McAllister Justice Series Box Set Volume Two

by Reily Garrett

  When he shifted his regard back to her eyes, speculative appreciation had replaced any lingering contempt. The grizzly had an appetite and understood how to wield power.

  Without a backward glance, he strolled out, leaving her agitated and wary.

  He’s not part of the conspiracy, but he’s just as dangerous.

  In his gaze, she’d seen death, not psychosis. If he worked for the Delaware company, he would have gone on the offensive, wanting to know the extent of her knowledge and with whom she might have contacted. If he was a cop, it didn’t make him an honest one.

  Revising her opinion left him in the category of thirds, part porcupine, part grizzly, with a side order of injured incubus. When one of his tactics didn’t work, he switched to a different strategy. One statement was true. He did adapt well.

  Though he’d changed gears in the blink of an eye and made himself appear less threatening, she wouldn’t let down her guard. Padding down the short hall to the master bedroom provided time to contemplate her situation. Her wallet and fake IDs were in the kitchen, no doubt undergoing closer scrutiny. Without them, she didn’t stand a chance of rebuilding her current situation elsewhere, not that she had enough money to try.

  Likewise, if he decided to involve his cop brothers, she’d be screwed. Never one to primp, she decided it was time to use her assets to best advantage, at least keep him off balance long enough to formulate a plan. Afterward, she could vanish before he became the wiser.

  Deciding what to divulge slowed her movements in pulling on jeans and V-neck knit top. She’d have to give him something, a small measure of truth since he would probably spot outright lies. Leyna hopped on the bed and lay with head on paws, as if commiserating their circumstances. “Well, girl, we don’t have a whole lot of options.”

  Outside, a partial view of the lane failed to reveal cherry-red reflections strobing the wooded jacket embracing the winding driveway. Keeping the police out of her hair was her second priority. Survival was first. On sleepless nights, she expected to see the telltale flicker of a flashlight picking a path through the heavily wooded surroundings.

  Her life was geared toward helping animals, not dissecting human motivations. Recollections of college days when Jackie practiced interview techniques and revealing body language clues came back in increments. I’ll never keep a level head, fend off his nonverbal advances, and ferret out his motives.

  She had no intention of trusting Lucas, regardless of the circumstances. In counterpoint, if he was innocent as he claimed, she didn’t want to risk his life. Her conscience couldn’t bear the weight.

  Chapter Four

  “Who are you and how’d you get into my office?” Bernard Reinhardt pushed his glasses in place and glared at the dark stranger lounging at his desk.

  Mousy-brown hair and eyes completed the constipated appearance of the CEO striding through the door. An exaggerated inflation of his chest evoked images of a toad warning others to stay away. Initial assessment validated Morfran’s research of an intelligent and ambitious prick who thought himself above all others. Time spent at the gym instead of examining microscopic slides would reduce the spare tire partially hidden by a white lab coat. Faded blue jeans and a crisp, white shirt contradicted the worn boots.

  “Morfran. I’m told you were expecting me.” Introductions and polite conversation had never been the assassin’s way. The sooner he plugged the Portland leak, the sooner he could return to the East Coast and the pursuit of more engaging activities.

  The weasel paled at hearing his name. Nice.

  “Yeah, like with an appointment or at the receptionist’s counter, not sitting here and going through my shit.”

  “Have something to hide?”

  “No. I just like my privacy." Bernhardt radiated a subdued alarm in the tension of his shoulders and slight pause in step. Intelligence and ambition were great attributes, if kept on a leash. “You’re the German hunter I was told to expect.”

  “How shrewd.” Morfran’s scrutiny took in the rolling hills framed by wall-to-wall glass. If he ever had to dispose of the scientist, he could toss him out the window while enjoying the view. It pissed him off that Reinhardt’s computer files resisted every effort to hack, unlike the egomaniac’s private domain. “Show me the new chip you’ve designed for us.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can reverse engineer it, of course.” Morfran snorted. His knowledge of chips ended with potatoes. “You’re the dumbest genius I’ve met. I need to know what I’m looking for. I hate eliminating the wrong problem.” Morfran stood and rolled his shoulders, then smiled as the nerd took a step back.

  “S-so it’s true. The Delaware techs did lose supplies as well as one of their own?”

  “I wouldn’t say lost. I know exactly where the bastard went, if not which shark got his belly full. Now for the chip. That’s why I’m here. And I’d rather not be here long.”

  “I-I have photos…but if you need to see it up close and personal, we can take the elevator downstairs and—”

  “No. I don’t wanna touch the damn things. I just want to see what they look like. A picture is fine.”

  “You traced the one stolen from CSV Pharmaceutical?”

  “Yeah. According to our official contact, it went to the bitch’s godparents in Seattle. Unfortunately, they’re on holiday and weren’t home when it arrived. We’ve no idea who picked it up. Freaking backwater locations.”

  “Can’t you ask the sender?”

  “No, she experienced a mishap. Damn trigger-happy surgeon, just had to test his little beasties on the reporter before I could retrieve her.”

  “And the traitor who stole the chip?”

  “Could only give us the name of the reporter. From there we got the initials DVM and Portland. Do you know how many people with those initials live or work here?” Morfran moved about the room, visually inspecting each section. The tech bastard acted so clever. After studying the building’s blueprints and reading the files, Morfran figured there must be another entrance to the basement’s experimental lab. He’d come back later when there were less snoops around. Everybody hides something.

  “Well, we’ve managed to solve one of the problems on this end. The newest chips are made of a biodegradable polymer that dissolve over time and leave no trace of its existence.” Reinhardt sat in the vacated chair, his fingers flashing over the keyboard. “As long as we’re in range, we can release the nanos, either in a controlled flow, or dump them all at once to trigger the chip’s automatic disintegration.”

  “Once I retrieve the stolen chip, we’ll have plausible deniability.” Morfran sneered at the arrogant bastard’s self-inflated ego.

  “What else do you need from me?” Reinhardt opened the files. When he found the appropriate picture, he swiveled the screen toward the enforcer.

  Your severed head on a platter. “I’m gonna bring in some applicants. Once they have implants and our bio-net is active, we can grab the chip when it surfaces, assuming we haven’t already found it.”

  “Ah, I’m not organized for surgery on any type of large scale…that wasn’t part of the deal.” Perspiration dotted Reinhardt’s brow.

  “I’m renegotiating—unless you have a problem?” His tone carried the threat just as he used his mass to intimidate. He’d learned long ago his size was a great advantage.

  Reinhardt shook his head.

  “Show me which receivers are in place.”

  “O-okay. Give me time to arrange things. Our little OR is still under construction. You realize this kind of procedure takes special equipment.”

  “I’ll give you a few weeks.”

  Reinhardt huffed as he clicked on a thumbnail, a schematic map of Portland containing myriad red dots at strategic street corners. “We’ve just started placing the bio receivers so we won’t have visual feedback from the implants until we finish installing the net.”

  “We can use a drone to carry a receiver after you insert implants in key recipients that li
ve or work out of range. Just get your surgical room set up. I’ll see to the work details on the street.” Morfran leaned over Reinhardt’s shoulder, a show of dominance that earned a shudder. The prick needed to understand where he stood in the organizational hierarchy. A laborer, bottom rung of our caste system.

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, what kind of side effects are you seeing when you insert this new chip? The reporter bitch didn’t last long enough to find out.”

  Reinhardt’s large Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Depends on placement. Universal symptoms include black eyes and runny nose.” Bringing up another picture on his computer, he added, “We’ve found that placing the chip on the optic chiasm gives the patient balance issues and short-term visual memory deficits.”

  Morfran frowned and tilted his head to the side. “What?”

  “The optic nerve. We’re just starting experimentation. The patient couldn’t accurately replicate a simple drawing, couldn’t read a complex sentence and follow its directions. Schmidt says he has an idea for a workaround.”

  Listening to the ensuing detailed explanations tried Morfran’s patience. “You can use computers to operate a piece of machinery sent to the moon yet have limited control over a chip you shove up someone’s nose? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Manipulating electrical objects within the brain is different than doing the same in the open atmosphere. Plus the fact—we’ve found certain individuals are more sensitive than others.”

  “Fine. I’ll call when I find the chip. Meanwhile, you’ll have other applicants to test. But this time, I’ll be more involved. Whoever this thief is, they’ve cost me time away from home and I don’t like the West Coast.”

  Chapter Five

  Pain blasted down his entire right leg as Lucas straightened with the dustpan full of glass shards. It wasn’t enough to endure a forced early retirement. No, fate sent him the deluxe complications package of arriving at his intended retreat to find a long-legged spitfire with a will of steel and a cartload of baggage. And a fucking dart gun. He had a sore chest and foggy head.

  Taping a piece of cardboard over the broken window was the best he could do on short notice to block out the cold breeze. Meanwhile, his mind struggled to sort out the screwed-up dilemma.

  “And a four-legged bundle of trouble. I hate dogs.” At the moment, he hated the world and all it contained. Slamming the broken glass in a large plastic tub didn’t relieve his frustration.

  “What? You get bit in the ass while trespassing?” Clad in jeans that hugged her hips and a knit top which left nothing to the imagination, his nemesis paced to a spot just outside of arm’s reach. Her hound from hell angled its body between the two adversaries. After several cautious sniffs and her master’s verbal command, she stopped growling and padded closer to sniff the uninvited guest.

  “No. It’s just that everybody in my family has this affinity for Fido, and all I get when they visit is the after-effects of a multi-colored snow globe. You may consider dog hair canine confetti, but I prefer not to have it all over my house.” Destiny held no limits in its unerring campaign to sabotage his life’s plans. The current slice of misery came in the form of a white shepherd with long hair that would eventually refurbish his black jeans in shades of snow.

  “Where’re my car keys?”

  “At least your dog has decided I’m not a serial killer,” Luc said. Ignoring her question might postpone an argument. Despite the rough start and his grumpiness, he wasn’t going to let her go until figuring out her secrets.

  “Look, Grizzly, I’m sorry if dog hair disturbs you. I’ll brush her every day. And you haven’t answered my question.”

  “Huh. I’m hanging onto the keys until I figure out what’s going on.” Until he sorted what type of trouble forced the professional snoop into hiding, he couldn’t boot her from his home. On the other hand, he’d just spent a good chunk of money and decided the cabin was the best place to heal his mind and ruptured soul. His subconscious prodded him with the recognition that she challenged his perspective, his actions, his core values, just by her actions. No one outside of family had ever done so. “When you arrived, were there any other personal belongings here?”

  “Only in the dryer. What had you washed?”

  Still verifying I belong. “Should’ve been a bunch of T-shirts, black boxers, socks, and some jeans.”

  “Didn’t your mother ever teach you to sort clothes for laundry?”

  “Didn’t your mother ever teach you to respect your landlord?”

  “You said you were renting this place.”

  “Renting with the option to buy, which I’d decided to do.” Hell would freeze over before he moved.

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “Neither am I. Can we discuss priorities now?”

  “Yes. You sleep in the spare bedroom.”

  “Fine. Now spill.”

  “I’m a reporter, working on a case.”

  “What kind?”

  “Not your concern.”

  Determination radiated from the top of her head to her feet. He’d get nothing with a direct approach. “You hungry? I’m gonna fix breakfast.”

  “Why don’t I cook while you figure out how we ended up in this mess? I don’t want to ingest Clostridium botulinum.”

  “I may be temporarily gimpy, but I’m not incompetent.” A reporter with a medical background? He hadn’t meant to growl the words, but the dog’s one step advance and stiffening body reminded him to soften his approach.

  “First of all, I like to know what’s in the food I eat. Secondly, I was alluding to your recent travel and the fact you may be tired after your flight.” She set her dart gun on the counter as she opened the fridge.

  “How’d you know I was on a recent flight?” Damn, he’d have to stay on his toes to keep up.

  “The flight tag on your suitcase lying over your initials DVM.”

  It was time he took the upper hand. “I looked at some of your paperwork. What does ClickChip and CSV Pharmaceutical have in common?”

  “They’re both located in the country. One makes computer chips, the other does bio research.”

  Lucas sifted through the papers as he sat at the kitchen island. He’d skimmed enough to know the tech jargon was way out of his league and that of any investigative reporter.

  “Hey. Hands off.” Her attempt to snatch them back resulted in loss of balance and her hobble-step to stay vertical.

  “I’m no genius, but I am smart enough to know that an investigative reporter isn’t going to decipher this mess the way you apparently have. I see notes on each sheet with words I don’t understand.”

  “Because they have more than three letters?”

  “Huh. You’re not a reporter. Which is why I can spot your lies so easily.” He paused to gauge her reaction before throwing out an accusation.

  “This is none of your business. Its already gotten people killed. People I care about.”

  “Here or on the East Coast?”

  “Delaware.”

  “Uh-huh. Well then, that’s where we start.”

  “First of all, there is no we. You’re not competent to help.”

  “The sooner I clear this up, the sooner you’re out of my hair and my house. In the meantime, I’ll have one of my brothers track down the fraudulent landlord.”

  “No!” Pointing at the top report on the stack, she continued, “If those guys are monitoring for any strange activity, they’ll find us. Then there’ll be dead bodies on your conscience as well. Besides, I’ve already paid six-months rent. I’m not made of money.”

  “So, they’re plugged into police channels?”

  “Arrgh, they probably have several higher-ups in their pockets by now, or will shortly.”

  “Who did they kill? The friend who sent you these?” Guilt softened his tone with the pain crossing her features. He understood the anguish of recent loss all too well.

  “How’d you—Jackie, a friend fro
m college.” Turning away, she wiped at her face before retrieving a fry pan from the lower cabinet. Jerky motions and muttered curses categorized her opinion of men in general. The shepherd nudged her leg and whined.

  “At least you realize I’m not a psychopathic killer.”

  “Jury’s out on that one. Before you go looking up reports or doing any electronic searching, I’ll warn you. They will be waiting for that. This is big, and they are organized.”

  “I have a friend who can hack the records without leaving a trace.”

  “So you’re not an above-board cop. Figures.”

  “Let’s just say I’m a good moral figure with my heart in the right place.” Memory of his dead partner wouldn’t let the comment slide despite her opinion not mattering in the end.

  “Mechanical hearts don’t feel.”

  The current path wouldn’t get him closer to brass tacks. “How did Jackie die?”

  “Exposure and hypoglycemia. The news report characterized her as an irresponsible, unorganized, desperate woman. Similar details appeared in the online news reports.”

  “How is that murder? If she was diabetic…” Luc watched her prepare breakfast with an innate grace rarely seen.

  “First of all, she was borderline diabetic, AKA pre-diabetic, the last I heard. Her mom was insulin dependent, but Jackie knew the signs and was always prepared. How does anyone die of insulin shock when they’re not on insulin? Second of all, she wouldn’t have hiked to the top of a mountain and just stayed there to die. She was methodical, planned everything, and could wing a difficult situation like no one I’ve ever seen.”

  “Under those circumstances, dying alone, there’d be an autopsy report. I can get hold of that, under the table.” Agitation and a suspicion he’d jumped on a nightmarish roller coaster goaded him into movement. He prepared the coffee, holding up the carafe in question.

  She nodded.

  “You realize if you get involved, they will find you. They’ll kill anyone in their way.”