Genetic Imperfections

by Steve Hadden

  He reached into his jacket and gripped the pistol. With a click, he forced a bullet into the chamber and released the safety.

  “Stay here,” David insisted.

  “No, I’m going.” Tori zipped up the black jacket to her neck and reached for the door handle. David grabbed her wrist before she opened the door. He scolded her with a sharp stare.

  “This is not your fight. You stay here. You promised. If you hear anything or see anyone but me approaching, take the car and head to the house on Balboa. Joe …”

  “I know. Joe will know what to do.”

  Tori pulled her hand from the handle, and David released her wrist and gently covered Tori’s hand with his on the seat between them. Tori’s soft brown eyes locked on his. David couldn’t look away.

  “Come back to me safe, David.”

  “I will.”

  David turned, slowly pulled the door handle, and slipped out of the car. As he crossed the pavement, the water droplets chilled his face and hands, and he crept along the hedging toward Brayton’s driveway. Reaching it, he crouched and listened. Still, the only audible sound was the distant hissing of the surf. Leading with the gun, he scampered to the corner next to the garage door and pressed his back against the wall. He slid to the corner and peaked around it, toward the entrance. Darkness was still winning its battle with dawn, and David could only see a few feet ahead of him. He turned the corner and halted. A shadow moved in the distance. He held his breath and listened. Nothing. He slipped past the entrance and hugged the wall, stopping just short of the utility room window. He slipped the gun back into his pocket and removed a glass cutter and two suction cups connected to a steel rod.

  He prayed his memory had served him well. Brayton had the typical alarm system equipped with transducers mounted in the window frames that would detect an attempt to open window. He’d didn’t recall seeing the foil used in some systems that lined the windows and would detect any breakage. Under these conditions though, he’d never be able to detect it from the outside. He softly pressed the cups against the center of the window and traced the perimeter with the cutter. He winced when he heard the soft grinding of the cutter against the glass. With a tug, the first pane was removed and placed in the bushes. No alarm. He wiped the sweat from his eyes. He repeated the process with the second pane and climbed through the four foot by four foot opening.

  Inside and on his feet, he pulled the pistol from his jacket and began his hunt. It was much darker inside. His eyes strained to adjust. His body tingled as other senses tried to compensate for the darkness. The hair on his arms stood up and his skin rippled with electricity and he tried to detect any clue of Brayton’s presence. Gently opening the utility room door, he entered the short hallway that led to the first floor.

  One step at a time, he advanced, scanned, listened, and then advanced again. He stopped at the entrance to the great room on the first floor. He detected no motion. His gaze drifted from his left to right, and he identified and cleared each outline and shadow he saw. His eyes locked on the stairway across the room. He quickly plotted the course to the stairs and continued his step by step approach along the room’s perimeter.

  At the base of the stairs, he stopped and listened. He lifted his foot to take the first stair but froze when he heard a creak from above. He held his breath and aimed the pistol up the steps. Another creak snapped his attention further down the second floor. Brayton was moving. He’d either heard the break-in or just got up to take a leak. Suddenly, David realized this wasn’t a hunt. This prey could be armed and waiting. He’d already proved he would kill, and he had practice. David hadn’t killed a man before.

  He wanted Brayton dead more than anything. But if it came to a battle of wills, would he prevail? Would he be the most committed? David took the next step. His legs felt heavier and stiffened with each stair. He heard no other sounds as he approached the top. He was now crawling up the steps. At the top of the steps, he stopped and listened again. Peaking over the last stair, he could see the three doorways opening onto the hallway. To his right, the double doors of the master suite were open about two feet and a little light leaked out. The doors to the left were open; he remembered one was the guestroom and one was Brayton’s home office. The noises had come from the left side of the second floor.

  He quickly weighed his options. Moving down the hall to the left would keep the perceived danger in front of him. But if he was wrong and Brayton awoke, he could attack David from behind. On the other hand, moving to the bedroom would put the noises, and therefore the threat, behind him. Choosing the lesser of two evils, David crept to the left and down the hallway towards the first open door.

  With his back against the opposite wall and his gun pointed at the door way, he moved to a position just short of the opening and froze. Gripping the gun with both hands, he calmed his nerves with a deep breath and thrust the gun into the doorway. A quick sweep of the guest bedroom detected no movement.

  One door remained at the end of the hallway. The diffuse light of a foggy morning had grown brighter. The office was tucked at the end of the second floor and overlooked the rocky coastal bluffs. David remembered a large desk sat in the center of the room, facing the window. While losing the cover of darkness, he’d have the advantage of surprise if Brayton had simply gotten up to clean out his email. Suddenly, a click followed by a rush of air behind him jammed his heart into his throat. He spun and spotted the double doors of the bedroom were moving, and he nearly fired. The familiar dry stuffy smell of incinerated dust filled his nostrils. The heater, he thought. The soft sound of the air flow through the vents confirmed his assessment. Remembering the threat at the end of the hall, he pivoted back and slid down the opposite wall, splitting his attention between the office to his left and the still wobbling bedroom doors to his right.

  Raising his gun in his hands in front of him, he paused, and then stepped into the doorway. Sitting in the chair with his back to David, Brayton stared at the glowing monitor on the desk. David’s finger pressed against the trigger. Kill the bastard right now, he told himself. He had the advantage, and he certainly was justified. The high caliber bullet would blow the back of his damn head off and his body would slump forward. Maybe just a few dying twitches and David would have his revenge.

  But an uncontrollable force inside him paralyzed his finger. A murderer; that’s what he would be, a cold-blooded killer. His purpose in life wasn’t to kill another man, his conscience argued. He stepped closer, and Brayton snapped his head around. Brayton’s eyes flashed wide open and his jaw dropped. He braced himself on the armrests of the chair, pushed back hard, closed his eyes and flinched, apparently expecting the bullet he deserved. Filled with rage, David locked both hands on the gun, narrowed his eyes and took aim at Brayton’s forehead. Brayton reached for the top drawer of the desk.

  “Freeze you bastard,” David ordered.

  Brayton froze, then dropped his hand into his lap.

  “Turn around.”

  Brayton sank into the tan leather chair, and raised his hands.

  “Please, David. Please don’t kill me.”

  He’d never seen Brayton beg, but David remained silent. He was face to face with his tormentor; the man who’d stolen his company; the man who’d killed his mentor and friend; the man who, if given the chance, would kill David and Tori in a heartbeat.

  David stepped closer and thrust the gun against the center of Brayton’s forehead that now beaded with sweat. He began to pull the trigger. He felt the guilt already growing deep inside his heart, and he felt whatever redemption his soul had gained in the past week dying away. He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it.

  “Why did you do it? Why kill Adam?” David asked, pressing the gun barrel harder against Brayton’s head.

  Brayton still held his hands in the air, but they were shaking now.

  “You’ve got to believe me, David. I had nothing to do with that.”

  David shoved Brayton’s head backwards with the gun
.

  “I didn’t do it. Please David,” Brayton pleaded.

  “You did it to hide the problem with CGT. You knew Adam and I wouldn’t have gone forward with the IPO, had we found out.”

  “No! Think about it. Yes, I covered up the problem with CGT, but I found out from that Clarke woman at four that afternoon. Your plane was already in the air.”

  David’s certainty wavered but he kept the gun pressed against Brayton’s head.

  “What about Prescott?”

  “Prescott?” Brayton said. “You killed Prescott.”

  A chill rippled through David’s body. Brayton’s eyes said he wasn’t lying.

  “Didn’t you?” Brayton asked.

  David kept his mind clear, in spite of the doubt that was beginning to seep through him. Was Brayton telling the truth? If he didn’t kill Adam and Prescott, who did? Who else stood to benefit the most? A sickening feeling accompanied his conclusion—Priscilla.

  David heard a shuffling in the hallway. Bolting behind Brayton, he grabbed Brayton’s neck and pressed the gun barrel against his temple.

  Then he practically crumpled with shock when he saw Tori in the doorway. She was shoved inside the room, imprisoned in the chokehold of a massive chunk of a man with a ruddy face and a scar on his neck.

  “I’m sorry, David,” she sobbed. There was an ugly gash on the side of her lovely face.

  The man who held her stabbed the barrel of a revolver into her side and glared at David.

  “Drop it.”

  David’s heart sank in despair greater than he’d ever experienced. As he met Tori’s terrified eyes, he wanted to die. He’d committed to protecting her, and he had failed. Now they’d both be killed. He removed the pistol from Brayton’s head, and his arms went limp at his side.

  “Now,” the man growled, “throw it over here.”

  He tossed his gun, and it hit the floor with a thud and skidded to the stranger’s feet.

  Shoved roughly into the room from behind, Tori fell at David’s feet. David helped her up, and wrapped his arms tightly around her. They clung to each other, not speaking.

  “You three have made it easy for me,” the stranger chuckled. “Which one wants to go first?”

  You three? Curiously, David glanced at Brayton. He could see from the look in his eyes he didn’t know this man.

  Then who was he?

  He raised his black semi-automatic and pointed it at Brayton.

  “My client thinks you should have been thinking with your other head.” He smiled. “I think I’ll start with you.”

  “Priscilla, that bitch!” Brayton shouted.

  Expecting a blast from the gun, David locked his arms around Tori and closed his eyes. The shot wasn’t as loud as he’d expected. He opened his eyes. The hulking man, dressed in a black cap and turtle neck sweater, had opened his eyes wide in surprise, and then collapsed to the floor.

  All three stared in shock. Then they heard footsteps walking toward the open door.

  Hearing the last step before the killer would be revealed, David invoked God’s help for the fourth time. Joe’s familiar smile lit up the doorway, then he looked at the man lying dead on the floor.

  “Semper Fi, asshole,” Joe said.

  “It’s sure good to see you haven’t lost your sense of timing,” David said, smiling.

  Brayton started to rise from the chair, but Joe took aim, and he stopped.

  “We gotta get out of here,” Brayton explained. “There’s another.”

  Joe and David locked eyes.

  “Another what?” David scowled shoving Brayton hard into the chair.

  Brayton hesitated and looked away. His face became pale.

  “Another what?” David repeated as Joe stepped over the body and jammed the pistol in Brayton’s face.

  “I hired someone to kill you two.” Brayton seemed disappointed, as if he’d made a grave mistake.

  “You son of a bitch.” David’s fist smashed into Brayton’s face and knocked him to the floor. David picked up the 9 MM from the floor. Standing over Brayton, he wished he’d finished the job he’d started. Tori and Joe froze and Brayton just stared at the floor. David cocked the hammer and took aim at Brayton’s head.

  “He’s done, boss, leave it to the Feds,” Joe advised.

  David felt Tori’s tug on his arm.

  “He’s right David. You’re no killer.”

  “Who’s coming?” David asked.

  “I don’t know. I hired someone through one of my father’s contacts. I had to.”

  “You had to?” David roared.

  “They’re going to kill me if I don’t pay what I owe them, and I can’t pay unless the IPO goes forward, and the problem with CGT will kill the IPO.”

  Tori looked at David and then kicked Brayton in the ribs.

  “You asshole, CGT can be fixed. You just never let me finish my presentation.”

  David couldn’t tell which hurt worse; the kick in the ribs or the fact that Brayton realized he’d be charged with conspiracy to commit two murders he never needed to arrange.

  “Look,” Brayton said in a surrendering tone, “I’ll call him off, but it’s not safe here now. There are people who will kill all three of us if they find out you two are still alive.”

  “Who would that be?” David asked.

  “A particular family that I borrowed millions from. Now I can’t pay them back, and I’m a dead man anyway,” Brayton said. “There’s nothing I can do.”

  David pitied the broken heap of a man lying before him. He was a victim of his own greed. They also shared a common enemy: Priscilla Wellington. She had killed her father and brother and would kill everyone in the room if she wasn’t stopped. If she succeeded, CGT’s imperfections would be buried in unsuspecting patients DNA until it killed them, too. David released the hammer of the gun, reached down and helped Brayton to his feet.

  “There is one thing you can do.”

  Brayton gave David a puzzled look. Tori glanced at Joe, and Joe shrugged. David had another plan.

  CHAPTER 54

  The fresh sunlight glowed through the eggshell shears that fluttered between the dark velvet drapes. Although her head ached from the champagne and her body ached from the sex, Priscilla absorbed the elegance of the room and the sweet scent of her own cologne mingling with that of her handsome bedmate. Priscilla knew she now had money to burn. She’d chartered a Net Jet and offered to pick up her underwriter in New York, and Jeff Thomas had eagerly accepted the invitation. The party started in California when the jet left for the cross country flight with Priscilla, Brit Rodgers, her party girlfriend, and Hollywood bad boy Danny Flynn. It continued the entire trip. Six thousand miles and fifteen hours of champagne, sex, and rock and roll had ended just a few hours ago.

  The exclusive villa was nestled among the thick tropical gardens of the Peninsula Hotel in Beverly Hills. Italian linens covered the soft luxurious bed. An electronic bedside panel provided control for every imaginable effect. Priscilla carefully slipped from under the thick comforter and into a soft white robe. She floated across the room and checked her makeup in the mirror. The huge bathrooms glistened with white Italian marble and decadently embraced the oversized Jacuzzi bathtub Priscilla and Jeff had proved big enough for two playful adults. Then she tiptoed to the bedroom door and left her latest prop snoring.

  The bedroom opened to the living area accented with expensive antiques, art works and window treatments that covered the white trimmed French doors. Priscilla soaked up the elegance. After all she deserved it. She’d proved herself to be better than all of them: her chauvinistic father, who refused to let her into the business, her weasel of a brother, who’d been favored simply because he had a penis, her big shot husband, and that prick Royce Brayton. She’d wondered if he’d begged for his life. She smiled when she thought about David and that goody-two-shoes lab rat getting it together. She needed men for one thing and one thing alone.

  She tiptoed to the other bedroom door,
gently knocked, and inched the door open.

  “Brit? You up?” she whispered.

  She saw Brit’s blond mop pop up from the mountain of covers. Priscilla watched with more than a passing interest as Brit left the bed, naked, and slinked to the bathroom and retrieved her robe. She’d have to try that sometime soon, Priscilla thought.

  Brit slipped through the crack in the door and joined Priscilla on the sofa in the living room. She rubbed her puffy, bloodshot eyes.

  “You look awfully happy, Pris.”

  “Life’s good.”

  “Duh?” Brit said cocking her head and raising her hands in the air. “You’re like the richest woman I know.”

  “I’ll be richer in two days,” Priscilla smiled.

  “How’s that?”

  “I got a call yesterday from our regulatory affairs person. The FDA is releasing its approval letter for CGT Monday.” Priscilla nodded towards her bedroom. “And lover boy in there says were a go for the IPO on Tuesday.”

  “How much?” Priscilla now had Brit’s attention.

  “What?” Priscilla asked.

  “How much you gonna be worth, Pris?”

  Priscilla nodded towards the bedroom again. “He says over twelve billion dollars.”

  “Awesome! I’ve never had a friend worth that much money.” Brit thought for a moment and tilted her head in curiosity. “Don’t you have to split that with David?”

  Priscilla slammed her hand on the sofa. “I don’t have to share it with anyone!”

  “You think the cops will kill him because he’s murdered those people?”

  Priscilla remained silent. She wanted to tell someone how successful her plan had gone, but she also knew Brit was a magpie; she’d spill her guts or brag to anyone. She wouldn’t risk the electric chair for her need for approval. The phone rang and startled Priscilla. She reached to the end table, grabbed the silver cordless phone, glanced at the caller ID display and then answered.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s me, Royce.”

  “Royce?” The name ripped through her. It couldn’t be. He was supposed to dead by now. Her newfound euphoria faded.