She nodded to the fridge. “Want to grab the milk? Brownies are so much better with it.”
They worked side by side, and even in the tight confines of her kitchen, it was easy. She liked having him there. She wished she could bottle the security of his presence for all the times he was away. Especially those middle-of-the night times when she struggled to sleep as she heard creaks and moans around the apartment. “I was thinking.”
He paused in the act of returning the milk to the refrigerator. “About?”
“The woman at the park. All God’s Children.”
“I’ll call her next week. First thing Tuesday after the long weekend.”
“Why not invite her to the cookout?” She pulled the woman’s card from her back pocket and handed it to Brandon. “She could be a great resource for you. Maybe do something similar at Almost Home.”
“Pushing, Bragg.” Still, he tapped the card against his other hand. “But it has merit.” He pulled out his phone. “As we move to change the way Almost Home operates, the house parents will need time to relax so they can give their best to the kids. It would be great to have a church come alongside us.”
Caroline picked up the plate of brownies. “Shall we pick a movie?”
Brandon nodded but tapped away on his phone for a minute. “Just sent her a message. We’ll see if she’s free Monday.”
Ten minutes later, after agreeing on a movie, they settled on the couch with the brownies resting on the coffee table. She was relieved to have the movie to fill the space between them. It was hard not to talk freely about what was happening at work. And that change made their relationship feel tenuous in a way it hadn’t just a few months ago. Could she settle into this relationship, or would he disappear the moment she did?
* * *
Caroline had been a little distant, and Brandon wasn’t sure what to make of that. They were always on the same page. Well, other than the time he’d insisted they wear matching ugly Christmas sweaters to a party. He’d even bought hers, and she still showed up looking like an elegant yet petite sophisticate with a penguin sweater and black skinny jeans and boots. He’d looked like a doofus, which would have been okay if they’d looked ridiculous together.
Almost Home gave them a shared purpose, though, and was one of the reasons he’d taken the risk of asking her to be more than friends. He hadn’t thought it would be all smooth sailing. Relationships didn’t work that way, but it seemed unnecessarily rocky at the moment.
She turned toward him on the couch, and he paused the movie as the credits prepared to roll.
“Why’d you stop it?”
“Caroline, is there a reason you don’t tell me about your work anymore? Since you started at Praecursoria, there’s this growing gulf between us.”
“No, there isn’t.” The words were right, but she didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she snuggled into his side.
“What’s changed?”
“Nothing. I’m as committed to us as ever.”
“But that means sharing our lives. All of it. The good and the bad.”
“I just have to be careful, Brandon.” She sighed but still wouldn’t look at him. “You’re an investor.”
“You keep saying that like it’s a problem.”
“It doesn’t need to be, but it does mean I need to be careful about what I say.” And don’t say was left unsaid.
“So you’re shutting me out of your life to protect me?” That was crazy talk.
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“But it’s true. I want to make sure I don’t do anything that puts either of us on the wrong side of the law.”
“You wouldn’t.” He’d never been surer of anything.
“I wouldn’t intentionally. But it’s too risky. Insider trading is real.”
“Okay.” He drew out the word, and then his phone vibrated, and he glanced at his watch. A text from Nicole Walker. She’d be delighted to stop by Almost Home for the Memorial Day festivities. What could she bring other than a few more people?
Caroline glanced at him. “Good news?”
“What?”
“The message?” She gestured toward his wrist.
“Looks like your new friend is around this weekend and will join us Monday.”
Caroline’s grin was immediate and joy-filled. “That’s wonderful!”
“It is. One of the house parents raised a concern about getting any respite care if the model switches. I really need help in that area because I can’t do it for everyone each week.” For the new structure to work at Almost Home in a way that stayed child focused, he needed to find the right sort of relief and future homes for the kids. Maybe Nicole’s group could help provide that support.
He’d find out Monday.
Brandon settled against the loveseat and stretched his arm across the top of the cushions, letting his fingers trail over her shoulder, and felt her shiver. He couldn’t hide the grin that tugged his mouth. She might want to act like she was unaffected by him, but her body wasn’t playing along.
While that was gratifying, he wanted her heart.
He wanted to know they were on the same page and pursuing the same thing. Forever sounded about right, though she would be crazy to consider it with a man who spent his time trying to keep a nonprofit foster home afloat.
She deserved someone who could give her the moon.
Chapter 20
Saturday night after Brandon had gone home and she’d run to the grocery store, Caroline settled at her laptop while the new batch of brownies baked. Anna’s concerns about the CAR T 463 data nagged at Caroline. The silence in her apartment pressed against her, so she might as well work.
Remotely logging in to Praecursoria would allow her to review Anna’s data. If she waited until Tuesday, the day could slip away without the chance to poke around.
A little time tonight would enable her to determine if there was a way she could dig deeper from home. It only took a couple of minutes to log in remotely, but then she hit a roadblock. The CAR T 463 folders were password protected. Her password should get her into any section of the company’s site, but she was locked out. She frowned and tried again.
Still nothing.
Her cell phone rang and she picked it up. “Caroline.”
“Miss Bragg, this is James Reynolds with IT. Can you tell me why you’re trying to log in to the CAR T 463 trial data files?” The voice was deep and gruff.
“I’m sorry, who are you again?” And why would he call so quickly on a holiday weekend?
“James Reynolds with IT.”
“And you’re calling me on a holiday weekend because I logged in remotely?”
“No, ma’am. Access to those files is limited per company protocol.”
“I’m the corporate attorney. I should have access to everything.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you don’t have access to those.”
“Why not?”
“Because the CEO and chief science officer haven’t authorized you.”
That would need to change. “I need the access now.”
“I can’t help you with that. You’ll need to take it up with one of them on Tuesday. Until then, if you try to log in again, your access to the site will be blocked.”
“To that part of the website.”
“No, ma’am. To the whole site.”
“The whole site? You have to be kidding. I need to do other work from here.”
“No, ma’am, I am not kidding. Log in again and you’ll be blocked.”
“If you ma’am me again, I might scream. I’m going to take a crazy guess we’re the same age.” She blew out slowly as she tried to keep from losing her temper. “Do you call everyone who accesses the servers remotely?”
“No, ma’am.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry, ma’am. Only those who access unauthorized areas. Good night.”
He hung up, and she stared at her phone. What company put such tight controls on t
heir data that even high-level employees couldn’t access it? It seemed like overkill, but what could she do on a long weekend? Work on something else.
First she drafted an email to Quentin and Samson asking why she didn’t have access. Then she turned to the letter Quentin had tossed her way a week ago.
She checked the attorney logo on the envelope. Baird & Associates. Not a firm she was familiar with from her days clerking, but that wasn’t unusual. The DC area was overrun with people pursuing legal careers.
Her quick scan came to an abrupt stop after the first paragraph.
I represent two generations of women whose health was irreversibly damaged by the test results and recommendations received from Praecursoria beginning with a letter dated December 3, 2015, to Helen Noreen Smith and followed by a letter dated February 5, 2016, to her daughter Avery Smith Blake. Lauren Smith Hahn received her test results and recommendations in a letter dated March 16, 2016. Copies of the letters are attached.
Caroline quickly flipped to the back and found each letter, essentially a Praecursoria boilerplate stating that each woman’s genetic test had shown she carried the breast cancer gene and an 84 to 90 percent probability that each would have aggressive breast cancer at some point in her life. It further recommended that each woman consult with her doctor and consider a course of treatment, including double mastectomies, to avoid cancer.
She didn’t need to read further to know that was the course the women had chosen. What she didn’t know is why that had led to a letter to the company a little over five years later.
The letter continued for a couple of pages. After she finished, she picked up the phone. The thrust of the letter was that the women had suffered complications and everything that a mastectomy, and in Lauren’s case a hysterectomy, entailed. Then they had received letters in December of last year informing them that based on new research their risk of cancer was indeterminate. The news had devastated the women, especially Lauren, who had hoped to have more children prior to her surgery.
In their letter they claimed that Praecursoria and its employees had been negligent if not guilty of malpractice while also inflicting intentional emotional distress on the family. The attorney closed with a settlement demand of $500,000 per woman. Steep, but not outlandish. It at least gave her a starting point to negotiate down if their claims were validated. The last thing the company needed was a class-action lawsuit that could threaten its existence. Before she could decide best strategies, though, there was still much to learn about the background of the claims.
Her heart hurt for the women, but her mind knew she needed to dig deeper. Likely these weren’t the only women who had been impacted by letters like this. She picked up her phone and left a message for Quentin.
“Quentin, I just read the letter you gave me earlier this week. The allegations could represent massive liability. I need your full attention on this so we can accurately assess the risk and harm to the company. Call me any time of the weekend. Oh, and I need access to the CAR T 463 data. Actually, I need the ability to log in remotely. Your overzealous security guys have shut me out.”
As she ended the call, her heart felt burdened for the women and what they’d endured.
What would those women do next?
* * *
A shadow waited on a bench as Brandon pulled into his spot near the lodge at Almost Home. He parked the truck and climbed from it, keeping his eyes on the form.
“Jeff, that you?”
The man stepped into the halo of light Brandon had replaced last week. “Hey, you have a minute?”
Brandon didn’t like the heaviness in Jeff’s words. “Honestly? It’s been a hard day, so if it’s good news, sure. But I’m not sure I can take a whole lot more heavy news.”
“Did you stop and see Bethany?”
“Yeah. It’s not good, and I feel more than helpless. Not my favorite position.”
“It never is.” Jeff waved his arm toward the lodge. “Can I come in? I’d like a drink while we talk.”
Brandon pushed his shoulders back. If Jeff had bad news, better to hear it now and know where he stood. “Sure. I’ve got some sparkling water and Dr Pepper.” He opened the door and waited for Jeff to enter, then pulled it shut and led the way to the commercial kitchen. Once he’d grabbed a soda for each of them, he leaned against the large island. “What’s up?”
“So I told you the home in Arkansas is pressing Alaina and me for an answer. Today they upped their offer.”
Brandon closed his eyes, the words landing like a punch to his gut. “What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know.” Jeff took a swig of the Dr Pepper and then set the can down. “I didn’t think they’d offer more, especially when we hadn’t turned them down. But they did, and we have to consider it.”
He was always fighting with one hand tied behind his back. “I don’t know what to tell you. Your income in this new model would come from the state. Probably like it would in Arkansas. Either seems like a gamble. Here you gamble with me, there you gamble with strangers.”
“Strangers who have a solid plan, and one that’s been approved there. He’s also planning to pay something for our help with planning and activities and family meals. Maybe you could hire me to do some of the planning here?” Jeff leaned against the island next to Brandon. “Look, I need to tell Alaina that it makes sense financially to stay.”
“My hiring you part-time wouldn’t change that this is an experiment. I believe it will work, but I can’t promise anything, not until I see how this works in practice. I’d have to charge you rent, then turn around and pay you. That doesn’t make sense.”
“Can’t you give me something to take back to her?”
“What do you want? Where do you want to invest your life?” Brandon crossed his arms over his chest, not caring how his body language was perceived. “If you believe in Almost Home and what we’re doing, stay. If it’s a job, then go where the money is better.”
“Look. We’re for you. Alaina and I both believe in what you’ve done and are trying. You’ve kept Almost Home afloat during all kinds of challenges. You’re doing it again.”
“Will you be with me this time?”
Jeff rubbed his hands along the sides of his scruffy beard. “I’d like to be, but there are two of us in this marriage. We both know Alaina’s the one who makes it work. I can hang with the kids and give them stability, but she’s the magic ingredient of unending love and patience.”
“I need you both.” Brandon shifted slightly so he could watch Jeff from the corner of his eye. The reality was this wasn’t just about him and what he needed. He’d known the Stones too long to want anything but what was right for them. “I also want what’s best for your family. You have Ellie to think about now. If that changes things, I understand. I may not like it, but I’ll get over it.”
“Maybe I can get a raise with my IT job.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
Jeff took another drink, then pushed away from the island. “I have to give an answer to the Arkansas home in a week. Guess you’ll know by then.”
“Have you heard anything from any of the house parents?” They’d all been silent about their thinking with him.
“Not really. It’s their decision to make and share with you.” Jeff headed to the door, then turned back. “We are for you, Brandon.”
The words seemed to echo in the emptiness after Jeff left, the lodge door closing, leaving Brandon alone.
The emptiness overwhelmed him.
Would anyone choose him?
He shut off lights as he made his way upstairs to his apartment and then collapsed on the leather couch. Frodo stood and pranced toward him, leaping on his chest before standing nose-to-nose with him, his paws on Brandon’s chest.
“Glad to know you’re still here.”
The cat stared at him, green eyes fixed on his. They’d hosted a Frozen 2 showing in the lodge for his kids, and this felt like an interaction between S
ven and Kristoff. “I refuse to speak dialogue for you, Frodo.”
The cat didn’t flinch.
Maybe that was the reminder he needed. That there were people in his life who didn’t flinch away when he got a little gruff and prickly.
God loved him in spite of himself.
Caroline kept choosing him.
And he had good friends like Reid Billings and David Evans, who showed up for pickup basketball games and lent him their strength when he needed it. Even Jeff had done that for the five years Almost Home had existed. He needed to remember that he was surrounded by people who saw him. He was no longer that teenager on a couch. Even then, he’d had couches to crash on. If he’d asked for help, maybe he would have had more.
Frodo settled against his chest and rumbled a purr.
He’d get through this. And so would his kids.
* * *
Sunday, May 30
Anna’s rounds started at the hospital in twenty minutes, and as things stood, she’d be late. Between the holiday traffic and heavy rain, she’d underestimated her commute time. At the moment, she was stuck at another red light.
She was many things but never late.
Not when families and their very sick kids relied on her. Bethany’s case weighed on Anna as she waited. Her complications and prognosis made the girl’s case particularly challenging, but Anna wouldn’t give up. She loved the way oncology pushed her, but it was heartbreaking to watch the kids she fought so hard for slip away a little bit each day as treatments failed.
Her light turned green.
Nothing was turning Bethany’s prognosis around. She had to figure out why. By now the cytokine release should have ended, and she should be planning the first of six monthly boosts of CAR T cells for the girl.
Instead, Bethany was still in crisis. Anna couldn’t proceed without stabilizing her. The data was too thin to know the best course of treatment. That was a risk of Bethany being part of Phase 1. They were all learning in real time how patients reacted to the therapy.
Friday she’d had a thought in the dead of night about the cause. She’d slipped the data on a flash drive along with her questions and put it in Saturday’s mail for Caroline. Everyone deserved a holiday weekend, and this way it would arrive on Tuesday and she could call Caroline about it then. This morning she worried the holiday would hold up delivery and prepared an email, then closed her laptop. Together they could review the data.
Lethal Intent Page 15
