by Paige Tyler
Hale and Connor looked as worried by that admission as he was. Trey, on the other hand, was gazing at the pretty blond doctor with an expression of pure adoration. Yup. Werewolf puppy love, for sure.
“One favor,” Trey agreed. “But from me, not anyone else on the SWAT team. That way, if it is something illegal, I’m the only one on the hook.”
Samantha Mills didn’t even have to think about it before she nodded. “The task force has statements from the suspects your team managed to capture alive. They all remembered exactly what they were doing right before the crimes down to the last little detail. They were out doing normal, everyday stuff up until the moment they decided to go on a crime spree.”
Diego couldn’t help wondering how much of that was due to lawyers whispering in their ears, trying to create a defense for their clients by confusing the issue.
“It’s after they committed the crimes that things get interesting,” Dr. Mills continued. “The detectives working the case said none of the suspects remember how they got to the scenes where they committed those crimes, what they did there, or why they did it. A few of them said it was as if they were watching themselves do what they did from a distance, while the rest said everything was a complete blank. Like an alcoholic blackout.”
“Do you think that’s even possible?” Connor asked. “Blacking out in the middle of committing a crime, I mean.”
“I’ve never heard of it before, but it could be possible,” she admitted. “According to the detectives who talked to the suspects, they were terrified out of their minds when they realized they’d committed horrible crimes they have no memory of doing that were going to put them in prison for years.”
“Do you think the delirium theory is right and some kind of drug is making these people behave this way?” Diego asked.
“You’d think so, but I’ve done a full tox screen on the blood from the dead suspect at the diner and the three men currently in jail from the bank holdup, as well as preliminary bloodwork from the four baggage handlers who attacked you at the SWAT compound the other day, and still haven’t gotten a single hit for any known street or prescription drug. At least no drugs in the traditional sense.”
Diego frowned. “What do you mean, traditional sense?”
She let out a sigh. “Every one of the blood samples we’ve tested so far displayed an extremely high level of cortisol and adrenaline.”
“What could cause something like that?”
“Typically, cortisol and adrenaline are the by-products of extreme stress. You know, the whole fight-or-flight thing. But in those cases, the amount of chemicals released into the bloodstream is relatively minuscule and is usually burned off relatively fast. I can’t imagine what a person would have to go through to produce the amounts we found in these samples.”
“Would cortisol and adrenaline make people do what they did in these delirium cases?” Hale asked. “Could they have purposely taken them?”
Dr. Mills shrugged. “As far as taking them on purpose, it’s possible. They both have dozens of legitimate medical uses. Just not in the levels we’re seeing in these people. Regardless, all they do is raise your blood pressure, provide a burst of energy, and deaden pain to a degree. They don’t change your moral behavior and certainly don’t make you lose track of time.”
“So, that’s a dead end,” Diego said.
“Not necessarily,” she said. “I think the cortisol and adrenaline we’re finding are actually a secondary outcome of being exposed to something we haven’t found yet that’s causing these suspects to behave the way they did and creating the memory loss.”
“Any ideas what this something might be?” Diego asked.
“Not yet.” Leaning forward, she flipped open a folder and took out a map of downtown Dallas, spinning it around so they could see. There were little numbered yellow dots all over the place. “These markers are where the people claimed to be right before their memories went fuzzy.”
“They’re all near the financial district,” Diego remarked.
“Exactly,” she agreed. “The task force is focusing its attention on the known drug dealers who work that area.”
“Maybe we should check some of these locations and see if we can find anything the task force might have missed,” Trey suggested.
“Good idea.” Diego glanced at Hale and Connor. “Trey and I will take Uptown Plaza and see if we can find out anything on those college kids who tried to rob the bank. You guys head over to the construction company and ask around about the workers who hit the armored truck.”
“Sounds good,” Hale said.
Trey looked at the doctor. “If we find anything, will you tell us if it means something?”
She nodded. “I’ll look.”
A slow smile curved Trey’s mouth. “Thanks. We appreciate the help.”
Samantha Mills returned his smile with a flirtatious one of her own. “I’m not doing this for your appreciation. It’s all about that favor you’re going to owe me. And when it’s time for you to pay up, I’ll make sure to come looking for you.”
* * *
“I can’t thank you enough for helping me out, Detective Collins,” Bree said as the former DPD robbery cop escorted her up the lesser-used service elevators to the ninth floor, which was occupied by the offices of Garrett, Wallace, and Banks. “I would never have gotten up here without your help.”
The big man with the slight belly and the walrus mustache laughed, the sound echoing in the elevator and bouncing off the stainless-steel walls. “First off, I haven’t been a detective for almost five years, so you can call me Ryan. And as for getting you onto the ninth floor, if you can find a way to stick it to one of those stuck-up pricks up there, I’ll consider the favor more than repaid. Those snobs are one of nearly forty businesses in this building, but they act like they’re the only ones who matter. They treat everyone in this building—especially my security people—like crap.”
Bree could kiss Diego right now. Reaching out to Ryan Collins, the head of security for the building, had been a lifesaver. If not for that, she probably would have been escorted from the building already. Garrett, Wallace, and Banks weren’t the easiest people to approach without an invitation. Unless you were a multimillionaire looking to invest, of course. And since she hadn’t learned anything she didn’t already know after talking to each of the victims of the thefts, snooping around the investment firm could be pivotal to her investigation.
When the elevator came to a stop, Ryan reached out and hit the button to hold the doors closed. “Okay, before we go in there, let’s go over the plan again.”
“You’re going to hook me up with Jerri Sherwood, who’s dating one of your fellow security guards. She’ll lead me around under the guise of interviewing for an admin position with the company.”
The cover was another reason she owed Diego big. Even if she’d been able to get onto the ninth floor, without somebody like Jerri Sherwood to walk her around, she would have stood out like a sore thumb.
“Remember to stay away from the front reception area. They’ll know you’re not there for an interview since they book all of those,” Ryan said. “Just act like you belong up there and no one will be the wiser. If you run into any problems, text me and I’ll do my best to get you out of there in one piece.”
Bree nodded. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d waltzed into a place she didn’t belong. She could definitely pull it off. As long as she didn’t run into Dave, she’d be fine.
Ryan took his hand away from the button, and the doors opened onto a service corridor. A tall, blond woman was waiting for them. Ryan quickly introduced Bree to Jerri, then took the elevator back downstairs.
“You look great. No one will suspect you aren’t here for an interview,” Jerri said, giving Bree’s silk blouse and trousers a nod of approval. “Just try and sound dumber than you are if we talk
to any of the guys.”
Bree stared, incredulous. “Excuse me?”
“The place is filled with men who think the world revolves around their wallets or their dicks,” Jerri said as they started down the hall. “The idea of an intelligent woman terrifies them to the point of impotency. If we run into men dressed in suits worth more than your car, smile and nod at whatever they say like you’re a mindless simpleton. They’ll eat it up like gravy over biscuits.”
Crap. Jerri had just described Dave—and most of the men he’d worked with at his previous investment firm, now that Bree thought about it—to perfection. It was embarrassing to think how her eighteen-year-old self had swooned over him.
The hallway led to a huge cubicle farm with a battalion of office workers focused on their computer monitors. Several people glanced their way, then went back to what they were doing. The perimeter of the room was lined with individual offices, some with glass walls, some more private.
Jerri played her part convincingly, introducing her to people, explaining the layout of the floor, pointing out how the runners, researchers, number crunchers, and assistants occupied the central area, while the more senior investment advisors occupied the coveted offices. The bigger the office, the more money that particular broker had brought into the company.
Bree listened as Jerri mentioned each broker by name, waiting for her to point out Ken Reed’s office, but after making it nearly all the way around three walls of offices, they still hadn’t gotten to it. Maybe he was a partner in the firm?
She did a double take when Jerri pointed out the big corner office closest to the front as Dave’s. Damn. Apparently, he’d been telling the truth. Since the door was closed, hopefully he was in a meeting or out of the building.
“How did Dave Cowell get a corner office so fast?” she whispered.
Jerri glanced at her as they kept walking. “Do you know him?”
“You could say that,” Bree muttered, but didn’t offer any more information.
Jerri looked curious but didn’t push for details. “Dave had the partners eating out of his hand from day one. From what I heard, he told them that if they hired him and gave him a corner office, he’d come in the next morning with four million-dollar investors.”
“And?” Bree prompted.
“He came in with five,” Jerri said dryly. “Since then, he’s made GW&B a serious buttload of money. The partners want him up front so bad they can taste it.”
As they continued along the outside of the cubicles, Bree was about to ask Jerri about Reed when they passed by a table along the wall with flowers and framed photos of the man who’d taken them hostage at the diner a few days ago. She stopped in her tracks.
“Do you know who this is?”
Jerri nodded. “That’s Ken Reed. He’s one of our senior investment advisors. Or at least he was until he decided to take a diner full of people hostage and kill himself. Of all the brokers who work here, he was the nicest by far.” She shook her head. “We’re all still in shock. I have no idea what made him snap like that.”
Bree stared at the photos, her head spinning. The investment broker she was looking for was the same guy who’d held her and Brandon at gunpoint the other day? What were the odds of that?
Her gaze went from the picture of him in a suit and tie to one beside it where he was dressed more casually. His hair was longer in the second photo and he had a mustache. She leaned down to take a closer look at it, abruptly realizing she recognized him.
Ken Reed had worked with Dave six years ago. In fact, he’d tried to drag her ex off the man Dave had beaten to death. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t recognized him at the diner. Then again, she’d pretty much blocked everything out from that night.
Next to that photo was another. In it, Dave and Ken were standing side by side, arms draped over each other’s shoulders like they were the best of buds. What the…?
“Are you okay?” Jerri asked. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
Bree straightened up. “Were Ken and Dave friends?”
“Yeah. Ken got Dave an interview with the senior partners.”
The idea of Ken helping Dave get a job was ludicrous after what had happened at their previous place of employment. But Dave could be very manipulative, so anything was possible.
Bree looked at the photos again, focusing on why she was at Garrett, Wallace, and Banks in the first place. And it wasn’t to figure out why Ken and Dave had been so chummy. Ken had been the investment advisor for four people who’d been robbed, and then he’d ended up dead under the most bizarre of circumstances. Had he been involved in the robberies, then become so racked with guilt that he’d gone into that diner intending to commit suicide? But that didn’t make sense. If he regretted stealing that stuff, wouldn’t he have mentioned it while he’d been ranting and raving like a madman?
She was still trying to wrap her head around it when saw someone approach them out of the corner of her eye. She turned, cursing silently when she saw Dave standing there.
“Bree,” he said, giving her a smile. “What a nice surprise! I was just thinking about you. Let’s go into my office where we can talk.”
Taking her arm, he quickly hustled her the half-dozen feet to his office before she could pull away, closing the door behind them.
“Since you’re here, I guess that means you reconsidered my offer to have lunch.” He walked around his sleek, modern desk to pick up the phone. “Let me have my assistant reschedule my afternoon meetings. I’ll just be a minute.”
Bree fought the urge to roll her eyes. She’d come to the conclusion a long time ago that her ex was dense, but this attitude of his took the cake.
“I’m not here for lunch,” she snapped.
Dave’s eyes narrowed. “Then why are you here?”
It took her a second to come up with an excuse, but when it popped into her head, it wasn’t actually an excuse at all. “I’m here to tell you to stay away from Brandon. And before you deny it, I know for a fact you showed up at the apartment to harass him. Brandon is finally in a good place after all the crap thrown his way, and I don’t need you trying to weasel your way back into his life, confusing the hell out of him.”
Dave’s expression darkened, and it suddenly struck her that provoking a man who’d once beaten someone to death in a fit of anger wasn’t the best idea in the world. But she couldn’t back down, not when it came to protecting her son.
Her ex didn’t explode like she thought. Instead, he simply stood there, the emotions on his face changing so rapidly it was impossible to keep up with them. Anger was quickly followed by frustration, then confusion, and maybe even a little acceptance, strangely enough.
“Brandon is my son, too, you know,” he finally said.
She wasn’t surprised he went there. And if he was even the slightest bit sincere, she would have felt bad about wanting him to stay the hell away from Brandon. But everything with Dave came down to what he possessed, be it money, clothes, a fancy car, a big house, or his wife and kid. It was all the same to him.
“You were never interested in Brandon, even before you went to prison,” she pointed out. “Now you’re using him because you think it’ll help you win me back. Not that you actually want me, either. It’s the win that’s important to you, and always has been.”
His lip curled in a sneer. “That damn cop is putting you up to this, isn’t he? He’s trying to take my place as Brandon’s father and your husband. But Brandon is mine and so are you!”
“I don’t belong to anyone and neither does Brandon,” she told him. “Certainly not to you, that’s for damn sure.”
Dave paced back and forth behind his desk for a minute before grabbing a ceramic paperweight the size of a baseball. Bree braced herself, ready to duck, sure he was going to toss it at her, but instead, he smashed it down on the top of his desk with a curse, shatter
ing it into pieces and cutting his hand.
“I see you still haven’t worked through your anger-management issues,” she said with a wry snort.
Dave gazed at his hand for a moment before looking at her with a strange expression on his face. Before she realized what he was doing, he came around the desk toward her, holding out his bloody hand like some kind of bizarre offering.
“I need a Band-Aid,” he said, his voice low and seriously creepy as he moved closer.
Bree backed away, not liking the look in her ex-husband’s eyes. “Get your own damn Band-Aid,” she said, turning for the door.
But Dave was in front of her, cutting off her path.
Her heart beat faster as she realized she was trapped. She was opening her mouth to scream when the fire alarm suddenly went off, distracting Dave enough for Bree to make a mad dash for the door.
She slammed it behind her, both stunned and relieved to see Ryan standing there. He wrapped a protective arm around her shoulder, hurriedly guiding her toward the crowd of people heading for the nearest stairwell.
“Jerri texted and said you might need an assist,” Ryan said loud enough to be heard above the alarm and the commotion. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
As they blended in with the crowd, Bree ignored the urge to glance over her shoulder to see if Dave was following them. She didn’t think it was possible, but her ex was even more psychotic now than he’d been before. And maybe even more dangerous.
* * *
“You’re really going to help me get into the police academy, right?” the mall cop asked nervously, his gaze going from the bank of security monitors to Diego, then Trey.
He and Trey had gotten to Uptown Plaza about thirty minutes ago, but after wasting a bunch of time wandering around, they realized the only way they were going to get any answer was if they could see the mall’s security footage from the time frame those three college kids had supposedly been there. And that wasn’t going to happen unless they could get one of the security guards to show it to them.