Girl Missing

by Tess Gerritsen

  Adam must have sensed he was being watched. He glanced her way and froze when he saw her. To Kat’s surprise, he abruptly broke off his conversation and began to move toward her, across the room. She caught a glimpse of Isabel’s frown, of faces turning to look at Adam as his broad shoulders pushed past. And then all she could seem to focus on was him.

  He was smiling at her, the relaxed greeting of an old friend. The bruise on his cheek was almost lost in the laugh lines around his eyes. “Kat,” he said, “I didn’t know you were coming.” He reached out to her, and her hand felt lost in the warmth of his grip.

  “I didn’t know I was coming,” she said.

  The sound of a throat being cleared caught her attention. She glanced sideways at Ed. “I guess I should introduce you two,” she said. “Ed, this is Adam Quantrell. Adam, this is Ed Novak. Our acting DA.”

  “Novak?” said Adam as the two men automatically shook hands.

  “I’m her ex-husband,” said Ed, grinning. “We’re still very close.”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Kat.

  “So you’re both campaigning for Sampson?” asked Adam.

  “Ed is,” said Kat. “I’m not.”

  Ed laughed. “And I’m going to change her mind.”

  “I came for the free meal,” said Kat. She took a sip of wine, then she looked directly at Adam, a cool, hard gaze that no one could mistake as flirtatious. “And to see you.”

  “Well,” said Ed. “She always did favor the direct approach.”

  “I’d like to say I’m flattered,” said Adam, frowning as he studied her face. “But I get the feeling this isn’t a social chat we’re about to have.”

  “It’s not,” said Kat. “It’s about Nicos Biagi.”

  “I see.” Suddenly he seemed stiff and guarded—as well he should be. “Then perhaps we should talk in private. If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Novak.” He placed a hand on Kat’s shoulder.

  “Adam!” called Isabel, moving swiftly toward them. “I want you to meet someone. Oh, hello, Dr. Novak! Have you recovered from last night?”

  Kat nodded. “A few sore muscles, that’s all.”

  “You’re amazingly resilient. I would have been terrified, having my life threatened that way.”

  “Oh, I was terrified all right,” admitted Kat.

  “And then to have your car stolen. How fortunate it was only a Subaru—”

  “Will you excuse us?” said Adam, continuing to guide Kat toward the exit. “I’ll join you later, Isabel.”

  “How much later?”

  “Just later.” With a firm hand, he hustled Kat out to the lobby, where it was every bit as crowded. “Let’s go outside,” he suggested. “At least we can get out of this madhouse.”

  They found a spot near the hotel fountain, its trickling waters aglow in a rainbow of colored lights. The sounds of the gathering spilled out even here, in the darkness. From the ballroom came the faint strumming of balalaikas.

  He turned to face her, his hair glittering in the reflected lights of the fountain. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “I could ask you the same question.”

  “Are you angry at me for some reason?”

  “Zestron-L,” she said, looking at him intently. “You have heard of it, haven’t you?”

  She could see at once that he had. She caught a glimpse of shock in his eyes, and then his expression smoothed into unreadability. So he knew. All this time he’d known which drug might be killing these people.

  “Let me refresh your memory, in case you’ve forgotten,” she went on. “Zestron-L is a long-acting narcotic, new generation, of the class levo-N-cyclobutyl—”

  “I know what it is.”

  “Then you also know Cygnus holds the patent.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you also know your drug was out on the streets?”

  “It’s not possible. We’re still in the research stage—primate trials. It hasn’t gone to human trials yet.”

  “I’m afraid human trials have already started. The lab is South Lexington. And the results aren’t too encouraging. Bad side effects. Mainly, death.”

  “But it hasn’t been released yet!”

  “Nicos Biagi got his hands on it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The hospital couldn’t ID it, so they sent the blood sample to a university lab. A lucky break, too. They were able to identify it.”

  “There are two other victims—”

  “Yes, and a funny thing happened to their blood samples. Jane Doe’s got lost in transit. And as for Xenia Vargas, I won’t trust any results I get back on hers. In fact, I half expect that her blood sample will get lost as well.”

  “Don’t you think you sound just the slightest bit paranoid?”

  “Paranoid? No, I’m afraid I’ve never had much of an imagination. It’s one of my faults.”

  He moved closer to her, so threateningly close she had to fight the impulse to retreat a step. “Whatever your faults, Dr. Novak, a lack of imagination isn’t one of them.”

  “Let me lay out the facts, disturbing but true. First, Jane Doe’s specimens were lost. I know I labeled them properly, I filled out all the right forms, and I put them in the right box.”

  “The carrier could have lost it. Or it could’ve been stolen from his vehicle. There are dozens of possibilities.”

  “Then there’s the matter of Xenia Vargas. Her specimens did make it to the state lab, but they can’t ID the drug. So they send it to an outside lab for further testing. Guess which lab?” She looked him in the eye. “Cygnus.”

  He didn’t even flinch. Calmly he said, “We routinely handle requests from the state. We’re only thirty miles away, and we’re better equipped.”

  “Third, there’s the matter of Dr. Michael Dietz, Nicos Biagi’s doctor. He identifies the drug as Zestron-L. Then he resigns from Hancock General and skips town. I think he was forced out by the hospital. Because Cygnus just happens to be a major donor to Hancock General.”

  “Cygnus had nothing to do with Dietz’s resignation. He was already on his way out.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “I’m on the hospital board. Three malpractice suits were more than we’d tolerate. Dietz was a disaster waiting to happen. His license was already in jeopardy.”

  Kat paused. That would account for Dietz’s reluctance to face the press. He didn’t need the publicity.

  “But Zestron-L is your drug. And someone’s trying to keep its identity from the ME. Someone’s protecting Cygnus.”

  He began to pace back and forth by the fountain. “This is bizarre,” he muttered. “I don’t see how that ID could be right.”

  “You can’t argue with a lab result.”

  He stopped and looked at her, the gaudy lights from the fountain washing him in their watery glow. “No,” he said at last. “You’re right. I can’t.”

  The absolute steadiness of his gaze made her want to believe that there were no lies between them, no hidden agendas, that his bewilderment was real. I must be getting soft, she thought. A pair of blue-gray eyes, a tuxedo, a man too gorgeous for words, and my horse sense bites the dust. What is wrong with me?

  “Come with me,” he said, and held out his hand.

  She didn’t move, feeling shaken by the sudden temptation to take his hand, to feel her whole body swallowed in his warmth. This was what she’d fought against, from the first time they’d met, this quickening of desire.

  He was still holding out his hand, still trapping her in a gaze she couldn’t seem to escape. “Come on, Kat,” he said.

  “Where?”

  “To Cygnus. The lab. Tonight, I’m going to root out the answers. And I want you there with me, as a witness.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not so sure that you’ll like the answers.”

  “You may be right. But it’s clear to me that you’re not going to let up. One way or another, you’re going to dig up the truth. So I might as well work with yo
u. Not against you.”

  The logic of the devil. How could she argue with it?

  She said, at last, “All right. I’ll go with you.”

  “First let me smooth things over with Isabel.”

  Back in the ballroom, she watched him approach Isabel, saw the hurried excuses, the apologetic head shaking. Isabel glanced in Kat’s direction with a poorly disguised look of annoyance.

  Kat spotted Ed by the buffet table. She sidled up to him. “Ed,” she said.

  He grinned. “Did the direct approach work?”

  “Quantrell’s taking me to his lab tonight.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “I want you to let Sykes and Ratchet know. Just in case.”

  “In case what?”

  Instantly she fell silent as Adam came toward her. “Just keep it in mind,” she muttered to Ed. Then, with an automatic smile pasted in place, she followed Adam out the door.

  They went into the hotel garage. “We’ll take your car,” he said. “Isabel’s going home in mine.”

  “She didn’t look too happy about it.”

  “She hasn’t much of a choice.”

  Kat shook her head in disbelief. “Are you always this thoughtful with your lady friends?”

  “Isabel,” he said, sighing, “is a lovely woman with a cozy inheritance. And a whole stable of suitors. She hardly needs me to keep her warm at night.”

  “Do you?”

  “Do you keep Ed Novak warm at night?”

  “None of your business.”

  He cocked his head. “Ditto.”

  They got into the rented Mercedes. The smell of leather upholstery mingled with the scent of his aftershave. It left her feeling a little lightheaded.

  Kat started the car, and they swung into evening traffic.

  “How do you like the car?” he asked.

  “It’s okay.”

  “Okay?” he said, obviously waiting for her to elaborate.

  “Yeah. It’s okay.”

  He looked out the window. “Next time, I’ll have to choose something that’ll really impress you.”

  Kat put her foot on the gas pedal.

  “A horse-drawn chariot,” Adam mused. “Or maybe a team of sled dogs.” He turned to her. “How does that sound?”

  “I’m allergic,” she replied as they sailed onto the highway.

  “To horses or dogs?”

  “To chariots and sleds.”

  “Ah.” He nodded solemnly. “A unicycle it’ll have to be, then.”

  Kat felt a smile tug at the corner of her lips.

  “There,” he said. “Take the next turnoff. It’s eight miles north.”

  The road took them out of midtown Albion, into a district of industrial parks and corporate headquarters. In the last ten years, many of the buildings had become vacant; dark windows and FOR LEASE signs had sprung up everywhere. The Cygnus complex was one of the few that appeared to house a thriving corporation. Even at eight o’clock at night, some of the windows were still lit, and there were a dozen cars in the parking lot. They drove past the security booth and pulled into a stall marked QUANTRELL.

  “Your people work late,” said Kat, glancing at the parked cars.

  “The evening shift,” said Adam. “We run a twenty-four-hour diagnostic lab. Plus, some of our research people like to keep odd hours. You know how it is with eggheads. They have their own schedules.”

  “A flexible company.”

  “We have to be, if we want to keep good minds around.”

  They walked to the front door, where Adam pressed a few numbers on a wall keypad and the lock snapped open. Inside, they headed down a brightly lit hallway. No smudged walls, no flickering fluorescent bulbs here; only the best for corporate America.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Diagnostics. I’m going to prove to you we’re not engaged in a cover-up.”

  “Just how are you going to do that?”

  “I’m going to personally hand over to you Xenia Vargas’s toxicology screen.”

  The diagnostics lab was a vast chamber of space-age equipment, staffed by half a dozen technicians. The evening supervisor, a grandmotherly type in a lab coat, immediately came to greet them.

  “Don’t worry, Grace,” said Adam. “This isn’t a surprise inspection.”

  “Thank God,” said Grace with a laugh. “We just hid the beer keg and the dancing girls. So what can I do for you, Mr. Q.?”

  “This is Dr. Novak, ME’s office. She wants to check on a tox screen sent here from the state.”

  “What’s the name?”

  “Xenia Vargas,” said Kat.

  Grace sat down at a computer terminal and typed in the name. “Here it is. Logged in just this afternoon. It’s not checked priority, so we haven’t run it yet.”

  “Could you run it now?” asked Adam.

  “It’ll take some time.”

  Adam glanced at Kat. She nodded. “We’ll wait,” he said.

  Grace called to another tech: “Val, can you check that box of requests from the state? We’re going to run a STAT on Xenia Vargas.” She looked at Adam. “Are you sure you want to hang around, Mr. Q.? This is going to be boring.”

  “We’ll be up in my office,” said Adam. “Call us there.”

  “Okay. But if I was dressed like that”—she nodded at their evening clothes—“I’d be out dancing.”

  Adam smiled. “We’ll keep it in mind.”

  By the time they reached Adam’s office, which was upstairs and down a long corridor, Kat’s feet were staging a protest against her high heels and she was silently cursing every cobbler in Italy. The minute she hobbled through the office door, she pulled off her shoes, and her stockinged feet sank into velvety carpet. Nice. Plush. Slowly she gazed around the room, impressed by her surroundings. It wasn’t just an office; it was more like a second home, with a couch and chairs, bookshelves, a small refrigerator.

  “I was wondering how long you’d last in those shoes,” Adam said with a laugh.

  “When Grace mentioned dancing, I felt like crying.” She sat down gratefully on the couch. “I confess, I’m the socks-and-sneakers type.”

  “What a shame. You look good in heels.”

  “My feet would beg to differ.” Groaning, she reached down and began to massage her instep.

  “What your feet need,” he said, “is a little pampering.” He sat down beside her on the couch and patted his lap in invitation. “Allow me.”

  “Allow you to what?”

  “Make up for that long walk down that long hallway.”

  Laughing, she rose from the couch. “It won’t work, Quantrell. It takes more than a foot rub to soften up my brain.”

  He gave a sigh of disappointment. “She doesn’t trust me.”

  “Don’t take it personally. When it comes to men, I’m just an old skeptic.”

  “Ah. Deep-rooted fears. An unreliable father?”

  “I didn’t have a father.” She wandered over to the bookcase, made a slow survey of the spines. An eclectic collection, she noted, arranged in no particular order. Philosophy and physics. Fiction and pharmacology. Over the bookcase hung several framed diplomas, strictly Ivy League.

  “So what happened to your father?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t know.” She turned and looked at him. “I don’t even know his last name.”

  Adam’s eyebrow twitched up in surprise. That was his only reaction, but it was a telling one.

  “I know he had light brown hair. Green eyes,” said Kat. “I know he drove a nice car. And he had money, which was what my mother desperately needed at the time. So …” She smiled. “Here I am. Green eyes and all.”

  She expected to see shock, perhaps pity in his gaze, but there was neither. The look he gave her was one of utter neutrality.

  “So you see,” she said, “I’m not exactly to the manner born. Though my mother used to claim she had noble Spanish blood. But then, Mama said a lot of crazy things toward the end.”


  “Then she’s …” He paused delicately.

  “Dead. Seven years.”

  He tilted up his head, the next question plain in his eyes.

  “Mama would say these really bizarre things,” explained Kat. “And she’d get headaches every morning. I was in my last year of medical school. I was the one who diagnosed the brain tumor.”

  Adam shook his head. “That must have been terrible.”

  “It wasn’t the diagnosis that was so wrenching. It was the part afterward. Waiting for the end. I spent a lot of time at Hancock General. Learned to royally despise the place. Found out I couldn’t stand being around sick people.” She shook her head and laughed. “Imagine that.”

  “So you chose the morgue.”

  “It’s quiet. It’s contained.”

  “A hiding place.”

  Anger darted through her, but she suppressed it. After all, what he’d said was true. The morgue was a hiding place, from all those painfully sloppy emotions one found in a hospital ward.

  She said, simply, “It suits me,” and turned away. Her gaze settled on the refrigerator. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything edible in there, would you?” she asked. “The wine’s going straight to my head.”

  He rose from the couch and went to the refrigerator. “I usually stock a sandwich or two, for those impromptu lunch meetings. Here we are.” He produced two plastic-wrapped luncheon plates. “Let’s see. Roast beef or … roast beef. What a choice.” Apologetically he handed her a plate. “Afraid it’s not quite the mayor’s benefit dinner.”

  “That’s all right. I didn’t pay for my ticket anyway.”

  He smiled. “Neither did I.”

  “Oh?”

  “It was Isabel’s ticket. She’s a big fan of Mayor Sampson.”

  “I can’t imagine why.” Kat unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. “I think he’s Albion’s Titanic.”

  “How so?”

  “Just look at South Lexington. Sampson would like to pretend it doesn’t exist. He caters entirely to the more suburban areas. Bellemeade and beyond. The inner city? Forget it. He doesn’t want to hear about the Jane Does and Nicos Biagis.” She went back to the couch and sat down, tucking her stockinged feet beneath her.