by Lisa Eugene
Rose fell asleep late afternoon, and Brad decided he’d be put off no longer. Sitting with Chloe on the couch, he told her about the meeting planned with the administrators for Monday. He was surprised by her lack of enthusiasm, but continued.
“I’m on your side, Chloe. I’ll at least encourage them to consider other possibilities for the deaths.”
She stared dispassionately back at him, her golden eyes like dull bulbs that had lost their spark. “I appreciate it, but it won’t sway them. They’ve already made up their minds.”
He delved deep into her expressionless stare, wondering if she knew there was more to the story. He was loath to tell her about his conversation with Mr. Accardo.
“Chloe, the hospital went through your locker and apparently found something. The police are investigating.”
Again, the dull stoicism. She didn’t seem surprised. He took hold of her hand, encasing it in his.
“Do you understand what’s going on, Chloe, that this is very serious?” he intoned slowly. He didn’t want to scare her, but maybe now she’d agree to speak to a lawyer. He’d already made the phone call.
She paused for a heartbeat, then looked away. “I know about the syringe, Brad.”
A terrible tightness started in his chest, and he was afraid to hear the answer to his next question.
“How did you find out?”
Her slender throat worked down a swallow. “The police came to my apartment yesterday and took me in for questioning. They had a warrant to search my apartment.”
“What?” he exploded. He felt as if every molecule of his body flew apart. “When were you going to fucking tell me this, Chloe?”
Her gaze flew to the bedroom door, and he forced himself to take a deep breath and lower his voice. “What happened?”
Her face remained placid, but a tremor vibrated through the hand he held in his palm. “A Detective Sullivan came to my apartment, said he needed to ask me some questions about the investigation at WMH. He made me go down to the police station for questioning.” The tremor infected her voice.
“Why didn’t you call me, Chloe?” he whispered, imagining how terrified she must have been.
She averted her gaze, and he knew the reason was something ridiculous like she didn’t want to bother him, or thought he had more important things to do, or some shit like that! When was she going to realize how much he cared?
“It was horrible,” she confessed, interrupting his thoughts, and he saw a clear mist coat her frightened eyes. “I don’t keep syringes in my locker. It’s against the rules. I can’t imagine what they’re talking about.”
He pulled her forward into his arms and buried his nose in her hair. “Oh, God, Chloe…I’m so sorry.” He frowned. Shit, she hadn’t even had a lawyer. They’d gone through her apartment. The syringe found in her locker must have made a convincing argument for a judge to sign a warrant so fast. “Is that where you were all night? Tell me.”
He felt her nod into his shirt. “The worst part about it was they checked me in and just left me sitting there for hours before that horrible detective came in to question me. He kept trying to trick me, to make me say crazy things.”
He shifted away, his palms cupping her shoulders. “What did you tell them?”
“The truth. And…and about Omega.”
Brad took a deep breath, trying to discipline his features and hide his alarm. He could tell from the frightened look in her eyes she was reliving the nightmare of what she’d gone through. He knew how these interrogations went. They were eviscerating. By the end of a session, you’d tell them the sky was green just to have it done and be left alone.
“There’s one other thing,” she said hesitantly and his brow shot up. “I saw Nigel yesterday. He was outside my apartment building when I left with the police.”
“Did he say anything?”
“No. He looked like he wanted to. I’ve been thinking. He was at the Stark’s conference. Maybe there’s a connection. There has to be.”
Brad felt his muscles tense. These events were spiraling out of control. He needed answers. He knew someone who could maybe shed some light on Omega. The discrete inquiries he’d made hadn’t yielded much. It was a reputable company with very little debt, and the owner, Phillips, was a shrewd business man.
“It’s okay, Chloe.” He cradled her head in his palms. “We’ll figure out what’s going on. There’s someone I want you to meet. Monty Kleiner. He’s an attorney and a friend. Even though it’s Saturday, he’ll see us at a moment’s notice.”
He was happy she didn’t protest, but his gut burned with compassion and fear because that meant her time with the police must have been an ugly taste of reality.
Nodding, she said, “Maria comes back at seven. Do you think that’ll be too late?”
He shook his head and held her close, trying to sort through the chaos in his head, but every conclusion and scenario he formulated seeded fertile dread in his chest and slowly ate at him from the inside out.
The meeting with Monty Kleiner went surprisingly smooth and Chloe walked out of his Upper East Side office feeling a renewed sense of hope. After that brutal interrogation with Detective Sullivan, she’d been so shaken she thought her teeth would never stop chattering, never thought the unpleasant chill would seep from her bones. But again, Brad had come to her rescue. Monty advised her not to speak to anyone without a lawyer present. He explained that the hospital had the right to access her locker without notifying her because it is technically hospital property. He did, however, question the hospital’s right to suspend her without pay and promised to further investigate her suspension. Chloe prayed that he’d be able to get her salary reinstated. She still had banked time she could use and it would make such a difference with her bills.
She’d spent a good deal of the afternoon on the computer researching Omega Pharmaceuticals and finding out what she could about Memoram. Unfortunately, there was very little on the internet since it was a new drug still awaiting FDA approval. There were two names that kept surfacing in almost every commentary about Memoram: Mr. John Fusso, a wealthy investor who’d funded some of the research for Stark’s generic drugs, and Mr. Phillips, the owner of Omega Pharmaceuicals. Chloe recognized Mr. Phillips as the gentleman from the conference who’d stood and took control of the runaway discussion.
Brad had told her there was someone else he wanted them to speak with, and as she left Monty Kleiner’s office and slipped into the passenger seat of his car, she couldn’t imagine they intended to do it now. It was almost ten on a Saturday night.
She watched his handsome profile as he maneuvered the Mercedes across town through rows of cluttered traffic. His contemplative expression sharpened the angles of his face and accentuated his chiseled features and strong nose. The ambient lights of the city dappled his square jaw and shadowed the day’s growth of beard on his face. He looked ruggedly sexy and robustly male with his big body folded into the seat and his long fingers curled around the steering wheel. He glanced over at her and she was arrested by his shimmering eyes. In the thick silvery shadows, they were bursting cobalt blue. He turned and caught her staring, and feeling heat climb into her cheeks, she looked away.
She was still in disbelief that he was here with her, that he’d spent the entire day as her buttress and protector. He’d sat with her mom and allowed her to sleep. He’d even helped her change linen and fold laundry. She found these actions to be as baffling as they were benevolently considerate. Why? Why would he do all these things? She’d awoken today when she’d heard her mother cry out. She’d walked into the bedroom intending on rescuing him, but had seen he’d had the situation well in hand. He’d taken her mother to the small window in her room and sat with her. It was one of her favorite spots. He’d known exactly what to do. She smiled. Nurse Markson.
Again Chloe wondered why he was doing this. Why would he spend so much time and lavish such wonderful attention on her? Why was he helping her? Did he feel a sense of guil
t and responsibility because he’d treated her so contemptuously the night of Mr. Barkley’s Code? Although she found their sex beyond satisfying, she couldn’t imagine that it had been anything special for someone who’d had many lovers. She was almost embarrassed by her lack of experience. This couldn’t be how he’d want to spent a Saturday night. There was probably some gorgeous woman waiting for him somewhere—like the one she’d seen wrapped around him at Club Silo.
The building they drove up to was an immaculate wall of steel and glass, a mammoth structure that reached high into the sky like a silver bullet shooting at the moon. Brad’s car was handed over to a valet and Chloe tried not to gape as he led her through a gleaming lobby with blue and white marble columns to a massive granite desk. A uniformed army of concierges scurried around the desk and then assumed formation as she and Brad approached.
Brad gave their names, they were announced, and soon were in a glass enclosed elevator whisking high above the lobby. Chloe held on to Brad, trying not to look down. It felt like the glass would collapse beneath her feet at any moment and she clung to him for dear life.
He hugged her to his warm body, his lips making slow trails on her temple while his palms rested low on her back. She took a deep breath, locking his heady scent into her lungs.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall,” he whispered, and she got the feeling he was speaking to more than the scary elevator ride.
She breathed a sigh of relief when they got out and headed towards a large silver door.
The door opened and an ancient face beamed at them. The man’s visage was heavily bearded with a shocking cloud of white curls that seemed to sprout from every deep crevice in his skin. The beard was only broken by his wide, affable smile and wrinkled brown eyes. Chloe couldn’t help thinking that he reminded her of Santa Claus, and she knew she’d seen him somewhere before. Two Golden Labs circled at his feet before coming over to give friendly sniffs at her hands.
“Well, well, well…the stubborn mountain has finally come to Mohammed!” Chloe jolted in surprise at the booming voice that blared from the man’s chest, and immediately she knew where she’d seen him before. At the Stark’s conference. He was the man in the audience who’d heckled the speaker, Dr. Gross.
Brad chuckled and ushered Chloe into the apartment. “Chloe, this is Dr. Shaw, or should I say Professor Shaw… What are they calling you these days?”
The older gentleman pulled on his suspenders and barked a laugh. “They’re calling me a buffoon, but that’s only the people who like me! This lovely lady can call me Gordon.”
Brad grinned back at him. “How come you never allow me to call you Gordon?”
The man led them into the apartment, two more dogs joining in to direct the way. These were smaller Irish Terriers. Chloe noted a faint musky tinge in the air and wrinkled her nose.
“That’s because, Dr. Markson, I don’t want you to become too big for your britches! I’ve got a lot of mileage on you. It’s bad enough you’ve got everyone telling you how great you are.” He turned and gave Brad a long, steady look, then continued further into the apartment. “Remember, you are only as great as you think you are, never mind what these wagging tongue, erudite, sycophantic fools in academia say! They are like the paparazzi and can easily turn on you, especially now when they’re screwing the pharmaceutical whores!”
Chloe’s eyes grew wide and she shot Brad a silently questioning look. Brad gave her an apologetic shrug, but they continued to follow the large man. She remembered that Brad had called him eccentric, and she could understand why as she surveyed the large room he brought them to. It was filled with books, magazines, newspapers and more dogs. She saw several cats lounging sleepily and an assortment of occupied bird and gerbil cages. Two wire cages sat on the floor, home to several large scaly reptiles. There was no furniture except for the doggie beds and animal gyms scattered around the enormous room and a large desk buried under a sea of newspaper clippings and sturdy text books. Chloe felt like she’d just walked into Dr. Doolittle’s apartment and half expected a monkey with a fez and cymbals to jump onto Gordon’s shoulder or a pig to wander by singing.
“I’d offer you a snack, but all I have are doggie bones and cat nip! And trust me, they don’t taste very good!” Gordon belted a peal of laughter as he bent to affectionately pet one of the dogs. Chloe didn’t quite know what to make of his statement.
Her gaze slid to Brad and she tugged out an awkward chuckle, hoping the man was joking.
“This here is Cane,” he introduced one of the Golden Labs.
She reached out and brushed a hand against Cane’s soft coat when he trotted over.
“So, you want to know about Memoram, do you?”
Chloe’s gaze jerked back to Gordon, who was now staring directly at her.
“I told Dr. Shaw we wanted to get more information on the drug,” Brad clarified. “He knows a lot about Omega.”
Gordon folded his arms across his barrel chest and nodded. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. The preclinical trial testing for Memoram was promising. It showed marked improvement in cognition and memory with the test animals in a very short period of time.”
Chloe frowned, remembering the Omega lecture. “I thought you said it was dangerous and caused acute paranoia.”
He walked over to one of the cat trees and plucked a lazy caramel-colored cat from its perch. “What do you think, Fluff? Hmmm?”
Chloe looked to Brad again. Gordon was staring patiently at the cat. Surely he didn’t expect the animal to give an opinion.
“Fluff is shy in front of strangers. She’s usually very social once she gets to know you.”
Chloe nodded. “I thought you said the drug was dangerous.”
“Oh, it is! Very much so. As the testing continued, more and more side effects were discovered. The elevated liver enzymes, paranoia, hearing loss, and I even suspect some cardiac myopathy that those bastards blame on congenital disorders.”
“At the lecture, Dr. Gross and Mr. Phillips argued that they’ve worked out the side effects, that they were no longer an issue since they switched the drug to IV form,” Chloe added.
Gordon again looked to the taciturn feline, who stared back at him with a look of infinite boredom. He held the cat close to his ear. “What was that, Fluff? Lie? Did you say, lie? You mean to tell me they lied? Surely you jest? Those lying son-of-a-bitch whores!”
Chloe’s brows rose into her head as she watched Gordon have an animated one-sided conversation with his cat. It seemed the cat was making a distinct point.
Oookaay…. She looked to Brad again just to make sure she wasn’t the only one who thought this a bit odd. Brad appeared to be following the exchange, unperturbed.
Gordon turned to Brad. “Fluff said they lied.”
“We got that.”
“I know for a fact that some of those symptoms did not resolve with changes in delivery route!” Gordon announced.
“How do you know all this?” Chloe asked and watched as Gordon looked questioningly to Brad.
“You didn’t tell her?”
Her gaze volleyed between the two men. “Tell me what?”
Gordon issued a deep, dry chuckle and stroked a big palm down Fluff’s back. “Oh, I got into bed with the bastards and they tried to bend my wrinkly ass over and poke me, that’s what!”
Huh? Chloe almost winced. She could have been spared the visual.
“I worked for Omega briefly during the initial stages of preclinical development of Memoram. I was basically there as a consultant to ensure that the primates and other animals were handled correctly. They do their toxicity testing through animal studies. This data allows researchers to estimate a safe starting dose of the drug for clinical trials in humans. I think they just hired me to shut me up.” He grinned at the cat. “Isn’t that so, Fluff?”
“They don’t know you very well, do they?”
Brad stated and he and Gordon shared a grin.
; “I’m afraid not. As soon as I saw major problems with the drug, I questioned the safety of the animals.”
Chloe could see this very vocal man being a problem.
“And I became enraged when I saw that they were ignoring the animal rights protocols. They did testing, stating that I had approved it when I knew I’d done no such thing. Suddenly my services were no longer needed. They kicked me out and threatened me, those bastards!”
“But how can they get away with that?”
Gordon looked to Fluff again and Chloe almost screamed in frustration. “What do you think, Fluff? Should you take this, or I?”
Chloe chewed on her lip. If Gordon had to consult Fluff each time she posed a question, she’d never get any answers.
Gordon huffed indignantly and returned Fluff to her slumber. “She’s about had it with us.”
Hmmm…Chloe understood the feeling.
“The truth is, young lady, when there’re billions of dollars involved, the greedy human will do anything to acquire it! Greed. Now there’s a trait you find only in the human species. Mr. Phillips is determined to see this drug go to market and he’ll do anything to ensure that happens. John Fusso planned on investing a few million into this research with the expectation of reaping millions more in return.”
Chloe remembered the names coming up in the brief research she’d done. Mr. Phillips owned Omega and John Fusso was a wealthy entrepreneur who made his money by investing in profitable ventures that ranged anywhere from pharmaceutical research, to real estate, to foreign oil.
Chloe shook her head, still confused. She looked over to Brad, who seemed skeptical about the man’s claims so far. She was looking for some connection to WMH, and she wasn’t finding any. How and why would the drug end up in the hospital?
Something about what Gordon had said banged on a door in her brain, calling her attention. Gordon was now across the room, feeding treats to one of the Terriers.
