Fear

by Jeff Abbott

  Celeste started to argue but saw his point. She crossed her arms under the Batman logo. ‘This is crazy.’

  ‘Whatever Frost is, it’s got to matter hugely to these people.’

  ‘But what would it be?’

  ‘This man she seemed afraid of, Sorenson, he mentioned a new therapy. Said it could deaden the effects of traumatic memory. Maybe Frost relates to his project.’

  ‘But you said Sorenson’s not a doctor. How does he connect to Sangriaville?’

  ‘I don’t know. But Nathan said they’d fixed him. If you forgot your trauma, or it didn’t ruin your life anymore… would you say you were fixed?’

  ‘You can’t just make trauma go away.’ Anger in her voice.

  ‘If he was helped by a new therapy, let’s say for the sake of argument, and Allison was sneaking him out of the hospital… it suggests to me that she needs to show he’s better.’

  ‘To support the research she stole. He’s human proof.’ He saw from her frown she was considering his theory from different angles.

  ‘You think this is about drug tests?’

  ‘If so, they’re secret tests. Or illicit.’

  He noticed a rubber band circled her thin wrist and she snapped it slowly against her skin, an unconscious twiddling of thumbs. She seemed to be trying to make a decision, gauging him.

  ‘You’ve got two facts on your side you don’t know about. Or I’m as crazy as you are.’ She let out a tense breath. ‘The day she died. She came by to borrow my computer, hers was on the fritz. After she left I couldn’t find a bottle of white pills she gave me a couple of weeks ago, to take before our sessions, and they were missing from my purse. I had the insane idea she’d taken them, but I couldn’t really believe it.’

  He remembered the message she’d left on Allison’s office phone. ‘You took these pills before your therapy.’

  ‘Yes. She said it would make it easier for me to talk about my trauma.’

  ‘I wasn’t a cooperative patient,’ he said. ‘Could you talk about your trauma freely with her?’

  Celeste ran a tip of tongue along her lip. ‘Yes. Much more so lately.’

  ‘Are you… stronger, or less affected by the memories, since you started taking the pills?’

  ‘I… don’t know. I cut myself.’ She kicked at the floor. ‘But I’ve been cutting less… but that doesn’t prove she fed me experimental medicine.’

  ‘What’d she do on your computer?’

  ‘There’s nothing new on my system… but she erased the Internet history logs.’

  ‘Let me see.’

  ‘I have a question first. You find out what she stole or why she died, what then?’

  ‘We blow these people out of the water. Expose what they’ve done, that they killed Allison. Get Nathan away from them, if they still have him. If they know that Allison came here on the day she died, they might come for you.’

  ‘Oh, shit. I called the hospital today. Told them I needed a new counselor, that Allison visited me the day she died, acting weird.’

  ‘Have they called you back?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘We may not have much time-’ Miles started, and a beep sounded.

  ‘My front-yard sensor,’ Celeste said. The doorbell rang.

  ‘You expecting anyone?’ he whispered. The door was still unlocked, he remembered she insisted he not lock it when he first came inside.

  She shook her head. ‘No one but my friend Nancy, and she’s already left.’ She aimed a remote at the TV; clicked on the camera view of her front porch.

  A man, wearing a white lab coat over a rumpled suit, stood on the stone tiles, peering up at the camera.

  ‘You know him?’ Miles asked.

  ‘Never seen him.’

  ‘Talk to him on the intercom. See who he is.’

  ‘I don’t take orders in my own house, Miles.’

  ‘Sorry. Please.’

  She pressed a button on an intercom. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Ms. Brent?’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Leland Hurley. I’m an associate of Doctor Vance’s from Sangre de Cristo. You called me and I wanted to be sure you were all right. May I come in?’

  Miles stood close to Celeste. ‘He could tell us what we need to know.’

  ‘What, he just spills the beans? Or let me guess, you go all nuclear on his ass.’

  ‘Neither. But he can’t see me or know I’m here; I can’t risk he knows what I look like if they’re hunting me. I can hide and listen and you can talk to him. I won’t let him hurt you.’

  ‘No, I can’t.’ A sudden terror strained her voice.

  ‘You can,’ he said. ‘Please, Celeste. Please help me. For Allison.’

  She put her hands over her face as the doctor blinked uncertainly at the camera.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  ‘A man is here to see whoever’s in charge.’ The guard stood in the fourth-floor hallway, swallowing, looking at a point to the left of Groote’s shoulder.

  They’re afraid of me, Groote thought. A pleasant discovery, like learning a woman thought you were attractive. ‘I don’t see anybody.’ He’d closed the door behind him, but he wondered if the guard had spotted Nathan.

  ‘Said he had absolutely to see whoever was in charge.’

  ‘What’s this guy’s name?’

  ‘Sorenson.’

  Interesting and unexpected. Groote kept a poker face on for the guard. ‘Is he a suit or is he trouble?’

  ‘Trouble. Big guy. He knows how to handle himself.’

  ‘I’ll talk to him downstairs, in the conference room. You stay close, outside, in case I need backup.’

  The guard complied. Groote went back into Nathan’s room. He lay there, listless, staring at the ceiling.

  ‘Your buddy Sorenson’s here,’ Groote said.

  Nathan looked at the ceiling.

  ‘So I’m supposed to think you and Michael Raymond were telling me the truth now about this third guy.’

  ‘I told you… I didn’t know why he came to Allison’s.’

  ‘He’s downstairs, we can ask him. If you capped him on the head, I’ll invite him to bash you in return. Describe Sorenson again.’

  Nathan repeated the description and Groote took the stairs down to the ground floor. It gave him time to think. He had been convinced that Sorenson was a ruse, agreed to by Michael Raymond and Nathan, to put suspicion on a nonexistent third party. But maybe the two guys had told the truth and this Sorenson, he was Allison’s real partner. Maybe.

  Groote went out into the lobby and found Sorenson waiting. The man matched Nathan’s description: big, blond, with a well-cut suit and a rough face that preferred shadow.

  ‘I’m Groote, director of security at the hospital.’ He offered a hand.

  Sorenson shook it but Groote saw that he braced himself, as though he suspected Groote might try to yank his arm, throw his balance. Sorenson jerked his head at the guard seated at the reception desk. ‘I need to talk to you privately. Regarding Allison Vance.’

  ‘What’s your interest?’

  ‘That’s best discussed alone.’

  Groote led him back to a quiet conference room on the first floor, shut the door. He decided not to say he’d heard the man’s name before – let the guy talk, spin his web, see what story Sorenson had to peddle.

  ‘I acquire projects for Aldis-Tate.’

  Groote knew the name: a big international pharmaceutical. ‘And?’

  ‘And we were interested in buying research from Mr. Quantrill that he’s testing at this hospital.’

  ‘I’m just a security guy…’

  ‘I think not,’ Sorenson said. ‘You were at Allison Vance’s house on Tuesday, shooting at people. I observed you from the bathroom door. You missed them. I made you for a much better shot.’

  This was a guy he could deal with. Groote raised an eyebrow. ‘I’ll be damned. They told me the truth.’

  ‘They?’

  ‘Ruiz and Raymond. Th
ey said you were at her house, I didn’t believe them.’

  Sorenson shrugged. ‘I went there to talk with Allison Vance. I woke up badly tied with sheets, sitting in a tub, with a migraine that I’m still nursing.’

  ‘Why are you here, Mr. Sorenson?’

  ‘Allison Vance approached one of our research directors, a college friend of hers, about a prototype drug being tested here called Frost.’

  ‘I don’t think I could comment…’

  ‘She offered to sell the Frost research to us. I think now she must have made that offer under the table.’

  Sell it? Quantrill had been worried she’d publicize it, destroy their chances of getting it to market. The bitch had been a mercenary. It almost restored his faith in human beings as creatures of profit.

  ‘Did you accept her offer?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So why are you here now?’

  ‘Because we’ve received another offer to buy Frost,’ Sorenson said.

  Groote said, ‘Those would be stolen goods.’

  ‘I suspect so. Goods that Allison Vance was murdered for.’

  Michael Raymond had killed her for Frost and this was it, confirmation of his theory. ‘So why not just buy it from him, why come to me?’

  ‘Because we’re not going to buy stolen research. Mr. Quantrill, despite loving the shadows, is a known quantity. And I believe, knowing that Aldis-Tate’s coming to you with this information, we can strike an accommodation on the pricing of Frost. Before the auction.’

  ‘Auction.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Sorenson said. ‘Whoever took the Frost files from Allison is staging an auction in four days. I told Quantrill this yesterday. Didn’t you know?’

  Heat built in his face, in his chest.

  Sorenson noticed. ‘Odd. I figured your boss would have told you. I’ve been told the opening bid is half of what Quantrill would have asked. It’s going to gut him, the thief selling Frost at cut rate.’

  ‘But the drug would still get produced, right?’

  ‘If Aldis-Tate acquires the research, Frost would be the top priority for us. I don’t know about the others. There’s a certain amount of smokescreening to be done, to cover up the research’s origins. But if we work directly with Quantrill’s team, as opposed to buying it from a murderer and a thief with whom we could never consult on matters of research or testing, Frost could be produced faster.’ Sorenson shrugged.

  ‘You want me to make you a deal for Frost.’ A year or two of life for Amanda.

  ‘We’re willing to pay Mr. Quantrill quite well for Frost. But he cancels his auction, you close down this thief’s auction, and we’re the exclusive buyer.’

  ‘You’re a real humanitarian.’

  ‘Patients will get it sooner. And I prefer not to deal with a murderer like Michael Raymond.’

  ‘How do you know so much about him?’

  ‘Allison identified him as a patient who was helping her in acquiring the research. I got the impression he was a very dangerous man.’

  A patient; it wasn’t what Groote had expected to hear about Michael Raymond. ‘But your deal’s worthless if he’s conducting an auction.’

  ‘Mr. Quantrill puts the word out to the other buyers that the research is flawed. The buyers lose interest. The deal is then between us and Mr. Quantrill. Michael Raymond needs to be dead so he doesn’t tell the media or the FDA Frost’s dirty secrets, but I expect you can drop him. I can help you. I could arrange a meeting. You could show up in my place. Michael Raymond solved.’

  Michael on a plate, Jesus, that sounded sweet. ‘Let’s you and me make a deal of our own, Mr. Sorenson. You want Frost. I want a reputable drug company that will get Frost on the market. I don’t want to put my life on the line anymore just to make a bigger profit for Quantrill and Hurley.’

  Sorenson kept an amused expression on his face. ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘I’m just tossing out an idea. I’ll deny it if you take it to Quantrill. But if you help me make sure Michael Raymond can’t blow the whistle on the testing here, Aldis-Tate gets Frost. I’ll give you the research myself if Quantrill won’t play.’

  Sorenson smiled. ‘You’re a bad boy, screwing over your boss, but I like you, Mr. Groote.’

  ‘When Aldis-Tate starts the legitimate testing…’ Groote lost his voice for a second, coughed his throat clear. ‘There is a person I would insist be involved. If you can guarantee she gets Frost, not the placebo, not a damn sugar pill.’

  Sorenson nodded. ‘I’ll consider your proposition and I’ll keep it private. One request, while I’m here. Might I see Nathan Ruiz?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Allison was supposed to provide him as an interview subject to our researchers.’

  ‘Forget he attacked you. He was scared.’

  ‘I don’t wish him ill. But I’d like to examine a patient who’s benefited from Frost.’

  ‘All right. He’s upstairs. He ran from us but got roughed up, so he’s not the picture of health right now.’

  ‘Let me,’ said Sorenson, ‘be the judge of that.’

  A knock sounded on the door. Groote opened it. The front-desk guard stood there, frowning, leaning close in worry.

  ‘You have another visitor. His name is DeShawn Pitts and says he’s a federal marshal, and he won’t leave until he speaks to someone in charge.’

  The feds. He glanced at Sorenson. ‘Wait here for a minute.’

  Sorenson stood. ‘I don’t need the hassle of the feds. I’ll leave.’

  ‘Wrong. They’d come in force if they were in arrest mode. This is one guy. Let me find out what he wants and I’ll be back in a few.’

  Sorenson gave the slightest of nods and Groote closed the door. He knew he was double-flipping on a tightrope, cutting a deal without Quantrill, and now a fed showing up after business hours. He sauntered into the lobby, hand out for a hearty shake, saying, ‘Hi, I’m Dennis Groote, ex-FBI, I’m the security director. What can I do for you today?’

  TWENTY-SIX

  Celeste answered the door, telling herself, Pretend you’re back on the island, playing the game. Get him to open up. You can do it. Find his weakness and play against it.

  ‘Hello, Ms. Brent,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to show up without warning, but I picked up my phone messages while I was close to your home and thought I’d stop by.’

  ‘I appreciate it.’ Celeste nodded. ‘Come in.’

  He stepped into her fortress and Celeste gestured him to the sofa; let the shrink sit on the couch for a change. She settled in a leather chair; she wanted the power position in the room. She put on a blank smile; Celeste Brent had played dumb and helpless while manipulating her fellow players across a sand-strewn chessboard, letting the alpha males thump their chests and strut their way out of the competition, letting the bikini-clad nubiles claw each other, spicing the competition with rumor and innuendo that never caught up with her, rising above the backbiting to win the votes necessary to walk off with five million dollars. She wanted to put a gleam in her eye, show her guts, show her resolve, but not now. She wasn’t sure she could play the game, fool this capable man. She forced herself not to look toward the bedroom, where Miles was listening.

  ‘How are you?’ he asked.

  ‘Shocked by her death but coping.’

  His neutral expression didn’t change. ‘I’m sure the last thing Allison would want is for your treatment to be adversely affected by this tragedy.’

  ‘Do the police know what happened yet?’

  He shook his head. ‘It takes time. I suspect a gas leak.’ Hurley leaned forward with an air of grave concern that was designed, she decided, to steady her. ‘You were one of the last people to see Doctor Vance. We found her appointment schedule on her computer at the hospital. Did you make that appointment, or did she?’

  Celeste decided on the truth. ‘She stopped by here. On her own.’

  ‘Is that an expectation you have of a therapist – impromptu visits?’

  ‘No
. She wanted to check on me.’ She decided to put Miles’s theory to the test. ‘We’ve been trying a mix of new ideas in my therapy and I seem to be handling the stress of my memories better.’

  Naked surprise crossed his thin face and then he blinked and it was gone. ‘That’s great, Ms. Brent. What was she trying in your therapy?’

  ‘I hate taking pills,’ Celeste said, ‘but she had me on a new antidepressant before our therapy sessions and the new pills definitely helped.’

  ‘Wonderful. And she came by to monitor your progress with this new medicine?’ A chill filled his voice.

  ‘I suppose. She took the pills back from me.’

  ‘Did she say why?’

  ‘She said I didn’t need them anymore,’ Celeste lied. ‘Then we talked, sort of an abbreviated session.’

  ‘Did these pills have a name?’

  ‘She called it some kind of compound, but I don’t recall the name.’

  He took a deep breath, Celeste guessed, to collect his thoughts. ‘This will sound odd, but did she seem nervous, or frightened?’

  ‘Well… she wasn’t herself.’

  ‘I wonder if she might have asked you for a favor.’

  ‘What kind?’

  ‘This is awkward. To keep information safe for her. Perhaps on a computer disk.’

  Celeste forced herself to frown in surprise. ‘Why would she?’

  ‘That day Allison removed sensitive data from the hospital.’

  ‘What kind of data?’

  ‘I’d rather not say.’

  Celeste let two beats pass. ‘I can’t see Allison doing anything unethical.’

  ‘Allison might have gotten involved with very bad people – they might have forced her to take the data.’

  She lobbed a test at him. ‘Then call the police.’

  He failed. ‘We’d prefer not to-’

  ‘Of course. Hospitals hate scandal. They hate dirty laundry.’

  He gave her a frown that suggested he’d underestimated her. ‘Sangre de Cristo has nothing to hide, and we’ve already reported the theft,’ he backpedaled.

  ‘If she stole it, what reason would she have to leave it here? I don’t think you’ve thought this through, Doctor Hurley.’