Bloodline rj-11

by F. Paul Wilson

  Christy wanted to scream but kept her tone level. "I want you out of her life and I'm willing to put my money where my mouth is. Take it."

  Of course he could take the cash and stay with Dawn, but that would cause a fall from grace in her eyes. Dawn would want him to give it back, and if he refused…

  "You don't get it, do you. We was made for each other. I'll fight to keep her and I'll fight anyone who tries to come between us. But more"—he pointed a finger at her—"and you as a mother ought to appreciate this—I will protect her from all harm. I will trade my life for hers if it comes down to that."

  The words stunned her. Not so much because she hadn't expected them, but because of the undeniable sincerity behind them. This man would indeed die for Dawnie.

  Why? He'd known her only a few months.

  This was crazy.

  He stepped to the side and dumped the stacks of bills onto the coffee table.

  "What are you doing?"

  He said nothing as he pulled out his cell phone. She watched as he opened it and started pressing buttons.

  Calling Dawn? Oh, no!

  "What are you doing? Who are you calling?"

  "Nobody." He aimed the flip top of the phone at the pile of bills and pressed a button. "Just gettin proof."

  "Proof of what?"

  And then she knew. Her heart twisted in her chest when she realized what he was up to.

  "No, please. Let's forget this ever happened! Please?"

  He smiled as he slipped past her, opened the door, and stepped out into the night.

  Christy stood there, numb, bloodless.

  What would make a thirty-something man turn down a quarter of a million dollars to stay with a naive eighteen-year-old? Most people would say it had to be love, but Christy couldn't buy that.

  It was something else. He talked about entwined—"twined"—destinies and changing the world… what was going on in that man's head?

  But worse than that… she had a feeling she"d just made an awful mistake. She had to call Dawnie, reach her before that man did. Find some way to explain.

  She ran for her phone.

  11

  "What I don't get," Jack said, eyeing Levy, "is why you'd even think of letting a psycho killer like Bolton loose."

  Levy smiled. "He's not a 'psycho.' He's just… different."

  "What kind of a guy doesn't say word one to anyone—not even his lawyer—during his entire trial? Doesn't that fit with psycho?"

  The smile turned condescending. "It's not a term we use in the medical field, but yes, that sort of behavior would certainly be considered aberrant. In Bolton's case, however, it was aberrant like a fox. As soon as he arrived at Creighton he began talking. He's never explained his silence. He might have been looking for a verdict of not guilty by reason of insanity, but it didn't work."

  "All right then, but psycho or not, he's still a stone killer. Why can't you test this drug on him behind bars?"

  "Because that's not the real world. He's been a model prisoner, but it's a rigidly controlled environment. We couldn't gather worthwhile clinical data while he was locked up. It simply wasn't possible. We had to test him 'in the wild,' as it were."

  "He's wild, all right."

  Levy cleared his throat. "I'm not going to discuss experimental protocols with you. We'll make you the same offer we made Gerhard: We'll match what the Pickering woman is paying you."

  Levy obviously figured he was talking to a sleazeball. Why disappoint him?

  "Some offer. I'll be pocketing the same either way. Where's the benefit to me?"

  "No, you misunderstand. We'll pay you while she's paying you. We want you to keep working for her—pretend to be working for her—so she won't hire a third detective. That way you'll be getting double your fee for nothing. Because that's what you'll be doing: Pretending to be conducting an ongoing investigation but coming up empty-handed."

  Jack leaned back and thought about how he could make this work.

  A crummy, complicated situation. Christy had hired him to come up with some way to split up Dawn and her older guy. Jack had that. All he had to do was go online to the FBI site and find a white male in his thirties on their most-wanted list, then drop a dime and identify Bethlehem as the guy. The feds would investigate, check his prints, and voila, back behind bars.

  But would that trigger another sort of investigation? Would the agency Levy had spoken of figure John Robertson for the finger man and come after him? Might. Might not. But Jack couldn't afford to take the risk.

  Especially if Bolton had nothing to do with Gerhard's death.

  He'd have to find another way to fix this. Come at it from an entirely different angle. And it wouldn't hurt to maintain ties with Levy and Creighton while he was looking.

  But he didn't want to sell himself too cheaply.

  "Give me double what the lady's paying and it's a deal."

  Levy nodded. "I believe we can handle that—as long as you hold up your end of the bargain."

  "No problem there." But Jack saw a major hitch. "Might have a little problem taking back what I already told her."

  Levy stiffened. "What's that?"

  "That Gerhard's dead and Bethlehem could be the perp."

  Did that sound detectivey enough?

  "You didn't!" he said, bolting from his chair. "How could you be so stupid?"

  Jack gave him an angry look. "Hey, watch it. I was doing what she was paying me to do. And now I'll do what you're paying me to do."

  "Which is?"

  "I'll tell her I checked out where Bethlehem was at the time of Gerhard's death and that he has an alibi."

  Jack hadn't bought the alibi yet, but, not a bad plan. It might allay Christy's fears while saving her life.

  "Just do whatever is necessary to keep her from exposing Bolton—for her sake as well as yours."

  "When do I get paid?"

  "I'll mail you a check tomorrow."

  Jack shook his head. "Uh-uh. No way I want a paper trail between us. Cash."

  "We cant do cash. We have to account for expenses."

  "Cash or I walk away from this whole thing. Then you'll have to deal with the next dick Pickering hires."

  "All right, all right! Cash it is. Now leave me alone. I've said too much already."

  "Not nearly, but I can take a hint." He rose from his seat. "I'll be back to pick it up tomorrow."

  "Not here! I don't want you near my home ever again."

  "Your office then. Makes no difference to me."

  "Not my office either."

  Jack hid his disappointment. He'd wanted a look inside Creighton.

  "Why not?"

  "It's not a good place for private transactions."

  Private… Jack realized that Creighton was probably lousy with bugs and security cameras. He remembered Levy's RF detector and figured he was worried his own place might be bugged.

  "Where then?"

  Levy thought a few seconds. "The shopping mall. We can meet in front of the A&P, say, around five-thirty."

  Jack had one more question, so he pulled a Columbo—started for the foyer, then turned at the door to face Levy again.

  "What makes Bolton so special?"

  "Whatever do you mean?"

  "Why's he still out there after kidnapping one of his handlers?"

  "He's unique, and that's all I can say."

  "Is it in his blood?"

  Levy frowned. "Blood?"

  "You know—his genes?"

  "The nature-versus-nurture argument in regard to criminal behavior has been going on since before Darwin's day."

  "Who's winning?"

  "The nature argument—as it should. I am a geneticist, after all."

  "So you believe people are born bad."

  That condescending smile again. "We're all born bad—some just badder than others."

  Helluva worldview.

  Genetics, ay? Jack remembered what he'd seen on the notepad in Gerhard's office and decided to see if his next
question would wipe that smile off Levy's face.

  "So as a geneticist you've probably heard of oDNA."

  The smile vanished. "Wh-whal? What did you say?"

  "Little-oh, big D, big N, big A—oDNA."

  "Where did you hear of that—of such a thing?"

  Jack winked. "I'm a crack detective."

  Levy recovered a little. "You must mean crack-head detective. There is no such thing. Forget about it."

  "You mean if I do some heavy research I'll come up empty?"

  "Exactly. But if you do stumble upon anything, let me know. I'd be very interested to read whatever you find. Now if you'll excuse me…" He guided Jack toward the door. "I have other matters to attend to."

  Jack noticed how Levy's hand shook when he reached for the knob.

  "Sure thing. Be seeing you."

  Oh yeah, doc. Count on that.

  12

  Aaron closed the door and leaned against it, exhausted. The stress of this project alone was wearing him out, and this detective, this man calling himself John Robertson, was making it worse.

  Where the hell had he heard of oDN A? Only a handful of people besides him and Julia, all with top security clearances, were privy to it. Every mention of it—and there hadn't been many—had been expunged from public and private records.

  So where had…?

  Gerhard must have told him.

  But he'd said Gerhard was dead when he found him…

  Just last night, Aaron had concluded that someone had tapped into his home computer. He assumed it had been Gerhard. His own damn fault, really. Last year he'd succumbed to the alluring convenience of a home wireless network. His daughter wanted it—everybody was doing it—and after a while the idea of sitting down with his laptop and surfing the Internet from any room in the house had proven too seductive.

  He'd been able to set up the network—firewall and all—in a matter of hours, and it had been a great convenience. But last night he'd discovered that a few old documents on his hard drive had been recently accessed. It hadn't been him, and he was sure it wasn't his wife or daughter.

  That left someone from outside. If Gerhard had the means to breach the firewall, all he'd have had to do was sneak to the side of the house with a wireless-enabled laptop and tap into the network.

  The good news was that Aaron had a habit of turning off his computer before turning in, otherwise Gerhard would have had all night to wander through his files.

  That had been the end of the Levy wireless network.

  As for this detective, he'd worry later about how he'd heard of oDNA.

  He peeked out the sidelight and watched Robertson get into his car. Had he bought the story about Bolton's alibi? Flimsy at best, but no way to disprove it. As he drove off Aaron tried to get a look at his license plate but couldn't make out the numbers. He remained at the sidelight, watching the yard after Robertson's taillights disappeared.

  Bolton could be out there. He shuddered at the thought. Damn it, he wished the man were back behind bars. He didn't care what Julia said, or what warnings or threats she'd issued to Bolton, he was a loose cannon, primed and ready to fire.

  Aaron wanted to see the therapy succeed as much as Julia did. Well, almost as much. Nobody had more invested in D-287, time and careerwise, than Julia. But he wanted someone other than Jeremy Bolton to be the guinea pig. He'd been overruled, however, and he couldn't risk doing anything to jeopardize the clinical trial. At least not directly.

  But indirectly…

  Robertson or whoever he really was… he struck him as someone as foolish as Gerhard, someone who would keep poking his nose where it didn't belong.

  Which wouldn't be a bad thing if Aaron could guide him in a useful direction, one that would trip him into exposing Bolton's identity and ending the trial. Robertson could act as a stalking horse of sorts. And if he wound up exposing Bolton, the resultant shit storm would focus on him, leaving Aaron watching safely from the sidelines.

  Yes… this had possibilities.

  13

  As Jeremy Bolton reached for the front doorknob on his townhouse, he knew he'd have to play this very carefully—just the right combo of hurt pride and indignation. Strike a single clinker and Dawn might start to wonder. Couldn't allow any doubt in that little girl's head. She had to believe him like his momma had believed in Jesus on her deathbed. Before that, she hadn't believed in nothin except maybe a snootful of hooch before she bedded down with the latest truck driver stopping over on his way to Shreveport, but she became a major Bible thumper after she heard she had the cancer.

  Yeah, Dawn damn well better believe, because turning away from those stacks of C-notes had been just about the hardest thing he'd ever done. All those zeroes… damn! His fingers had fought like they'd had a life of their own.

  He shook his head. He could have taken off with that envelope and had a real good time—maybe even started a new life.

  But no go. He had to keep his eye on the prize and stay on course. Plenty of time—all of time—for fun and games afterward.

  He patted his pocket. He'd left the money behind but the photo was about to come in very handy.

  He stepped inside and found Dawn sitting on the couch in a sweatshirt and a thong. His groin stirred at the sight of her smooth, firm, young flesh. Not a pretty face and not a fantasy body, but no flab, no sag, no wrinkles, no lumps—the freshness of her flesh made up for whatever flaws she might have.

  God, he'd been horny when he got out of Creighton, so horny that he couldn't wait till he'd sweet-talked Dawn out of her clothes. He didn't know how experienced she was—not too very, from the look of her—but he knew he wasn't. Damn near all his adult life without a woman. He wanted to come on as more experienced than her, but to do that he had to get some experience. So he'd hired hookers and had them teach him ways to make Dawn forget she'd ever had anyone else.

  And it had worked.

  He noticed she had her damn iPod buds plugged into her ears and didn't even know he'd come home.

  These iPods drove him crazy. Every damn kid her age or younger didn't seem to be able to exist without them. Earlier today he'd watched a clump of five teen girls shuffling through the Queens Center Mall, two on cell phones and the other three plugged into their iPods. Why go out together if you've got nothing to say to the people you're with?

  I'm showing my age.

  Couldn't come across as an old fart with Dawn. She had to see him as cool and very much of the moment.

  But this illusion of connectedness had to go. Technology—especially the Internet—gave the illusion of bringing people together when actually it was isolating them. They "met" in chat rooms, IM'd and TM'd people who were fifty yards away, and used smilies to overcome the physical and emotional distance that separated them.

  That had to change. And it would. Oh, yes, it would.

  Finally Dawn spotted him. She disconnected herself from her iPod and ran across the room to throw herself into his arms.

  "What happened? What did she say?"

  He hugged her, gave her a kiss, then broke free.

  "I called you on the way back but you didn't answer."

  She pointed to her iPod and shrugged. "Sorry. Didn't hear you, I guess. But what did she say?"

  He turned away, stepped to the window, and stared out at the night sky.

  "I'm not sure I know how to tell you this."

  "Oh, God, what?" She was close behind him, breathing on his neck. "Tell me what?"

  Without looking around he removed his phone from his pocket, called up the photo, and handed it over his shoulder.

  "Take a look."

  He felt it snatched from hand, and waited as he heard Dawn fumbling with it. Any second now…

  A gasp and then, "What is this?"

  "Money."

  "I can see that, but—"

  "Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, to be exact."

  "Ohmigod! I don't get it."

  He figured it was time to face her now. Afte
r a slow turn he gripped her by the shoulders and stared into her blue eyes.

  "Your mother offered it to me."

  Her eyes widened. "Why would she—oh no!"

  He nodded. "Yeah. All mine if I took it, got in my car, and never saw you again."

  She backed away a step, her gaze shifting between him and the phone. "I totally can't believe she'd do this!"

  "The proof's right in your hands. And the fact that I'm here is the proof of my answer."

  "I still can't believe—!"

  He put on a hurt expression. "You think I'm lying?"

  "No. No, of course not, but this… this is so totally unlike her."

  "Call her then. Ask her. See what she says."

  She looked at him. "You won't be hurt? It's not that I don't trust you but—"

  He pointed to the phone in her hand. "Do it. What are you waiting for? Let's settle this once and for all."

  "Okay."

  She sounded frightened and looked terrified, touching the keys as if they were red hot. Finally she put it to her ear. Jeremy sat and pulled her down beside him, then angled the phone so that he could listen along with her.

  His gut tightened. This was a gamble. He hoped it worked.

  Moonglow's voice: '"'Hello?"

  "Mom? It's me. I think you know what I'm calling about."

  "Oh, Dawn, I—"

  "Is it true? That's all I want to know. Did you offer Jerry money to leave me?"

  "It's not like you think."

  "Did you or didn't you?"

  "Yes, but—"

  Dawn screamed and hurled the phone across the room. It slid along the flood and bounced off the far wall as she buried her face in her hands.

  "It's true! I can't believe it."

  "Sad, isn't it," Jeremy said.

  Dawn lowered her hands and looked at him with a tear-smeared face. "What?"

  "That that's all she thinks you're worth."

  "I think it's plenty. But you… you turned down all that money for me?"

  He'd known she'd ask that, and he'd come up with a perfect response—if he could keep from gagging.

  "There's lots of money out there, darlin, but there's only one you."

  She fairly flew into his arms and sobbed against his chest.