McAllister Justice Series Box Set Volume Two

by Reily Garrett

  Biofabrication, the generation of human tissue from sample cells, would soon take the world by storm with him as the nucleus of its production. His corporate spies indicated only one competitor’s research came close to his accomplishments. A small wrinkle he intended to iron out soon, leaving him at the forefront to dictate policy and direction.

  He glanced at the equipment gracing his state-of-the-art workplace. High-quality components combined with German engineering produced a bioprinting system built like a battleship while the new fibrinogen-based hydrogel formed the extracellular matrix needed to hold the construct.

  Unlike his competitors’ scale-ups, his manufactured tissue samples didn’t weaken over time. The thought of medical professionals ordering spare parts over the internet in the manner a secretary ordered office supplies would one day become reality. All under my control.

  Chapter Eight

  Remie snuggled Holly closer to cuddle against her side, the rumble of the cat’s purr as soothing as the smoothest chocolate. A squirm rolled her fur baby to her back in expectation of a belly rub before she trapped Remie’s fingers between her paws.

  Buckeye snorted at his neglect. The collie’s thick undercoat necessitated he remain on top of the blanket and not sprawled over her legs when they congregated on the sofa.

  Comfort derived from their companionship didn’t negate the painful memories assaulting her consciousness but did lessen the blow. As a little girl, she’d sat nestled between her parents watching horror movies, burying against her father’s side during the scary parts. There wasn’t a remote part of the house that didn’t instigate bittersweet flashbacks, and her soul wasn’t prepared to let them go. That time might never come.

  Two months since she’d buried her father without the closure of saying “I love you,” one more time. No goodbye, just a cold casket on a rainy day. The man who had carried her slight weight on his shoulders as a toddler had held the weight of his grief just below the surface of his soft gaze and kept his heart condition a secret. Had she known, she would’ve taken a sabbatical to be by his side. He’d known that, too, refusing her assistance just as he’d done until his wife’s final days.

  In time, she’d make new memories and learn to savor the sweetness in the old.

  Wind howled around the eaves and rattled a piece of loose gutter. The old farmhouse needed a little TLC but was worth every penny. Since her job brought student loans under control and eased a portion of her burden, it was time to reinforce her sanctuary. Seamless gutter and a new roof would be a solid start. Her parents would approve.

  A spirited argument with the stubborn detective hadn’t swayed her decision to stay in her home—alone. To prove his point, the obstinate man had parked his truck at the bottom of the hill beside her mailbox and kept surveillance. It’s cold out, and he’s been there all night.

  She’d been both surprised and impressed when peeking out her second-story window after midnight. His truck’s hood had reflected the full moon’s glow to advertise his presence like a neon sign at a carnival. At the time, she’d wanted to reinforce her stance on independence, but guilt forced her to pick up her new cell and call the number on the card he’d thrust in her hand when leaving the hospital. He answered before the end of the first ring.

  “Everything all right?”

  “Yeah, you hungry?”

  “Sure. Can you cook?”

  “Black jacks and burned bacon.”

  “Hmm. My favorites. Be right up.”

  Anticipation built in her belly, an excitement not felt since severing her connection with Ari. Concentration on school had prevented other meaningful relationships. This is work related. I’m a job to him. Be that as it may, it didn’t preclude her from imagining him at work on a fence line wearing nothing but low-slung jeans with taut muscles glistening under a thin film of perspiration.

  It hadn’t dawned on her to straighten the downstairs before issuing the invitation. With his orientation to detail, he might be a neat freak. A discriminating survey of the room rejected any potential claim to organization.

  Her nod to disorder included chew toys dotting the floor, a jacket tossed on the sofa back, and a bag of canned goods waiting on the kitchen island for her to unpack. At least the dishes are clean. Scattered crumbs beside the toaster highlighted her inability to remove the bottom tray for cleaning. With each use, she envisioned her home going up in flames. Hence, it remained on the counter until it bothered her enough to dissect it. Probably wouldn’t be a good idea for my guest to have to squelch a fire.

  She tossed her blanket in the general direction of the sofa after standing—and missed. Buckeye jumped up and whined when she thumbed the lock on her front door. “No, we’re not going for a ride. We’re having company, so behave.”

  The low rumble of an engine drew her canine protector’s ire with a feral growl. His ears swiveled toward the door.

  No soft knock and no hesitation, the detective simply opened the door and walked in, owning the space. Whatever shortcomings he possessed didn’t include low self-esteem or fear of dogs. He rubbed his palms together before lowering one hand for Buckeye to sniff. It was a plus he avoided eye contact with the dog until the animal approved of his presence.

  “Nice place. I love the open area and with the house on a hill, you have a great 360-view. And that oak out front probably provides the perfect shade in the summer.” His progression around the great room paralleled her furry friend inspecting a territory he intended to protect. En route, he picked up and folded the blanket, placing it neatly on the sofa.

  “Thanks. My dad had always wanted to be a farmer. Running his own place had been his dream.”

  “Who works it now?”

  “The neighbor down the road took over two years ago. He’s good and maintains the soil fertility.”

  “How many acres?”

  “Seventy-five wooded and a couple hundred in crops.” He’s establishing his perimeter.

  “I bet you have turkeys here.”

  “Chukars and turkey, but it’s been a while since I’ve had the time to hunt. I think maybe I’ll get back into it.” Retrieving a fry pan and supplies from the fridge gave her something to do other than gawk and drool. Without drugs clouding her system, she took a mental snapshot to savor while starting breakfast. If he was aware of his appeal, he gave no indication. “We’ve discussed my hobbies, but what do you do when not rescuing damsels in distress?”

  The stillness in the atmosphere drew her attention to his raised brow, then to the cat twining about his ankles. She noticed the chew toys now occupying Buckeye’s bed.

  “Wouldn’t want you to trip in the middle of the night. Damsel? Really?” His hand muffled the low snort. “Anybody ballsy enough to take on an armed assailant after being drugged slides far up that continuum. Anyway, I like to read, shoot sporting clays, and run. We have family get-togethers every other week or so, well, whoever’s not working. Barbecues, s’mores’ bakeoffs, routine stuff.

  “Do you run marathons, mud runs, or just for fun.” Her interest piqued at finding common threads in their lives.

  “Time constraints usually limit me to half marathons or obstacle races. My brothers and I compete among ourselves.”

  “There’s a 5k mud run next weekend. Are you guys in it?”

  “Haven’t decided yet. You going?”

  “Hadn’t really thought about it. My last race was a tie-dye near Havre De Grace six months ago. Couple of us had a ball and ended up a colorful mess.”

  “You’re welcome to join us if you’re feeling up to it.”

  “Hmm, getting better, but I think I might feel smothered in testosterone.”

  “Nah, Lucas coerced his girlfriend into going. You’d love her. She’s the vet who fed Buckeye and Holly.”

  “Oh, I meant to thank her. Can you leave me her number?”

  “Yep. You should think about going. It might do you good to get out.” Whether it was his need for diversion before taking the conversation i
nto serious territory or from a character demanding order, Billy hung her jacket on the hook by the door.

  “For now, my thoughts keep circling back to why someone would go to the trouble of drugging you, then dragging your body into the water. Any ideas?”

  “None that relate to sanity. I think I’m overly tired and my imagination is going bonkers.”

  “Try me.”

  I’d love to. “I will when I get my thoughts together.” With the bacon in the oven and the coffee brewing, she turned her attention to the toaster with a sigh.

  “You want some help with that?” He looked skeptical.

  “No thanks. I’ve got it.” Retrieving a kitchen knife from the drawer, she examined the appliance.

  “You might want to unplug it first… Just a suggestion.” He held his hands out when she narrowed her eyes.

  “I know what I’m doing—or at least what I want to do.”

  “Kind of reminds me of Alfred Hitchcock.”

  “What?”

  “At sixteen, he was an apprentice electrician.”

  “Only you would know that. You should add trivia master to your list of hobbies.” The dull-bladed knife slipped in the screw head, the screech unnerving. Undaunted, she wrapped her arm around the back of the appliance to keep the unit from slipping off the counter and tried again.

  “You gonna operate or autopsy? Looks like you’re a little unsure.”

  “Apparently, every so often, you’re supposed to clean some kind of tray underneath these things. Have a seat and I’ll have coffee up in a minute.” Deep concentration twisted her expression.

  Taking a seat at the island, he watched, silent, his lips nipped between his teeth. Tiny crinkles around his eyes and mouth betrayed silent laughter.

  I could slip him a large dose of laxative from the medicine cabinet. Each time she tried to unscrew the fastener, the knife squeaked across the metal side.

  “You might need a screwdriver.”

  “Nah, I can improvise.” The grating of metal on metal hunched her shoulders.

  “A Phillip’s-head would work nicely.”

  “I don’t need a head, Phillips or otherwise.” In defiance, she dropped the knife on the counter before plugging the damn thing in and silently daring him to object.

  He remained silent, but amusement danced in his gaze until Holly jumped up in his lap.

  “Ahhh, shit. Damn cat has sharp claws.” With an obvious respect for pointed objects near his groin, he carefully tucked the cat closer to his belly.

  “Sorry, she’s an attention hog.”

  He grimaced and crossed his legs. “Gena’s funeral is this afternoon.”

  The quiet words brought her priorities back. “I know. I’m going.”

  “Figured you would.”

  “After spending a night in the hospital chair then the next night in front of my house, you’re going?”

  “If you are, then yes.”

  “Got something other than jeans and a flannel shirt to wear?”

  “Suit jacket’s in the truck.”

  “Then you might as well jump in the shower after we eat, ‘cuz I know you’re not leaving to go home and clean up. Right?”

  “Right again.”

  “You don’t think the psycho will shoot me from a distance?” Referring to the danger surrounding her provided a sobering moment.

  “Unlikely. If his intent was to kill you, he would have done that before dumping you in the ravine. He has an agenda, at least for you.”

  “Any luck finding Wendy?”

  “No. I’m hoping she’s gone to ground, or better yet left the state.”

  “Any word on the murder weapon?”

  “Uh, yeah. There is. They found a match for the prints.”

  “And.”

  His lips thinned out in frustration. “They were mine.”

  Remie froze on a half-drawn breath. The voice in the car, though hushed, didn’t resemble what she now heard. “You weren’t the one who attacked me. I’d know it. It’s not just your voice—but—I can’t put my finger on it, but I know it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Why weren’t you wearing gloves? You’re not the sloppy type.”

  “I was wearing gloves when Matt found it. I never came in contact with it. Matt picked it up and Royden opened the evidence bag.”

  “Then what’s going on here? Why would someone want to frame you?”

  “Good question. Could be connected to a prior case I’ve worked.”

  “Explain.”

  “After I’ve obtained more information. Since the assailant knew your identity and has something specific in mind, we’re starting with you as the integral target. I might be collateral entertainment for him.”

  “I haven’t made contact with old friends since my return. I don’t know of anyone who’d want to come after me. This makes no sense.”

  “We’ll keep an open mind on both counts since you’re the one he attempted to frame.” Holly purred in his lap under gentle caresses.

  “Your angle makes more sense because I didn’t meet you until after I was attacked. It was no coincidence that he recognized me despite the fact he was clearly after Gena.” Remie punctuated her point with the spatula. “He had to already have your prints ready to transfer when he found us.”

  “Timing allowed him to return to his base and acquire my prints assuming he had digital access and the means to replicate them.”

  “You had to be fingerprinted to pass the background check for the police department.”

  “And from my stint in the EOD.”

  “Bomb disposal?” The man had more layers than her best tiramisu.

  “Gotta be able to make ‘em in order to break ‘em.”

  “Who from your past would do this?”

  “I’ve been a cop for eight years and had my shield for three. Plenty of contact with lots of dirtbags.”

  “Getting someone’s prints isn’t that difficult… though planting them again entails a bit of finesse to avoid distortion.”

  “It’s not the first time I’ve been targeted.”

  “Clarify.” The sudden quiet of his voice alerted her to the touchy subject ahead, but she needed to know who was protecting her and any vulnerabilities that might surface.

  “Long story.”

  “I have time.”

  “I can share the basics, but only if it never leaves this house.”

  “Here,” she said handing him a plate, “Let’s eat on the sofa.”

  “With the critters for company?”

  “They get hungry, too. I won’t ask you to feed them.”

  Once settled, she listened in fascinated horror of the nightmare concerning surgically implanted microchips and nanotechnology used to control the victim’s metabolism. He’d used the word targeted, but his ordeal proved so much more. “Nanotechnology in a hybrid chip inserted through your sinus cavity? Damn, that’s harsh.”

  “I keep getting the feeling it’s not over. Maybe we’ve missed something.” He chuckled when she fed Buckeye a slice of bacon.

  “But you said ClickChip no longer exists. All the digital files were corrupted or deleted.” He’s ex-EOD. Did he blow up the building?

  “Yeah, my brothers tell me I’m paranoid.”

  “I’m guessing neither of them had a microchip shoved up their nose. Do you think someone else is involved that had connections to ChickChip? Maybe someone who wants revenge or to continue with an alternate plan?”

  “I’ve learned pretty much anything is possible.”

  The familiar jingle indicating the incoming call disrupted her thoughts. Before she could pluck her cell from the coffee table, Billy swiped it up to look at the display. “Hmm, I believe this is for you.”

  “Imagine that.” Instead of clicking it on, she nudged the red circle left. “Huh. He’s kept the same number.”

  “Your ex?”

  “Yeah. If nothing else, he’s persistent as hell.”

  “Could he have…?”


  “No. Not in this century.”

  “It sounded like he wanted to rekindle old feelings.”

  “He’s nice—but I’m not ready to be with someone who’s married to his work. I’ll call him back while you clean up.”

  Billy stared as if he wanted to say something but remained quiet. A tilt of his head indicated confusion.

  “For the Funeral?”

  “Got ya.”

  Between exhaustive studies and the drive to obtain her career goals, Remie had lost sight of the simple pleasures, enjoying morning sunshine and a simple meal, the comfort of easy conversation, and the tingles of excitement over connecting with another human. The fact her protector was both thoughtful, kind, and confident, tangled another fiber within her heartstrings, woven in friendship and compassion. Time passed in increments of cooling coffee and shadow bars marching across the floor. It all felt so—normal.

  When he stood and gathered their plates, the essence of male and spice sifted through the air. It was nice to see a man accept certain responsibilities and follow through. Not only did he help scrape and put the dishes in the dishwasher, but he wiped down the counter and all the crumbs she’d left.

  Two years of abstinence didn’t offer immunity to a well-toned specimen of the opposite gender. At times during their conversations, she’d sensed his reluctant interest, smothered beneath professional curiosity.

  “You ever shoot a pistol?” His gaze scanned the gun cabinet on the far wall.

  “I inherited my dad’s Glocks on the top shelf. Target practice entailed milk jugs filled with water. It’s one thing I’m good at.”

  “I’ll leave this on the counter. Don’t answer the door when I’m not present.” The pistol, a tool he probably regarded as mundane, rested innocently on the kitchen island.

  “Thanks for the tip. I’ll remember the pointy end faces the target.” Leaving his gun comprised a layer of trust while including her in their defensive position and acknowledging her independence. No doubt he’s wearing a backup.