“That would be me.”
“Where are your family and friends?”
“Is this an interrogation?”
She made a face. “Forget it.”
“My grandmother is my only family. She raised me. Lives in Florida now. My friends are spread out all over the place.” He decided it was time to turn the tables. “What about you? What’s your story?”
“Way more boring than yours. Only child, doted on. Republican parents. I rebelled, and here I am. A left-leaning journalist who’s dedicated to getting Prop 64 passed around the country.”
“I gather that’s the marijuana thing,” Jon said.
“Correct.”
Jon decided to leave that topic on the table.
When the bill arrived, only a few tables were still occupied. Jon did his best to put on his game face when handing the business credit card to a passing waiter, noting it totaled close to half a week’s pay. He couldn’t argue that you got what you paid for. Everything they had ordered was outstanding. The flavors distinct and well-paired with the wine they had selected.
“Ready to hit the ground running tomorrow?” he asked.
“Actually, I was hoping to get in a good hike and camp out overnight. My folks are out of town, so I think I’ll raid their garage and grab my camping gear. I’ll drive down to LA in the morning.”
“You serious? By yourself?”
“Not unless you want to join me.”
He’d already considered staying in town to overlap with Melanie for one night. But something told him to hold off. They’d both be exhausted, and he didn’t want their reunion to be rushed and tiring. That was his story, and he was sticking to it. “I think I’ll pass on that. Camping is not my thing. How about we meet back in LA tomorrow night?”
“Sure. I’ll cancel my return flight. I think I’ll get a rental and drive down. I love the PCH. Takes you straight down the beautiful coast. If I get on the road early, I should make it to LA by one tomorrow afternoon. Be at the next company headquarters at two.”
“An hour to get downtown?”
“That’s LA, Agent Steadman.”
“Thank you very much, Mrs. Steadman.”
Jon accepted back the credit card, relieved it hadn’t been rejected. Spending the evening washing dishes was not his idea of fun.
***
Salt Lake City
Franklin had learned long ago how to control his anger. He would internalize and redirect it where it belonged. Toward those who had wronged him. His business was developing into a lucrative and impactful enterprise.
Who did that FBI agent and Hernandez’s reporter friend think they were to interfere in his important work? He was making monumental changes in the world. From behind the scenes. He felt like the wizard in the Oz movie. But unlike the film character, he was anything but a fraud. He was a computer genius. A talented and creative hacker. A trailblazer.
Until he came along, no one thought to use DNA to their advantage. To exploit its inherent power. Not only had he conceived of it, he’d implemented it. And was making a killing. In the future he would recommend firing more level threes into the mix of fives and fours so the immediate diagnoses after firings wouldn’t raise a red flag.
The man he contracted with to handle Hernandez would do the next job too. Franklin had dug deep in the dark web to find him, searching for the right people to handle his dirty work, the work he himself was incapable of doing.
Soon he would be out of this hovel. Get his own upscale smart home with a dedicated computer room filled with top-of-the-line equipment. And a trusted aide to assist him. At the rate he was going, before long he would have more than enough money for all that. But he had to be careful not to invite suspicion. Throwing around that kind of money would draw unwanted attention. From his mother, among others. He felt no inclination to give her any of his earnings. She was a mess. Anything he’d give her would be squandered on cigarettes and big screen televisions.
He was slowly building a plan of execution but for now he would sit tight, satisfied in running the world from his humble bedroom. There was no way he was going to allow some rookie Fed and half-wit reporter to ruin all his plans. Going after the agent would be risky but the reporter was a whole other story.
Chapter 16
Sonoma Mountains, California
Luanne waited patiently for the first rays of daybreak to shatter the night sky. She drew in a lungful of crisp mountain air, a sense of gratitude filling her. She exhaled, her breath creating a foggy, evaporating cloud. It was her favorite time of day, though she was rarely awake for it. She pondered her streak of good luck. Her dream job had brought her here, to these mountains surrounding the valley below. And on someone else’s dime, no less. If the theory surrounding the royal breakup proved true and if Caroline would agree to go on the record with an exclusive, Luanne would soon have the story of her career.
She watched as the sun broke, mesmerized by the simple but awesome beauty of something that happened every day. To the west was the Pacific, gleaming in the early morning light; the vineyards of Sonoma Valley dotting the eastern slopes below. She stood, grabbed her pack, bear bell and flashlight and reversed course. The trail, still dark, was damp with morning dew, but she’d come prepared for a full-on rain shower that never arrived, her hiking sandals offering solid traction. It was time to head back to civilization, shower, eat some breakfast and get on the road back to Los Angeles. Thirty minutes to the parking lot, an hour at her parents’, then six plus hours on the PCH. She’d be back in the newsroom before the end of the workday. Not that journalists kept a nine-to-five lifestyle, but she didn’t want to risk missing her new boss—the interim assistant editor of the LA Times. It was time to finally share what she was working on.
A tingly feeling ran up her spine, as she sensed a presence nearby. No sounds but the wind between the pines. She shook her bear bell just in case. She wasn’t overly concerned. She was a seasoned hiker and camper and had crossed paths with enough bears to know what to do. She had made sure to keep all food wrapped, its scent undetectable. A mountain lion though was a different story. She’d heard of a woman who’d been attacked and escaped with her life when another hiker scared the beast away. The likelihood though was slim given cougars’ tendency to stay away from humans. But she was prepared even for that.
That’s when she heard the distinct sound of a gun being cocked. No sound like it. She’d grown up around guns. But hunting was prohibited in these mountains. It was California law.
“Hello, I’m out here!” she called out. “Hunting’s not allowed in this park. And I don’t want to be your unintended target.”
A muscular hunter dressed in fatigues, a John Deere cap low on his brow, rifle at his side, emerged from the trees not fifteen feet from where she stood. Her pulse quickened.
She said, “You’re out early. Guess you didn’t know the wildlife here is protected.”
“The wildlife may be, but you’re not, Ms. Parker. You are very much an intended target. Just like Hernandez was.”
She was stunned by the stranger’s reply, her heart racing. “Who are you? What do you want?”
Instead of answering, he raised his weapon, his gaze soulless. A smirk crossed his lips. “Run.”
Instinctively Luanne reached a hand out to stop him, then bolted. She ran, desperately trying to stay on her feet on the slick ground.
What the hell? Who is this guy? How does he know my name?
“That’s it! It makes the hunt all the more exciting.”
She looked around, panicked, trying to make herself a moving target. Please God don’t let me fall. She left the trail behind, hoping for camouflage. She tossed her flashlight, aware it would only draw attention to her location and heard the crack of the rifle when the flashlight hit the ground.
A bolt of electricity ran through her leg as she slammed against a jagged rock. Her vision blurring with the pain, she kept running, dragging her wounded leg behind her, falling backward
into the tangled roots.
And remembered.
Her dad’s Remington handgun. In the unlikely case of a cougar attack. She pulled it from her pack, then lay still looking up at the foliage above her. She watched in horror as the hunter approached her, his prey. With eerie calm, he took aim, preparing for the kill. He never got his chance.
Luanne shot him right between the eyes.
Chapter 17
Los Angeles
Jon entered his hotel room and sat at the desk, placing the muffin and coffee he’d bought at the corner café beside him. He checked the time on the hotel room’s alarm clock. Quick math told him it was noon in New York. He dialed Terry’s cell, then pulled up a list of questions he’d prepared on his laptop. “Hey, Terry. Are you still in New York?”
“Yes. At the conference I told you about. What’s up?”
“I’m working a case and have a few questions I’m hoping you can answer for me.”
“Sure. Good timing. We’re on a lunch break.”
Jon saw another call was coming in from an unfamiliar number. He declined it. Looking at his list, he read the first question. “Is it possible to get a good DNA sample from blood?”
“Yes, but blood doesn’t last as long as saliva. The bigger challenge would be analysis. It requires sophisticated equipment, know-how, and time. The more detail you are looking for, the more time it will take.”
“How long are we talking?”
“Anywhere from one to sixteen weeks.”
“Hmm.”
Terry asked, “Do you want to tell me what this is all about?”
Another call from the same number with a 707 area code. No voicemail. “I wish, but I can’t.” He knew if anyone understood it was Terry.
“Anything else I can help with?”
“A few more questions, please. Do genealogy labs have the right to test for diseases?”
“That’s a grey area. Most people don’t realize that according to company privacy policies, they actually take ownership of your DNA forever.”
“Scary thought.”
“Most definitely. Who takes the time to read the terms and conditions prior to accepting them? We just assume it will be a fair contract. That is not always the case.”
“I don’t get why someone would choose to have genetic testing in the first place. It just seems like DNA testing is opening a can of worms.”
“For many, there are great benefits. Like confirming a diagnosis or determining if they are carriers of a genetic disorder. People with a family history of a genetic abnormality—such as sickle cell anemia or cystic fibrosis—may choose to have genetic testing before having children.”
“Do the test results show which diseases a person could get?”
“Predictive testing is still evolving, becoming more advanced every year. At this point testing can detect the risk of developing certain diseases.”
Jon didn’t think he’d ever want to know that sort of thing. Ignorance is bliss.
Terry continued. “Like anything else, there are pros and cons. I use genetic mapping as a means of helping patients who are predisposed to certain illnesses and treat them prophylactically. It has the potential to save or extend countless lives.”
Jon said, “With all that risk of privacy invasion, the cons seem to outweigh the pros.”
“It’s complicated. Many people agree that genetic testing makes sense for disorders that are preventable or treatable. But it’s a murkier area for diseases with no available preventative measures. For now, much of it is up to personal morality.”
His phone rang yet again. “I need to run now. Can I call you later if I have more questions?”
“Sure. I’ll be at a work function later, but if I miss you, I’ll call back.”
“Thanks, Terry. You’re a treasure.” He hung up.
Jon accepted the call, then pulled up an email from Matthews. “Steadman.”
“Hey Jon, got a minute?” Luanne’s voice sounded funny over the line.
“Not really. My boss is asking for a status report. I need to get it to him asap or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Interesting. So, anyway, I’m at the police station in Sonoma.” She said it like it was a common occurrence.
“Say what? Wait, are you smoking something?”
“You bet your ass, I am. I was almost killed! Stepped outside the station to smoke and call you.”
She had his attention. He closed his eyes. “It was you calling me?”
“Uh, yeah, like three times.”
“Rewind please.”
“I was hiking my favorite trail and some guy with a rifle came out of nowhere, aiming it at me.”
A weird sensation came over him. “Jeez. Are you alright?”
“Just peachy.”
Jon thought sarcasm was as good a cover for fear as any. “How’d you get away?”
“I shot him right between the eyes.” Her quivering voice no longer masking the terror.
“What!”
Now she began to sob. Gut-wrenching sobs. He waited as she calmed down, blew her nose.
“Yeah. I’ve never been so thankful for my years of target practice.”
“Is he dead?”
“As a doornail.”
“Listen Lu, you need to get your head on straight about this. Do you have anyone that can pick you up? Don’t your parents live up there?”
“I told you they’re out of town, and I think this would kill them anyway. I’m planning to come back to LA after I’m done here. It’s going to be a very long night.”
“What about a friend?”
“This may come as a surprise, but I don’t have a lot of those.”
“That’s a long drive to make alone after such an ordeal.” Not to mention when you’re high.
“Then I’ll stay at my parents’ house.”
“You really shouldn’t be alone now.” He felt like the responsible adult. “I have an idea.”
“Stupendous,” she slurred.
“Just hear me out. I’ve got a friend that recently moved to San Francisco. Her name’s Melanie. She’ll give you a bed for the night.”
No immediate answer. He assumed she took another draw on her joint.
Then, “Okay.”
“Great! I’ll call her now. Wait there.”
The call to Melanie was cordial and awkward but they worked out all the necessary arrangements. “Thanks. You’re a good egg.”
“Sure, no problem. I’ll call her now with my address. Bye now.”
“Bye Mel.”
No love you's. From either of them.
***
San Francisco
Melanie stood aside as Luanne entered her condo. “I really appreciate this,” Luanne said, putting down her backpack. “Fortunately, one of the officers brought back my stuff from the mountain.” She looked around. “Nice digs.”
“Thanks.” Melanie took in the sight of her unexpected houseguest. Close to her own age—mid-twenties—with an unnaturally red, bluntly cut ‘do. She was dressed in filthy hiking gear, smelling like a pot farm. And really pretty if you took a closer look.
“I could use a shower.”
“Be my guest. Second door on the right. I’ll have a cup of tea waiting for you.”
“You’re a saint.”
Twenty minutes later, Luanne came out wearing clean leggings and a 49ers sweatshirt. She sat across from Melanie at the kitchen table, selected chamomile from the tea box.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Melanie asked.
Luanne did.
Mel said, “You’re lucky to be alive.”
“Luck and a steady hand.”
Melanie was amazed by Luanne’s seemingly relaxed attitude. “You work with Ed Hernandez?”
“More like for him. I guess you heard of him. He’s an amazing journalist.”
“He and my dad are great friends. I’ve known him my whole life.”
“What a small world. He’s not doing great. So s
orry.”
“Thanks. You know, he helped Jon out a lot on an important investigation.”
A pause. “Oh, so you’re the girl.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jon mentioned a girl in his life. Implied it was complicated and dropped the subject.”
Melanie remained silent.
“Sorry, was I not supposed to say that?”
“No, it’s fine.”
Luanne looked around uncomfortably.
“So, found yourself in a pickle this morning, huh?” Melanie asked.
“I guess you could say that. You’re not from around here, are you?”
“You can tell? I’ve been trying to tone down my accent.” She laughed. “I have certain southern proclivities, and all,” she said with a long drawl.
“Makes sense. What brought you cross country?”
“An amazing job offer,” Melanie said.
“Now that I can relate to. What do you do?”
“I’m a biochemical engineer. I work for a pharmaceutical company analyzing medicinal compounds.”
“Lost me again.”
Melanie smiled. This odd woman was spunky, cool, and self-deprecating. “Sounds loftier
than it actually is.”
“But you love it.”
Melanie smiled. “I do. My work ultimately helps people. How about you?”
“I went to Berkeley, spent a hundred grand on a journalism degree and couldn’t get a job.”
“How’s that possible?”
“Well for one thing, true unbiased journalism is becoming a thing of the past and secondly, I guess I don’t have the look. And I was a crazed activist on campus. Must’ve earned myself a reputation.”
“Have you thought about changing your image to get a job?”
Luanne chipped at her black nail polish. “That’s not how I roll.”
Mel thought this woman sounded oddly like Jon. Pigheaded to their own detriment. Yet they both had jobs they loved. As far as she could tell, that’s where the similarities ended. “Then, how did you land at The Times?”
Vengeance: An Action-Adventure Novel (A Jon Steadman Thriller Book 3) Page 9
