by Lara Lacombe
It had escalated quickly. A few weeks later, Gary had come home drunk and randy. Exhausted, she’d begged off, which had sent him into a rage. Two broken ribs and multiple bruises later, she’d gotten a restraining order and cut him completely out of her life.
That had been almost a year ago. For the first several months, she’d looked over her shoulder constantly, always expecting Gary to turn up and hurt her again. It was only after meeting James that she’d begun to relax a little. He was a strong, calm presence, and he made her feel secure. He’d offered friendship, with no pressure or expectation of something more.
Until now.
The shadows on the ceiling blurred as she blinked back tears. She couldn’t do this. Sleeping with James had been a mistake. He would want more from her than she could give now that they had taken this step. She wasn’t ready for that—given her history with men, she didn’t think she was capable of having a normal relationship, whatever that was.
She had to leave now, before he woke up. She didn’t want to tell him face-to-face, because then he’d ask questions and want an explanation, one that she wasn’t able to give. A lump of shame formed in her throat at the thought of telling him about her past. She’d told only one other person about Gary, and her friend’s look of pity and disgust was burned in her memory. She did not want to see that expression on James’s face.
Moving cautiously, she eased out of the bed and began to gather her clothes. It was still early; the birds had only just begun to greet the new day with sporadic chirps. James would probably sleep in after last night’s activities, but she still tried to be as quiet as possible as she moved around the room. After spotting her socks over by the doorway, she retrieved them and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed to put her shoes on.
She felt a twinge of guilt as she tied her shoes, but she ruthlessly pushed it down. Leaving was the best thing she could do, both for her and for James. She was damaged goods, and he deserved better. In fact, he’d probably thank her for this later. No one wanted to be saddled with an emotionally unavailable woman with trust issues. Better to make a clean break now, before things got complicated.
Her heart couldn’t take another blow.
* * *
James woke in stages, rubbing his eyes against the pale pink light of dawn that flooded his bedroom. His jaw cracked in a yawn as he stretched, reaching across the bed to pull Kelly into his arms so he could bury his nose in her hair.
His hands came up empty.
Awake now, he sat up in the rumpled bed to find her sitting on the edge, tying her shoes.
“Kelly?” Her name came out as a croak, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Everything okay?”
He reached over and placed a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened at the contact, so he withdrew, alarmed at her reaction. What was wrong? Had he hurt her last night? He quickly reviewed his memories of their encounter, but came up blank. She had been an eager participant, and he had made sure she was satisfied before seeing to his own pleasure. Surely she would have told him if he had done something wrong?
His stomach dropped as another thought dawned. Did she regret sleeping with him?
She finished tying her shoes and sat for a moment, not looking at him. The silence between them grew heavy as he took in her appearance—hair pulled back, fully dressed, shoes on. She was leaving, and he was certain she would have left without a word had he not woken up in time to catch her.
She stood, turning to face him with a heavy sigh. “James, I was just—”
“Leaving. Yes, I can see that.” Not wanting to have this conversation while naked and lying down, he grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around his hips as he stood. “Any reason you were sneaking out?”
She looked down, her cheeks flushing a pretty rose. “I wasn’t sneaking out. I was just leaving quietly.”
“Uh-huh.” He ran his hand through his hair, wincing inwardly as he felt the bed-head spikes. Putting his awkward appearance firmly out of his mind, he summoned his best interrogation voice. “Why are you leaving?”
She was silent for several seconds, then spoke in a near whisper. “I just think it’s best if I go.”
He took a step forward but stopped as she took a small step back. “Kelly,” he said gently, “I don’t want you to go. I’m sorry if I’ve said or done anything to give you that impression.”
She looked down at the floor again, chewing her lower lip.
“Last night was special to me,” he continued, slowly moving to stand in front of her. He reached out and tilted her chin up with a finger, and his gut twisted when he saw the glitter of tears in her eyes. She was clearly upset, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what he’d done.
“James, please,” she pleaded in a choked voice. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
He frowned down at her in confusion. “What’s going on here? I thought we had a great time last night.”
She nodded, dashing away tears with the back of her hand. “We did. Last night was—it was amazing. I just have to go now.” She moved to walk past him, but he grabbed her arms to keep her in place. She didn’t resist his hold, but she wouldn’t look at him, directing her gaze at his belly button.
“Kelly, what is this about? Have I done something?” Exasperation crept into his voice as she shook her head mutely. “Then why are you running away? Do you regret sleeping with me? Because if that’s the problem, we can go back to being just friends.”
A ghost of a smile flitted across her lips before she shook her head again. “I don’t regret it,” she said softly. “Please understand that I need to go. It’s nothing you did.” She met his eyes then, holding his gaze as she repeated her assurance. “You were wonderful. But I can’t stay, and please don’t ask me why.”
He held her a moment longer, searching her face for a sign or any expression or gesture that would explain her desire to leave so suddenly. She bore his gaze with a neutral expression, as if simply waiting for him to give up his scrutiny. Seeing that she wasn’t going to tell him anything, he released her with a sigh.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you this morning, but you clearly don’t trust me enough to tell me.”
She bit her lip at that, and he knew his words had hit home. He studied her for another moment, hoping she’d fill the silence and tell him her reasons for running away, but she remained quiet.
He stepped back, giving her space to move. She waited until he sat on the edge of the bed before walking to the doorway. She paused at the threshold, and a flutter of hope flared to life in his chest. Had she changed her mind?
“I’m sorry, James,” she said, her voice wavering. “You’re a great guy, and—” Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard before continuing, “And you deserve better than me.”
Then she was gone, leaving him staring after her in silent confusion.
Chapter 2
September
Professor George Collins strode through the parking garage toward his car, whistling cheerfully as he fished for his keys. He was looking forward to the promise of the weekend, ready to spend some quality time with his wife. Ruth’s oncologist had given them the good news about her remission on Monday, and they were going to a B and B in Annapolis to celebrate. The doctor’s words had lifted a weight off his shoulders, and for the first time in months, George felt as if he could breathe again.
He stopped next to his car, fingers still searching for the keys. Damn things must have slipped to the bottom of the bag again. He really should just keep them in his pocket so—
“Evening, Professor.”
He froze at the smooth voice behind him. Fear skittered across his skin like ants on parade, and his bag fell from his shoulder, hitting the ground with a dull thud. His mouth suddenly dry, he swallowed convulsively a few times as he turned to face the man he had hoped to never see again.
His visitor cut a dashing figure in black slacks and a tan overcoat, a newspaper folded under his arm. His blond
curls were perfectly tousled, and his wire-rimmed glasses lent him an academic air. No one would give this man a second look, much less think of him as evil. George, however, had come to think of him as the devil.
And it seemed the devil had come to collect.
“I thought we had a deal,” the man said calmly.
George forced himself to make eye contact. “What do you mean?”
“Did you see the headline this morning, Professor?”
George shook his head mutely in response, not trusting his voice a second time. He knew the man already thought him weak, and his quavering voice would only add to that impression.
The man unfolded the newspaper with a snap as he stepped forward. George resisted the urge to step back, instead fixing his gaze on the print in front of him.
Food Poisoning at Local Restaurant Kills One, Sickens Ten.
He looked up to find the man staring down at him, blue eyes blazing. “I don’t see the problem—it clearly worked.”
The man let out a sigh. “Not well enough. You told us it would sicken hundreds, not just ten people. Furthermore, the mortality rate is unacceptable.”
“Wait just a minute,” George began, the affront to his professional pride getting the better of his fear. “How can you say this is my fault? Maybe you guys didn’t distribute it properly or store it correctly. I told you after I supplied you with the bug that it was your show. It’s not my fault if you didn’t follow my instructions.”
The man took another step forward, forcing George back against his car. His bravado drained from his body like air from a balloon as the man leaned over him.
“We followed your instructions to the letter, Professor,” he hissed, his breath warm on George’s cheek. “We did everything you said, and yet it did not work.”
“But it did,” George protested weakly. “People got sick.”
He jumped as a gloved fist landed next to his head.
“As I said, not enough people were affected. We cannot use this as a weapon if it will be thought of as a natural outbreak.” The man pulled back slightly and reached into his coat.
George let out a sob as his knees gave out, and he fell to the ground. Gulping for air, he tried to focus on Ruth, but he couldn’t conjure up her face. All he could think was that he was going to die here, in the parking garage, shot by the devil.
The man rolled his eyes and withdrew his hand, holding out a business card. “I knew we shouldn’t have used you,” he muttered, reaching down and pulling George roughly to his feet. George leaned back against the car, not trusting his legs to hold him. He silently agreed with the man—he was not cut out for this. He had agreed to provide the bacteria in exchange for money to pay for Ruth’s treatments, but as soon as he had made the deal, he’d regretted it.
“Here’s how it’s going to work, Professor. You’re going to give us another sample. I want you to call this number when it’s ready for pickup.” He pressed the card into George’s sweaty hand and continued, “You’re also going to come with us, so that there are no mistakes this time.”
“What? No, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can. And you will.” He reached into his jacket again, this time pulling out a photograph. “She’s looking much better, your wife.” He turned the photo around, and George blinked in shock as he recognized Ruth emerging from her doctor’s office, holding his hand. The picture had been taken as they’d left her appointment on Monday. “It would be a shame if something were to happen to her.”
George crumpled at the threat, knowing this man wouldn’t hesitate to hurt Ruth. “I’ll do it,” he whispered, hating himself for the weakness that had made him agree to the deal in the first place. “But I need time to modify the bacteria.”
The man stepped back with a satisfied smile. “I thought as much. Enjoy your weekend in Annapolis with your wife, but don’t keep me waiting. You have five days to deliver my product, or I will take it out on her.”
George watched him walk away, despair settling over him with every breath he took. He dropped to his knees and dry heaved, then leaned back against the car, gasping lungfuls of exhaust-scented air like a landed fish. There had to be a way out of this. His thoughts raced as he tried to come up with a solution. Maybe he could take Ruth and leave, flee the city and never come back. But no, they knew about the B and B, which meant they probably had him under surveillance.
They’ll find me. Of that he was certain.
He briefly considered going to the police but quickly dismissed the thought. He was an accomplice. Even though he had modified the bacteria to be less lethal, he was still involved. At times, the guilt of that knowledge was overwhelming, but he wasn’t willing to leave Ruth. She was still so fragile, and he knew the authorities would not hesitate to put him in jail, away from his wife.
Picking up his bag, George struggled to his feet, feeling every one of his fifty-five years. For Ruth’s sake, he was going to have to cooperate with the monster. He pulled out his keys and climbed into the car. His hands shook so badly that it took him three tries to get the key into the ignition, but he finally started the car and pulled out of the parking space.
This will be the last time, he promised himself as he drove, merging onto the freeway as he headed home to his wife. The absolute last time, he repeated.
But no matter how many times he said it, he didn’t believe it.
* * *
Caleb stood in the shadows, watching as Dr. Collins slowly picked himself up off the ground. The man was obviously flustered, and the pinched expression on his face communicated his distress as clearly as any words.
“Thank God he didn’t piss himself,” Caleb muttered, shifting slightly from side to side and shoving his hands into his coat pockets.
Collins had looked as if he’d seen a ghost, and in a way, he had. Caleb prided himself on staying behind the scenes, away from prying eyes. To be visible was to make yourself a target, and he had no intention of painting a bull’s-eye on his back. The fact that he’d had to make this little visit today was a nuisance but not a huge risk. Besides, some messages had to be delivered in person.
Given the fear that had entered Collins’s eyes at the mention of his wife, Caleb figured he’d made his point.
He waited for Collins to speed out of the garage before heading to his own car. He hadn’t bothered to forge a university parking pass—there were no guards or security cameras monitoring the area, so he wasn’t worried about being seen. Besides, there were so many students coming and going every day, no one was likely to notice or remember the nondescript black sedan he drove.
He slid into the driver’s seat with a sigh. Someday, he promised himself, I’m going to upgrade this POS. He glanced up at the dog-eared picture taped to the sun visor. The sporty, sleek roadster winked back at him, taunting him with the promise of speed. It was a beautiful car, all curvy, graceful lines and paint so glossy that it looked wet. A car he deserved, and one he would have—just as soon as he retired. A car like that was for a man who wasn’t afraid to show off, not one who had to live in the shadows.
His cell phone buzzed against his chest. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced down at the display, gritting his teeth as he recognized the glowing white number. Damn him!
“I told you not to contact me.”
There was a pause, as if his caller hadn’t expected such a harsh greeting. He heard the man suck in a breath.
“I don’t think this is working out.”
Caleb took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. God save me from whiny CEOs....
“And why is that?” he asked, working to keep his voice calm and even.
Dr. Glen Wilkins, CEO and heir extraordinaire of Wilkins Pharmaceuticals, lowered his voice. “Because I don’t think—”
“Are you alone?” Caleb snapped, his patience running thin. Customer or not, Wilkins shouldn’t be calling if he had company.
“What? Yes, of course I am.”
“Then speak up,” C
aleb commanded. “I can’t hear you when you whisper like that.”
Wilkins cleared his throat. “I was saying I don’t think your methods are acceptable.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Did you see the paper today?”
Caleb glanced over at the newspaper lying in the passenger seat. “I did. What’s your point?”
“People are dying,” Wilkins said. “Doesn’t that bother you at all?”
Caleb rolled his eyes. The old man was such a hypocrite. “You hired me to do a job, did you not?”
“Yes, but—”
“And you knew my reputation, and the reputation of my organization, when you contacted me.” It wasn’t a question. Wilkins had received their information from another satisfied customer, a regular practice in his line of work. There was no way he hadn’t known the score when he’d picked up the phone that first time.
“Well, yes.”
“So why are you getting cold feet now?”
“It doesn’t seem to be working,” Wilkins said, his voice taking on a whiny edge that made Caleb’s fillings ache. “Drug sales haven’t improved in the wake of the outbreaks. I thought you said people would be clamoring for our medication!”
“I did say that,” Caleb replied, not liking the man’s petulant tone. “Do you remember what else I said?”
There was a pause, as if Wilkins was trying to recall their conversation. “I don’t know.”
“I told you to be patient. This isn’t going to happen overnight.”
Undeterred, Wilkins tried another tack. “I thought we were just going to make people sick. I didn’t know people were going to die!”
“Oh, please,” Caleb retorted. “Enough with the false concern for your fellow man. The only reason you’re upset is because dead people don’t buy antibiotics.”
Wilkins sputtered at that, but Caleb ignored him. “You need to give this time to work. An outbreak here, an outbreak there—soon the authorities will piece it together and then it will be national news. People will be clamoring for your antibiotic, just like everyone stockpiled Cipro after the anthrax mailings.”