McAllister Justice Series
Box set – Volume Two
Inconclusive Evidence
Carbon Replacements
By
Reily Garrett
For Leyna
There is no pain so
great as the memory of joy
in present grief.
-Aeschylus
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Acknowledgments
Special thanks to Dr. Christine Terrell for delving into the world of nanotechnology and helping me sort the wheat from the chaff. And—it’s wonderful to know like-minded souls who care as much about their furbabies as I do mine.
To Laurie Sickles, your insight into each character is a gift and reassurance. Your support through such a trying time is greatly appreciated.
To Siobhan Caughey, for reading through my rough drafts and not laughing. Your perceptions are spot on and always appreciated, helping me to shape my work.
To my readers, each one of you who selects and reads one of my books, thank you for the opportunity to share my work.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Inconclusive Evidence
Carbon Replacements
A Note from the Author
Shattered Reflections
About Reily
Reily’s Books
Copyright
Inconclusive Evidence
The McAllister Justice Series
Book Three
Prologue
Death in degrees
Jackie Milburn didn’t do fear.
The late-night walk to her car had never provoked an accelerated heart rate. Tonight, however, a bone-deep foreboding arose from vestiges of instinctual awareness, all merging to question her mission’s strategy. If she failed, millions would suffer and life as anyone knew it, would end.
Indistinct shadows granted a cozy ambience where she often lurked, but dingy light filtering through overhead branches mocked her bravado. Shadow limbs shook with laughter as Fate’s sense of humor conspired with nature to saturate creation’s mindset with malice.
Regardless of destiny’s intentions, she squared her shoulders while scanning the deserted parking lot, alert to any threat. A sense of relief had washed through her after depositing the damning evidence in the USPS blue box. The evil shits would never expect an investigative reporter to mail the sophisticated mechanisms across country. Precautions taken with the dispatch ensured no one could trace the recipient. Always have a backup plan.
This was the biggest scoop of her career and would spotlight one of Delaware’s billion-dollar companies as a collection of hi-tech, sociopathic thugs.
It wouldn’t take CSV Pharmaceuticals long to discover crucial evidence missing and ferret out their traitor. As corporations went, they were as paranoid as any. She prayed Dr. Sorenson made it out of the country alive, and not as shark chum. Paranoia had compelled her to refuse him the number to her newest burner phone. Intuition saw the last one tossed in the Willamette River after tapping out a quick message to her old college roommate. Jackie survived by instincts and prayed they would serve her well—one more time.
Making the last stop to pick up her go-bag would supply the necessary items to disappear until her story broke. The finishing touches included copies of lab reports and communication between the Delaware scientists and a company on the West Coast, ClickChip.
Various colored and styled wigs, plain lens glasses, makeup, and diverse fashion ensembles would allow her to blend with any crowd, but wouldn’t prevent CCTVs and facial recognition programs from pinpointing her location. Planning ahead, she had a well-stocked safe house outside city limits.
Trembling fingers failed to punch the unlock button on her key fob. Instead, her headlights cut a swath through the misty ground cover, a beacon to any waiting goon. Shit. The subsequent knocking of heart against ribs rivaled the best hammer drill while sweat coated her palms and face despite her warmed exhalations sending puffed smoke signals in the frosty air.
A slow, deep breath reclaimed her sense of calm and allowed the subtle scent from emerging camellia blossoms drifting on the night’s currents to settle her spirit. There. This is who I am. For visual affirmation of her feelings, she glanced at her reflection in the driver’s side window.
The sudden thrust of a phantom arm emerging from the dark pinned her against a hard chest. The steely limb angled and applied pressure to tilt her head back as if she were a rag doll.
“Oomph.” Collision forced air from her lungs while shock produced a gasp that inhaled a sickly sweet odor from the cloth rammed over her mouth and nose.
“Wanna play?” Malice drew out each syllable in a parody of innocent sport.
Momentary panic barred all reason. Instinctive reaction initiated clawing at the viselike grip. Subsequent kicking and twisting of her body yielded no compromise in her position.
In her periphery, she caught sight of a malevolent smile and glinting dark eyes under a black fedora. The boogeyman does exist.
Lethargy and disorientation. Another breath or pass out from hypoxia. No more pain. All her muscles relaxed against her will. The invading blackness closed in from the margins.
NO! An enraged cry died in her throat.
A rhythmic throb pounded in Jackie’s head, each wave of torture surging through her brain with the force of storm water runoff, minus the available capacity.
Unless a small rodent had crawled up her nose while she slept, someone had inserted a foreign object that approximated the size of a golf ball in her nostril. That she still drew breath instilled hope. Foul odor suggestive of scraped sinuses defied logic or reference in reality. She’d never been easy prey for colds or flu. Slow, controlled breaths helped ease the nausea but not the intense pressure.
Instinct held her still, eyes closed, and assimilating information provided by her other senses. The bed beneath her wasn’t her own. The coarse blanket covering her body scratched skin she’d never considered sensitive.
A reddish tint from bright illumination infiltrating her closed eyelids carried a new level of fear. In the background, she heard the clink of metal on metal, as if someone was washing silverware. Or surgical instruments.
Murky and vague impressions crashed through her mind to shape a rough sketch of recent events. All foreshadowed a painful death.
Murmured words echoed in the long tunnel between hazy, drugged awareness and full consciousness. Pituitary gland manipulation, nanos stimulating hormones, diabetes insipidus, and dissolving chips. None of it made sense.
Tensing one arm, resistance came from a strap holding her tight. Bright lights reminded her of the dentist’s office. Or an operating room. Cracking open an eyelid, she saw an oxygen mask resting on her chest, the device responsible for delivering her counterfeit sleep. Two men faced the stainless steel counter, one shuffling papers into a neat stack.
The small part of her brain activating fight-or-flight sent a surge of panic that tightened her arms and legs. Intuition dictated she’d either escape soon or die trying. I’m in no shape to fight.
“C’mon, Morfran. She’s not even conscious yet, much less in any shape to interrogate. Let’s grab some coffee while you expound on the virtues of torture techniques which leave no traceable evidence.” The scratchy voice sounded
tired, edgy.
“Yeah, all right. I want her good and awake for what I have in mind anyway.” A low chuckle boded ill.
The near-silent snick of the closing door breathed new incentive into her exhausted body. Her immediate environment lacked the normal sounds of a hospital, yet a clinical odor mingled with the foul smell in the room. The foul smell is in me. They shoved something in my sinuses.
Whether they relied on a locked door or underestimated her metabolism in ridding her body of drugs, they’d not strapped her other arm to the gurney before leaving. Using her free arm, she released the buckle and gingerly touched her cheek, afraid to venture closer to the painful area.
Scrim-backed tape securing the intravenous line ripped the hair out by the root but freed her to move about the room. Surgical instruments covering two trays explained the mariachi band and off-key trumpet in her brain. Their odd design, with blades hinged at right angles, added a sinister aspect to her surroundings.
Oh God, they’re testing their chip on me. Having read the stolen documents, she anticipated excruciating pain unless enough distance separated her body and the psychopathic pricks.
Standing brought a wave of dizziness, unbearable headache, and a new fear taking root. I’m a guinea pig. A moment to allow her body’s calibration reduced the probability of falling unconscious to the floor but yielded no clarification of her location.
In grim anticipation, she touched the bridge of her nose in expectation of a large goose-egg lump. The softest brush brought nausea to roil, but didn’t discern anything unusual.
A glance around confirmed what her mind had already processed. She stood in the back room of no legitimate clinic. They’d left her clothes and shoes on. Her chambray shirt and light jacket retained specks of blood from the unauthorized operation.
Her line of work had taught her to pick most non-latch locks. Using their own tools against them, she swiped two instruments and headed for the door.
For the third time, Jackie woke to the drone of a small engine and throbbing pain, her new normal. The incessant whine, reminiscent of a weed-eater on steroids, grew louder as she swept the mental cobwebs away to get her bearings. She couldn’t remember being so cold.
Three feet away, a signpost proclaimed the highest peak in Maryland. Backbone Mountain, Hoye Crest. Confusion clouded her reasoning for hiking up the mountain trail, something she’d done several times in the past but would never do without proper gear, at least a warmer coat. A short distance away, the grassy footpath led to a logging road and back toward civilization, warmth, and food. I needed distance so they couldn’t activate the chip.
A light dusting of snow speckled nearby jagged rocks the color of a sparrow’s eggs while the cold beneath her left shoulder and hip seeped into her spine. Her light jacket and jeans provided little protection from the late fall snow flurries. Knots of matted hair snagged on a rock when she tried to push off the sharp stones into a sitting position. Maximum effort yielded minimal results. Shaking arms and blurred vision coincided with the gnawing hunger and clammy skin recognized as the precursors of low blood sugar. Reaching in her jacket pocket for the hard candy always present, she found it empty. Damn.
A new wave of anxiety washed over her. Knowing where she was didn’t clear the mystery of precisely what her kidnappers had done. What’s the nanos’ purpose? Visions of small machines munching on her gray matter urged her thoughts back to the task at hand. She needed food and shelter.
Vague flashbacks consisted of a blind dash through the woods, not knowing her location, then tripping over fallen logs and uneven ground. Wounded animals usually traveled downslope. She had gone up.
A need to rest had preceded each slumping to the ground. She hadn’t remained idle long enough to incur hypothermia, but if she didn’t find a source of carbs soon, the cold wouldn’t matter.
Weak rays of first light pierced the eastern cloud cover to strobe through bare-limbed branches clacking in the capricious breeze. Beyond them, a hovering drone was fitted with a sleek, shaded lens to its anterior housing. It wasn’t enough for the bastards to try and kill her, they had to record it, too.
The pricks knew her identity, which meant her digital files had been destroyed. They’d erase her too if she didn’t find a place to hide.
Time ceased to matter when she woke to the drone mere feet away, her miniature reflection in the lens a testament to her worth. In the face of her imminent demise, she held an ace that would bite them in the ass when least expected. The reams of information and specimen sent to her friend on the West Coast would ensure the investigation wouldn’t die on a lonely mountain top. Sending her half of the yin and yang necklace possessed dual purpose. No one would look for the owner of the other half, and Megan would understand the gravity of the desperate situation.
Clever as the bastards were, they would never see Megan coming.
Chapter One
Megan Chauner surveyed the section of forest framed by the bay window. Her childhood friend would refer to the location as the boonies. Megan called it heaven. She had dreamed of owning such a cabin since she was a little girl. A simple lodge with an open floor plan and plenty of space. Front and back porches offered seating to enjoy sunrise and sunset, coffee, and peaceful contemplation. Student loans and her job had prevented pursuit of her goal.
Achak Valley occupied prime backwoods land nestled in the Oregon Coastal Range. She could see herself living in such an area once she’d established her veterinary practice.
Tucked under a lap blanket on the sofa in her rented lodge, she studied the obscure and confusing printouts spread out on the cushions. A second infusion of morning caffeine hadn’t helped unravel the convoluted and mysterious reams of paperwork. Jackie’s hand-scribbled note claimed the mountain of research dire and life changing. Once past the technical jargon, Megan tasked her reasoning skills to find a purpose or explanation for why. Only a psychotic scientist would attempt such illegal practices and trials. Considering the studies and scholars involved, the stakes must be enormous.
When she’d first received Jackie’s encrypted text, Megan thought it a joke. But early the next morning, when she’d driven to her godparent’s house, Megan found she wasn’t the first to open the bulky package. Instead of calling her old roommate, she’d followed the attached instructions and checked with Jackie’s editor. He’d reported her missing. Drama and theatrics had never characterized their friendship.
She’s flying under the radar until I decipher this scientific crap.
After Megan read the first few sentences, it became clear why Jackie had sent the research concerning quantum tunneling microscopic findings, nanotechnology, and self-dissolving microchips. Notes on the advanced surgical techniques would strain the most sophisticated education. If not for advanced training in veterinary ophthalmology, Megan wouldn’t have comprehended the neurosurgical procedures performed via sinus cavities. Though veterinary and human biology differed, where one led, the other followed.
“Okay, Leyna. How about a break? Let’s catch the morning news.” The shepherd’s presence imparted a layer of normalcy to a world gone mad, her soulful caramel eyes full of wisdom only dogs possessed. “C’mon, girl. Up you go. We’re gonna be here awhile, so we might as well be comfortable.”
Without hesitation, her four-footed partner hopped up to lay her head on Megan’s lap. After receiving the expected ear and belly rub, she resettled to face the kitchen, offering her flank as an armrest.
The TV correspondent’s solemn expression forewarned of tragedy as the picture of Jackie’s face flashed beside him. It was a photo taken during her last semester of college. Hikers had found her body on a trail in the Allegheny Mountains.
Shock blossomed into full-blown fear. The remote dropped to the floor, the plastic backing and batteries skittering in opposite directions.
“Oh God. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.” The room’s contents faded out of focus with the hot tears brimming her eyes. The pencil used to make
notes snapped in her fingers.
Leyna’s whine underscored the buzzing in her ears. A jostle and adjustment of position permitted her to rub her head against Megan’s shoulder. Compassionate eyes, so expressive, beseeched Megan to understand she felt her friend’s despair and offered solace in a nuzzle and soft chuff.
Gruesome news continued with an attack on a nanoscale scientist, the reporter again adopting a concerned façade. The death of a renowned scholar provided further evidence of a conspiracy and subsequent cover-up. His name appeared multiple times in the documents on her lap. He’d been mugged and left for dead in a filthy alley on the far side of the city in which he worked and lived. No one offered speculation as to what he might have been doing.
Bizarre behavior involving members of Dover’s homeless population rated another short segment. Unexplained fits of violence occurred in random parts of the city and without provocation. Investigation revealed the peculiar occurrences arose in men and women with no known history of arrests or mental illness. Their desperate plight boosted the station’s ratings each year during the holiday season.
On screen, the newsman went on to other stories as if the tragedies only mattered for that split-second and affected no one of importance. The frown plastered on his face mere seconds ago, reversed as the audience now viewed a kindergarten class preparing a handprint, a Thanksgiving decoration. She saw no reason to give thanks.
Leyna licked the tears on her cheek.
Organized, methodical, and prepared, all words associated with Jackie’s lifestyle. Hiking alone with no provisions wasn’t a remote possibility. After caring for her brittle diabetic mother and dancing on the fringes of diabetes herself, Jackie wouldn’t have ignored the warning signs of low blood sugar. “A health-food nut doesn’t die of insulin shock. She wasn’t even taking insulin the last time we talked.”
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