The Profiler's Daughter (Sky Stone Thriller Series)

by Steffen, P. M.

  Connect the dots, she thought.

  Nicolette was supposed to deliver this thumb drive to the stranger on the afternoon of the Boston Marathon, that’s what the stranger had said. Did he know what was on the thumb drive? And if he did, why would a documentary film director be interested in a drug patent?

  Sky copied the files to her hard drive and pulled the thumb drive from the computer. She was hiding it when her cell rang. It was Izzy.

  “Tiffany’s gone!” Her grandmother was nearly hysterical. “She was in the kitchen with Raj and now she’s gone!”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  Sky hung up and pulled on her trench coat, belting it as she ran down the hall. The Jeep was parked in the lot behind the building so she took the east stairs to the Watertown Street exit. She paused in the dim light of the lobby to text Candace. Too late, she registered the stink of sweat mixed with cheap cologne.

  “Grab her, Vito.”

  It was a male voice.

  Sky tried to turn but someone yanked her back and held her arms in a vice grip.

  Her phone dropped to the floor and she kicked back hard. Her boot heel made contact and the person who held her arms grunted in pain.

  “Stop,” a man stepped into view. “Or I’ll kill you where you stand.”

  It was the thug with the tattooed neck, the one who’d taken a shot at her at the apartment on Norwood.

  Sky’s mind raced. Candace would be coming back to the office any minute. Would she call Jake when she found Sky missing?

  “Who are you?” Sky said. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Ain’t the only thing I’ve done.” The thug offered a boastful snicker. “I rammed your car last year. The famous Monk Stone, Vito.” He spoke over her head to his companion. “I put his daughter in the hospital.”

  Vito stammered his appreciation. “Y-you’re the man, Cade.”

  The thug’s name was Cade? Sky didn’t know anyone by that name.

  Cade erupted in a nervous giggle. “I’ve been going past this building every night for the last week. I was ready to give up. Wasn’t I, Vito? Couldn’t believe it when I saw your office light on.”

  “You shot at me at Bullough’s Pond,” Sky said, beginning to understand. “And again on Norwood.”

  “Right on both counts. You’re one hard bitch to kill, I’ll give you that.”

  “Why? You don’t know me.”

  “I guess I know you well enough, Monk Stone’s daughter.”

  “Monk?” Sky was confused. “What’s he got to do with this?”

  “Silas Cleveland,” Cade said. “Ring a bell?”

  The letter from Jasper Cleveland.

  Teddy had urged her to visit Cedar Junction, find out what Jasper Cleveland wanted. But Sky had blown it off, she’d been so focused on Porter Manville.

  “Monk Stone killed my daddy. Put my Uncle Jasper in prison. Then we lost the farm and my life went to shit. It’s payback time.”

  “My baby died in that car accident. I can’t have any more children.”

  “Yeah?” Cade Cleveland slapped Sky hard across the face with the back of his hand. “That’s for fucking up my arm in that closet.” He swiveled, cracked the door, stuck his buzz-cut head out. “Street’s empty. Bring her.” He shoved his face in Sky’s. “And don’t make any noise. Show her, Vito.”

  A knife with a tapered point flashed in front of her, two cutting edges ran the full length of the foot-long blade.

  “See that?” Cade Cleveland grinned. He was missing a tooth. “I learned a few things from my daddy. I am going to fuck you up. You’ll be begging to die before we’re through.” He opened the outer door and Sky was scuttled into the pouring rain, to the sidewalk, down the alley to the lot behind the building. Vito’s gait was uneven, he seemed to be limping. He jerked Sky to a car parked next to the Jeep. Cade Cleveland unlocked the trunk.

  “Throw her in, Vito,” he ordered.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  It was a silver Lexus. The license plate number matched the one the stranger had given her. Vito had spiky hair and a black goatee that made him a dead ringer for Frank Zappa.

  Sky had managed to see that much before Vito dropped her into the trunk. At the last second, she tried to reason with the men, offered them money, lots of money, but they didn’t respond. It was like she was already dead.

  Sky screamed Candace’s name as the trunk lid closed, fighting off panic in the wet blackness.

  The car sagged, the men were climbing in. Sky heard doors slam, the engine turned.

  The stink of grease and gasoline intensified and she wondered if the trunk was airtight.

  It took every ounce of her concentration not to hyperventilate.

  Breath in, breath out, wait.

  The car stopped, turned, went forward. Sky counted the seconds between stops. Four seconds … twelve seconds … twenty-five seconds … thirty-nine seconds.

  There was something Sky needed to do. Something she remembered Monk telling her, years ago. Kick the tail light out, wave your hand through the hole. Someone will see, someone will take down the plate number and call the police.

  Sky couldn’t depend on strangers, she couldn’t wait, there had to be something else. Find the cable trunk release. That was it.

  She twisted face down, arching her body just high enough to yank up the carpet. Brushing her hand along the floor, she felt a metal wire that appeared to run the length of the trunk on the driver’s side.

  Coiling her fingers around the cable, Sky pulled hard toward the front of the car but her hand was wet and it slipped. She worked the tail of the trench coat around the cable and yanked again, this time with both hands.

  The trunk popped open a few inches.

  A pair of headlights beamed at her through the rain.

  They were at a dead stop in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Sky recognized the elaborate stone railing of Watertown Bridge. They appeared to be crossing over the Charles River on Route 16, headed into Watertown Square.

  Sky pushed the trunk lid open and heaved herself from the Lexus, jumping the curb to the sidewalk.

  She started back across the bridge when a figure emerged from the passenger door of a sedan maybe six cars behind the Lexus.

  It was the stranger who’d broken into Sky’s office. Was he in on the abduction?

  Sky pivoted, saw Vito get out of the Lexus. She was trapped on the middle of the bridge between Vito and the stranger.

  Slipping back into the street, Sky hunkered down, intending to cross to the other side of the bridge, make her way back to the Lake.

  But traffic in the far lanes moved quickly, too quickly, forcing her toward Watertown Square along the center line. She crouched past the Lexus. Cade Cleveland was at the wheel, head turned away from her, waiting for the light to change.

  Sky moved ahead two cars and bolted back to the sidewalk just as traffic in both lanes began moving forward.

  Breaking into a run, she cut through the paved courtyard at the far end of the bridge and darted down the sidewalk, heading for cover among the trees.

  She ducked behind a huge maple and tried to catch her breath.

  When she peered around the tree trunk, she saw the Lexus swerve onto Charles River Road and come to a stop at the curb. The headlights cut out. Vito’s limping figure crossed the courtyard just as Cade Cleveland stepped out of the Lexus. Both men moved in her direction.

  Sky bolted for brush along the river’s edge. It was harder to see, away from the street lights, and something tripped her. She fell backwards into brambles.

  Vito bore down less than twenty yards away, close enough that Sky could see the blade in his hand. He was wiping wet hair from his eyes and brandishing the knife like a machete.

  Vito started hacking through thicket as he lumbered toward her.

  Sky couldn’t see Cade Cleveland but she heard his voice, breathy with exertion, yelling, “Cut that bitch, Vito! Don’t let her get away again!”

  Sky tried to r
oll back, away from Vito.

  But her left foot was caught on something.

  Lurching to a sitting position, she ripped a vine from around her boot when she heard a popping sound, like firecrackers. Cade Cleveland’s voice cut off, mid-sentence.

  Sky watched Vito collapse, like a marionette whose strings have been sliced.

  Behind him, Sky saw the stranger.

  She stumbled to her feet and turned away from him, toward the Charles River, planning to swim across. But the stranger had her by the arm, pulling her up the bank toward the street.

  “You must come with me, Doctor Stone. Now.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  The stranger hurried Sky past the bodies of Vito and Cade Cleveland. He helped her into a nondescript sedan idling behind the Lexus on Charles River Road.

  No other cars were parked along the street, no pedestrians. No witnesses.

  “Are they dead?” Sky shivered uncontrollably in the passenger’s seat. “Both of them?”

  “Quite dead. Drug deal gone wrong.” The stranger put the car in gear and made a U-turn, pulling up to the light. “Tragic, really.”

  Rain sheeted through the intersection in unrelenting waves.

  “You’re not … how did you know I was …” Sky didn’t finish her sentence.

  “I was enjoying a beer in the bar beneath your office when a member of my team alerted me that you’d left the building with two very suspicious characters.” The stranger waved a hand, as though it were too trivial to discuss.

  “You’re tailing me?”

  “Your Jeep left Logan Airport a few hours ago. A stop in Chinatown, another in Back Bay, then to Newton …”

  “You bugged my Jeep?”

  He gave her a dry look.

  “Why are you still following me?”

  “Until I secure my thumb drive, Doctor, you remain a person of interest.” He offered a self-effacing shrug. “That is what I tell my men, at any rate. To be honest? I worry for your safety. You have been making some very poor decisions.”

  “You saved my life. Can you at least tell me your name?”

  “Which one?” he shrugged. “I have so many.”

  The light turned green and the stranger took a sharp right on Arsenal. “I was Yuri, as a child. Call me Yuri.” He drove three blocks and took a right, parking the sedan in a Super 8 Motel lot.

  “You need rest.” Yuri scanned the parking lot and killed the engine. “Sleep here tonight. I assure you, no one will bother you.”

  Sky was too cold and exhausted to argue.

  Yuri helped her out of the sedan and ushered her into a motel room with a king-sized bed.

  “Take those wet clothes off in the bathroom.” He cranked the heat up on the wall thermostat and handed her a blanket. “You need food. I’ll be back. Do not, under any circumstances, open this door. To anyone.”

  Steaming water from the shower head sluiced over Sky’s body. She caught herself vacillating between irrelevancies. What year did Monk kill Silas Cleveland? Where was her mother at this very moment? Had she remembered to turn off her bedroom light at Izzy’s?

  She finished showering, dried off, and wrapped herself in the blanket.

  Yuri was sitting in a chair when she came out of the bathroom. He was dressed, head to toe, in black.

  “Dry clothes from your office.” He got up and handed her a bag.

  Sky put on jeans and a sweater in the bathroom and returned to the room.

  “I also retrieved your mobile.” Yuri pointed to a large IHOP bag on the desk. “Pancakes, chocolate chip. Also orange juice, coffee – decaf, naturally – and sausages. Why do you cry?”

  “My dog is missing. I think someone stole her.”

  “The little Shih Tzu bitch? Where was she seen last?”

  “My grandmother’s house. About two hours ago.”

  “The Beacon Hill mansion?” Yuri seemed doubtful. “That particular property is well protected. I did not make it past your grandmother’s manservant.”

  Sky found this comforting. But she couldn’t seem to quit crying. “He’s from Nepal. His last job was working security,” she explained, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve.

  “A professional.” Yuri nodded his approval. “Wise. Considering your grandmother’s estate. Her art collection alone …” He shrugged.

  “What do you know about Izzy’s art collection? Nevermind.” Sky padded barefoot to the table and picked up her cell. “I need to call my grandmother.”

  Yuri plucked the phone from her hand. “First you eat. Sit.” He pointed to the bed; the blankets were drawn, the sheets taut, the pillows plumped.

  “You don’t understand. Tiffany’s pregnant. She could have those puppies any minute.” Sky sat on the bed because her legs were shaking. The tears started again. “I need to get there. I need to keep her safe.”

  Yuri pulled a white Styrofoam container from the IHOP bag. “Just a bite,” he insisted, opening the lid. He emptied a tub of syrup over the stack. “Take this fork.”

  Sky sat cross legged and took a small bite of the pancakes. Then a small bite of sausage. Before long, the food was devoured, the juice and coffee gone.

  Yuri handed her the cell.

  Sky texted Candace, apologized for running out on her, told her she’d explain later. Then she phoned Raj, told him she’d be there soon.

  She hung up and leaned back, into the pillows. “I just need to rest for one minute,” she said, closing her eyes. “Then you can drive me to my car. Don’t you dare leave.”

  Sky started to ask Yuri how he knew chocolate chip pancakes were her favorite, but before she could get the question out, she was asleep.

  The nor’easter had passed, leaving the cramped houses and narrow streets of the Lake threaded in a gauze of fog.

  It was late morning. Yuri steered the sedan through sparse traffic and pulled into the lot behind Sky’s office building.

  “I have bad feeling. A sixth sense, if you will. Nothing concrete, but …” Yuri idled next to the Jeep and offered Sky a grim expression. “Return to your grandmother’s. That would be safest.”

  “Just tell me one thing.” Sky fixed him with a stare. “Why is a documentary film director interested in the patent for a memory drug?”

  “My thumb drive!” Yuri’s face brightened. “You found it. Excellent.” He pulled a pack of Sobranies from the breast pocket of his reefer and extracted a black cigarette. “Frankly, I had given up hope.” He snapped off the gold filter, lit the cigarette with a match, and took a deep drag. “I do not suppose you are going to disclose the whereabouts of my property?”

  “What’s going on? Why are you here?” Sky pressed. “And don’t bother lying. I’ll know.”

  A weary sigh escaped Yuri’s lips as he glanced around the parking lot.

  “Why not?” he shrugged. “Because I have already decided to retire.” Smoke drifted from his mouth as he spoke. “My employer is an international conglomerate. Pharmaceuticals.”

  “You’re a corporate spy?”

  “Just so.”

  “And the film you made at Wellbiogen? The Science of Happy?”

  “A ruse,” he admitted. “Wellbiogen’s public relations woman welcomed our crew with open arms. We filmed everything within camera range. Sales offices, documents, labs.” Yuri waved his hand expansively. “It never ceases to amaze, the gullibility of brilliant minds. You flatter, you drop a few terms like Tribeca and Sundance. Mr. Manville truly believed that the world was breathlessly awaiting his debut on the big screen.”

  Yuri laughed and took a hit from the Sobranie. “Regrettably, we found nothing useful in that footage. But the Boston University connection, that was a stroke of luck. Doctoral students,” he smiled. “Universally overworked, underpaid, and bitter. Ripe for the plucking.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We developed dossiers on Professor Fisk’s research fellows. Both of them. We settled on Miss Mercer, she had the requisite profile. Close relationship with
the mother, sexually promiscuous, insecure, dishonest. Most importantly, she suffered serious financial difficulties. In other words, the perfect leaker.”

  “Leaker?”

  “We were aware that Manville was developing a memory drug. I met with Miss Mercer in late February, offered her a tidy sum to procure information on said drug. She contacted me in March, suggested that she would indeed be successful.”

  “The Ides of March,” Sky said.

  “Correct.” Yuri seemed surprised. “How did you know?”

  “Manville took the whole lab to dinner at Papa Razzi that night – Professor Fisk, Zach and Nicolette. According to Zach, Nicolette flirted outrageously with Manville. A server at the restaurant saw Manville slip Nicolette his phone number on a Papa Razzi napkin. I found the napkin in one of Nicolette’s books.”

  Sky remembered interviewing Zach in the Allston apartment. Zach had tried to blow her off, said he was meeting someone. Kept nervously checking his cell phone. Sky had mistakenly assumed he was meeting Porter Manville. “You tried to get Zach Rosario involved, didn’t you? You met with him after Nicolette was murdered,” Sky said. “The Brown Sugar Café.”

  “Impressive.” Yuri rolled the window down and tapped ashes from the burning cigarette. “If I were not retiring, I would invite you to join my team.”

  “Thanks. I think.” Sky brushed a shard of dried mud from her trench coat. “All of this? Surveillance, dossiers, a fake film company? For one lousy memory drug? Seems so elaborate. You must cost your employers a fortune.”

  “I have an operating budget like you would not believe,” Yuri admitted. “Are you aware, Doctor? Death rates have declined for most major diseases – prostate cancer, heart disease, stroke.” Yuri stubbed the cigarette out and dropped the butt in his coat pocket. “But deaths from Alzheimer’s are up sixty-six percent. Thirty-five million cases in the world, and that number expands daily. An effective memory drug, can you imagine the money at stake? The sales in China alone will be staggering.” He shrugged. “I am simply the price of doing business.”