“It might work.” Caroline looked past him in the way she had when cataloging and analyzing information.
He pulled food from the paper bags. Still . . . “How’s my main investment?”
Chapter 7
Caroline’s mouth gaped in an O, and she edged away from him. “We really can’t talk about my work.”
Brandon looked like he’d been sucker punched. “What do you mean?”
The wind rustled through the trees. “Let’s say my boss decided we need to give an experimental treatment to a young man who’s dying.”
Brandon watched her as if waiting for the bad news. “That’s good, right? It’s what they’re doing for Bethany.”
“Not exactly. This therapy isn’t approved for trials on human subjects yet, but there may be a way to make it a Phase 0 trial.”
He stared at her as blankly as she’d probably looked on Monday.
“Phase 0 trials are for those who can’t be helped by current treatment protocols. In theory, volunteering for an untested drug or treatment doesn’t hurt them because they’re already dying.” She tugged her jacket closer. “Listen to me. Earlier this week I didn’t know there was such an option, but for some who've run out of time it’s the only way to get access to treatments.”
She rubbed the knots developing in her shoulders. Then she felt his big, strong hands go to work and relaxed into his touch. He knew how to find the tension and use enough pressure to release it without making her squeal. There was something about being with Brandon that allowed her to exhale in a deep way. She felt safe by being there with him. Seen by the way he leaned in when she was stressed. Heard by the way he listened. Sheltered by the way he stepped into her problems. She knew if she went into more detail about that morning’s events, Brandon would lend a sympathetic ear and troubleshoot options like she had with him. But she couldn’t do that and risk giving him too much information.
“How is this therapy different from Bethany’s?”
Caroline wished she knew. “We’ve got so many variations of research in process, and I don’t understand all the nuances yet.” She would have shrugged except his fingers were still working their magic on her tense muscles. “Enough about my work.”
“Your shoulders are rock hard.”
Brandon’s methodic circles made her want to moan. She scrambled for a new topic. Usually they could talk nonstop for an hour, but now she felt stilted and returned to his news. “You successfully renewed the accreditation,” she said, referring to one of the new law’s requirements that Brandon already had in place.
“Yes, but it won’t matter if the Stones leave.” His hands stilled and she turned to look at him. “How can I bring in anyone new while everything is so unstable? This process has been a mess since the law was passed without a clear framework for what it means for places like Almost Home. Even the language used doesn’t make sense. It dictates that group homes like mine aren’t the best option. Never mind that for some kids it’s the only option to keep a family together. I moved a sibling group of six into one of the homes on Tuesday. Six, Caroline. No one else could take them on for a transition to a permanent adoption placement.” He rolled his neck. “How can I convince Alaina that their employment at Almost Home is stable when it’s taking the state so long to decide what the federal law really means and when it all has to be in place?” The frustration in his voice was mirrored on his face.
“So what will you do?” She kept her voice calm and low.
His hands paused a moment before he started working on her knots again. “Play through. Pray for a miracle, but work until the path is clear.”
She frowned, glad he couldn’t see it, then mentally eased from his touch, feeling the separation instantly.
“What?”
Oops, maybe he’d sensed her withdrawal after all. “So build on your idea. Flesh it out and see what your state contact says.”
“It won’t matter. They’ll just move the ball again.” His words were edged with sarcasm.
She turned and his hands fell to his sides. “I did not deserve that little bit of personality, big guy.”
His eyes widened and then he choked back a laugh. “That’s what I like about you, Bragg. You call me out.”
This time, though, calling him out was only a cover-up for the larger issue: she wasn’t sure how to navigate the boundaries between her job and their relationship. She’d have to be careful, because as much as she loved Brandon Lancaster, if she couldn’t open up to him the way he opened up to her, she’d only disappoint him.
After all, her mom had insisted that was all she knew how to do.
* * *
Just like that, Caroline backed away without moving an inch. The transformation was complete and instant. He knew it but didn’t know why. He reviewed their conversation, and other than his quick flash of frustration, it all seemed good. He’d even taken her pushback with good humor because they were comfortable with each other in the way friends-turned-more could be. He could be real with her.
She glanced at her watch. “I’d better get back inside. Big decisions to make.”
“But you didn’t eat.” His words sounded inane, but he wanted to keep her here. Something about her steady presence made it easier to exhale. It also pushed away the panic that had edged in after Jeff’s announcement.
Caroline paused, seeing into him. “Brandon, you have everything you need to make this work. I don’t know anyone more disciplined or focused than you. In this season focus on patience and doing whatever it takes to keep Almost Home going. Those kids need you.”
The intensity and belief in her words radiated through him even as the gap that had opened between them remained. “Thanks.”
“You know I don’t say things I don’t mean.” She gave him a small smile. “I’ll heat up the soup. Thank you for bringing it. This has been the best part of my day. I’m praying for you.”
From other people those might be mere words, but from Caroline it was a promise. But how could he close the gap that had developed between them?
He grabbed her hand, felt a tremor flow through her fingers. “I . . . I need . . .” Why couldn’t he spit the words out?
She nodded. “I know. Right now I need to figure out how to advise my boss in a way that allows him to help one boy without going too far.” She froze as if capturing what she’d said. “That’s exactly what I need to tell him.” Now her smile was radiant, the woman he knew so well. “Thanks, Brandon. See you tomorrow night?”
“Sure.”
She hurried to the door.
Her tomato soup remained in its cardboard bowl on the picnic table.
In the next minute the sky opened up, the gray clouds releasing a gully washer of rain that matched his mood.
* * *
Something like hope buoyed Caroline as she hurried toward her office. Her stomach grumbled, but she ignored it. She could have creamy tomato soup tomorrow, but today she had to guide her boss away from making a critical misstep.
Please, God, let me find the right words to push the lever that will slow Quentin down long enough to think.
She sank onto her leather chair and woke up her computer. Then she went to work searching for the sanctions the FDA could level against her employer if they failed to follow the rules.
The case of Regenerative Services LLC v. United States of America was instructive. If Praecursoria’s treatment was deemed autologous, with the patient providing and then receiving the stem cells after a manipulation, then the therapy must follow a clinical trial process. Phase 0 was for use on a very small number of patients for low, infrequent doses. That did not sound like the plan for Patrick. The way Quentin had explained it to the Robbinses, he was proposing Phase 1 “light.”
She punched the speaker button on her phone and tapped in Anna Johnson’s number. It rang through to voicemail and she left a message.
Then she tapped her fingers against her desk while she thought. If Anna didn’t return her call, who else could Caroline ask to
help her chart a strategy to convince Quentin they needed to slow the train down? The potential trials being developed in this building were worth following every rule right now. They needed the FDA investigators to trust that the company’s applications and processes were exemplary. Eventually that would build the goodwill to allow the company to push for leeway.
A deliberate, conservative approach was right and would pay off with what he wanted down the road. That’s how the government game was played.
Her phone buzzed and she grabbed it. “Hey, Anna, thanks for calling me back.”
“Sure. What can I help with?”
Caroline gave her a quick rundown. “Any ideas on how to get Quentin to follow the process?”
There was a moment of silence. “It’s bigger than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“It could get him blackballed by the FDA, and he could take some of the researchers with him.” The woman sighed. “As brilliant as he is, this is his blind spot. You’ll have to be careful, or you’ll be shut out.”
“Surely he knows breaking the law is hazardous to the future of Praecursoria?”
“Yes . . .”
“But . . .”
“Did you know he was the godfather for Samson Kleme’s son, Jordan? That’s why Quentin gets myopic about this particular illness. He is committed to saving as many as possible.”
“A savior complex.”
“Yes.” Anna paused before rushing on. “But there are ways to shock him out of it. Unfortunately, Samson Kleme is even more focused on saving every child. He’ll be a bigger problem. I’ll get back to you with some ideas. Until then, you should talk to Brian Silver.”
“They’re planning to start Patrick in Phase 0 treatment Monday as soon as I draft the informed consent and get it signed.”
“Has he informed the family that the therapy has only been tried on animals in a lab setting?”
“I think so. I’ll make it clear in the consent.”
“Yes. There always has to be a first human subject, but if the patient doesn’t understand that’s who they are, the company could face huge liability issues.”
“That’s the smaller of our issues. The FDA has to be our emphasis.” She doodled on the pad of paper on her desk in front of her as her thoughts raced. “Okay. Thanks for getting back to me. Now to confront him.”
“You’ve got this.” Anna’s voice sounded firm, and Caroline was grateful.
In the short time she’d worked for him, Quentin had proven to be a logical businessman who understood the importance of following the rules. As for Samson, she’d seen how losing his son was his Achilles’ heel. Until this morning she hadn’t seen how it also impacted Quentin.
She picked up her phone again and dialed his assistant. “Lillian, I need a few minutes with Quentin this afternoon.”
“What’s this about?”
“This morning’s meeting.”
“He doesn’t have time for that. He gave you marching orders.” The way Lillian was ordering her made Caroline’s blood boil.
“This isn’t negotiable. When can I see him?”
“You can’t.”
Caroline tilted her head to the side and felt the warrior rising inside her. It didn’t happen often, but she did not appreciate being told she couldn’t do something. It was the surest way to get her fight on. “I’ll be right over.”
Chapter 8
After the botched lunch with Caroline, Brandon headed to the hospital to spend an hour with Bethany. Anna scanned something on the computer monitor as she stood next to Bethany’s bed in the darkened room. He made his steps audible as he entered so he wouldn’t startle either one.
“Happy Friday.”
Anna glanced at him briefly before looking back to the screen without a word. Hmm. That wasn’t like her. He shifted his focus to Bethany and quirked a smile when he saw she was awake.
“How’s Princess Bethany today?”
The girl shifted against her pillows, and he stepped forward and propped an extra pillow behind her. She looked pale but seemed in good spirits as the ghost of a smile tilted her lips. “Hello, Mr. Lancaster.”
“Remember, you’re supposed to call me Brandon. Don’t make me feel ancient.” He took the chair on the side of the bed opposite Anna. “Read anything good lately?”
She glanced at the pile of books he’d brought her on Wednesday. “I started Heist Society.” She swallowed. He reached for her mug of water and held it so she could drink from the straw. “Dr. Johnson said I can start the next part of the treatment tonight.”
Brandon startled and met Anna’s gaze. “That’s good news.” He left the right? unsaid.
“It is.” Anna shoved her hands in her pockets as she watched Bethany. “I got approval from her caseworker yesterday, and Praecursoria did a speed run on the engineering, so we should be good to go later today.” Then she glanced at the clock on the wall. “We’ll start the infusion in a few hours. Chemotherapy has already suppressed her immune system, which is why you’re the only person other than hospital staff allowed in here after last Tuesday.”
“Well, that’s good news.” He turned to Bethany and tried to infuse as much hope as he could muster into his voice. “Are you ready to get better?”
“I’d like that.”
“Then we need to get Mr. Brandon out the door so we can finish prepping you.” Anna smiled at the girl, but he heard the order in her words.
“I’ll check in on you tonight.”
“Make it tomorrow. And call first.”
He saluted Anna and then headed to his car. An hour later he turned onto the lane that led to Almost Home, his hands tight on the steering wheel. He hated leaving Bethany alone, but other people needed him too.
He shifted his focus to what lay in front of him. Almost Home was an old property with a house and several buildings that his grandpa had left to him. Each of the fruit trees lining this path was one Brandon had planted. He hadn’t realized at the time how the ten-foot saplings would prepare him for the kids he’d envisioned hiking all over the property. The trees had an inner resilience, but they required water, fertilizer, protection from bugs, and tenacious care. The kids needed the same level of care and more.
Kids placed in foster care bore scars. Some wore them on the outside, but all had the marks on their spirits. While he’d thought his social work degree had prepared him, it was his personal experience that connected him on a soul level with his charges.
As he drove toward the cottages that surrounded the larger lodge, he remembered the children who had come and gone, adopted into families. They were wins, kids who integrated with families who wanted to nurture and provide for them. It wasn’t easy work, but the lives changed made every moment worth it.
Today, two boys were swinging on the elaborate playground Brandon and some buddies from the Colts had built his first off-season. The guys hadn’t fully understood his vision but gave brawn and cash to his efforts. They’d been quick to say it’s what teammates did, and he was grateful.
He parked the home’s battered pickup in the space that let him watch Zeke and Evan as they pumped higher and higher. He scanned the area, looking for Jeff.
There. He sat turned away from the picnic table, his elbows planted behind him on the tabletop. Alaina must be inside the cabin they oversaw with their newborn, Ellie. It wasn’t unusual for couples to move on once they had a child of their own, but the Stones were committed to foster kids and the work. Brandon had just thought they’d stay committed to Almost Home.
The kind of security they needed was about more than money. It involved knowing the rules wouldn’t change again, and that wasn’t a promise Brandon could make. At least not the way the laws and regulations stood now.
He picked up his cell phone from the dash and dialed Reid Billings. In addition to being his financial manager, Reid was one of his best friends and had been a ferocious advocate for Brandon as he cleared one hurdle after another. The man had even helped
raise funds when the state landed on him with a series of excessive upgrade demands. His gaze slid to the one cabin that still hadn’t met the state inspector’s exacting standards. Closing that cabin had reduced Almost Home’s numbers by six.
Reid answered. “Brandon, what’s up?”
“Nothing much.”
“Sure.” Reid’s voice lacked humor. “That’s why you’re calling me in the middle of the workday.”
The boys had put their elbows in front of the swing chains, preparing to jump off midair. Brandon grimaced and held his breath until they both landed on their feet with laughter.
“Brandon?”
“Sorry about that.” He climbed from his truck as he watched the boys approach Jeff for high fives then race back to the still moving swings. “The Stones have an offer from another home. They’re inclined to take it.” Jeff waved at him but didn’t walk over. A bad sign.
There was silence. “They’ve been with you from the beginning.”
“Yep, but the uncertainty with the regulations got to Alaina. The accreditation we just got helps, but the state keeps moving the bar. At the moment it looks like I’ll need a full-time therapist—or an active plan to get these kids out of Almost Home into permanent placements if I can’t figure out an alternative.” He pulled the phone from his ear as Evan prepared to tackle the smaller Zeke. “Watch out, Zeke.” He moved the phone back to his mouth. “Sorry about that.”
“Did Zeke make it?”
“Based on the laughter as they roll in the grass, he’s fine.” He leaned back against the truck. “If I shifted the model from the state paying me and then I pay the house parents as my employees, would I have enough to make it?”
“Tell me more.”
Brandon explained his basic idea. “So the house parents would have to be individually licensed foster parents. The state would place the kids directly with them, and then the house parents would rent the cottages from me for some negligible fee and pay to use the other facilities, for group meals, that sort of thing.”
“I can run some numbers for you. Try to get a feel for how much you’d have to charge.”
Lethal Intent Page 6
