Heated Conspiracies

by Aiden Bates

  “Did Ernesto come through?” was my first question for Brock as he slumped in.

  Brock gave me a massive grin as he handed me a fat stack of papers. “He must like you two a lot.”

  “Must.” I flipped through the stack, seeing column after column of names. “How’d he end up getting it?”

  Brock winced. “He said you were better off not knowing, frankly.”

  I could live with that. I took the stack of names back into the kitchen, thumping them down on the table in front of Derek like a war prize.

  “Ernesto got the names, then?” Derek ran his finger down the first column, tracing the list of his former coworkers.

  “Looks like. Mind giving your whole Betty Crocker schtick a pause so you can have a read-through of them? We need to narrow this down to a list of anyone who you think might have been able to tamper with those pills.”

  Derek’s eyes lit up. “Right. Because if we know who else might be to blame…”

  “Then the heat’s off you—and onto whoever actually committed the crime. You didn’t work in the labs. You didn’t have access to any of the chemicals at all until that day you slipped in to steal our miracle vial. If we can figure out who might have actually done it—and when—we can present the FBI with a list of some real suspects along with your alibi.”

  Derek’s tongue flicked anxiously across his lower lip. “Unless the FBI is in on it too.”

  I shook my head. Now wasn’t the time for that kind of talk. “My contacts there are clean. Career guys like me who take their jobs seriously. They wouldn’t sell out to anyone—at any price, either.” I reached across the table to lay my hand over his. “You’re not alone in this anymore, Derek. Don’t forget that. Besides.” I cracked a grin. “I think I might have turned up something while you were reading recipes, too.”

  “Oh?” Derek scooted a little closer to me so I could show him what I’d found on my laptop.

  “Not sure what the significance is, but AFF was definitely pushing to get Delaney elected.” I tabbed into an article they’d published on Delaney back during the election cycle, lauding him as some kind of morally upright Alpha messiah and urging their readers to hit the polls in his favor. “Then, about a week after the election results came out—this.” I tabbed into a second article, this one from the local paper announcing Chandler Sorenson’s promotion to chief of police in Fort Greene.

  “I mean, it’s interesting…” Derek sighed. “But it could just be coincidence, right? People get promoted, Kaleb. Happens all the time.”

  “And the old police chief here had been looking to retire for a while, I know. Coincidence is what I thought too—at first. But then I found this.” A third tab—this one from a paper in Atlanta. “Right after Governor Tillerson—another AFF-supported candidate, incidentally—was elected in Georgia, the Atlanta police chief was replaced too. Same thing up in Massachusetts. New Hampshire. Vermont.”

  “All AFF candidates?”

  “Every. Single. One.” I tabbed over three more times. Three more posts from AFF telling their people who to vote for and where. “And after the elections, AFF received massive contributions from…”

  “Bicroft Pharmaceuticals.” Derek’s voice lowered to a whisper as I tabbed over again, this time to AFF’s donor page. Bicroft’s name was listed, right there with all the other bigots. “And Josh was investigating in Atlanta. That police corruption thing—he tell you about it?”

  “Harper mentioned it. I’m not surprised that his story started there now, knowing what we do. And we know more than I think they’ve realized.” Another tab—the Carver Media website, listing their illustrious clients and subsidiaries. “After the governors and police chiefs were installed, Carver stated making acquisitions in papers up and down the East Coast, then all the way across the South. Shortly after that…”

  “The Omega heat debacles started happening. Fuck.” Derek blinked, leaning back from the light of my laptop screen. “It’s like they were setting up…testing grounds or something.”

  “Well in advance, too. This was orchestrated. Timed and measured. Like some kind of fucked-up political ballet.”

  “Right. But we already suspected that.” Derek’s sea greens found my hazels. “Where does that leave us, though?”

  “With a hell of a lot clearer picture than we did before. We’ve gotta show means, motive and opportunity if we want the FBI to even take a glance at what we’ve put together here. All of this looks like someone was at least providing themselves with some of that.”

  “Means…that’s the money. Bicroft had the chemicals, the governors had their states, the police chiefs could preside over any investigations that might’ve cropped up.” Derek furrowed his brow. “And they’ve certainly had opportunity.”

  “They’ve set the entire board to make this birth control mix-up happen. The planning shows intent, too. If we can figure out who did the tampering—and who was involved in covering that tampering up—plus the people responsible for distribution—”

  “We’d have a whole list of suspects. But what about motive? There’s been too much planning involved here for someone just looking to sow chaos.”

  I sighed. “That’s what’s got me stumped too. They’ve all got plenty of money. No one’s profiting off of birth control pills that make Omegas go into wild heats instead of preventing pregnancy.”

  “And I think I’m evidence enough that no one wants to buy birth control at all if it’s not guaranteed to keep us safe.”

  “So really, it looks like Bicroft has sunk their own multi-million dollar birth control line if they released those pills intentionally. I thought maybe it was some kind of testing thing, but—”

  Derek shook his head. “They could’ve easily funded their own study. Like you said, Bicroft has billions. They don’t need to unleash something like those pills just to test a product when they could pay a bunch of broke college kids to participate in a medical study instead.”

  “Exactly. So motive…that’s our real sticking point here.” I rubbed my temples, feeling a headache coming on. “Without a motive, even means and opportunity can be upended in court, if it comes to that.”

  Derek scooted his chair closer to me still, leaning over to rest his cheek against my shoulder. “I just wish I could be a little more help there. My work with Bicroft…there wasn’t anything suspicious going on that I could see. It’s not really Bicroft that’s doing this, though, is it? The higher-ups, sure, but the employees themselves… The birth control line is just one of hundreds that they produce. Most people there probably don’t have any idea how the company plays into the bigger picture as a whole. I wouldn’t have known this was happening at all if Adrian and Josh hadn’t brought my attention to it. And now…Josh is dead, and Adrian’s…” He shook his head. “Don’t even want to think about that.”

  “Then don’t.” I pressed a kiss to the top of his head, winding my arm around his shoulders. “Just see what you can make of these employee records. You didn’t tamper with these pills—but someone at Bicroft did. If we can figure out who that was, we can do more than just clear your name. We can put pressure on them to give up who put them up to it. See if we can glean any sense of motive from them, too.”

  Derek glanced down at the lists again, but I could tell from the tension in his shoulders that he wasn’t sold. To him, these were just names. Nothing more. Another piece of the puzzle, at most. Another clue that would only lead to another clue, and another, and another without end.

  But we weren’t searching for puzzle pieces in the dark anymore. We knew what the picture on the box looked like, more or less. The edges were coming together. Now, we just needed to fill in all the shadowy middle parts. Piece them together, see what fit, until the entire thing finally took shape.

  “Hey.” I reached up to brush his hair behind his ear, relishing the softness of its dark blond base and sun-kissed streaks. “I know that this is a lot. Has been. Probably will be still. But if this doesn’t come qui
ckly enough—if we can’t solve this in time to give you and the baby the care that you need—we don’t have to keep living like this. We can leave the country if we have to. No matter what—you two are my priority right now.”

  I let my hand slip down the strong, stiff curve of his neck, my fingers trailing over his shirt until they were brushing against the base of his abdomen. Somewhere down there, beneath Derek’s muscles and nausea, there was a little life only just beginning to stir. A life that we’d made together. Something whole and new and exciting—something that would change both our lives forever for bringing it into existence.

  “Do you ever imagine that we’d met in…you know. Some kind of normal way?”

  I smirked. “Well, I didn’t exactly imagine I’d meet the love of my life while pointing the business end of my pistol at him, no.”

  Amusement flickered through his eyes. Amusement, but no smile. “Sometimes I just wish we would’ve met in a bar or something. At a friend’s Christmas party. You could’ve drank too much eggnog, I could’ve driven you home.”

  “Would’ve puked all over your ugly Christmas sweater,” I pointed out. “I can handle my drink—but not my eggnog. And you would’ve never fallen in love with me then.”

  Derek rolled his eyes. “I don’t know about that. You’re pretty lovable, Kaleb King.”

  I grinned. “For a big stupid idiot?”

  “Especially for a big stupid idiot.”

  I wrapped him up in a hug at that. “Well, I’m your big stupid idiot. And…no, I s’pose we didn’t meet at some boring Christmas party or over some dumb pickup lines at some bar. But this’ll make one hell of a story to tell our kids someday, won’t it?”

  Derek snorted. “Kids? As in…plural?”

  I shrugged. “Our son, then. I’m willing to take things one baby at a time. If we must.”

  He bit his lip as he drew away. “Actually…I was kind of hoping for a daughter.”

  “A daughter, huh?” I closed my eyes for a moment, imagining her. My dark hair, a thick mess of waves. Derek’s sea-green eyes, all lit up with delight as I picked her up and tossed her into the air, catching her on the way back down. “I could be okay with a daughter.”

  “Just okay?”

  I ran my thumb across his cheek, pinching it gently. “Tell you what. You get through that list of names, and we’ll keep making babies until we’ve got one of each.”

  Derek held my gaze for a moment, but then finally, he cracked. Shaking his head, a little laugh escaped his lips as he pulled the stack of papers a little closer. “Sounds like I’m the one doing all the heavy lifting on that one, Detective. But if you insist…” He glanced up at me again, a smile on his lips. “It’s a deal.”

  23

  Derek

  There were five hundred or more employees from the Bicroft facility in Reno alone. It took an entire hour to get through half the stack, and already every name was beginning to bleed into the next.

  Kaleb had left me to my work while he went to take a shower. As for Brock, he’d made himself comfortable, settling deep into the couch and keeping his eyes on his phone. As grateful as I was for the extra protection, the occasional buzz of Brock’s cell was starting to wear on my nerves. In between buzzes, the silence that lingered in the house was becoming even more deafening.

  I needed a break. Not in the case—although I wouldn’t have said no to one of those as well—but really, just in general. Anything to liven up what was becoming an increasingly tedious task.

  “Mind if I turn the news on?” I called out over the back of the couch.

  “Huh?” Brock peeked his head up, then shook it. “Nah, not at all. Don’t see how that’s gonna help you cherry-pick names, but if you want it, be my guest.”

  “Sometimes a little noise helps me concentrate,” I explained, going around to grab the remote. Flicking the TV on, the sound of a thick-lashed reporter’s voice immediately shifted the mood of the room. I left the volume on just loud enough that I could hear it from the kitchen table before I turned back to names, names and more names.

  The extra noise helped me get to the end of list, but as I read the final name—Stephanie Gillcrest, Accounting—something felt off. I patted the pocket of my jeans, feeling the extra set of keys that I’d been carrying around with me ever since I left Bicroft’s labs for the last time. Randy Argent’s keys, in fact. But out of all of the names I’d read off on Bicroft’s employment sheets, one had yet to come across my gaze.

  His.

  “Shit,” I swore, tearing back through the papers again. I read every damn name over again, taking care to spot the perfect curve of the R, the hard lines of the A. But even after I’d wasted another hour on my second read-though, I still didn’t manage to find Randy’s name.

  It was strange. Impossible, if Ernesto’s lists were complete and correct. I hadn’t let Randy flirt with me at Starbucks every lunchtime for a week just for his stupid name to be absent from Bicroft’s listings. He was in R&D, working on some kind of painkiller. Definitely real. Definitely a Bicroft employee.

  “Hey, I think I might have found something,” I called out to Kaleb, knocking on the bedroom door then pushing it open. I found him lying on the bed, dressed only in a towel, his hair still damp and Wild and Free held up in front of his face. “Oh.”

  Kaleb smirked as he saw the way my eyes traced down his chest, across the old bullet wounds all the way to the edge of his towel at his hips. “Oh?”

  I shook my head, blinking as I felt my cock practically leap up at the sight of him half-naked like that. “Just—sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to be so…underdressed.”

  “Is it a problem?” Kaleb asked, tugging at the towel. “If you’re unhappy with how I’m dressed, you know, I could always take it off.”

  “Yes,” I said immediately—then, blushing, shook my head again. “I mean, no. I mean, you look entirely fuckable in literally anything or nothing right now, but…”

  Kaleb’s smile disappeared, exchanged for a look of seriousness as he took in my face. “You found something. Of course. Let’s hear it, then.”

  “There’s a name missing from these lists.” I tapped my fingertips against the stack of papers in my hand. “Randy Argent. He definitely works for Bicroft, but…he’s not here. Are we sure these lists are complete?”

  “Any other names missing?”

  I shrugged. “Not that I can tell. I didn’t have the employee roster memorized or anything, but Randy’s…I definitely know it should be on here, and it’s not.”

  Kaleb’s brow furrowed for a moment. “This Randy…he an Alpha? Maybe…maybe someone special to you?”

  I laughed, half in disbelief at Kaleb’s tone. It was hot that he was getting jealous and all, but this wasn’t the time—and out of all the men in the world he could be jealous of, frankly, Randy Argent wasn’t worth it. “I stole his keys to get into the room where Bicroft was keeping the chemical sample I brought over. Before you go all green with envy—I didn’t fuck him, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  Kaleb swallowed, then nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Of course not. Let me get dressed, call Ernesto. We’ll see what he has to say.”

  I left Kaleb to dress, my eyes lingering on him before I slipped out the door just for long enough to see the towel drop. Even with everything hanging over our heads right now—the baby, the FBI, the various megacorporations that almost certainly wanted me dead—there was no denying that I’d scored myself one hell of a man. We might not have known each other as well as I liked—not yet, at least—but Kaleb had been right. When you were with the right person, you could tell. Even the quickest glimpse of Kaleb slipping out of a towel left me feeling short of breath while my pulse pounded in my ears.

  Out of all the Alphas in the world I could’ve been knocked up by, I certainly could have done worse for myself, anyway.

  When Kaleb finally came out to the kitchen, a pair of blue jeans on, no shirt, and his phone pressed to the side of
his face, I could hear from his speaker that Ernesto was already giving him an earful.

  “Okay, okay, Jesus, Ernesto! I’m not even the one asking here—Derek’s the one who thinks something’s missing from the lists, not me!”

  Fighting back a smile, I scowled at Kaleb instead. Way to throw me under the bus, babe.

  Kaleb mouthed a sorry in response, handing the phone over to me. “You tell him, sunshine. He doesn’t want to hear it from my sorry ass.”

  Carefully, I raised the phone to my ear. “Ernesto? Hi, this is Derek. I’m so sorry—”

  “Derek! Bien! How are you finding your accommodations?” Ernesto’s voice had shifted immediately from the ass-chewing he’d been giving Kaleb into something friendly, generous and warm. “Is Brock behaving himself?”

  “Everything’s fine here, Ernesto. Thank you so much for letting us use this place.”

  “You’re family now, Derek. Speaking of—how is the baby?”

  I nearly choked on my own response as I shot Brock a dirty look. I had a stinking suspicion that he’d decided to use my newfound pregnancy as a bargaining chip to try and convince Ernesto to get the Bicroft employee lists. “The baby is fine, Ernesto. But these lists you got for us—are you sure that these are up to date? I don’t mean to impugn your methods or anything, but either these lists are old, or something fishy is going on with them.”

  “I swear on my life, cariño, the information I’ve given you is of the highest quality. Paid off a Bicroft HR representative myself to acquire them—handsomely, too. Are you finding them to be incomplete?”

  “That’s so kind of you, Ernesto. But—yeah, there’s a name missing from the list. At least one that I know of for sure.”

  “Give me the name, cariño. We’ll get to the bottom of this yet.”

  “Randy Argent. He’s an Alpha who works in Bicroft’s R&D department—or at least, he did.”