Lady Justice

by Vicki Hinze

  He started to repeat it back to her by rote, and then remembered Gabby had said that for Elizabeth, not for him. He was surprised by how natural it had sounded to him, and by how normal his own response had seemed—as if he’d spoken those words to her many times, when in fact he had never once uttered them to any woman, in or out of bed. Stunned, he couldn’t find his voice to say anything at all.

  Elizabeth returned to the phone. “Max.” Her voice sounded considerably lower than it had been. “Gabby’s assistant hasn’t called.”

  His stomach sank. “Keith said to expect that. It still scares the hell out of me.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “William did it, too.”

  They shared a quiet moment of understanding, then Max said, “I did call her office earlier to let them know Gabby was ill. I, um, said it was the flu.” His throat clenched.

  “Miranda told me.” Empathy and tacit agreement were in her voice. “It’s for the best.”

  Max sure hoped so. Conlee had deemed the ladies safe, and for the moment, Max had no reason to feel any differently. Actually, Elizabeth’s shared understanding seemed like a gift. “I have one more stop to make after the lab, if that’s not a problem.”

  Gabby said something in the background, drowning out Elizabeth’s voice. “Elizabeth? What did she say?”

  “Don’t tell,” Elizabeth repeated. “I have no idea who she’s talking to, Max. She’s said it fifty times, but her temperature is really unstable, and right now it’s way up. She’s a little loopy. I saw this with William, too. We’re okay, for now. Just do what you need to do.”

  “I’ll hurry.” Max slid the phone into its belt clip, then walked into Logan Industries.

  At the main entrance, a woman about twenty-eight with amber hair and brown eyes met him. “Max Grayson?” When he nodded, she extended her hand. “Miranda Coffield.”

  He shook it. She was nearly as beautiful as Gabby, but what came to mind wasn’t her beauty, it was her intensity. Experience warned him she’d be a woman who missed nothing and remembered everything: a fantastic ally and the worst kind of enemy.

  “Elizabeth Powell called and told me you were on the way in. You’ll need this.” She passed him a security badge and motioned for him to clip it to his shirt collar. “It’s for full access. You can go into any area of the facility, including the lab.”

  He reminded himself that Conlee had deemed the ladies safe and he shouldn’t ask why she was providing unfettered access. Yet he’d never encountered this level of cooperation and he didn’t quite trust it. “You agreed to this on the basis of a phone call from Elizabeth?”

  “I agreed to this based on a phone call from Elizabeth and because you’re married to Gabby, who has extremely high standards, impeccable ethics, and great taste.”

  It was time to probe the extent of Conlee’s safe. “You’re one of the ladies of Carnel Cove Elizabeth told me about.”

  Miranda had definitely been on the list. But would she admit it?

  “Yes, but keep that quiet, will you?” She grinned.

  He nodded. “Scout’s honor.”

  She stopped at a break in the hallway. “If you need anything, I’m at extension three-one-four.”

  “Thank you, Miranda,” he said, and then made his way down to the lab.

  Maybe it was instinct, or the hint of elevated voices inside that had Max pausing at the heavy metal door in the hallway outside the lab. Even he wasn’t sure. But what became blatantly evident was that Dr. Erickson and another man inside the lab had locked horns in a verbal battle. Seconds later, it erupted into a full-fledged war.

  “It’s okay,” a woman said. “They frequently disagree.”

  Max turned to look behind him.

  A young woman wearing a green lab coat smiled. “So far, they haven’t killed each other, but there’s a betting pool in Accounting if you’d like to join in.”

  Max stared at the curly-haired woman. “Who’s the second party?”

  “Ah, that would be Dr. Marcus Swift, the esteemed head honcho of Logan Industries. Brilliant but not very pleasant, as you no doubt have now deduced.”

  “Mmm.” Max wasn’t sure about Swift or Erickson, regardless of Keith Burke’s insistence that Erickson was a good man.

  The door opened and Swift glared at Max. “What?”

  “Dr. Swift.” The woman beside him intervened. “Miranda wants to see you in her office—now. Something to do with an overseas contract that doesn’t look quite right to her.”

  “Fine, Ms. Simpson.” Swift threw one more visual bullet at Erickson then left the lab.

  A cold shiver raced along the back of Max’s neck. “Did Miranda really want to see Dr. Swift?” he asked Ms. Simpson.

  She gave him a negative shake.

  “You know Elizabeth, too.”

  “Of course. I’m Paige Simpson.” A little laugh sounded in her throat. “You’ll never find out anything with Swift around. Miranda increases your odds to seventy-three percent for deeper disclosure with just Erickson. She’s never wrong on numbers.”

  Another lady of Carnel Cove. Each of them seemed to have some special gift that they brought to the group: Candace, the patriot risk taker; Elizabeth, the nurturing organizer; Miranda, the intense informer. “And what are you never wrong on, Paige?”

  “Motives.” She shrugged. “I’m an empath.”

  An empath. Great. Not a good person to be near when you kept secrets. “So Elizabeth called Miranda, who then called you to come and check out my motives for coming to the lab?” He didn’t know whether to be offended or impressed. They had quite a network going here.

  “Not exactly. You’re married to Gabby. That grants you an enormous amount of leeway with us. But we had to be sure your motives for coming to Carnel Cove and to the lab were pure. The work done at L.I. and by Gabby isn’t the kind where you take on unnecessary risks.”

  She was right, of course. But did she know it because she sensed it empathetically, or because Gabby had told her about her work and the work at Logan Industries? One thing was patently clear. Either the circle of people deemed “need to know” on this mission was larger than Conlee had briefed, or Gabby had taken the ladies of Carnel Cove into her confidence.

  “Safe” didn’t warrant full disclosure. But Gabby breaching security protocol? Hell, she didn’t even trust her partner with facts, much less anyone else. That left Conlee. And the question of how much the ladies actually knew.

  “You have nothing to fear from us, Max,” Paige said. “When you automatically know things, it’s amazing how little you must actually be told.”

  Did that mean Commander Conlee had confided in them, or that Paige knew the truth because she was an empath and she’d told the others?

  “I know you have little reason to trust women. I’m sorry about your mother—such a horrible experience. Drugs ruin so many lives.” She paused to give him a minute to absorb what she was revealing. “You could have been beaten by it, Max, but you endured and rose above the trials. Becoming the man you are wasn’t the easiest choice you could have made. It took courage to develop your own code of ethics without the guidance of loving parents. You became a good man in spite of them, Max. Gabby loves that about you.” She let him see the truth in her eyes. “You have nothing to fear from us.” Paige walked on down the corridor.

  Uneasy, feeling vulnerable in an unfamiliar and unwelcome way, Max stared at her back until she turned the corner and disappeared from sight. He had cold chills from all she’d known; things he’d never discussed with himself, much less anyone else. He felt as if he’d stood before her naked and she’d looked into his soul and deemed him worthy. Gabby had deemed him worthy—a good man—without the gifts of an empath. She’d decided on faith. No one had done that for him before. Not ever. He’d never needed anyone’s approval, which had been good because he’d never had it, but knowing now he did have it—from Gabby and the ladies—well, it felt strange. An avalanche of tender, unfamiliar emotions washed through
him and Max had no idea what to do with them.

  Erickson peered out the lab door. “You looking for me, or just parked in my hall?”

  Homing in his focus, he looked at Erickson. “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Why not?” Erickson opened the door and stepped aside.

  Max walked in, felt the swish of the door closing behind him. The lock clicked into place. Erickson’s face still looked sunburned; he hadn’t yet reined in his temper. He returned to his pacing along the row of canisters, proving it. Giving him a minute, Max glanced over at the canisters. They all had yellow bands. A hard knot formed in his throat. “What happened to it?”

  “To what?” Erickson pretended not to understand, but his guilty expression proved he knew exactly what Max meant.

  “When I was helping Gabby lock down the lab, there was a black-banded canister right there.” He pointed to its former place in the row. “It’s gone, and no work is going on here today. What happened to it?”

  Erickson’s expression crumbled and worry burned in his eyes. “I don’t know.”

  “I take it Dr. Swift didn’t, either.”

  Erickson hiked his brows but kept his mouth shut.

  That was what he and Swift had been arguing about, Max surmised. Intel could give him more specific feedback on the argument itself, so Max didn’t push. “What was in it?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to say.”

  Which told Max all he needed to know. Z-4027. Infection experimentation. “I’m working with FEMA. We’re going to spray—”

  “I know.” Erickson lifted a hand. “You need chemicals.” He stopped suddenly. “That presents a problem, Max. Nothing currently approved will work. Malathion was showing some positive results, but it failed,” Erickson said bluntly. “Everything failed.”

  Using the unapproved pesticide had been the basis of the argument between him and Swift. “There has to be something we can at least try.”

  “There is.” Erickson didn’t look happy about it. “We’ve been working on a pesticide that theoretically should work. It’s supposed to kill the mosquitoes before they’re old enough to bite, but we can’t claim it will work with any certainty. Lab success has been positive, but who know what will happen in the field? As you well know, the two can be radically different.”

  “What are you thinking about in terms of side effects?”

  “The standard, typical risks to humans. There’s no sure thing, of course, but we’re encouraged by what we’ve seen that we’ll have few surprises.”

  Considering trial studies hadn’t yet been done, Erickson’s expectations struck Max as more rosy than realistic. “Well, we don’t have a lot of choice.”

  “I know. But we could exacerbate the problem.”

  “It’s my understanding that if we do nothing, we’re screwed. If we try this experimental pesticide, we have a shot. Do you agree or disagree with that assessment?”

  “I agree.” Erickson stuffed a hand in his lab coat pocket, totally frustrated.

  “That’s it, then.” Max shrugged. “If you need stats on the chemical quantities, check with Stan Mullin. He’s coordinating and can tell you what he’ll need. He’s arranging delivery with Carl Blake to get his trucks gassed up and ready to go.”

  Erickson nodded. “We’re on it.”

  Max turned to leave the lab. “Dr. Erickson, what would the contents of that one canister do out there?” Max nodded toward the boarded-up window to the outside.

  “Within forty-eight hours, it’d wipe out the entire population of Carnel Cove. Within two weeks, the state of Florida.” He looked weary and worn. “In two months, the better part of the south. An early, hard winter would be our luckiest break. Otherwise …”

  That “otherwise” came across all too clear, and explicitly graphic. “I understand.” Unfettered, with time, the contents of that one canister assisted by nature could wipe out the population of the United States.

  And a Global Warrior is on the loose here, obviously attempting to unleash it.

  Max picked up his pace, hurried back to the Jeep. To stop this assault, he needed information in the worst way. He needed Gabby.

  Her memory.

  And her evidence.

  “Phone call.” The director eased out of the booth at the Silver Spoon Café, clapped Andrew on the shoulder, silently apologizing for leaving him alone with Sissy Blake and Darlene Coulter, who were angling for a new roof for the church. “I’ll be right back.”

  He stepped outside into the parking lot to answer his cell phone. “Hello.” To his right was a water truck. People stood in line, filling jugs with clean water. The health department hadn’t given the thumbs-up to use city water again yet. Hurricanes were such a pain in the ass.

  “Are we ready for the spraying?”

  The chairman. “Yes, sir,” the director said. “We’ll be starting within the hour.”

  “And our man?”

  “Prepositioned and ready to go, sir.” It gave the director enormous pleasure to report that. Once again, he was proving his value to the Consortium. He alone had manipulated events to gain the needed trial studies on the Z-4027 pesticide. That he had done so at no cost to the Consortium had the director nearly giddy.

  He waved to Paige Simpson and smiled. Solemn, she waved back. He didn’t believe in her empath bull, but she had snowed nearly everyone else in the Cove on it. Creepy woman.

  “Film it,” the chairman said. “The more graphic, the better.”

  “Already arranged, sir.” The director rocked back on his heels.

  “You’ve become a valuable asset.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Smiling broadly, the director beamed, convinced he’d get a permanent position on the Consortium board for this. Not to mention an incredibly healthy bonus.

  He put the phone back in his pocket. Hell, maybe he’d buy himself another island.

  Heat rushed to his loins. Or another redhead.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  By mid-afternoon, Max had dropped in at home to check on Gabby and retrieve her courthouse keys, and phoned home twice. Each time, Elizabeth assured him that Gabby was “as expected,” and she was doing all that could be done, freeing Max to do what he needed to do.

  He had continued his search for intelligence and insight, searched her judge’s chambers and courtroom for her evidence, and had found nothing, but he had gotten a significantly better grip on who was who in Carnel Cove.

  Paige Simpson and Darlene Coulter had nabbed him at the Silver Spoon Café and fed him so much information on various Covers he’d had trouble slotting it all. They hadn’t explained why they were briefing him, and he hadn’t asked. Some things were better, not to mention safer, left unsaid.

  The sun was sinking low as Max turned the corner and made his way down the debris-littered street to Gabby’s driveway. Gabby’s evidence wasn’t at the house or in her chambers or in her courtroom. As he had been leaving the lab, Miranda had breezed by and mentioned in passing that Gabby didn’t have a box at the bank or a post office box, and since he hadn’t solicited that information, he had supposed she’d been sparing him from chasing rainbows. Again, he didn’t ask how she had known he needed that information or why she was giving it to him, nor did she tell him.

  He saw a little guy about eight dragging a limb as big as he was to the street-side pile where it could be picked up by the debris removal trucks that were all over town. Max felt a lot like the kid must: struggling to keep hold of the limb without getting knocked off his feet by one of its many branches.

  Gabby had assured Max he would get the evidence even if she died. So where was it? Would she ever be able to tell him? He sure as hell hoped so because he didn’t have a clue where else to look.

  There was nowhere else to look.

  At the head of the driveway, he braked to a stop, and then cut the engine. Before he could get out and make it up the walkway, Elizabeth rushed out the front door and met him on the porch. Her hair was tousled and
her face pasty white. Worried didn’t begin to cover how upset she looked. “What’s wrong?”

  “Max, I’m so glad you’re home. Gabby wouldn’t let me tell you.” Elizabeth wrung her hands. “Her fever has spiked to a hundred three, and she’s been asking for you nonstop. She’s not in her right mind, Max.” Elizabeth blinked hard. “I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t call you, so I called Keith. He’s on his way now.”

  Max ran past Elizabeth and into the house, straight to Gabby’s bedroom. Beside her bed, he bent down to look at her. Flushed with fever, she lay on her side, knees curled to her chest, eyes closed. He stroked her hair back from her face. His hand was shaking. “Gabby?”

  She looked up at him. “Max.”

  How could one word express such pure relief? He felt it down to the soles of his feet. Amazing considering their situation. “I’m here, honey. You okay?”

  “Not really. I feel raunchy.” She wrinkled her nose. “Is my work calendar clear for today? I think I might need another day or two to shake this off.”

  Another day or two? The bottom dropped out of his stomach. Had she forgotten what was wrong with her, or was she performing for Elizabeth? “I’ll call in,” he said. Gabby looked too sick to be performing, but with Gabby, who could be sure?

  “I was telling Elizabeth about our honeymoon,” she said. “Paris was fabulous, wasn’t it? I really love Paris. We should go back there for our anniversary, Max.”

  She wasn’t breaching her cover. Cold shivers ran up and down his back and neck, and a sick feeling stirred in the pit of his stomach. Keith had warned him about memory losses. But this wasn’t exactly a memory loss. Gabby remembered her cover, her generated memories. She just didn’t seem to remember her real ones. What did that make this?

  They talked for a few more minutes. The air inside the bedroom was stifling hot. Elizabeth cracked open the window to let in a breeze, but the August heat made it hotter still. And muggy. Max felt as if he were trying to breathe through a wet towel. It had to be even worse for Gabby, he thought, sitting down on a chair near the window, listening while Gabby related story after story to Elizabeth about her and Max dating, what they had done on their honeymoon, the trouble they’d had adjusting to the long absences during their marriage, but how it and they endured because they loved each other unconditionally.