CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Leo perched on the edge of the low couch and jiggled his right leg, antsy to get out of Bodhi’s house before the sun set.
“Are you almost ready?” he called up the stairs.
After being thoroughly harangued by Sasha, with Naya providing back up, Bodhi had agreed to stay at the condo with them for at least the next few nights. Leo had offered to bring him by his place to pick up some essentials, but he hadn’t envisioned it taking quite so long.
Apparently, Buddhists were even more unrushable than fiancées. Bodhi moved methodically from room to room, watering plants, unplugging appliances, washing dishes. Finally, he headed upstairs to pack. But that seemed to be slow going, too.
“I’ll be right down,” Bodhi said from the top of the stairs.
Leo stilled his leg and thumbed out a text to Sasha: See anything out of place at the condo?
His phone vibrated with her response almost as soon as he’d hit “Send.”
Just Java eating your basil plant on the windowsill. ;-)
He smiled. He thought it unlikely that the Taurus would head back to Sasha’s condo unless Bodhi and he led it there, but then again, he had no idea who their adversary was and what kind of manpower he, she, or they could wield. It could have been one lone guy who had done the tailing and all the thefts. Or it could have been a crew, fanning out across the city, scouring the streets in search of a reedy white guy with curly hair. There was no way to know.
He glanced through the front window at the fading sun. His leg began jittering again. He heard Bodhi’s footsteps on the stairs, and he stood, exhaling in relief.
“All set?” he asked, managing to keep a casual tone.
“I think so.” Bodhi zippered his gray and red canvas backpack and slung it over his shoulders. He had a hardback book tucked under one arm.
Leo bent and picked up the reusable grocery bag that Bodhi had filled with unrelentingly healthy food from his kitchen.
“Okay, let’s do this. Let me go first.”
His heart thumped in his chest as he opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch.
“Do you want me to turn on the porch light? It’s on a timer, but I can override it,” Bodhi asked.
“No. It’ll light us up like we’re on display. Just stay close to me.”
Leo swiveled his head from side to side, scanning the parked cars that were huddled up close to the curb on both sides of the narrow street. Nothing looked amiss.
He swallowed and waited for Bodhi to lock the door behind him, then he stepped off the porch and onto the stairs that led down to the street.
In a stroke of great luck, the spot directly in front of the house had been vacant when they’d arrived and it had been almost big enough for his Lexus. He’d managed to squeeze it in between two parked minivans with only the barest kiss to the bumper of the one behind him.
They had no more than twelve feet to travel from the porch down the steps and into the car. But they were twelve feet of vulnerability and maximum exposure. The way to do it, if someone wanted to silence Bodhi for good, would be to crouch behind the cars on the right of the house and aim a rifle at the stairs. Clear shot, not a very long distance. And there wouldn’t be a thing Leo could do to prevent it.
He looked to the right again, peering at the cars lined up behind his vehicle. The shadows were lengthening but there was plenty of light to get off a shot.
“Come on,” he said over his shoulder. He angled his body so that his broad torso partially shielded the thinner man’s and slowed so that they were walking side by side instead of single file.
Bodhi threw him a curious look but matched his pace.
Leo had the keyless entry remote out and ready when they hit the pavement. The Lexus’s locks popped with a quiet beep, and Leo pulled open the door and shoved Bodhi into the passenger seat. He tossed the grocery bag onto the floor of the SUV and raced around to the driver’s side.
They’d passed the first hurdle, and Bodhi was safer than he’d been on the street, but Leo wouldn’t relax until they were securely inside Sasha’s condo unit.
He jammed the key into the ignition and locked the doors.
As the engine purred to life, he glanced at his passenger. Bodhi’s face was pale and the muscles in his cheeks were taut.
“What was that about?” Bodhi asked.
Leo chewed on the inside of his cheek and tried to decide how to impress upon Bodhi the seriousness of his situation without terrifying him. He checked his mirrors and nosed the SUV out into the street, still debating with himself.
Finally, he said, “You’re a logical guy, right? I mean, you’re a doctor and a forensic scientist. You must like solving puzzles, finding answers.”
It was a throwaway question, nothing more than a stalling tactic.
But Bodhi gave a serious response. “Of course. But I’m also a believer that there aren’t answers to all questions. And sometimes it’s better to accept that truth than to resist it.”
Leo reached the stop sign and paused just long enough to pay homage to the notion of stopping and the rolled through it.
“Okay, but in this case, you believe that if you look hard enough and long enough, you’ll find a common connection between those dead women, right?”
“I do.”
“And you could save some lives. If you identify the link and alert the public, it could prevent further deaths.”
“True.”
“So, it follows then, that whoever’s trying to stop you is willing to let more people die. Right?”
Bodhi inhaled sharply. “You think someone deliberately killed them? They somehow caused those women to contract myocarditis intentionally?”
“Not necessarily. Their deaths could have been a fluke, an accident. But whoever’s responsible hasn’t come forward and doesn’t want to be held accountable for whatever reason. And that person is willing to accept that the price of continued silence is more potential deaths.”
Leo checked his rearview and side mirrors again, looking for a tail, but saw none.
“Okay. Yes.”
They crossed over from the residential part of Highland Park and the mature leafy oaks and maples gave way to takeout restaurants and corner stores. He nudged the speedometer higher.
“And if this person is willing to let some unknown number of innocent citizens die, doesn’t it stand to reason that he may also be willing to take it a step further and kill you to protect himself?” There was no gentle way to ask the question, but he tried to keep his voice calm and soft.
Bodhi’s eyes widened then narrowed. Leo watched as he smoothed his face into a neutral mask.
At last he said, “That may true.”
They drove in silence through East Liberty and Shadyside. Leo scanned the road constantly for signs of an ambush. Bodhi leaned his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes. His chest rose and fell in a slow, rhythmic pattern. He seemed to be sleeping.
When he reached the condo building, Leo started to ease the SUV into the spot designated for Sasha’s visitors. At the last moment, he backed out of the spot and continued past it, making a loop through the parking lot and around to the drop off circle in front of the building. He punched the speed dial for Sasha’s phone.
“Hey, where are you guys?”
“In front of the building. Can you come down and help Bodhi carry up his stuff while I park?”
“Be right down.”
He ended the call.
“I can manage,” Bodhi said, finally opening his eyes.
“I’m sure you can manage the bags,” Leo agreed, “but this is safer.”
“You’ll be with me.”
“Look, the less time you’re exposed, the better. There’s no reason to walk you through the parking lot and past that tall hedgerow in front of the building. I know from personal experience that it makes an excellent spot for lying in wait.”
Bodhi cocked his head quizzically but didn’t have time to as
k any questions because Sasha was already knocking on the passenger window.
Leo waited until Sasha and Bodhi had crossed the entryway into the lobby before driving around the circle and back into the parking lot. He locked the SUV, crossed the lot, and hurried past the bushes and into the vestibule.
Once he was inside the building, he exhaled a ragged breath of relief.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Stone sat in his study, poring over the documents he’d brought home from the deal team and the research and development team files. He vigorously highlighted nearly every line as he read, as if the bright yellow ink would somehow illuminate the secrets he was convinced the papers held.
The key to the deaths, he thought, was the carbonated drinks. The company had originally produced two versions of bottled Champion Fuel—carbonated, intended for sale to nightclubs as a mixer, and uncarbonated, which market research indicated home consumers preferred. It turned out that customers clamored for the carbonated version for home use, too, so they’d ended up offering both versions on the retail market.
The dense studies that the scientists had put together seemed to say that the proprietary blend reacted differently when mixed with carbonation, but what he couldn’t quite puzzle out was how.
Frustrated, he bounced his highlighter off the mahogany desk and watched it fly to the floor.
He was tempted to wake his wife and ask her to read the study. She’d been a biology major. It had been ages ago and she’d never worked as a scientist. One summer interning at a marine habitat had been the extent of her career before she’d caught his eye at a Tri Delta/Sigma Chi mixer and set her sights on marriage, motherhood, and tennis lessons.
But surely she could make heads or tails of the technical jargon.
He glanced through his office door, which stood ajar, and checked the time on the grandfather clock that stood in the hallway. It was after eleven. Deb would kill him if he woke her at this hour.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and reread the passage he’d just highlighted:
Interaction and increased potency of withania somnifera, guarana, ginkgo biloba, and wild red ginseng when carbonated. Further study needed.
His shoulders were tight from hunching over the desk. He stood and turned to his left, then his right, cracking his back. It was time to hit the hay. He could watch “The Daily Show” and drift off to sleep to the sound of Deb’s gentle snoring.
Stone stacked the papers neatly on his desk and shut out the green-shaded banker’s light. He pulled the study door shut and headed for the main staircase.
He was halfway through the foyer when the doorbell chimed.
He froze and listened, convinced he was hearing things.
But through the frosted glass sidelights that edged the door, the New England-style lantern that hung over the door cast a man’s shadow on the entry hall wall.
He hurried to the door before his late-night visitor could press the bell again. He pressed his eye against the peephole and reared his head back in surprise at what he saw.
“Dad?” He swung the door open and stepped out onto the wide porch, shutting the door softly behind him. “What are you doing out here at this hour? Is everything okay? Did something happen to Mom?” The words raced out of his mouth in a jumble, trying to keep pace with his brain.
“Calm down, S.J. I just had the girl out for a ride and thought I’d stop by and say hello.” His father jerked a thumb toward the Ferrari that sat in the circular drive behind him, its engine still ticking as it cooled.
“Oh. Uh, okay.”
Stone knew his father often took his sports car out for drives through suburban Pittsburgh late at night, when he could speed virtually alone on the windy back roads. He couldn’t, however, recall his father ever just popping by unannounced at any time of day or night. That wasn’t Fred’s style.
“How ‘bout a ride, son?”
Stone really just wanted to go to bed. But refusing any offer from Fred would guarantee the old man would hold a grudge for months, maybe years, over the perceived slight. The silent treatment he’d have to endure at work if he didn’t just go for a ride would be worse than a few hours of lost sleep.
“Sure. Let me just get my shoes.”
“Eh, you don’t need your shoes. You’ll have a better feel for the gas with your stocking feet, anyway,” his father said.
“Better feel—? You’re going to let me drive it?” He was sure he misheard.
Fred responded as if this were a perfectly ordinary occurrence, instead of the unprecedented event it actually was.
“Of course. Catch.”
He tossed the key ring to Stone.
Stone snagged the keys and walked slowly toward the waiting car, more confused than he’d been when he was puzzling over the stack of scientific studies.
As he slid behind the wheel of the highly polished machine and inhaled the buttery leather smell of the interior, he realized he didn’t have his wallet. For a brief moment, he contemplated telling his dad he needed to go back and get his driver’s license, but he was half-convinced Fred would change his mind about letting him drive. So he belted the seatbelt, adjusted the mirrors, and turned the key in the ignition.
“Ready, dad?” He glanced over at his father in the passenger seat.
“Oh, I’m ready. Once you get down to the main road, open her up and let her show you what she can do.”
Stone pulled out, his heart racing faster than the revving engine, and the car shot out of the driveway onto the hill that led to the road below.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sasha poured herself a cup of coffee as quietly as she could. As much as she loved her loft-style condo, she had to admit it wasn’t exactly conducive to hosting house guests. Once she and Connelly were married, it would probably be time to think about getting a bigger place. Especially if they decided to have children. Children? She shook her head at her internal monologue and peeked over the island at Bodhi.
He appeared to be sleeping through her early morning routine undisturbed.
She’d offered to fold out the couch into what she could only imagine was an uncomfortable bed judging by the thin mattress and thick metal bar that ran across the middle of said mattress. But he’d told her he’d brought his own bed along—which turned out to be a thin sleeping mat. He’d spread out on the floor, and Java had promptly kneaded himself a comfortable nest in one corner and curled himself into a ball.
She glanced over. Man and cat were both prone, unmoving on the mat. That was about to change, however. She pulled the tab back on a small can of strong-smelling salmon-flavored cat food.
A gray flash ran from the mat to the bowl at her feet and twisted itself around her bare ankle.
“Good morning. Did you keep Bodhi company?” she asked, bending to fill the dish and scratch Java behind his ears. He purred impatiently, then butted her hand out of the way so he could eat.
“He did,” Bodhi said, unfolding himself and standing to stretch.
“Oh, no. Did I wake you?”
“Not at all. I’m an early riser.”
“Do you want a cup of coffee?”
“No, thanks. I’ll make some tea in a bit. Thanks again for letting me stay here. I know it’s an inconvenience.” He flashed a sheepish smile.
“It’s really no problem. I just wish we had better accommodations to offer you.”
He waved it aside. “I think Leo’s overreacting, to be honest. I’d be fine at home. I’ll talk to him.”
She hid a small smile behind her coffee mug.
Connelly had been adamant that she not let Bodhi out of her sight while he went for a quick jog. The man didn’t think that posting a live guard over a sleeping houseguest was overkill. She highly doubted Bodhi would be able to talk him into letting him go back to a house that was likely under surveillance by the same people who’d jumped him.
“How’s the fat lip? Do you need anything for pain?”
“No thank you. Painful feelings ar
e as valid as pleasant feelings. They can be welcomed.”
She blinked and tried to form a response to that pronouncement.
Luckily, before she had to, the front door opened and Connelly returned from his run. He pulled his Department of Homeland Security-issued gray hooded sweatshirt over his head and hung it from the hook by the door. Then he tossed a newspaper onto the counter with a thud.
Something about the gesture seemed ominous to her. It must have struck the same chord with Bodhi, who looked up wide eyed.
“Not another dead twenty-something?” he asked.
“Not a twenty-something. A dead vice president of a local energy drink company.” Connelly’s voice was grim and tight.
“Myocarditis?” she asked, reaching over to unfold the newspaper.
Connelly shook his head. “No. Bullet to the back of the head.”
“What?” Sasha asked.
Pittsburgh had its share of violence, but a mob-style execution was a rarity.
“His wife found him on the front porch of their Fox Chapel home late last night; well, technically early this morning.”
Fox Chapel was not the type of neighborhood where the residents were murdered on their doorsteps. Maybe they were offed behind closed doors, by trophy wives or trust fund kids who had tired of waiting for the patriarch to go to the great beyond, but the denizens of the affluent suburb were not gunned down on their manicured lawns or in their circular driveways.
“That’s strange,” Sasha allowed.
It was strange, but it didn’t explain the gloomy expression on Connelly’s face. She scanned the article.
Stone Fredericks, Jr., was a devoted father of two, family man, member of the Oakmont Country Club, and second in command at a family-run business, which recently entered into a groundbreaking economic development partnership with the City of Pittsburgh to build a bottling facility for Champion Fuel, their flagship energy drink. He had been instrumental in creating the marketing plan that had enabled Champion Fuel to secure sponsorships as the official energy drink of all three of Pittsburgh’s professional sports teams. According to the article, the Steelers, the Penguins, and the Pirates had all been swayed by Stone’s vision and business acumen. He was one of the region’s Forty under Forty rising stars in industry. The article was light on news about the murder, heavy on the dead man’s business resume. Probably because they’d had to scramble to meet the deadline to even get the article to print; there wouldn’t have been time to wait for law enforcement sources to get back to the reporter with information.
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