by Amy McKinley
The funeral home was decorated in soft, muted colors. The light cast a warm amber glow over the tan-and-wood interior. A box of tissues was on each table’s surface. A mix of comfortable armchairs and a couch were in the back of the room, filled with grieving people, as was the lobby. We moved more deeply into the viewing room, weaving through a press of dark-clad colleagues and friends conversing in low murmurs. Rows of chairs faced the raised platform where Fran rested.
We took our turn at the casket, and a sob slipped from Jules’s lips. I wished I could hold and comfort her, but all I could do was offer support by being there. My open palm rested on her lower back, letting her know she wasn’t alone.
The casket was open, and Fran’s hands were arranged one over the other, the gruesome incision effectively covered. While she stood next to Fran, I scanned the crowd. Each of the faces I saw held the same disbelief, grief, and shock in varying degrees. The specific way Fran had died—I didn’t believe it was suicide—was no coincidence. Whoever wished Jules harm would be close by, possibly in attendance.
Murmurs of conversation buzzed while muffled sobs filled the silence when words failed. We stepped aside from saying goodbye to Fran so the next people in line could have their turn. From time to time, co-workers reached out to squeeze Jules’s hand or arm. Her body shook harder, her plump lower lip trembled, and she sank her teeth into it before ducking her head.
I shifted my hand to her waist and pulled her against my body after she’d stumbled one too many times. “Jules.”
Pressing further into me, she turned to a tall, thin man who approached her with sadness clinging to his frowning features.
“Peter.” She reached for his hands and squeezed.
My team and I had viewed all the personnel files and background checks for everyone who had access to the research facility floor Jules was on. Peter hadn’t raised a single red flag. Even so, my gut tightened, but my instincts of a threat didn’t flare. Am I jealous of a lanky scientist? His free hand came up and covered hers, and a jolt of anger slammed into me. Shit, I am.
Behind wire-rimmed glasses, Peter shot anxious glances my way as he conversed with Jules. I fought the urge to grin, which was not exactly appropriate, but it was difficult to withhold the predatory smile I wanted to flash. Yeah, be nervous. She’s with me. The corner of my mouth twitched.
The guys would get a laugh out of my reaction. I’d never found anyone that made me act like, well, one of them, at least among my brother, Liam, Matt, and Jack. The rest were single, which I technically was too. Do I want to be? My hand tightened on Jules’s waist. Even as small as she was, she fit against my side as if we’d been made for each other. I wanted to pursue whatever was growing between us.
By the fifth nervous glance from Peter, I pulled fully out of my thoughts and listened to what he was saying.
“A bunch of us are going out for drinks after… Do you want to go with?”
His hopefulness made me want to growl.
“Thanks, Peter, but I want to go home. It’s been a tough week, and the next one will be…”
Hell. I knew that’s what she wanted to say. The next day at work, she would feel Fran’s absence excruciatingly. My gut told me that the mishaps and accidents happening around her weren’t a result of her actions, as my team had worried. Instead, someone wanted to make her vulnerable. Whatever was going on, I would have to stay vigilant to make sure no one got to her.
Rain beaded against the car window and left trails as it slid down the pane. The wind howled, and the clouds rolled, threatening to unleash a torrential downpour at any moment. It was fitting. I wanted to curl into a ball and cry for Fran. I never knew she was depressed. They said she’d slit her wrist and taken her life, but it didn’t make sense at all. More often than not, she was happy or yelling to counter my quick temper. We were friends and colleagues, and I had no idea what I was going to do without her.
Trev pulled up the driveway to my home, and shock jolted down my body, leaving tingles in its wake. The front door was open. “I closed that.” I turned and implored him to agree, my eyes wide as they could go. “You heard the slam.”
A brief nod was all he gave me, but it was enough.
“Lock the doors behind me. Wait here.” Trev left the truck running before getting out and jogging to the yawning doorway.
No freaking way. I’m not waiting here. I felt like a sitting duck. I shut the engine off and slipped out and into the rain as quietly as I could. Not far behind Trev, I sloshed onto the soaked rug in the entryway. Crap. I would need to take care of that.
My heart thudded against my rib cage just as Trev reappeared before me. Frustration was evident in his tense shoulders and the grooves bracketing his mouth, which was pressed into a thin line. I knew I’d caused some of his reaction by not staying in the SUV. “The house is clear. No one is inside.”
I sagged against the doorframe. He pulled me to him and shut the door behind me. “Why don’t you look around to make sure nothing is missing while I take care of cleaning up the entryway.”
I nodded, slipped my wet shoes off, and moved farther inside. I didn’t have much of value except some earrings that had been my mom’s, a broken bracelet—a replica of one given to my sister—pictures, and my mom’s cookbook. In front of the bookcase that held my mom’s recipes, I carefully lifted the thick binder from its shelf. It was packed full of handwritten notes and coveted recipes, and relief washed over me that it was still there. I didn’t know why I thought it wouldn’t be—who would steal a cookbook?
To me, the book was invaluable. Each handwritten recipe and note was from my mom, and I couldn’t ever replace them or the time spent with her that the binder symbolized. Flipping through the recipes, I stopped at the section where she’d tucked a letter in between the pages for me. A few more tears ran down my cheeks, following the same tracks that’d been left behind from Fran’s funeral. I miss you, Mom. My fingers traced her flowing script. Juliana—no one called me by my full name except her. I missed hearing her say it with her Italian lilt.
While the things that’d been happening to or around me were odd and heartbreaking, I didn’t think the instances warranted opening Pandora’s letter. I knew I couldn’t open it just because I missed her and wanted to read what she’d written to feel closer to her.
I closed the binder then put it safely back on its shelf. With every step through each room, I had the sense that someone had been in my house. The energy felt different.
I figured I was probably making myself crazy and hurried back to where Trev was mopping up the excess water just inside the front door.
“It’s windy. Could be that the door didn’t latch when you left. You ran out in a rush. Maybe you forgot to lock it. Either way, I’ll review the security footage.”
I shrugged, still looking around to see if anything was out of place. “Maybe.” Then I saw it: the small side table by the front door had held a small picture of Mom, but it wasn’t there. Frantically, I turned, trying to find it.
On the coffee table in the living room, the frame was angled perfectly to face whoever sat on the couch.
Someone had been there.
I breezed through security at the front entry, barely acknowledging the guard on duty, swiped my ID, rode the elevator, and entered the lab. It was Monday, and it felt like one. The travel mug of coffee was my life force. I’d had two cups, and I would need another one after I finished what I had. It was going to be that kind of day or week.
“Jules.” Carl popped his head in before I made it to my desk.
“Yes. Just let me put my purse away.” But not the coffee. That’s going with me. I rounded a few tables until I arrived at my station and jerked to a stop. Shit. A collection tray of test tubes sat on my desk. My eyes narrowed then went wide. They were mine. I couldn’t have done that, could I have?
I dropped my purse in a drawer and felt the tubes. They were cool to the touch. I didn’t understand. The last time I’d been in the lab was on F
riday. We never left our work out. What is going on?
I sagged against the side of the desk. I’m going crazy. Seriously, I can’t handle this. Taking the chance of making Carl mad by not heading to his office right away, I grabbed my cell and pressed the right contact number to connect to Trev. I’d shown him the picture of Mom the night before and where the frame used to sit. The door being open and the moved photo added up to seem like more than my usual scatterbrained ways. And I didn’t leave the collection tray out. I couldn’t have. If I had, the tubes would have been room temperature, the experiment that held one of the Russian’s biopsies compromised. It wouldn’t have stayed cold for two days. Someone had done it deliberately, and that time, I knew it hadn’t been me.
Trev answered right away. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I think so. But—”
“What’s wrong?” His voice cracked like a whip through the speaker.
Shit. I’m being paranoid. “One of my experiments was left out on my desk this morning. It’s still cool, like it hasn’t been out of the refrigerated storage long.”
“Is anyone else there?”
“No. I mean, yes. Carl is, and a few others are.” God, I’m an idiot. “I shouldn’t have called. I bet it was Carl.” I glanced around the open room that held a few desks, tables with equipment lining one side of the room, and storage along the back. No one else who’d worked on the project seemed to be in yet.
“You did the right thing, Jules. If you’re scared or think something’s wrong, I want you to get ahold of me immediately. It probably was Carl, but you should ask to make sure. Do you want me to come? I can hang out there today.”
“Ah, no.”
Trev laughed. “It’s not a problem. You won’t even know I’m there.”
I couldn’t help it—I snorted. “Are you aware of the riot you’ll cause with the female population within this office?” With Sandy? “No work will get done.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
I could hear the smile in his voice, and my shoulders relaxed. He made things better. I grinned as if he could see me. “Thanks, Trev. It helped to talk it through with you.” I shook my head as we said goodbye, wondering when he had wormed his way into my heart. There was no denying it anymore: I cared about him.
I dropped my cell into my lab-coat pocket, and with one more glance at the test tubes on my desk, I went in search of Carl.
I tapped lightly on his doorframe, and Carl lifted his head from whatever papers he was reviewing.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Yes.” He motioned for me to come in, and a deep sigh filled the air. “Fran will be missed. How are you holding up?”
Not great. I miss her. And at work, I felt her absence the most. “Putting one foot in front of the other. Some moments are okay. Others are more difficult.”
I sank into one of the plush seats he had in front of his desk. I’d always wondered why he had such comfortable chairs for others to sit on. I would have thought he would want us in and out as quickly as possible.
He dropped the pen he’d been holding and leaned back, giving me his full attention.
Before we started with whatever he wanted to talk about, I needed answers. “Do you know anything about the new trials that were left on my desk this morning? I put everything away before the weekend, and the vials were cool to the touch so…”
Carl’s brows furrowed. “No, I can’t say that I do. But it could have been your new lab assistant pulling it out, trying to anticipate what you’d need first thing. Which is what I wanted to talk to you about. Peter has been assigned to help you, at least for a few weeks.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up his hand, his palm facing me.
“Just for a few weeks, Jules. If he doesn’t fit, I’ll find you someone who will, but you need help.”
I scowled at him. “I’m capable of doing the work without someone fetching everything I need.”
Carl chuckled. Damn him.
“I know you can, but when you’re chasing a cure, on the verge of discovery, you lose track of time.”
It was true. During those situations, I’d lost track of hours, skipped lunch and dinner, and fallen asleep at my desk only to wake up at work the next morning. A few times, I’d fumbled vital experiments due to my preoccupation with solving a work-related problem. I crossed my arms, exhausted and not wanting to admit he was right. “Fine. I’ll try to cooperate with Pete as my assistant.”
Carl shuffled the papers on his desk. “That’s all I ask.”
I shifted in my seat, mulling over a problem that I couldn’t let go. “Do special teams like Trev’s have access to the restricted military vector if they go to one of the high-risk territories?”
“No.” He drummed his fingers on his desk. “If Trev’s private military team is called in, there is very little preparation time. They aren’t government employees any longer, and they don’t have access to all the shots, especially ones like what you’ve developed.”
“I want them to. I want a batch specifically on hand, should they deploy to any of the hot spots. Or I could administer the tool kit to them within the month.”
He shook his head.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “This is important to me.”
His eyes took on a speculative gleam as he drummed his fingers on the desk. “I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, how is the wound salve progressing?”
“Well. I’m almost there.” My thumb slipped beneath the cuff of my lab coat and traced over the old scars. The salve was close to my heart and very near completion. “I have some more testing to do, and then I’ll have a better time line for you.” I tugged at a loose string on my coat. “Did Dr. Mikhailov receive the antibody vials?”
“He did, and they’ve helped tremendously. I’ll forward his response and the developments he’s reported since the injections were given.”
“Thanks. I’m glad we could help.” I wanted to ask about the tool-kit leak, but maybe not just then. Carl would handle that and figure out who was responsible.
“Then get back to work.” He winked, which took any sting from his words.
I grinned. He would push until he got what he wanted, but I didn’t mind. Science was my drug. I was obsessive about my experiments, and if it wasn’t for needing to sleep, I would probably have worked until I dropped. Fran used to have to drag me away. With that thought, my shoulder slammed into the hallway wall.
My feet dragged as I neared my desk, where Peter greeted me with a smile. My gut churned. I didn’t understand why he seemed to be so happy, nor was I pleased that we would be sharing a workspace.
“I want to let you know I’m grateful for the opportunity to work with you.”
“Thanks, Peter.” I wanted to take a step back from his enthusiasm. I found it odd that we were paired in the first place, as he hadn’t worked as an assistant before, so I wondered why he had been assigned to me. That seemed below his skill level.
“Fran was very lucky to be included in your research for the tool kit.” Behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his eyes sparkled with excitement. “Do you have ideas for another tool kit?”
Oh, that’s his angle? To be linked with me in case I make another discovery? I got the impression his career hadn’t been going as he’d hoped—no scientist who already had a secure position would take one that was beneath them. “Nothing new right now. We need to tie up everything with the three projects I’ve been working on.” It was busy work that he’d unknowingly signed up for in order to work for me. It was going to be a very long day. I wondered how long he would last.
Sweat dripped from my chin, tickling as it rolled into my sports bra. I needed to run. Yesterday, working with Peter had been trying, and I expected a similar experience today. I lengthened my stride, my running shoes pounding against the shoreline beside Trev’s. He increased his speed, and I did the same. Even though he had longer legs, I kept up with him, at least for the most part. I was determined to b
eat him. Losing in Maine and cooking breakfast hadn’t been a big deal, but I wanted to win.
Loose sand chased us every step of the way, but I was rarely a klutz while running. With each swing of my arms, the wind and endorphins lessened the grief over losing Fran. It wasn’t gone, just manageable.
Music pumped through my earbuds, and I let the rhythm fuel me. Salty sea spray kissed my right side as a gust of wind hurled the droplets our way. I tucked my chin, lengthened my stride, and flew.
The thudding of his feet and the idea of him catching me spurred me to push harder in anticipation of winning. Like always, my mind eased into a runner’s high. The race became about the beach, my inner thoughts free to drift. Calculations danced through my head. While my body worked, my anxiety lessened, allowing another level of thinking that I craved.
Running gave me the freedom to work on problems, either work or personal, and find plausible solutions. When the chemical makeup of the healing salve I’d been stuck on came to the forefront of my thoughts, I pulled apart the issues, isolated them, and toyed with answers. As my foot crossed the imaginary finish line we’d set, I saw clearly how to fix it.
A sense of elation flooded me as I slowed my stride and cooled down. With a glance over my shoulder, I grinned at Trev, pulled an earbud out, and blew him a kiss. “I won.”
He’d decreased his pace, too, until I’d taunted him. Mischief danced in his eyes, and my heart skipped a beat. In two strides, he was on me. I squealed as his sweaty arms wrapped around my waist. When he pivoted toward the water, I turned into an octopus. I wound my legs and arms tightly around him. “If you even think about it…”
Deep laughter teased my ear, and I shivered as his lips grazed the sensitive lobe. I jerked against him, my legs tightening even more. What was that?