“Respect,” the refrigerator intoned in Graham’s deep baritone.
I finished chewing, sipped my tea, and stuck my tongue out at the security camera in the corner. Respect was a word I reserved for those who earned it through living an honest and honorable life—which meant maybe a monk in Tibet, a very young one.
“Does Scion headquarters hire Irish ex-revolutionaries as security guards?” I asked, heading for the door.
Glancing back, I saw a tiny smile of approval cross Mallard’s stiff expression as he replied, “Or their descendants, naturally.”
Once upon a long time ago, the Irish Revolutionary Army had characterized the universe of car bombers. I should know, my father was one—and that was how he’d died.
I hunched my shoulders against a shiver. I didn’t want Nick—or anyone—dying as my father and his friends had. My father’s friends had included Graham’s father and Sean O’Herlihy’s father, so we formed a very special club. If Scion was hiring ex-car bombers. . . The imagination freaked out.
I frantically checked my email as I dashed up the stairs again. Patra’s reply to the dangerous report I’d sent her was all in the new idiot-glyphic faces I wasn’t about to translate. I guessed they meant hair-raising surprise. I wanted to yell at her Use your words! But she was a grown-up now, and even if she liked playing with new toys, I was no longer her babysitter. I gathered she was excited and approved of my gift.
I prayed I hadn’t sent her an IED. I didn’t want to relieve Nick only to slap a target on Patra’s back.
No one could know Patra had the report yet. She should be good. I texted her a warning to lay low and keep quiet. If I could have found a skull and crossbones in idiot-pics, I would have sent that too.
Then EG and I went to the movies. EG did not dress as a Disney princess. But she enjoyed the 3-D glasses and behaved like a normal kid and not a miniature Goth for a few hours, and I was pleased. This was what life was supposed to be about—raising kids to make this world a better place. Even fairy tales could teach them not to judge people by their looks.
No matter how hard I tried to make EG’s life normal, my life had never been so. Turning my phone on as we left the theater, I had three dozen messages—all from Nick, increasing in urgency. One from Graham showed a video of masked men lurking in vaguely familiar shrubbery, cutting what appeared to be wires for a security system.
Was this Nadia’s house? The killers had come calling already? I freaked.
Chapter 6
I frantically texted Nick to verify that everyone was safe. GET HERE NOW was all I received in reply. I thought many foul words, but at least they were alive.
I showed Nick’s messages to EG, who shrugged, as if she’d known skullduggery would happen. As long as everyone was still alive, we needed to eat. We ordered pizza we could pick up on the way.
At Nadia’s house, my suave, aristocratic brother answered the door wearing a gore-splattered apron and dark circles under his eyes. The front room looked as if vandals had partied all night.
“What happened?” I gestured at the front room.
“They only took the computer as far as we can tell,” Guy called from the interior. He was in a tattered t-shirt, paint splattered jeans, and bare feet, looking panicked and harassed.
Remembering the security footage of masked men, I tried not to panic, but my first thought was to move everyone somewhere safe. Graham would go ballistic if I tried to take them home with me. But if Scion’s goons knew how to find Nadia’s house. . .
I swallowed my first reaction and studied the chaos. In a back room, both kids were screaming and crying. I hoped Nick’s apron stains were actually tomato juice and not blood—he likes to pretend he cooks Italian when he’s showing off. No one had been harmed, yet. I needed to think.
EG calmly handed Nick the pizzas. I followed her example and carried in the wine and soft drinks. Guy and Nick looked as if they were ready to weep. I intended to take that as gratitude and not desperation from two grown men reduced to tears by babes.
“Explain,” I demanded, tamping down my panic.
“We took them to the doctor. When we returned—” Guy made a helpless gesture.
I considered the strewn sofa cushions and scattered toys. It was a little difficult sorting childish chaos from vandals and thieves, but it gave me cold shivers to think of killers flinging the kids’ toys around.
Pouring wine, Nick seemed to be making a quick recovery. “I had Sam drive us to the doctor for the kids’ checkup. The thieves cut the alarm wires while we were gone. I don’t know if they realize Guy is living here, or if they just waited for a car to leave before breaking in. Nadia’s alarm system is primitive, and we didn’t have time yesterday to do more than add cameras—which show next to nothing.”
Yeah, the footage of the thieves cutting wire had been useless. They’d known to conceal their faces, and bulky overcoats hid everything else.
“How is Nadia?” I asked in trepidation.
“Still in a coma,” Guy said. He looked even more drawn and frightened than yesterday. “There may be brain damage. The doctors are not hopeful. I have her power of attorney, so I have authorized organ donation should it come to that. Nadia would have wanted it.”
Good people die too young. If only it could be Rose or Scion in that bed. . . Neither would have signed up for organ donation. People like that think they’ll never die.
I was diverting my agitation with idiocy.
EG was sensibly performing our family ritual of checking lamps, phones, and behind furniture for bugs. Nick told her to start in back, that he’d already checked the front and found nothing. She grimaced but braved the childish roars from the rear.
I took a deep breath to regain my inner peace. “If no one planted bugs, then we’re either talking common thieves, or someone after something specific, like the drug report.” I fretted over the report I’d sent to Patra, but now that I’d come down off my panic, I realized it was a given that assassins would have researched Nadia’s address. Since no one had been killed this time around, I was gonna guess they were merely wiping out Scion’s report and any evidence Nadia had compiled.
What would happen when they realized the report was no longer in her computer? Were they smart enough to figure out someone else had it?
The kids needed their familiar surroundings. With Nadia currently out of the picture and the computer gone, I could hope the baddies were satisfied. What was best for the kids?
I’d been making snap judgments about the safety of children all my life. I didn’t like it, but someone had to be the adult. “Gauging by the state of affairs around here, professional childcare is in your future.”
That was all the reaction I gave them while I sorted out multi-levels of danger and followed EG and escalating roars down the narrow hall to a small bedroom.
Anika had apparently spilled juice on her new monkey and was weeping hysterically. Vincent had somehow managed to escape his wheelchair and was on the floor, throwing an old-fashioned fit.
I plopped his slender frame and heavy cast back into his chair, took Anika’s wet monkey away, and pointed at the door.
As I may have mentioned, I’m not a cuddly person, but sometimes kids just need to know someone is in charge and listening. They gibbered their complaints as I wheeled Vincent back to the kitchen. They brightened at the smell of pizza.
Nick sipped his wine and looked dubious. “Professional childcare?”
“Not me. Let me make a few calls.” I grabbed a slice of pizza and retreated to the living room with my phone, leaving Guy to entertain the kids. Nick followed me.
I’d met a few people over the last six months. I liked to think I helped some of them. I wasn’t too proud to ask for help in return.
After a few calls, I had a waitress I knew with a teen in a wheelchair lined up to teach Guy how to deal with Vincent’s limitations. Maggie O’Ryan’s schedule revolved around school and work, but now that we’d found her a new home, Magg
ie didn’t live too far away. She thought she could transport Vincent from school to home in the afternoons and was willing to stay until Guy returned from work—if he went to work.
Nadia already had Anika enrolled in daycare, but Guy needed someone to handle household duties like dinner and baths. Nick might learn, but not if he ran for the hills. He really needed order to be happy.
So I called my soft-hearted, good Christian half-sister Juliana, Zander’s twin. She worked for a non-profit along with a lot of other poor students, all of whom needed money. She volunteered to come out and bring a friend with her. I had no doubt that they’d develop a rotating schedule for housework and childcare and build a homeless shelter while they were at it. Problems were easily solved when money was no object.
And for once in our lives, we had money. It felt good to use it for a worthwhile cause. Helping others made so much more sense than buying a Jaguar.
I handed the list of people and phone numbers to hovering Nick. “You and Zander and Guy figure out how to reimburse everyone.”
“You’re good at this,” he said with an admiring whistle after perusing the list.
“How do you think we survived childhood? It takes a village and all that.” I’d once blamed Magda for dropping all her cuckoos in other people’s nests, but I was less angry these days. I was learning that a single mother took help any way it was offered.
“Can Guy work from here for a while?” I asked. “If the villains trashed this place, they’ve hit his home as well. Their offices may be next. Once they figure out he’s not been blown up, we may need to find new digs.”
“I’m thinking Alaska,” Nick said grimly, listening to childish laughter from the kitchen. “He has no idea of the rabid hornet’s nest he’s stirred. Have you read his report?”
“Do I need to?” I countered, heading back to the kitchen to mop up whatever mess they were making. I didn’t need to be reminded that we were juggling a grenade. “We grew up surrounded by street thugs. Corporate ones just have prettier houses. Mallard says Scion hires ex-IRA old geezers for security at their Irish headquarters. Old doesn’t mean less dangerous.”
“Worse.” Nick opened his phone and punched buttons. “I’ve been digging through embassy files. Since Scion opened their Russian market, drug overdoses have escalated all across Europe. Every attempt to investigate has been squashed. Scion blames doctors for over prescribing. Guy’s report proves Mylaudanix is far more addictive and dangerous than advertised. I just sent you my files.”
Swell, more hot potatoes. Maybe even assassins would have difficulty keeping up with them.
“Have you found any reason for the Scion balloons at the Rose rally?” After verifying the kids weren’t swimming in soft drink, I checked my inbox and saw Nick’s email arrive—which meant Graham could read it too.
Nick was staring at his phone in resignation. “No, but Alaska is looking better.” He held up the phone for me to see.
Officialdom had finally put together the puzzle pieces. Guy’s car had been found in the bombed-out garage. Then they’d realized that Guy had been at the congressional committee meeting on healthcare and some bright specimen had recognized his connection to Nadia and her hit-and-run case. Rumors were flying. My guess was that Graham’s FBI contact had arrived on the scene and helped them put two-and-two together.
“Next, they’ll realize Guy’s body isn’t in the car,” I said for him. “The media will be all over it. It will be a race to see who knocks on the door first, reporters, the feds, or the cops. It’s either Alaska—or call the authorities.”
Nick said some words I hadn’t taught him. The kids looked horrified and fascinated, so I was guessing Nadia wasn’t a potty-mouth. Guy simply sank onto a counter stool and gulped his wine.
“I vote cops,” Nick said in resignation. “I like civilization.”
Guy nodded. “I like my job. And the only way to avenge Nadia is to stand up for our report. Maybe people will listen now.”
“In this case, the publicity may protect you,” I agreed, crossing my fingers and praying I was right. “Once the rumor starts that Guy was targeted for his report, do the thugs dare go after him again? Nick, you should call the embassy. Guy, are you an ex-pat?”
Guy nodded. “French and British passports, US green card.”
“The children?” I nodded at the kids, who had returned to scarfing pizza.
“Ukrainian-American,” Guy explained. “Nadia was born here. Her parents left the Ukraine half a century ago. She met her husband when visiting her grandparents in the old country. He never got a visa. Viktor is the reason Nadia was working with me. She thought he worked for Scion too, but she learned he’s Russian mafia.”
“That widens the pool of suspects considerably,” I said with a touch of sarcasm. How many grenades could one juggle at a time? With resignation, I added, “I’ll have Graham contact the FBI. He’ll know who’s handling the bombing. Guy, call the police, tell them you just saw the news and that you’re alive. Request protection.”
“They don’t have enough personnel for around-the-clock care,” Nick protested, already poking text into his phone.
He was only repeating my own fear, so I couldn’t argue. “Graham does,” I reminded him, hoping I spoke the truth. I was taking a lot for granted. “That’s his job. And car bombings make this very personal for him.” And me, which was why I was counting on him.
Even as a little kid, I knew my daddy had been blown up. I’d learned it by hiding in closets, spying on the dangerous adults who occupied my environment. After my father’s death, I had a desperate need to know what was going on, but I feared being noticed. Concealing myself was now second nature to me. My office was in the basement, out of sight, for a reason. Graham and I had that much in common. We’re both behind-the-scenes players, but we kept our eyes on the hot potatoes and grenades of our world.
While Nick called the police, my first instinct was to take EG and slip away before the authorities arrived. But this was Nick, my best friend and brother in crime. We’d been there for each other too many times to count. He would not want to be seen in public wearing tomato-splattered clothing.
I sent him to take EG home and stop at his place for clean clothes. He looked grateful and relieved. He’d done the same for me in the past. I knew the feeling.
Guy and I got the kids bathed and in clean pajamas before the doorbell started ringing. With no computer, we couldn’t check the new security cameras. Before I could peer out a window and decide whether to answer, my phone rang.
“Let Mac in,” Graham ordered, then hung up.
I guess that answered that.
I let in a skinny young man with shaggy hair and a soul patch. He was accompanied by an equally young girl built like the storied brick house. She looked considerably more reliable, but she didn’t speak as they barged in and took over.
By the time the doorbell rang again, they had a new computer installed in the office and high-power cameras and bugs all over the living room and the outside doors. I wasn’t certain which tech was Mac, but the male opened the computer, and we had a clear view of the front step and street.
A black Crown Vic waited on the curb, and a black guy in a black suit stood on the doorstep.
I held up a penny I found on the desk. “Heads, he’s FBI, tails, he’s local.”
The humorless kid simply flipped on the mic. “Identification, please.”
Our visitor flashed a badge at the camera. FBI.
“Here’s where I play nanny. Nick should be here any minute if you want to stall,” I told Guy, before retreating to put the kids to bed.
The two geeks continued wiring the rest of the house and possibly half the universe. I offered them the leftover pizza and drinks, and they consumed the pizza cold and the Coke warm. Their ability to eat anything made me feel old. I didn’t protest their taste buds or their greasy fingers, and gave myself points for coolness.
Mostly, I hoped all this equipment would warn Nick a
nd Guy if the bad guys came after them. I’d have to provide them with baseball bats. Neither were the type to allow guns around kids. The realization of how unprotected we all were gave me cold shivers.
Patra called and put Sean on speaker with her. I took the call to the farthest room from where the doorbell was ringing again.
“Can we talk to this Guy Withers?” Sean asked first, in his official reporter voice. “We need more than his word that this report isn’t complete fabrication.”
“Yeah, and that’s the reason Nadia is in a coma, and Guy is under siege.” I settled cross-legged on Nadia’s bed. The plain-vanilla room didn’t contain a chair or any adornment other than pictures of and by her kids. “You fancy journalists will have to find other sources. I’ll give Guy your number, but he’s likely to be busy with Nadia’s offspring and officialdom for a while.”
“And you think someone in Scion’s organization ordered their deaths?” Patra asked, speaking my fears.
“Given the timing, seems logical. Nadia and Guy are mere cogs inside huge companies, not the usual target for assassins. Their report is the only thing that makes them stand out. You’re sitting on a ticking bomb,” I warned, to make certain she grasped the extent of her danger. “Mallard hinted that we should look into the ex-IRA car bombers that Scion employs. But Nadia had a Russian mafia husband who also ostensibly worked for Scion. And for all we know, Afghan terrorists thought to stage a protest in a parking garage. The world is our stage.” Which made me very nervous indeed.
“The FDA has been ignoring the studies showing Mylaudanix as addictive,” Sean said. I could hear him clicking a keyboard, presumably through electronic pages, unruffled by my warning. “Scion has to be buying off a lot of people if this report has any truth.”
“Mylaudanix is hugely popular.” I leaned back on the pillows and flipped through my own phone, keeping an eye on female Mac as she positioned a camera aimed at the bedroom window. “Patients demand their painkillers. Docs don’t have a better alternative. And Scion Pharm supports powerful politicians.”
Twisted Genius Page 5
