“Absolutely. And Leah?”
“Yeah?” she paused, looking at me.
“Thanks for everything.” I moved forward and gave her a quick hug.
She hugged me back, even tighter. “Anytime, Ajax, anytime.”
Even with the courtyard lights on, it was still dark, so I watched until I saw her head bob into the building, then nudged Nicoh with my foot.
“You ready to go, buddy?”
He grumbled in response and took his time stretching as he got up, pausing to sniff the bougainvilleas I had scolded him about earlier. This time, I pretended not to notice and instead took a moment to survey my surroundings. The lights must have been playing tricks on me. For a moment, I thought I saw something in the shadows off to the side of the building, but when I squinted, it was gone. I shivered, then chuckled to myself. I needed to get a grip. The past few weeks were messing with my head.
We made our way back to the parking structure and up the three flights of stairs to our level, now less than halfway full, because of the hour. I reached into my bag to pull out my keys, and once again thought I sensed movement in the shadows. Rather than appease my curiosity, I listened to hairs on the back of my neck and hustled Nicoh to the vehicle. Once we were safely locked-in, strapped-in and the vehicle was revved-up, I quickly peered from side-to-side and front-to-back. Boogeyman-free, I shifted into drive and got the heck out of Dodge.
My senses were still working overtime, so I glanced in my rearview mirror more frequently than I normally would have, which is how I spotted him. He exited the parking structure in a white Toyota approximately twenty seconds after I had. At first, I just figured it was paranoia and took an alternate route home to prove it to myself, opting to weave through a myriad of neighborhoods instead of traveling the main streets. My heart dropped. At every turn, he was there, lurking 200-300 feet behind. I’d watched enough Burn Notice episodes to realize this was not a loose tail, especially after my seventh right-hand turn.
Thoroughly freaked-out, I did the only thing I could think of at that moment. I called Ramirez.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ramirez wasn’t on duty when I called, but fortunately, he was nearby and directed me to his location. Of all places, he was at Starbucks. At night. Guy must need to get his coffee buzz on at all hours. I mentally slapped myself—who was I to judge? Right now, I was in dire need of his assistance and thanks to his late-night caffeine therapy session, he was able come to my aid. A shout out to baristas working late everywhere.
As I pulled into the parking lot and eased into the first available space, the Toyota passed. Though the driver didn’t look in my direction, I caught a glimpse of something familiar. An Arizona Diamondbacks hat. I know, you’re probably thinking, duh, you’re in Phoenix—it’d be pretty common to see people wearing the home team’s swag—and you’d be right.
This hat was distinctive, though, a piece of memorabilia from the 1998 inaugural season. At the time, only one hundred bearing the design had been made. I knew this because Leah’s dad, a well-known sportscaster at the time, helped me procure one for my dad’s fortieth birthday. On the inside, it had the imprint: #40 of 100. Leah’s dad had Andy Benes, a pitcher at the time, sign the bill of the hat, along with owner Jerry Colangelo and manager Buck Showalter. It was my dad’s favorite hat. So much so, he wore it all through my high school and college years. He was wearing it the last time I hugged him goodbye—as he and my mother rushed out the door to catch their flight to Albuquerque, where they would catch another small commuter flight to Colorado Springs. Within twenty-four hours, they would both be gone.
I hadn’t seen a hat like it since. That was, until I’d met with Abe and Elijah a few days earlier. At this very Starbucks, in fact. The man sitting alone at the table behind us had been wearing a similar hat, though I hadn’t thought about it much at the time. We’d been having a pretty heavy conversation, and I had been glad to escape it for a few minutes while Nicoh did his business. Had the man been eavesdropping? Could it have been Clark/Dolby? I thought back to the photo of the man known as Dolby and shook my head. I hadn’t been able to see much with the way he had positioned himself at the table, his hat pulled low. However, now that I’d seen a similar man and hat in the span of a few days, I was taking nothing to chance. I jumped when Ramirez lightly tapped on the window.
“Sorry,” he murmured when I opened the door to get out, “I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you ok?”
“No, it’s not your fault, I was distracted. And yeah, I’m ok now, thanks. Just a bit of a disconcerting ride over. Did you see him?” I glanced to the street, but the Toyota was long gone.
“I did.” He looked at me carefully, as though I was going to crack right before his eyes. Wow, did I look that frazzled? Note to self: Immediately consult mirror after indulging in Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, especially when a hunky guy is involved.
“California plates—was able to get a number. I’m not expecting much, but I’ll run it through the system, see what pops up.”
“Good. Thanks. You have a minute? I’d better fill you in on a few things.” When Ramirez nodded, I collected Nicoh and the three of us headed to the same patio table where Abe, Elijah, Leah and I had sat. I plopped into the chair, suddenly weary. The adrenaline had worn off, and the day’s events were finally catching up to me. I needed to pull it together long enough to get Ramirez up to speed.
I’m not sure what I expected, but when I finished, his steely gaze fixed on me, his lips drawn into a tight, thin line. My eyes popped—was he angry with me?
I opened my mouth to speak, but he put his hand up and quietly uttered, “AJ, I’m sorry. I should have never pushed you into getting involved.”
I started to protest and once again, his hand rose to stop me. “You are in over your heads. All of you.”
Perhaps I was too tired at this point to control my emotions, because his condescending tone made me snap. “Yeah? Well, I may be in over my head, Detective, but please do tell, what have you and your FBI pals come up with so far?” I snarled, sarcastically emphasizing “Detective.”
“Darn it AJ,” he growled, “you’re going to get yourself killed.”
“As opposed to getting myself killed waiting around?” I spat, undeterred by his outburst. “A killer is out there and if you think I’m going to sit by and take things as they come, or wait for someone to save the day, you are sorely mistaken.”
“You seem to have needed saving this evening, AJ,” Ramirez snarked, but once he witnessed the fury burning in my eyes, I knew he regretted the words the minute they’d escaped. Given my mood, I wasn’t about to let him off the hook.
“My mistake. One I won’t be making again.” I tugged on Nicoh’s leash, and for once, he didn’t dawdle as I hustled him toward the car. After a few steps, I turned on my heel and faced Ramirez, who stood stoically, hands on hips, an indecipherable expression on his face.
“And just to be clear—your apology is not accepted. If you gave me that information expecting a different result, you severely underestimated the girl you thought me to be,” I hissed.
“Furthermore, this may be too much for your ego to absorb, but I don’t need anyone coming to my rescue. My nickname is Ajax for a reason. You’d do well to remember that in the future, Detective.” I left him standing there as I marched purposefully to the Mini, and after quickly situating Nicoh and myself, sped out of the parking lot.
Had I spared a look back in Ramirez’s direction, I would have seen the slightest hint of a smirk playing on his lips.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I grumbled as the alarm chirped happily. Morning arrived too soon, following a stress-filled day and sleepless night. Adding to the irritation was the persistent beep echoing from my cell phone, conveniently out of reach across the room on the dresser. I negotiated my way around Nicoh, who had once again monopolized the majority of the bed and was currently running joyously in his uninterrupted sleep. No doubt dreaming of the elusive Pandora. If
only my life were that simple.
I sighed as I looked at my phone, then immediately wished I had stayed in bed. Ramirez had left me a message. Great. Maybe he’d gotten a clue and decided to apologize for real this time. Realistically, the odds of that were about as likely as Nicoh sleeping on his own doggie bed. I queued up the voicemail and prepared for the worst.
Ramirez’s message was brief, “Got a match on the plate. The Toyota is registered to Tanner Adam Dolby of Santa Monica, California. Do with it what you will, AJ.” Ignoring the curt delivery, I focused on the message itself.
I needed to contact Abe and Elijah ASAP, but before I could finish that thought, my phone rang to the sound of Leah’s ringtone, Duran Duran’s Notorious. As soon as I answered, she blurted, “Wait ‘til you hear what I’ve got for you!” At my silence, her excitement dimmed. “What’s wrong?”
I told her about my mad dash through the streets of Phoenix, meeting with Ramirez at Starbucks—including a play-by-play of our tiff—and his follow-up call this morning.
“So we have confirmation Dolby is in town, stalking you, waiting for the perfect moment to swoop in and—”
“Stop,” I gritted out through clenched teeth, “this is my life, not one of your stupid articles.”
“Whoa—someone got up on the wrong side of the bed. Don’t you dare snark at me, Arianna Jackson.” Immediately, I regretted my snottiness and started to apologize when she added, “Don’t forget I know what you looked like before you had braces and have the pictures to prove it.” After a moment, we both burst out laughing.
“I’m sorry, Leah. I’m being a total jerk.”
“Yes, you are, but that’s what I’m here for, to de-jerkify you when you need it. You are fortunate I’m always on my best behavior and never in need of such services in return.” Again, laughter filled both sides of the connection. “Clark/Dolby-related issues aside, do you want to hear why I called?”
“Absolutely,” I replied.
“I have a friend at the Chicago Tribune who owes me a favor,” she began.
“Wait, what friend?” I asked, suddenly suspicious and dreading her response.
“Michael Rafferty,” she briskly replied. I groaned. Michael had been Leah’s college boyfriend. They had dated for a year until he moved on to greener pastures, meaning the busty editor of the school paper. In an attempt to mend Leah’s broken heart, we had both gained five pounds indulging in chocolate Oreo cookie ice cream. Michael eventually regretted his fling with the editor, who hadn’t given him the choice stories he had hoped his association with her would garner, and tried to make amends with Leah. Though she’d repeatedly rebuffed his apologies, he’d pop out of the woodwork every few years in an effort to rekindle the relationship. To date, I thought she had succeeded in warding him off.
“I can hear the gears working in that melon of yours, AJ,” she warned. “Just for the record, I’m not giving Rafferty the time of day. He owes me a favor. As a colleague. Which I’m cashing in. For you. So thank me and let’s get on with it.”
“Thank you, Leah,” I replied sincerely. “I do appreciate your assistance.”
“As you should,” she teased. “Anywhoo, I gave Michael the bare minimum—nothing involving you or Victoria—said I was looking for information on Alcore and GenTech, their ongoing feud, the demise of Alcore, etc. I made it clear I wanted the behind-the-scenes goods, not the stuff edited for public consumption.
“Anyway, Rafferty did one better. He found us someone who had first-hand knowledge, a former bureau chief by the name of Mort Daniels. And this is where it gets good. Turns out, Daniels retired back in the 1990s and moved to sunny Ahwatukee, Arizona.”
“No way. I can’t believe we’d get that lucky.”
“I know. That’s not even the best part. Rafferty contacted Daniels and set up a meeting. Daniels wanted time to pull some of his old notes, but he’s able to see us in a couple of hours.”
“That’s awesome. Rafferty must want to get back into your good graces,” I remarked.
“Don’t you worry, missy.” Leah chuckled mischievously. “Like I said, he owes me.”
“Whatever, I appreciate it. You want me to swing by and pick you up?” I asked.
“Yeah, see ya in a few,” she chirped happily as she hung up.
I looked at the clock. My call to Abe and Elijah would have to wait.
Nicoh and I picked Leah up at her condo forty-five minutes later and headed to Daniels’ home in the Ahwatukee Foothills. The ride was unusually quiet, as both of us deep in thought. I can’t speak for Leah, but I was also more than a little anxious about our impending meeting. Fortunately, before the anxiety manifested into a full-blown panic attack, we arrived at our destination.
Daniels lived in a gated community filled with carefully-maintained custom-built homes. His was located at the back of a cul-de-sac and was spacious without being pretentious. He greeted us as we pulled into his turnaround driveway, a smiling man of tall stature and slight build. I pegged him for late 60s or early 70s, but there was a twinkle in his eye that led me to believe he was as spry as a man half his age.
After introductions were made, he gestured for us to join him in the backyard for iced tea. We ooo’d and ahh’d at the enchanting landscape. Flowers and plants of various species and colors intermingled artfully along the cobblestone pathway, which lead to an outdoor seating area filled with lush chairs in richly-colored fabrics. A small natural stone waterfall cascaded gently into the koi pond below, producing a soothing background rhythm for the already serene surroundings.
“Lovely,” I murmured as Leah nodded, her eyes wide as they roamed over every detail.
“Thank you,” Daniels beamed, “it’s always nice to hear one’s handiwork is appreciated.”
“You did all of this?” Leah asked, using both arms to gesture toward the landscape the surrounded us.
“Sure did.” He chuckled. “Of course, it was dumb luck. When I moved in, it was nothing but dirt back here. And bugs. Lots of ‘em. What was meant to be a quick stop at Home Depot to pick up some insecticide turned into a two-year project,” he paused as both of us gawked at him, open-mouthed. “Anyway, long story short, I found something to keep myself busy during retirement.”
We all laughed as he motioned for us to sit. He poured tall glasses of iced tea while we made small talk, discussing items such as landscaping in the desert and our black thumbs. Ours, not his. Once we were all situated—even Nicoh had his own water bowl with ice cubes—Daniels got down to business.
“Michael told me you were looking for some background information on Alcore and GenTech from back in the day?” When we both nodded, he continued, “Well, you’re in luck. Those two happen to have been pet projects of mine.” He pulled a large file box from around the side of his chair and removed the lid. Inside were dozens of folders, neatly arranged by month and year.
“Michael also said you had already done some initial research. Don’t hesitate to let me know if I’m rehashing familiar territory.” He smiled at us warmly as he absently rubbed Nicoh behind the ears.
“As you are likely aware, Alcore and GenTech were fierce competitors in the field of genetic engineering, often battling for funding from the same sources. Though both companies had other projects, these sources were primarily interested in the human cloning aspect of the science.”
“And where the money goes, the project focus goes as well,” Leah added.
“Exactly,” Daniels continued, “and with the money also came protection. Not only was genetic mutation controversial, even the mere thought of human replication moved the science into an entirely different arena. One with moral and ethical consequences. Alcore’s and GenTech’s benefactors carried the clout to shelter them from the pandemonium that would have ensued had government and religious sectors gotten involved.”
“What was going on at Alcore and GenTech?” I asked, hoping I hadn’t disrupted our host’s train of thought. If I had, he didn’t let on.
&n
bsp; “According to my source—”
“Your source?” Leah inquired, though as a reporter herself, she knew what his response would be.
“To this day, I have not divulged his identity, though I can confirm he had intimate knowledge of the day-to-day operations at GenTech and was familiar with Alcore’s as well. For today’s purposes, we shall call him X. Please pardon the cliché.” He chuckled.
“Anyway, according to X, both companies were attempting to replicate a human life—a child—by isolating non-reproductive cells from the mother. Once they had removed these donor cells, their nuclei would be transferred to a host cell. Though the scientist’s methods were radically different at each company, the host cell in each scenario was chemically altered to the point it behaved like one generated during the union of female egg and a male sperm. The resulting host cell contained all the DNA necessary to develop into a human child. Once the host cell evolved into an embryo, it was implanted back into the mother and carried to a full term.
“In natural reproduction, half of a child’s DNA comes from the mother and the other half from the father. With cloning, the DNA comes entirely from one source: the mother. The resulting child is a genetic replica of that source.”
“Wow—that could make for an interesting family dinner, say if a mother gives birth to daughter,” I thought aloud.
“Ugh, can you say daddy issues?” Leah added. “And what about the mother-daughter relationship—could you imagine getting into an argument with yourself?”
Daniels watched us, obviously amused by our banter, but when he spoke again, his tone was serious. “And therein lies some of the ethical concerns with regards to human cloning.” We both nodded in agreement, though we could certainly think of others.
“So, how many mothers were involved in the experiment?” I asked, moving the conversation away from the unsettling ethical dilemmas the subject brought to mind.
“GenTech had six mothers come to full term, and while Alcore had twice as many volunteers in their program, none of them made it through the entire gestation period.”
Gemini Rising (Mischievous Malamute Mystery Series, Book 1) Page 10
