by Misty Evans
“Nope.”
He spread his hands. “You’ve seen pretty much every side to me. You know most of what there is to know. Take it or leave it. I don’t have anything to hide from you, and…” He grinned. “You’re free to look at my chest all you like.”
Her return smile could have lit up Manhattan. “You told me you don’t let people get close to you, that you would be bad for me. You were wrong on both counts. I see how you push Grey and the others away, but secretly you like that they want to help you. You pushed me away at first, tried to make me believe you were too damaged. A lost cause. But underneath it all, you’re just scared. Of being betrayed again. Of being hurt.”
The investigative reporter was back. Brice kept his face straight even though he wanted to suck in air. His chest felt tight. The cut on the back of his neck itched. Couldn’t they just continue their semi-quiet breakfast together?
“Yep, there it is,” Hope said. She bit off a piece of toast.
“What?”
She chewed and swallowed. “That shuttered expression you get when we talk about emotions.”
He didn’t respond, and dug into his eggs.
Like usual, she wouldn’t let it go. “You just said, and I quote, ‘I don’t have anything to hide from you’, but you’re hiding your feelings right now.”
Feelings sucked. They led him down dark alleys and ambushed him. “I’m not a touchy-feely kind of guy.”
“I don’t know about that.” He glanced up and she winked. “You’re very touchy-feely when I’m naked.”
He couldn’t help it. Just like Grey had caught him off guard the day before, Hope had done that now. He laughed.
God, it felt good to laugh.
And just like that, the wall around his heart crumbled. Not piece by piece, layer by layer, but all at once, as if Hope had blown a gigantic hole in the center and its structural integrity disintegrated, laying it to waste. “Hope?”
“Yeah?”
“I think I…I…”
His phone rang.
“You what?” she said.
Saved in the nick of time. Before he laid his heart out right there on the table and told her how he felt about her.
Leaning back in the chair, he grabbed his cell off the kitchen counter. “It’s Grey. Maybe they found something out about our guy.”
Hope didn’t look all that excited. As Brice answered, she looked away, snatching up her juice and taking a sip.
“We got a hit,” Grey said without preamble. “Name, address, job.”
Yes! Brice jumped up, feeling the surge of adrenaline. He put Grey on speaker. “Who is he?”
“Not over the phone. You better come in for this.”
Grey had called, not Teeg. He didn’t want to share the information over the phone.
Shit, this must be big. “You told me to stay put yesterday, now you want me to come to headquarters?”
“You’re going to need to handle this information with kid gloves. I feel it’s prudent to discuss your next step in private.”
Meaning without Hope. Brice glanced at her. She had that look on her face. The one that said she was already pissed and not about to let him leave her out of this. “Hope can handle it.”
“I don’t doubt Miss Denby can handle the information. My concern is that she have plausible deniability down the road.”
“I’ve already lost my frickin’ job,” she said loudly. “I don’t need to deny anything.”
Grey’s pause was so slight, Brice knew he was biting his tongue. “Your involvement could lead to more serious circumstances, Miss Denby. I have concerns about your safety.”
A light bulb went on over Brice’s head. His gut was going crazy with nerves. Now he felt an extra twinge that Hope could be in more danger. “I’ll be there in twenty,” he told his new boss and hung up.
Hope stood and took her plate to the sink. “You’re not going without me. We’re in this together.”
He grabbed her arm, held her still. “When Grey says you need deniability, he means it. When he’s concerned about your safety, we need to listen.”
“You’ve kept me plenty safe so far.”
Even after everything they’d been through, she didn’t understand the depths of danger they were swimming in. “This guy, whoever he is and however he’s tied to this case, must be someone who’s untouchable or has a lot of pull in D.C. Something’s got Grey’s boxers in a bunch. We need to do what he says for now. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
He’d planned to look through the info he’d gathered on the CEO and board of Kenton along with Dr. Block, the scientist. Maybe he and Teeg had both missed something. “On my laptop is all the dirt I could dig up on the Kenton folks. Read through it and see if anything jumps out at you.”
“You said they were all dead ends.”
“A fresh set of eyes might see something I missed.”
She pulled away from his hand. “Fine, but you better not leave me out of any plans you make with Grey. I don’t care if my butt is on the line down the road. I lost everything over this, and I’m not backing down now.”
He kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry, Woodward. I’ll make sure you have your day in the sun.”
She tagged along behind him as he left the kitchen and went to find a shirt. “And don’t think you’re off the hook about what you said earlier.”
What had he said? “What?”
“You were going to tell me something at the table before we were interrupted.”
Right. He tugged a shirt over his head, grabbed his shoes. “It was nothing important.”
She followed him to the door where he grabbed his truck keys. “Brice?”
“Yeah, babe?”
Her heart was in her eyes. She chewed on her bottom lip. “Be careful, okay?”
He grabbed her and kissed her, then ducked out the door.
Chapter Twenty-two
After a quick shower, Hope killed time by cleaning up the breakfast dishes, a chore she suddenly didn’t mind so much. Hope Denby, domestic goddess. Most definitely a new concept since she couldn’t whip up a grilled cheese sandwich without scorching one side.
But with the kitchen back to sparkling, the silence in the tiny apartment, the bland nothingness that came with Hawk’s absence, drove home just how alone she was. Here she was playing house, no job, possibly on the run from a murderer and, God help her, despite her best efforts, falling in love.
With a blogger.
The lack of a job and running from the murderer she might be able to handle. Truly. Because down deep, she liked the drama. Twisted as that was. She didn’t like being in danger, not for one second, but knowing that danger stemmed from the work she and Hawk had done in pursuit of an assassin? Total turn-on.
Clearly a big one with the way she and Hawk had been humping like bunnies.
“Girlfriend,” she muttered, “you’re a sick person.”
The baseboard heater, one of those old metal ones let out a little clink and she stared down at it. Any second, a burst of hot air would fly from the thing. They couldn’t regulate the heat in the place. If they turned the thermostat down, the living room became a freezer. If they turned it up, where it was now, it quite literally drove them out of the kitchen. Can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.
Except, she was in the only safe place for her. Nowhere else to go. She glanced left, studied the living room’s threadbare rug. Safe place.
In a matter of days she’d gone from being the rock star in her office, an up-and-coming young woman with dreams of a future in politics, to living above a nail salon in Chinatown.
All because she wanted to know how a Supreme Court Justice wound up dead on a bridge.
As if on cue, a burst of hot air rose and slid up her right arm. She needed something to do. And not in the kitchen. The kitchen made her think too much and she’d always been way better at doing versus thinking.
Find the upsh
ot.
Files.
Hawk had left files. Basic background stuff on Donazem and the patent case. While she waited, she’d go through it. Fresh set of eyes, Hawk had said. If nothing else, she could provide that. All this feeling sorry for herself wasn’t doing a damned bit of good.
The heater hissed and she stepped back before the next burst of air hit her. She needed to get busy and ignore this unsettling aloneness.
From the fridge, she grabbed a bottled water and made her way to the living room where Hawk had left a legal pad and a stack of files. She perused his handwritten block-lettered notes with ease. How she loved a man who wrote legibly. Half the men in her office scribbled to the point where she needed an interpreter.
His thoroughness didn’t stop there. Not Hawk, his writing, like the man, was direct, well thought-out and organized, starting with the origins of Donazem and all the players involved. On the side margin, he’d noted the scientist’s name—Martin Block—with a question mark.
When they’d met Tony near the Reflecting Pool, he’d given them a summary of Dr. Block’s successful career. Obviously, Hawk had questions and wanted to perform further research. Might as well dive into the professional history of one Martin Block PhD. Hope typed the scientist’s name into her search engine and—voila—pages and pages of articles popped up. Ah, the Internet. What a wonder.
She scrolled through the list, didn’t see anything to get her jumpstarted and refined her search to Martin Block PhD Donazem.
Again, pages and pages of articles filled her screen. She perused the subjects and chose the fourth listing that included a bio with all the yada-yada boring facts about the man’s rise to head of research and development for Donazem.
Rather than co-mingle her thoughts with Hawk’s, she flipped to a fresh sheet of paper and jotted a few notes. Nothing worthy of stopping the proverbial presses—or blog postings—as it were, but she noted several items. The drug had been in development for fourteen years with a manufacturing cost of $359 million. Impressed by the number, Hope whistled.
More interesting was that Donazem, one of over four thousand drugs that Kenton had developed, had actually made it to human trial testing when all the others had failed. Kenton manufactured other drugs of course, but one in four thousand?
Huh.
Hope circled that little tidbit. Was that the industry average? She shook her head. No idea. She’d research that next.
Back to Martin Block. She closed the current screen, scanned more links and clicked on one referencing an interview with Dr. Block. She perused the text of the interview, rolling her eyes at some of the man’s incredibly pompous answers. Why, of course, he was head of his class. Why, of course, he’d been one of the lead scientists on a cancer fighting drug that saved millions of lives.
Of course.
Of course.
Of course.
Trend here. One that showed this guy had an ego the size of the moon. She drew a picture of the moon in the margin of her notes.
Ego.
Which might not mean anything, but in her short career she’d seen all kinds of wacky things happen when egos were involved.
She scrolled to the bottom of the interview. And, hello, my darling. The wondrous Dr. Block, as part of his normal salary package received ‘significant bonuses in cash and stock options’ based on the performance of Donazem.
Hope read the line again, then a third time before slouching into the cheap sofa. She nibbled her bottom lip.
Ego.
Money.
Years of work.
She popped off the sofa, set her hands on her hips, tapped her fingers as energy poured from her core into her limbs.
“Okay, Hope, don’t get crazy here. So, the guy has a stake in the performance of the drug. So what?”
She paced the length of the room, avoiding the front window, and flopped out her right hand.
“If the drug doesn’t sell well, he loses a good chunk of his income.”
She flopped her other hand out. “Which means, if they don’t get to keep their patent and other companies develop generics, all those juicy profits belonging to Donazem will be splintered. And that, Woodward,” she said, “means an income reduction for the good doctor.”
Which nobody liked. Right? Everyone wanted to make money.
Huh.
She scooped up her phone, hit Hawk’s number. Voicemail. Shoot. She needed someone to dig into Martin Block’s finances and Grey seemed like the man to get that done. Grey or Teeg. Both of whom she didn’t have contact info for.
Tony.
Even on suspension from the Supreme Court Police, he had to have friends who could run a credit check on the scientist.
A minute later he picked up. “What’s up, Hope?”
“Hi. I need your help. Hawk is out of touch and I just found something that may or may not be related to Donazem’s patent.
“What do you need?”
“Again, this could be nothing.”
“Hope, I get it. Now shut up and tell me what you’ve got.”
She grinned. A man after her own heart. “I think I might love you.”
“Honey, if that were true, my life would be made. Besides, seems like Brice has dibs. Whatcha got?”
Dibs. Funny.
“I’ve been doing some research on the scientist behind Donazem. Martin Block, PhD. He’s head of R&D on the drug. Fourteen years and a manufacturing cost of $359 million later, the drug brought in $3 billion last year alone.”
“Billion?”
“You heard right, big boy. It gets better. Our esteemed Dr. Block, as part of his salary package receives bonuses and stock options in the company. If the drug sells well, he gets a gold star by way of a lump of cash.”
“How much?”
“No idea. That’s where you come in. Know anyone at the IRS? Can we figure out how much he made last year? Maybe even run a credit check and see what his financial profile looks like?”
“As in, does he own a house in Barbados?”
She didn’t need to comment. They both knew he’d nailed it.
“This is good work, Hope. Let me get into it.”
“Thank you.”
“Hey,” he said. “I want answers on Turner as much as you do. By the way, sorry you got canned.”
If he’d heard, so had a lot of other people. A week ago, the humiliation would have paralyzed her. Now? Not so much. Now, she just wanted answers about Turner’s death.
“You got shafted,” Tony said.
“Well, so did you. What’s the status of your suspension?”
He hesitated. “Not sure. I may not care either.”
“Uh.”
Hope stopped talking, took a second to align her thoughts. That alone was a switch, but she didn’t need to be pissing Tony off with flip comments.
Clarify. That’s what she’d do. “What do you mean?”
“Eh. Without Turner I’m not sure this job is for me anymore. For two years I’ve been bored out of my skull. There’s not a whole lot of excitement, which I knew going in. Mostly protection details and threat assessments. I liked Turner though and he kept me from leaving.”
And with Turner gone, there was nothing keeping him there.
Not only was Tony grieving the loss of his friend, he might have a job upheaval to deal with. “Are you thinking about resigning?”
“Not yet. But I am thinking about applying for the FBI. Maybe DEA. Something. Anyway, let me look into this scientist. Get back to you.”
“Thanks, pal. I’ll dig around more on this guy. I may even go old school and ring him up. Tell him I’m a reporter for the Patriot Blog and see if he’ll talk to me.”
“Pfft, he’s an idiot if he does. He’ll never talk to you.”
The big man would be surprised. “Tony, one thing I’ve learned in D.C. is that sometimes really smart people do really stupid things.”
The abandoned armory was as dark and dreary as ever on the outside. Perfect place to film a p
ost-apocalyptic zombie flick, Brice thought as he pulled his car around the back.
Or the next Batman movie.
Inside, the overhead industrial lights glared harshly, and from the looks on everyone’s faces as he walked in, the zombie movie might actually be a possibility. “Long night?” he asked Teeg.
“You ain’t kidding,” the techy murmured, chin in his hand, eyes barely open.
Brice grabbed a chair from the table Mitch sat at and hauled it over to Teeg’s station. Mitch never lifted his eyes from the file he was working on, but grumbled something Brice didn’t understand. The circles under his eyes and lack of smart-ass comment told Brice he’d pulled an all-nighter as well.
Caroline sat alone at a table in the back of the open room, cleaning her rifle. She nodded at Brice once, then went back to checking her scope.
“Where’s Grey?” Brice asked.
Teeg’s lips were becoming misshapen as his chin slid off the shelf of his hand and he leaned over onto his arm. His eyes fluttered shut. “Bagel run.”
Great. Grey dropped a mysterious bomb on him and then went out for bagels. He turned the chair around and plunked down in it. “Show me what you found.”
Teeg’s response was a soft snore.
Brice thought about pinching the kid’s arm, then decided he’d get what he wanted faster if he let Teeg sleep.
Reaching past him, Brice grabbed the keyboard and started to type.
“Hey!” Teeg sat bolt upright. “Nobody touches Frodo except me.”
“Frodo?” Brice forced himself not to roll his eyes. “You named your computer?”
From behind them, Mitch spoke up. “Each part of the computer. The keyboard is Frodo, the CPU is The Ring, the monitor to your left is Gandalf, and the one to your right is Legolas. It’s a Lord of the Rings reunion.”
Teeg grabbed the wireless keyboard and hugged it to his chest. “LOTR is the greatest story ever written!”
“And I’m the president,” Mitch murmured, going back to work.
The side door opened and Grey strolled in with two white bakery bags. “Breakfast,” he said.
Caroline laid the scope on her table. “Thank God. I could eat a horse.”