing this once and for—”

  “Stay away from Renee!”

  “What the hell’s gotten into you?” Random demanded.

  “Stay. Away. From her.”

  He slammed the cell phone shut and galloped out the door. Twenty minutes. And she’d taken the time to trash his bathroom. She couldn’t be that far ahead of him.

  He had to get to her to explain. More important, he had to get to her before that conscienceless fuck, Random, did.

  Chapter Six

  Renee watched the street She had a perfect perch—the library was catercorner from the Grand Hotel. The spanking new building had beautiful windows that were quite tall. She could see what was going on outside, and if she was spotted, she had plenty of time to get gone before they could get to the second floor.

  She had spotted Peter Random’s car the moment she looked out the window—thank God for back exits and back entrances!—and was waiting to see which direction he went.

  Seeing his car gave her a nasty jolt, one almost as bad as the one she got when she talked to him on the phone.

  It brought it all home to her. How stupid she had been, and how weak. Her coworker, Laurie, read fifteen romance novels a month, and had once told her there was a phrase readers used to describe heroines who made boneheaded moves.

  “T.S.T.L., that’s me,” she sighed, resting her forehead on the window.

  “Too Stupid to Live,” the reader in the next row said absently, her nose buried in Love’s Flaming Fury.

  Despite the day—the week!—she’d had, Renee bit back a laugh. Too Stupid to live was just about right And, in one of life’s weird coincidences, she was standing beside the romance section. “Exactly,” she said, and resumed watching.

  She saw Eric burst through the doors of the Grand Hotel, almost knocking over the surprised bellhop. Instantly, Random was out of his car and on the sidewalk. The two men squared off like something from the Nature channel, chest to chest and nose to nose, arms waving. It was warm in the library, but despite the temperature, Renee found herself rubbing the goose bumps on her arms.

  It wasn’t that Peter Random was a blackhearted villain. He just had a conscience of tremendous elasticity. She had argued against his hiring from the moment his application crossed her desk. And had been overruled, for one of the few times in her career, by Dr. Jekell.

  “He’s got a criminal record,” she’d said for the fifth time. She tapped the fax that had just come from Stillwater State Prison. “Multiple counts of assault. The guy can’t pass a bar without getting drunk and picking a fight, for God’s sake.”

  “Good,” Jekell had replied absently, not even looking up from his P&L sheets. “Then he knows how crooks think.”

  “He’s a snake.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “He’ll do anything if you pay him enough,” she added.

  “Hey, blondie—”

  “I’m not blonde, Dr. Jekell.” If you ever looked anywhere but my boobs, she remembered thinking, you’d know that.

  “—I’m sold already. You don’t have to keep pitching. Hire him already. And go away.”

  “You hired me, “she said, trying one more time, “to look out for your company’s security interests. I don’t think giving Peter Random access to all our sensitive material is the way—”

  “Bye.”

  Dismissed. And she’d hired him. And Peter, despite her misgivings, had proven to be a good employee. Scarily good, in fact. No matter whom they needed info on, Random always came up with the goods.

  It probably had a lot to do with his appearance. He was huge—close to six-feet-five and probably two hundred fifty pounds, none of it fat. He had thick black hair with just a touch of premature gray, and the cold blue eyes of a German sniper. His fists, when clenched, looked like bowling balls. When he glared at someone, they just about fell over themselves giving him whatever he wanted.

  He was smart, too. Worse, he was tenacious—Dr. Jekell’s personal pit bull. Once he got his teeth into something, he didn’t let go until he was satisfied. Renee thought he was a snake, but she had never denied he had a kind of savage attraction.

  It was ironic—she’d been reticent about hiring a convicted felon, and now she was the thief, while Peter was the employee of the month.

  Knowing Jekell had set Peter on her was upsetting. Knowing Random and Eric were coordinating her capture was terrifying. It really couldn’t—

  Oh, now, what was this? Random and Eric were having a shoving match—right on Seventh Street! Probably arguing over how best to gift wrap her for Dr. Jekell. And there—yup, Eric threw the first punch, a nice roundhouse, one that probably made the air whistle.

  She stared, mouth ajar, as the tussling match became a knockdown, drag-out fight, the kind she usually only saw in bars or at family reunions. The movies made fistfights seem normal, even glamorous. The reality was quite different—it was no joke when the fighters were two men in their prime. People got killed that way.

  Shoppers were stopping to rubberneck, but no one was interfering. Wise, because in real life, the person trying to break up the fight usually went straight to the ER.

  Random took the punch, staggered back, then recovered with frightening speed and followed up with a knee into Eric’s groin.

  Eric blocked the strike with his thigh and punched Random in the face again. In another moment, they were rolling all over the sidewalk, fists and feet flailing.

  Renee wasn’t sure if she should cheer or go down and break it up before somebody fractured his thick, stupid skull. On the one hand, she loved seeing Eric get smacked around. On the other hand, she hated seeing Eric get smacked around.

  No. She’d made enough mistakes today to last a lifetime. Eric was on his own—and if he lost, she wouldn’t shed a tear.
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  The time for gawking out the window had passed. Time to get back to it.

  She took the stairs swiftly to the first floor, cornered the first librarian she spotted, and said, “I’m a junkie; I need my fix.”

  The librarian, a tall, balding man with wispy sand-colored hair, smiled down at her, and his eyes crinkled in a friendly way. “I have that problem myself,” he said pleasantly. “Third floor, near the bank of windows on the east side of the building.”

  A few minutes later, she was logging onto one of the public computers and downloading her e-mail from home. She skipped past the spam—Refinance your home at zero percent!—and the porn—Jenna wants to suck you dry, big boy!—and slowed to read the ones from work. Maybe someone had some information, some clue, that she could—

  Oh. Oh, no.

  From: Anodyne IT Services (ITSVC@anodyne.net)

  To: Renee “Loser” Jardin (Renee45@aol.com)

  Date: Wednesday, October 15, 2004

  Re: Klepto bitch

  Why don’t you just give it back, you klepto bitch? It’s not yours anyway.

  From: Anonymous

  To: Renee Jardin

  Sent: Wednesday, October 15, 2004

  Subject: Just die already

  You’ve got a lot of nerve and if you ask me you should never even show your face around here again unless it’s to apologize and beg forgiveness. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.

  From: Anonymous

  To: Renee Jardin

  Sent: Thursday, October 16, 2004

  Subject: Thanks for nothing

  Well, great, I was ready to cash in my options but I guess that won’t happen now because YOU’RE A FUCKING THIEF AND I HOPE YOU DROP DEAD.

  Renee chewed her lower lip and ignored the impulse to write back and explain to all her detractors. For one thing, there wasn’t time. For another, how could she explain when she wasn’t sure what had happened herself?

  She skimmed past more distressing subject lines—Choke and die, You’re a jerk, The entire IT department hates you, We called the IRS and hope you get audited forever—absently wondering which one of her so-helpful coworkers had given out her home e-mail address. Human Resources, probably. She’d never known a sneakier bunch… they were more rapacious than lionesses.

  From: Jennifer Hildebrandt, FDA

  To: Renee Jardin

  Sent: Friday, October 17, 2004

  Subject: Let us help

  Ms. Jardin, you don’t know me. I work for the Food and Drug Administration, and we know you’re having a rough week. We would really, really like to meet with you whenever it’s convenient. Our discretion will be complete, I assure you. Please call me at 612-302-9313, 24/7.

  Sincerely,

  Jennifer Hildebrandt, New Products

  Renee stared at the screen. “Good heavens,” she practically screamed, “it’s the FDA!” As if the security team, Peter Random, the Jackal, and the NSA weren’t bad enough!

  She knew what that was about, oh yes. They didn’t have PaceIC and would love to get it. The question was, what was she going to do about it?

  Chapter Seven

  The Minneapolis branch of the Food and Drug Administration was, perhaps ironically, located in what used to be a Dairy Queen Brazier just off Lake Street. As soon as she walked through the front door, Renee had to fight the urge to order a Peanut Buster Parfait.

  “I’d like to talk to Jennifer Hildebrandt,” she told the receptionist, who was sitting at a desk behind the red counter. “And a large chocolate-dipped cone.”

  The receptionist, who had the cheekbones of an Egyptian queen and looked about a minute past twenty, rolled her eyes. “Thanks. Because I never, ever hear that.”

  “Sorry. You have to admit, this is kind of a strange place to have an office.”

  “I admit nothing. Also, we’re moving to our new digs next month. D’you have an appointment?”

  “No, but she said she’d see me whenever I wanted.”

  “All right, then.” She picked up her receiver, punched a button, and waited a moment Renee tensed, imagining a team of FDA goons bursting through the drive-thru window and tossing her to the floor. The only thing that happened was that the freezer turned itself off with an audible click.

  “Jenn, there’s a lady out here to see you.” She looked up at Renee and mouthed, “Name?”

  “Tell her I’m a lost lamb from Anodyne.”

  “She says she’s a lost lamb from Anodyne… uh-huh… yeah… no, this isn’t one of my stupid jokes. Well, that’s what she said. Hello? Jenn?” She hung up and gave Renee a great big fake smile. “She’ll be right out.”

  The way my week’s been going, she’ll be carrying handcuffs.

  Renee wandered over to the empty freezer and tried to ignore her growling stomach. She hadn’t eaten since—when? She had to think about it a moment Room service in Eric’s hotel room. And before that, lunch in the restaurant with the treacherous bum.

  Oh, but it hurt to think about that. It hurt more than she would have thought possible. She’d never dreamed a person in good health could be in so much pain.

  Quit feeling sorry for yourself. You’ll get through this. Eventually.

  Yes. Good advice. Great advice, actually, and she meant to take it at once. Enough with the moping. Time to take charge of her life again! Time to—

  “Excuse me? Miss?”

  She flinched and looked around. “Sorry. You’re going to have to speak up if you want to be heard over the voice in my head.”

  “Good to know,” the woman said dryly. She extended a hand. “Jennifer Hildebrandt. And I’m hoping very much that you’re Renee Jardin.”

  “I am. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Hildebrandt was a surprise. Renee had expected a fussy bureaucrat dressed in beetle browns. Big clunky glasses, maybe, and lots of tweed. Hair skinned back in a bun. No makeup, of course.

  Instead, Jennifer Hildebrandt looked like an escaped beauty queen. Her hair was long, past her shoulders, and flawlessly blond—the color of a daisy’s center. Her skin was so fair it was nearly alabaster, and her coloring was so true to her hair that Renee knew at once that amazing shade of blond was real. Her eyes were large, expertly made up, and as blue as the sky on a cloudless summer day. Her lips were thin, but they were expertly lined and filled in with a true red that made her skin look paler, and her eyes bluer. She was dressed in blue jeans and a sweater the exact shade of her eyes. Sockless, her white sandals showed off a perfect pedicure.

  Thank God I took a shower today, or I just couldn’t face this woman. As it is, I feel like Frumpzilla.

  “Shall we head back to my office?”

  “Uh, sure.” Renee couldn’t help it; she snapped a look over her shoulder as they went.

  “It’s all right,” Jennifer said, reading her mind. “I didn’t tell anyone I wrote you. And since you didn’t tell me you were coming…”

  “People really are out to get me, you know. I’m not paranoid.” Just hearing that thought aloud made her giggle. Who was it who said paranoia was perfect awareness? She’d have to look that one up.

  Jennifer smiled. “No, you’re not paranoid. You’d be surprised at the stories I’ve heard. And, frankly, I’m dying to hear yours.”

  “Yeah, it’s a real weird tale, all right” She followed Jennifer to a windowless office in the back, and took the proffered seat. “But before I spill my guts—again—maybe you could start with how you knew to even write me.”

  Jennifer sat behind her desk. “Good enough. Are you familiar with the Food and Drug Administration Modernization Act?”

  “Uh, no, I can’t say that I am.”

  “Let’s start with that, then.”

  Oh, goody. A lecture on federal legislation. Renee resisted the impulse to catch up on her sleep as Jennifer began to drone.

  “A couple of years ago, Congress amended the original Act, which related to the regulation of food, drugs, bioproducts—things like that, because they knew we’
d be facing a whole new ball-game in the twenty-first century. You’ve probably heard that ninety percent of all major innovations were thought up in the latter half of the twentieth century, right?”

  Renee hadn’t, but nodded anyway and fought a yawn to a standstill.

  “Well, it’s true.”

  “Super.”

  “If anything, that’s understating it a bit.”

  “Of course.”

  “And this century is going to be even more amazing than the last, “Jennifer went on with scary enthusiasm. “Congress knew, and prepared us for it as best they could.”

  “That’s just fascinating. Really. But, um, what does this have to do with Anodyne?”

  Jennifer smiled a gorgeous if-I-become-Miss-America-I-will-fight-hunger smile. “Bear with me. Basically, the new act means the FDA can be a little more proactive. Rather than waiting for a company to come to us—”

  “You can snoop.”

  “A little. Which brings us to you. And PaceIC.”

  “But how did you guys even find out about it?”

  “By law, Anodyne is required to list PaceIC with us before they begin manufacturing. So we knew about it and, as you can imagine, we were very excited to begin the process of getting it regulated and into the marketplace. Can you imagine the possibilities?”

  “Yeah, we all—I mean, everyone at Anodyne was pretty excited when Dr. Foster said she was just about finished.”

  “Right Just about finished. Then suddenly PaceIC disappeared. Nobody was talking about it, and the paperwork was formally withdrawn from our offices in Maryland. When I followed up, Dr. Jekell claimed they’d run into operational delays and it would be years before PaceIC was ready.”

  “But that’s not—OK, well, I know that’s bullshit, because I work there, but how did you know it was bullshit?”