She looked over her shoulder again to see his reaction and found he’d turned into a statue. A marble statue. What the hell is going on? Is he that angry with me?
“‘Day fifteen. Weight 350 pounds. Blood pressure not changing. Still at 180 over 90. Blood chemistries not changing, but this is to be expected as the body needs to catch up with itself in regards to the rapid weight loss.’”
He didn’t say anything, just backed up from her chair so they no longer touched. Morgan’s insides chilled as she skipped a couple of file folders and went to the one marked a month later.
“‘Day thirty-two. Weight dropping too quickly. Patient now at 300 lbs. Blood pressure spiking again at 198/100. Began administering beta-blockers again as a precaution. Glucose at 225 mg/dL which is good to see, but Cholesterol level still same at 300 mg/dL. Enzyme levels still elevated. CRP level very high at 47.5 mg/L indicating inflammation within the body. Patient has begun to run a low-grade fever and exhibits general malaise. Advised this might be a reaction to the extremely rapid weight loss.’”
Morgan’s heart began to pound. Her stomach dropped to her knees. He hated her. He thought she was the murderer. So she kept on reading. She kept on punishing herself.
“‘Day fifty. Subject deteriorating rapidly even though all therapy halted fifteen days ago. Weight at 250 lbs. Skin folds becoming a problem because of bacterial infections. Blood pressure still spiking even with beta-blockers. Blood chemistries normal except cholesterol levels have remained high at 300 mg/dL in spite of the statin therapy, and liver enzymes have climbed to near-critical levels. CRP levels extreme. Muscle and skeletal mass decreasing at an alarming rate. Debating hospitalization at this point. Patient exhibiting bodily stress akin to acute starvation. Patient on constant nutrient drip. Hypothesis: the more nutrients consumed, the more the body is burning. Considering halting all nutrients to see if metabolism slows down.’”
Morgan couldn’t read any more. She’d taken the same steps with Pinky and Louie. Once the metabolic rate reached a certain stage, it couldn’t be turned off, even if the subject starved.
Morgan tried to swallow and found she couldn’t. A hollow pit had formed inside, and she felt like she stepped outside her body.
“I’m sorry, Jack. I couldn’t tell you. For your own safety.” She closed the folder and sat staring at the computer screen for what seemed an eternity. “I’ve just made you an accessory after the fact. I didn’t want to, but you just wouldn’t listen. Instead of listening to me and taking me to Atlanta, you brought me home. Back to Boston.”
She tried to think. She tried to feel. Something. Anything. Warmth would be nice. But that might be too much to expect.
Funny how people tried to cope in times of stress. She seemed to enjoy out-of-body experiences. She wanted very badly to throw herself into Jack’s arms but found she couldn’t move.
“Without my work, without my brains, this wouldn’t have happened.”
Jack didn’t answer; he just stared at her, making her feel dirty and unclean. The complete horror of the moment hadn’t even sunk in yet.
Morgan didn’t move. She just kept staring into space, a space filled with facts and figures representing a young woman’s death.
In a detached way, Morgan recognized that Jack coped by holding back on his emotions. But his refusal to answer was scaring her half to death.
Taking a deep breath, she looked him straight in the eyes and said, “You’d better take me to the police, Jack. I’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”
“What?”
“We need to go to the police. Now!”
Galvanized into action, Jack gripped her upper arms and started shaking her, not hard but trying, she guessed, to get her to react. To anything.
She watched him take a deep breath and exhale slowly. The frown on his face deepened. But he still didn’t answer.
Cold seeped into her bones. “All my life, Jack. More days, nights, weekends than I care to count. Since I was a kid. Dreaming of the day when I’d find a cure for cancer or halt the effects of aging. Dreaming of the day I’d give mankind a gift. Because it burned inside of me. Because, I guess, I believed God wanted me to.” She barked out a bitter laugh. “Now I’ve given them a nightmare.”
He started shaking his head. “No, you didn’t. Please. Just look at me. Focus. You’re in shock.” When she tried to rise, he wouldn’t let her get up.
Morgan shuddered. She didn’t know how to explain. She swallowed, not trusting her stomach. “I think I’m going to throw up.”
“No you’re not,” Jack told her, his voice stern. “You’re going to get a hold of yourself this instant.”
Morgan swallowed hard, realizing she’d never be warm again. “I checked the creation dates of each of the folders in the main menu. God, I should have seen it. I should have known. These were my experiments. This was my work. Two years’ worth of work. I knew everything that was going on. At least, I thought I did.”
He grimaced at her. “You are not a murderer, Morgan. Do you hear me?”
Morgan swallowed again as acid burned a hole where the emptiness was. Jack didn’t say anything else; he just waited for her to continue. She kept on talking. “Don’t you see, Jack? My work. I should have known. Should have paid attention. I should have seen a folder I never, ever, want to see again.
“Someone used my process, my process,” she repeated. “On a woman. And she ended up just like Pinky and Louie.”
Morgan started laughing. There was a tinge of mania in the sound. She had to be going crazy. Had to. Or else, in a moment, she’d wake up and find it was all a bad dream. She buried her face in her hands, but she couldn’t bury the vision in her head. The picture of an emaciated body, and the gaze of a frightened woman who wanted to be beautiful and ended up making a mistake that cost her her life. She imagined the joy the woman must have felt, shedding all those pounds so effortlessly. The return of physical energy with a renewed sense of hope that something was finally working, she was able to lose weight. Then the concern that the weight was coming off too quickly. Should it be happening so fast? This isn’t right, is it? Then not feeling so well. The constant craving for food even though she’d just eaten. Was this normal? Did the drug make you hungry too?
Then the long silences and the unanswered questions. The not so cheerful smiles. The gaze that wouldn’t quite meet hers. Until the day she found out the truth. That she was going to die of starvation even though she was consuming 10,000 calories a day intravenously. And that if the drip was turned off, she would still lose the weight. Less quickly, but the metabolic rate wouldn’t stop, would never stop. Not until she was dead.
Morgan dropped her hands and wrapped her arms around her midriff, rocking back and forth. She still couldn’t understand how everything could have gone so wrong.
Think! Focus!
Jack bent down and wrapped his arms around her. He rocked with her. “You’re going to listen to me, now. Do you understand? Just listen. All right?”
Morgan nodded. She buried her head in his chest, knowing she had no right to let him make her feel so protected.
“Someone was stealing your data and your notes. We figured they were doing it from the get-go, and they were.”
Some of the ice inside her melted. Then she shivered, her reasoning about thirty seconds behind her hearing. “We?”
He rose and urged her to stand with him. His arms wrapped around her, his warmth enveloping her, trying to expunge the chill in her heart. Then, as suddenly as his arms were there, they weren’t any longer.
“Yes, we.”
At first Morgan didn’t understand. All she knew was that a Siberian winter was warmer than the knot insider her belly.
“Wait a minute. I don’t understand. We? Who’s we?”
“Ian and I.”
Morgan stared at him, still not comprehending. “You knew? You’ve known all along?”
He didn’t apologize, didn’t beg forgiveness. He simply answered, “Yes. I
an works for the FBI. I’m working undercover with him.”
Her arm arced before her mind registered the command. She landed one on his cheek, and his head snapped to the right, making the last time she’d done this pale in comparison. He didn’t even register the impact. He just swiveled his head back and stared.
“There’ve been more bodies than just this one,” he continued. “At first the police didn’t connect them. Then the MEs started talking. No one could figure out what could cause such devastation. I mean, this kind of body mass and weight loss has only been seen once in all of our history—in the concentration camps during World War II. So they called in the FBI. The FBI started targeting all companies in the weight-loss business. Ian saved my life during one of our tours of duty together. He called in a favor. Said the FBI needed my help. Told me about Sam.”
Morgan didn’t say anything. She couldn’t.
“With Sam in the security business, it was a perfect setup. I didn’t want to believe he was dirty. But I had to find out for myself. I knew I was on to something when BioClin made their announcement to the banks. All of a sudden Sam wanted me to find out everything about you. Then he told me to go after you. When you skipped town, I was pretty certain you were involved. And when you asked, and I told you I didn’t want to know more, I wasn’t lying. I already knew.”
He took a deep breath and let the air out in a rush. “Then you showed me your data.”
“And now?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. It was why he’d brought her back to Boston.
Chapter Fourteen
“I’m sorry, kitten,” he said, meaning every word, knowing she had more than every right never to believe him again.
She shoved him. He faltered backward, then regained his balance. She shoved him again. This time he didn’t budge. And when she saw she couldn’t move him, she started pummeling his chest. He didn’t feel anything other than a well of remorse bubbling through his insides.
“When did you decide that?” she asked, raw agony making the question a knife that slid between his ribs.
Jack had no idea how to explain. He had no idea how to make her understand. “I already know you had nothing to do with any of this.”
“Oh really? How did you come up with that conclusion? Because I’m good in bed?”
“Our being together has absolutely nothing to do with trying to find out who murdered those people,” he insisted, trying not to let the sneer in her tone add to the well. “Or finding out that my best friend was a criminal.”
“Sue me,” she fired back at him. “Because if you think I’m going to feel sorry for you right about now, you know what will happen to hell.”
He shivered, feeling about that cold inside. “Already there, kitten.”
The look she gave him twisted the knife so he would feel her pain. “Why didn’t you tell me? You had every opportunity since I showed you what happened to Pinkie and Louie.”
“I couldn’t.”
She whirled away as if the sight of him sickened her. “God, what a fool you must think I am. You begged me to forgive you.”
“Because I had to.” He reached out to turn her around. She shrugged off his hand, daring him to touch her again. “Because I needed you to.” Oh hell, none of that was coming out right. “Morgan, listen to me. There was nothing personal—” Uh-oh. Time to quit while he was still behind.
“Nothing personal?” she nearly shouted. “So it was just ‘wham, bam, thank you, ma’am’?”
“Absolutely not. One had nothing to do with the other,” he insisted, lowering his voice in the hopes that his calm might help deflect the oncoming explosion. “Do you really think we could have made love the way we did together if I thought you were a criminal?”
She tightened her tone, making him realize exactly how much he’d injured her. “Right now, I’d believe just about anything.”
God that hurt. And he deserved every mangled nerve. “Please try to understand,” he begged.
“You asked me to trust you, you bastard!” Jack waited for another slap, waited for the punishment he rightly deserved. But instead, her shoulders hunched as if she wanted to crawl inside herself and never come out. “And you want me to understand why you betrayed me? Again?”
Each word kept on stabbing at his insides. “I couldn’t let you know!” he exploded. “I was under orders!”
“And you always follow orders?”
He saluted. “Yes, ma’am, I do.”
She stormed past him, and Jack reached out to catch her just in time. “Look. I know how you feel.”
“You do? Oh, I don’t think you do. Because if you did—” She didn’t finish. She couldn’t. Her face turned a mottled red, then cleared as if she’d thought of something, something that might help him get her to listen.
“I don’t care how you feel about me,” he told her, his tone weary. “You can hate me into the next millennium, but you need to get something through your head right now. I wasn’t supposed to tell you at all. I broke protocol. And now you’re going to have to help me whether you want to or not. Because I need you to help me find out how involved Sam is. And I need your help in figuring out what’s going on. Because we either have a really nasty sonofabitch out there or a serial killer. And he—or she—is going to kill again.”
Her eyes widened as the truth of his words sank in. “All right. Let’s cauterize the wound. You didn’t trust me. I didn’t trust you. That still doesn’t absolve you.”
Jack closed his eyes to the pain that caused. They were both beyond emotional overload.
“Once we catch the bastard,” he promised, “you’ll never have to see or hear from me again.”
Her soft laugh skittered across his psyche. “I don’t have to do that now.”
“True. You can leave. And I’ll get into a heap of trouble with Ian. But don’t forget who’s going to be in even more trouble,” he told her.
And landed right in his guts. “Right now you’re looking at accessory to murder, or if you’re lucky, accessory after the fact. So we can play this either way. Either you leave, or you help me. If you help me, it all goes away.”
That got her attention. She looked up, catching his gaze with hers. “Does that include you?”
He winced, a hurt sinking so deep inside him he knew he’d never completely dig it out. “Including me.”
She wrenched her gaze away, her tone giving away none of her feelings inside. “Deal. But if you come within ten feet of me, I swear to you, your fingers aren’t the only part of your anatomy that will get cut off. Are we clear?”
He shuddered as a very vivid picture of her doing exactly that popped into his head. “Crystal.”
* * * *
Jack wanted nothing more than to lie in bed with her and listen to her breathe. He stared at the nondescript walls in the muted light, understanding now the difference between light and shadow. He’d lived his life in shadow, never quite able to tell the truth about what he was and what he did. While Morgan, on the other hand, was all about the light, about saving lives, about making a better world.
You are so done, man.
How many times was too many to ask someone to forgive? If he was honest with himself, the answer was none. And yet here he was having not only gotten her to trust him twice before he turned around and betrayed her twice.
He didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell with getting her to forgive him again.
And yet, his gaze kept finding her. Instead of trying to sleep on a rather uncomfortable floor, he sat in an even more uncomfortable chair watching her sleep.
Because he couldn’t help himself.
Yeah, and if he didn’t start getting his head out of his ass, they would both be toast.
For the first time in his life, Jack wondered what heaven on earth might really mean. Because he couldn’t be in a better place than he was in right now. Even though he was sitting in the middle of the worst cesspool he could have imagined.
Didn
’t matter. Because everything had changed. He didn’t have to lie anymore. He could be a real human being for the first time since he’d met Morgan. Funny part was, Jack was falling, and he had no idea how to get up. Everything was so backward, so totally upside down, that he was scared of trusting his own judgment.
Thick, sooty lashes framed her closed eyelids, resting on satiny cheeks. Her breathing told him she was asleep but not deeply, for every now and then she would shiver as if something haunted her in her dreams.
He couldn’t even begin to imagine.
When a person works for most of their waking moments to save lives, it was hard for them to understand the harsh reality of death. She’d taken her brains and her heart and all the hours of working on projects to help, not harm, which made Morgan Mackenzie one of the good guys. And he knew who just dragged her down below his level.
Way to go, Jack.
Funny, he had no trouble understanding the motivation surrounding their predicament. He’d seen enough of the uglier side of life to last a lifetime. The reality was, he wasn’t one of the good guys.
But he did believe in truth. And when someone screwed with him, they got Jack. And justice.
So what you just did to her was right? Didn’t you do to her what Sam did to you?
Jack closed his eyes and tried hard to fire up his brain. Because beating himself up about it wasn’t going to fix the situation. Finding a murderer would.
This whole mess hadn’t been easy to figure out—especially while he tried to play both ends against the middle. On the one side, Jack was fairly certain that BioClin didn’t know what was on Morgan’s computer or her data stick. They wanted their property back so they could get their hands on their investment capital. The most logical way to do that was to hire a private investigator. After all, they figured the data stick was theirs to begin with.
What they didn’t know about was the additional data in their computer. What they didn’t know was that someone had taken a process that didn’t work—yet, he said to himself with a small grin—and turned it into a murder weapon. Why?
Two possibilities. One, someone had decided to play Frankenstein and use human subjects to see if the formula worked. Or two, someone was a sick, psycho, serial killer.
Damned If You Don't Page 12
