She followed him down a narrow corridor to a door that read Edward T. Moran, CEO. He opened it and allowed her to pass.
"You're looking as lovely as ever, by the way."
It didn't take Del long to remember what she had always disliked about the man. He had a habit of licking his lips every so often, especially whenever his eyes landed on a woman. His fat pink tongue would sweep around his mouth in a full circle, leaving a trail of saliva behind.
Yeah, maybe Moran had chronic dry mouth, but it probably had something to do with what he imagined when he watched her. His gaze never seemed to fully meet hers. Instead, his eyes constantly drifted toward her cleavage. He made her feel dirty, violated.
I'll need a bath after this.
Moran beckoned toward a couch in his office.
She moved toward the armchair instead and self-consciously folded her arms across her chest.
Lick. "So what can I do for you, Delila?"
"I'm here about my dad," she said.
Moran sat down across from her, leaned forward and patted her knee, lingering far too long.
"Your father? Yes, well, it was a sad event. We were all very sorry."
She brushed his hand away. "Mr. Moran, haven't you heard? Arnold Schroeder, my dad's friend, is alive."
"Really?"
His face went pale and his tongue slithered over his lips again.
"So, why have you come to see me?"
"I thought perhaps you knew where they had been heading. Before they disappeared, I mean."
Moran shook his head. "Why don't you ask the professor?"
"He's in the hospital. Dying."
He gave her a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry but I can't help you. I wasn't included in their plans. Besides, it's been seven years now. I'm sorry to hear about your friend and I'm sure that you didn't need a reminder of your father's death. If there's anything I can do for you…"
His eyes drifted to her blouse again.
She bolted to her feet, desperate to get out of the man's office, into some fresh air.
"My dad is alive, Mr. Moran!"
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she recalled Schroeder's warning.
Edward Moran's jaw dropped and his face lost all color.
The last thing she saw before slamming the door behind her was a small black button springing free from the man's jacket. She heard the soft ping as it hit the floor.
Heading for the parking lot, she climbed into her car, pulled out her cell phone and called TJ.
He picked up on the first ring. "Yeah?"
"Meet me at the Starbuck's, near my place."
She hung up.
Lisa was right. TJ really was the perfect choice. He was skilled in canoeing and rafting, and he was great at organizing outdoor events.
He was great at a lot of things, Del realized.
Including lying, cheating and deceiving.
And being late, she thought twenty minutes later.
TJ was running on Tyrone Jackson time. As usual.
She was about to call him again when she heard her name. She spotted TJ weaving his way through the coffee addict crowd, carrying two venti cappuccinos.
He put the coffees on the table, then grinned. "Long time no see, Del? I missed ya."
He enfolded her in his arms, kissing her soundly on the lips.
She pushed him away, gaped at him. "What, no more dreadlocks? What happened to you?"
TJ ran a hand over his short black hair. "Julie happened."
Del flinched, her eyes drawn to the gold-plated dog tags she had given him.
Was that only two years ago?
It had been seven months since she had booted TJ out. Seven long months of lonely nights and an empty bed.
Damn! He looked good—real good.
Suddenly, she stopped herself. What was she thinking? TJ had a girlfriend. A very pregnant girlfriend.
Crossing her arms, she flopped in the chair. "How is Julie?"
TJ slid into the chair across from her. "She's good. Baby's doing fine too. Due in six weeks. So what's going down, Del? You wanna go way up north in the middle of nowhere?"
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
"You really think your dad's still alive?"
"Yes."
"But how do you know for sure?" he asked. "Your dad's friend could've been hallucinating, making it up. Who knows what happened to him out there? Don't you think if your dad was alive, he'd try to contact you, somehow?"
"What did Lisa tell you?"
His warm brown eyes locked on hers. "That you needed me."
She scowled.
It would be a cold day in hell before she needed TJ again.
Well, other than on this trip anyway.
TJ let out a frustrated sigh. "She said you think your dad's alive, lost somewhere up north. And that you have a map or something."
Or something.
"When you wanna go, Del?"
She held her breath. "Two weeks?"
"That soon?" His brow arched in shock. "Doesn't give us much time to get organized. We're gonna need a tracker. Someone good in the mountains. We'll also need a couple more people, that's for sure. Someone to work on the code and someone who can handle a canoe. Know anyone?"
"Peter Cavanaugh. You remember him?"
"Ain't he the kid who's got a crush on you?"
Del blushed. "He told me he took a whitewater course last summer. Says he's pretty good, and he seems really excited about going. In fact, he insisted."
"Man! He's got it bad. You asking some others or you want me to?"
"No, you go ahead. Ask anyone you want. Whatever it takes to get my dad back."
They finished their cappuccinos in awkward silence.
When she rose to leave, he restrained her. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something. Then he let go of her arm, without saying a word.
"I can't wait around for you," she warned. "So if you're going to do this—"
"Call me Monday," he said, cutting her off. "I'll check around, see who I can find to come with us."
He followed her to the door and she stared at him as he crossed the street. On the other side, he held a closed fist up to one ear, extended his thumb and pinkie, wiggling his hand. "Call me!"
Walking home, Del felt a burning in the back of her throat. She squared her shoulders, fighting the urge to break down. There was no time for tears. Her father's life depended on her strength and resolve. She would not let him down.
Secure in the familiarity of her small two-bedroom house, her eyes searched the fireplace mantle, lingering on a photograph of her father. She recalled his contagious laughter and corny jokes.
And the dam finally broke.
She wept for her father, a man who was taken away from everything and everyone he loved. A man who was waiting for God-knows-what as his fate. She cried for the lost years, for the young woman who had stood at his graveside believing that her father was gone forever. When her tears subsided, she sunk into a dark depression. She ached for her father, terrified that they'd be too late.
"Dad?" she called out to the empty room. "I'm coming for you."
Exhausted and emotionally drained, she fell asleep on the couch, dreaming of her father—young and full of life. In her dream, he feigned annoyance when she beat him and his poker buddies one night, even though she knew he was secretly proud. Then the dream flashed to the night she had invited her parents for dinner in her small one-bedroom apartment. Her father had teased her about her hockey puck Yorkshire puddings. He called them doorstoppers.
In her sleep, she smiled.
Until the brash ringing of the telephone jolted her awake.
"Y-yeah?"
"Delly?"
She sat up immediately, gripping the phone tightly.
"Professor Schroeder? How did—"
"Delly, I don't…time. You need…follow your heart. And remember, leave no stone…care…Bio-Tec."
"Professor, I can barely hear you! I alr
eady went to Bio-Tec. They don't know anything."
"Go back! Take care again—"
The line went dead.
Spurred by panic, she dropped the phone, snatched up a notepad and scribbled Schroeder's words on an empty page.
Damn! She had to pay Bio-Tec another visit in the morning. And sure as hell, Edward Moran—with his slimy wet lips—would be there to greet her.
Edward slammed an angry fist down on the desk.
"Where the hell are they, you sonofabitch?"
It was early morning and he was in the main NB Lab, typing furiously at the keyboard in front of him. The monitor kept flashing him the same message.
No such files exist!
It had been seven years since Lawrence Hawthorne went missing and was presumed dead. In that time, Edward had taken over most of Lawrence's research, but he was positive there was more. He suspected that the man had enlisted the aid of an encryption expert, encoded his files so that they were virtually invisible. But they were there. Somewhere. It was only a matter of time before he found them.
Hawthorne had been researching something big before he disappeared. And someone else obviously knew about it. Four years ago, the NB Lab was broken into and tossed. Whoever was responsible for the break-in walked away with a number of files, notebooks…and Hawthorne's laptop.
"Looking for something in particular?"
Edward cast a sharp look at a white-smocked doctor standing in one corner juggling test tubes. "Pardon me, Jake?"
The doctor edged closer while Edward tapped the keyboard and hastily exited from the lab directory.
"Just wondering if you were looking for something specific."
"I'd appreciate it if you would finish doing whatever it is that you were doing and leave me to my work." Insolent ass!
Edward struggled to remember the doctor's surname. Nothing came to mind. Jake whatever-his-name-was had been with Bio-Tec for almost ten years, just two years less than he had, but they had never worked together. When the board had voted for a new CEO after Lawrence's disappearance, Jake had come in a close second, but Edward's seniority had won out in the end.
Edward hid a furtive smile.
The lab exuded power and success with its state-of-the-art equipment and leading technology. Countless lab workers surrounded him, busily nattering to each other about test results. To Edward, it sounded like some kind of classified code operated by a secret club.
My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.
As CEO of a leading corporation like Bio-Tec, he basked in the glory of astounding discoveries and technological advances that only his research team had accomplished. As far as he was concerned, he was Bio-Tec Canada. The many doctors and experts were simply the mice in his lab, running the maze and searching for results. He was the one handing them the reward for work well done. Of course, he'd dip into those rewards too—whenever he could get away with it.
He strode past Jake. His eyes narrowed when he saw the doctor cast a hasty look toward the main computer terminal. The last thing he needed was Jake snooping around in the files.
Relax. He's a doctor, not a computer whiz.
Reluctantly, Edward strolled through the automated doors. He was about to head for his office when his pager beeped. Perturbed by the message, he swore loudly and hurried toward the main reception area.
He saw Delila before she noticed him.
Lawrence Hawthorne had created a real beauty, but there was something about the woman that Edward didn't like. Not only was her confidence intimidating, she was also seemingly immune to his charm.
What in blazes does she want now?
He caught the glimmer of fury in her blue eyes as they fastened on him. His tongue flicked over his mouth, this time from sheer nervousness. He'd have to be very careful around her.
"Did you forget something yesterday?"
"I have a few more questions, Mr. Moran. Your office?"
Edward did not like her curt manner one bit. He stomped into his office, huffing indignantly. Then he closed the door behind them and got right down to business.
"While I can appreciate that you're having difficulty accepting your father's death, I hope you can appreciate that I'm a very busy man. We're in the middle of a huge research proj—"
"I'm not here to talk about your research. I want to know where my dad's files are."
He couldn't believe the woman's audacity.
"That's Bio-Tec's property! Anything your father did here we own. You should know that."
"It might be the only way I'll find him."
What could he possibly say to get her off his back and off Bio-Tec grounds?
He stood abruptly. "Follow me."
When they reached the NB Lab, he swiped a small card through a keypad, pushed a button and beckoned her inside. He took her arm, steered her toward the main computer terminal.
"This is where your father worked seven years ago. A lot has changed since then."
Shit! Jake—the obnoxious moron—was sitting at the monitor, with his back to them.
Edward paused. "The lab was broken into a few years ago. Most of your father's stuff was stolen. His files were deleted."
The woman eyed him suspiciously but said nothing.
"Of course I knew you wouldn't believe me so I brought you here to show you. Once I do, I expect you to stop coming here. Do you understand, Miss Hawthorne?"
"Oh, I understand perfectly."
The intensity of her glare burned a hole through his skull, and he was the first to look away.
Del battled a multitude of thoughts, furious at Edward Moran's demeanor. Her father's files may have been deleted, but Schroeder had tried to tell her that there was something at Bio-Tec. All she had to do was find out what.
Moran tapped the shoulder of the doctor sitting at the computer, then he leaned down slightly and said something, motioning the man to stay seated.
"Delila Hawthorne, this is Jake. He'll be happy to show you the folder that your father used."
When the man in the chair turned, she found herself ogling the attractive blue-eyed doctor from Riverview. Schroeder's specialist.
Mr. Tall, Dark and Oh-So-Sexy.
She struggled to catch her breath. Oh crap!
The man appeared equally as stunned. "We've met. Well, sort of." He held out a hand. "Jake Kerrigan, scientist and doctor. How are you doing today?"
She slipped her hand in his, then pulled back quickly, feeling a bit lightheaded from the electrifying contact. "I'm fine."
"Yes, you are," the doctor said boldly. "Grab a chair."
"Thank you, Dr. Kerrigan."
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she paused.
Kerrigan. Why did that sound so familiar?
In the hospital, Schroeder's doctor had never mentioned the specialist's name. She was sure of it.
"What kind of specialist are you exactly?"
A smile formed on the man's lips. "I specialize in youth. Actually, in layman's terms, I'm researching the aging process and aging diseases such as Progeria. We've made some fascinating discoveries in the past ten years."
"Is that why you went to see Arnold Schroeder?"
"I've run some tests on your…friend."
"Professor Schroeder was my dad's friend. And my mentor."
There was a look of surprise on the doctor's face. "You're an anthropologist? I never would have guessed."
Behind her, Moran let out an impatient huff.
She clasped her hands tightly. "Dr. Kerrigan…"
There it was again, that faint recognition.
"Jake," he insisted. "I'm not one for formalities."
My mother would hate you then.
Del saw Moran move closer, until his vast stomach pressed against the mahogany desk. He observed every move Jake made on the computer. When the doctor made a data entry error and had to backtrack, Moran's beady eyes flicked him a look of disdain.
"I'll leave you two at it then," he said after a while.
"Remember what I said, Delila. I don't expect to see you back here again."
He made his way toward the doors.
As far as she was concerned, Edward Moran hadn't left soon enough. Something about the man made her feel as though an army of fire ants were crawling over her body.
"There you go," Jake said, angling the monitor toward her.
He pulled up a folder labeled with her father's name.
It was empty. Nothing. Not one file.
Moran was right. Someone had deleted all her father's work.
But why?
She stared at the screen, willing it to change.
"Can you do a search? See if he had files stored someplace else?"
"Let's see what comes up if I search for one of your father's research topics." He glanced up from the keyboard. "Do you prefer Miss Hawthorne or Delila?"
"Call me Del. Everyone does."
"Ok, Del. It could take a few minutes for the computer to scan all the files. Why don't we head for the lounge, grab a coffee?"
They swiveled in their chairs simultaneously, their knees knocking together.
Jake gave her a rueful look. "Sorry. Ladies first."
She stood, then followed him.
"Did you know my dad?"
"Yeah, he was a great guy. We worked on a few projects together. You're a lot like him."
"Is that a good thing?"
He flashed her a wicked smile. "Uh-huh. Very good."
Embarrassed, she looked away.
"So, are you going to tell me why you're here, Del?"
She thought of Schroeder's warning. No police. Well, Jake wasn't the police, but could she trust him? She had already let it slip to Moran that she thought her father was still alive. That could prove to be a huge mistake.
Thankfully, the lounge was empty. The pastel beige walls of the room were bare, except for a set of brightly colored prints that someone had hung in an attempt to make the room cozier. Coffee-stained laminate counters held a variety of small appliances, including an ancient microwave—maybe the first ever built. In the corner, an old refrigerator rumbled and coughed, probably on its last legs too.
So much for advanced technology.
"You need a visit from the While You Were Out gang."
"Hey!" Jake scowled. "I decorated this room myself."
"Don't give up your day job."
"Ha, ha," he said wryly. "Has anyone ever told you you're like Samson's Delila? Chop off a man's hair or chop him off at his ego, it's all the same."
Children of the Fog Page 39
