Elisa switched from embarrassment to defensiveness. “What? What do you mean? Adrian is a kind, good person.”
“He’s just playing the role of squeaky clean straight-A student. I think he’s involved in some bad things,” Ben said.
Elisa shook her head. “What are you talking about?”
“He’s got gang connections. With Tenebras.” Ben wanted to shake her. His evidence was sketchy, but he had to get her away from Adrian at any cost.
Elisa shook her head, but Ben saw the flicker of doubt in her eyes. “You’re so obsessed with Tenebras, Ben. You see everything as a conspiracy with that gang behind it.”
“Because it’s true! I’ve seen him brawling! I’ve seen his friends talking to gang members,” Ben burst out. “Don’t you see, Elisa? Tenebras is behind the spread of Rapture. Haven’t you seen all the new addicts on the streets? Our clinic’s beds are filled with overdose cases.”
“Yes, I agree it’s terrible.” Elisa was shouting as well. “But Adrian has nothing to do with it! How can you even say that?”
“Come on!” Ben stuck his hands in his pockets to keep himself from grabbing her. “How does he get the money for that fancy car, to take you out to all those expensive restaurants?”
Elisa stiffened. “Adrian has a part-time job.”
“Do the math, Elisa! You’re supposed to be the genius. How many hours a week would he have to work at minimum wage to afford to take you out every week?”
“How do you know how often he takes me out? Have you been spying on me?” She put her hands on her hips.
“No! I’ve just been trying to watch out for you!”
“You don’t have the right to choose my boyfriend. I like Adrian, and I’m going to continue to go out with him no matter what. Now, leave me alone so I can get ready for school.” She spun around and flounced back into her apartment building.
Ben stood alone on the sidewalk, cursing himself. What had happened to reasonable argument? He’d yelled at her and jeopardized their friendship. Angry at himself, he jammed his fists into his pockets and slouched away.
Rory
Rory Fong stood in the shadows of the unkempt vegetation around the old apartment building. He had watched the argument with great interest. So, Ben thought Adrian was connected with Tenebras. That could be very useful information. Rory put his head to one side as he considered what he should do with it. He collected information about Adrian as well as about everybody else, and he was judicious about how he chose to use or reveal that information. It was the most valuable commodity in his world.
The question of Adrian’s relationship with Elisa—now that was interesting. Most of what Adrian did, even for his own entertainment, served dual purposes, cementing his control over his gang or furthering various plans to increase Tenebras’s influence or profits. Rory knew how Adrian treated most women he’d had sexual relationships with, and there were some key differences with Elisa. Nevertheless, he had some difficulty believing that Adrian could really have what others might consider a normal relationship with anyone.
He knew Adrian’s attitude about attachments. “It’s a mistake to make yourself vulnerable, Rory,” he had once told him. They had been relaxing in Adrian’s study after a particularly successful operation. Adrian rarely drank hard liquor, but this particular haul had included a rare bottle of aged Chivas Regal scotch. Adrian hadn’t been able to resist the exclusive, numbered bottle.
Adrian had been unusually loquacious that evening, dispensing advice and dropping hints of secret knowledge until Rory had been practically salivating for more of his favorite commodity. Adrian’s eyes glinted with reflected firelight as he showed more emotion than Rory had ever seen.
“Attachments are dangerous,” said Adrian.
“What about Tina? She’s one fine woman. Seems like you might have some feelings for her.”
“Feelings?” Adrian scoffed. “If I did, it would only turn out badly for me—not to mention her.”
“Really? I think she likes you, Captain.”
“They all like me.” His fingers caressed his glass, swirled the amber liquid within. “It serves my purposes.”
A shiver passed through Rory.
“We have no need for weaknesses like that.” Adrian’s eyes glittered, and he pinned Rory with a dark glance. “Don’t you agree?”
It was only afterward that Rory had wondered.
Did Adrian suspect his secret?
Had the whole evening been a setup?
Rory had been so careful in all his furtive and increasingly desperate searches through the foster care system. He could have sworn he had never left any evidence, had never let her name cross his lips where Adrian might find out.
He still hadn’t found her. He had no idea where Sierra had ended up after she went into the system. And Adrian had never given any sign he knew of Rory’s… attachment.
Rory shivered. If what he suspected now was true, it would be easy to displease Adrian over Elisa Gallardo. He did not want to be added to the list of people who had disappeared. He had gotten to where he was, and kept his position as Adrian’s top lieutenant, by carefully anticipating and attending to his every need and desire.
Still, if he could gain leverage over Adrian—it could be extremely lucrative.
He thought again about Sierra.
In more ways than one.
17
Keisha
KEISHA OPENED ANOTHER CAN of cat food and plopped it into the last of the four bowls under the kitchen table. Miranda rubbed against her legs on her way to the food, Goon Squad mewed, and Cease-and-Desist turned up his nose at the food.
Keisha swiped a hand across her forehead. Ever since the Halloween debacle, it had become increasingly difficult for her to go about her undercover work. The department’s progress was too slow. Truong himself had hinted it was time to break a few rules.
She opened the refrigerator and rooted through Tupperware containers filled with moldy leftovers. When she was on a case, she tended to forget that she, like her cats, needed to eat. She swayed for a minute, dizzy, then shook herself. She didn’t have time to eat or sleep. She had been up all night working on her crime board, trying to put more pieces together. She was out of coffee, so she went to the bathroom and took a No-Doz.
On the way to school on the bus, she finalized the new ideas she’d worked on all night. In the supply closet, Vince Devore was waiting for her. “Got an anonymous tip that looks interesting.”
“Another? We’ve already wasted a boatload of time checking too many of them out. Nothing.”
“This one’s different. There’s a local company, Schwartz Pharmaceuticals, that synthesizes industrial chemicals. Their lab’s less than five miles from here, in the warehouse district. Small company, been in business about ten years, on shaky financial ground.”
Keisha glanced up from her notes, her interest piqued. “You think they might be looking for additional sources of revenue?”
“The owner, Alfred Schwartz, seems shady. Long hair, snarky personality, makes no secret he was a former hippie who experimented with psychedelics. He’s got two drug busts from his college days, and has published anonymously at recreational drug sites, including a long biographical piece on Owsley.”
Keisha snorted at the mention of the underground chemist who mass-produced LSD in the sixties. “That would definitely shoot Schwartz up my list. I wonder if we could get someone undercover.”
“I’ll see if the department has the budget for that.” Vince shook his head.
“What about someone already on the inside?”
“I got some of the employee files.” He rifled through his backpack, handed a stack of manila folders to her.
“Good. I’ll work on it.” It could dovetail well with her plans.
“Hey, you feeling okay?” He squinted at her.
“Huh? As good as can be expected.”
“You seem a little manic today.”
“Shut up! I’m fine.”
She forced a smile. He could be a little too perceptive. Better not to go into detail about what she was thinking. Vince was a good cop, but he had a tendency to quote regulations to her at the wrong time.
Later that day, after remedial algebra, Keisha flipped through the files. Robson had given her the backgrounds of a few students who interned at local companies. Not that she’d told him the extent of her plans. It was all up to her now.
She glanced at the photo stapled to the form. The boy seemed vaguely familiar, one of the quiet kids she hadn’t paid much attention to. His eyes were mild behind rectangular glasses; unruly brown bangs fell in his face. One of the forgettable nerds you saw in every high school, obviously not a gang member and equally obviously inconsequential in the high school social hierarchy.
Of course, it went against all standard procedures to bring students in on a police operation. But it seemed like only the kids knew what was going on. And it was worth it, if it meant saving lives. Truong’s latest report traced over a hundred crimes to Rapture in the past week alone.
She studied the student carefully. Someone she could give just enough information to get him on board. Someone unimportant who could blend into the background.
Perfect.
Adrian sat across the desk from Keisha outside the principal’s office, obediently sorting through the photographs she had brought. The admin had gone home for the day and they were alone in the narrow foyer with nicotine-stained walls. Adrian tapped a picture of a paunchy middle-aged man with long dark blond hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Mild, watery eyes peered out from under a receding hairline. “This is Alfred Schwartz, the company owner,” Adrian said. “He used to be a scientist, but now he’s mostly an administrator.”
“Is it true he’s a former hippie?”
Adrian nodded. “He makes no secret of his past. When he was in school, he dabbled in many different drugs. Led kind of a dissipated life. But now he seems to have settled down. Although,” he mused, “he’s easily distractible and sometimes appears confused. Maybe a bit of brain damage from all the psychedelics.”
Keisha made a note on a pad of paper. One of the fluorescent panels in the ceiling flickered and went dark.
Adrian picked up the next photograph. Curly, uncombed dark hair surrounded a long face topped with penetrating eyes. Behind him, two young kids peeked around a doorjamb. “Eric Holman is the chief scientist. He’s somewhat of a character as well. Schwartz is always scolding him for wearing open-toed shoes while handling chemicals. These two are his niece and nephew, Mira and Jim. They do janitorial work around the lab.” He set the photo down. “Holman has kind of a cavalier attitude toward safety. He often makes fun of the rules we’re supposed to follow.”
“Do you think he or Schwartz could be synthesizing illegal chemicals?”
“I’ve never seen any evidence of it. But then I don’t have access to many of the secured areas of the lab.” His eyes were sharp behind his glasses. “You think they’re behind the synthesis of Rapture.”
It was a statement, not a question, although Keisha hadn’t said anything about the purpose of their mission to Rockton. She had to admit the kid was smart. “I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation,” she said, glancing up at the clock on the wall. “Now, how often do you work and what do you do?”
“Part-time after school, three days a week. I wash the glassware, run the centrifuges, errands like that.”
“I saw you were listed as a co-author on a paper written by Holman and Schwartz last year.”
Adrian nodded. “They added me because I made a few small contributions to the research.”
“What was the paper about?”
“Neurotransmitter potentials in inhibitory neural synapses and latent class-II modifications.”
“Which means what?”
Adrian shrugged. “It’s an academic publication with no real-world applications. A bit of incremental research in a vanishingly narrow specialty, intended for nothing more than to enhance the reputation of the first author among the six people who can understand it.”
Off in the distance, someone slammed a locker shut. “So it’s not important work, nor could it be connected with the synthesis of a chemical like Rapture?”
He stared at her, his face shocked. “Of course not.”
Adrian
In the chilly early morning air, Adrian sauntered toward one of the back entrances to the school. Mario was waiting exactly where Adrian had told him to be. He stepped forward on cue.
“Hey, Sa—Adrian. You’ll have the product ready by the end of the day, right?” Mario’s words sounded stilted, but that didn’t matter. It was the content that counted.
“Don’t worry about it, Mario. It’s all taken care of.” Adrian’s voice was clear and carried in the cold, still winter air.
Mario scowled but didn’t miss his final line. “Good. Don’t forget the meeting after school today.” With that, he moved off as scripted, leaving Adrian alone in the quiet passage. He pretended to text, waiting to see if Elisa, who he knew was standing just around the corner, would approach him.
When nothing happened after a few minutes, he slid his phone back in his pocket and went off to class.
The bell tinkled when Adrian opened the door to the Apricot Apron.
He had been looking forward to picking up Elisa from work all day. The bakery always smelled so rich and satisfying, odors of cinnamon and caramel, chocolate and fresh-baked bread wafting out into the air.
The tiny, wrinkled woman behind the cash register beamed at him, one hand brushing her salt-and-pepper cap of hair.
“Why, hello there, Adrian. Are you here to take my sweetest employee away?” Her eyelashes dipped in what could have been flirtatiousness if she were half a century younger.
He ran fingers through tousled hair, adjusted his glasses and flashed her a shy, crooked smile. “It’s good to see you, Mrs. Rojas. Is her shift over yet?”
She dropped one eyelid in a wink and called over her shoulder into the kitchen. “Did you put the maple blackberry scones in the oven, Elisa, dear?”
“Almost done, Mrs. Rojas.” Elisa slid a tray into the stainless steel oven. Her glossy hair was bound up in a white net, and her creamy skin stood out against the brown fabric of her shirt. A white cotton apron, streaked with chocolate and raspberry smears, was wrapped tightly around her slender waist, emphasizing her figure. She shook a few strands of hair out of her eyes and wiped a hand on her apron. A wispy line of white powder arched across one cheekbone. “I’m just dusting the last batch with powdered sugar now.” She stood on tiptoes to set the temperature.
Mrs. Rojas ushered Adrian into the back room. “You have a visitor, dear.” Her hip just grazed his leg as they passed through the narrow door. Her cheeks flamed.
Elisa teased him that he encouraged Marisol Rojas too much in her little crush, but everything went so much more smoothly when he bestowed just a tiny bit of attention on her. It was all innocent, of course. The poor woman probably hadn’t got it on in two decades.
“She’ll be ready for you in a minute, Adrian. Our Elisa, she’s so smart. Did you know she figured out a way to get better texture in our buttermilk biscuits? Now they’re so flaky the customers can’t get enough of them.” She patted Elisa’s arm. “What was it, folding and pinching the dough by hand and changing the temperature by fifty degrees did what?”
“It allowed the Maillard reaction to proceed more efficiently and the gluten chains in the dough to set up. Baking is really just chemistry.”
Mrs. Rojas pinched Adrian’s cheek. “Chemistry! Did you hear that? And did you know that our little Elisa wants to be a chemist?” She shook her head. “All that baking talent, wasted in some lab.” She wagged a finger at Adrian. “You make sure to talk her out of it, you hear?”
She untied her apron and bustled back to the cash register. “You two take some time together, I’m off to the bank with the deposits. I’ll lock the door.”
She winked
at Adrian. The bakery door chimed as she left.
Alone in the wide kitchen lined with trays of crisp, flaky scones and succulent dark chocolate squares topped with fresh raspberries, Adrian reached for Elisa. “It smells wonderful in here.”
“I just put some scones in the oven. No, wait, don’t touch me—”
He had already enveloped Elisa and her messy apron in a close embrace. His fingers trailed over her exposed arms, and he pulled her head in to lie against his chest. “The scones smell good too.” He buried his nose in her hair, one hand stroking down her back and dipping just a little too far over her softly rounded ass.
She tried to pull away, but his arms encircled her like steel. “You’ll get powdered sugar all over your clothes,” she warned.
It was too late. His black silk shirt was dusted with white.
“Do I look like I care?” He cupped her face in his hands. “I’ve missed you.”
“It’s been like what, six hours since I saw you last?” She drew away from him and put floury hands on her hips.
“Feels more like forever,” he said, feeling an unexpected pang at her expression. She was upset, deeply upset, about his activities. He didn’t want to manipulate her, but maybe just a little would be necessary.
He couldn’t bear to lose her.
“Do you really like being covered in powdered sugar?” she asked.
He glanced down at his speckled sleeves and got a gleam in his eye. “Hmmm. Never thought about it before, but it does sound tasty.” He ran the tip of his tongue slowly and deliberately across his lips and backed her against the bulletin board, just out of sight of the front door. He ran one finger down her pearly throat, savoring the quiver of her skin beneath his touch. He wanted her. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything before.
She swallowed, obviously steeling herself.
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