“So he’s not a suspect?” Nick sounded vaguely disappointed and Genie had to sympathize. It would make life at Boston General much easier for the researchers—and the women—if George Dixon went away and took his radiation storm troopers with him.
“Not at this time, although we’ll keep checking. He doesn’t have a solid alibi for the time of Dr. Watson’s attack.”
Attack. In the darkroom. Genie saw a flash of black and red, felt the back of her neck heat with a stranger’s breath. She smelled the sharp bite of developer chemicals and heard a harsh voice over the rumble of the machines.
What? What had she seen? What had she heard? Would it give her a clue as to what was going on? Think! She had to think. Had to remember.
She needed to go back into the developer room to see if that jogged the block loose. She had to make her brain behave. Force it to give up the information it was hiding.
“Well, I still don’t trust him.” Nick scowled. “Not one bit.”
“Have you had a chance to look into pharmaceutical companies with interest in Fenton’s Ataxia?” Sturgeon changed the subject neatly and Genie frowned. She hadn’t even thought about calling her salespeople and asking them about Fenton’s. She never forgot homework assignments. Never. What was wrong with her?
“I made a few calls this morning.” She glanced at Nick, who looked alert and awake, rugged and just mussed enough to make her want to run her fingers through his hair to neaten it. He looked wonderful. And apparently while she’d been sleeping on her lightbox and jumping at shadows, he’d been doing his homework.
“My friend at the patent office unofficially pulled up a few records and told me there are currently three Fenton’s patents in the last stages of approval, two of which are suing each other for infringement. All of them are for improvements on the current drugs, not new ones.”
“Who owns them?” Sturgeon shuffled to a clean index card, pen poised.
Nick frowned. “Rothman Biometrics, Intelligenetics, and Petrie Pharmaceuticals. They’re all fully established companies with good track records.”
Sturgeon wrote the names and nodded. “Do either of your labs have contact with these companies?”
“I buy glassware and lab supplies from Petrie.” Genie frowned and cudgeled her uncooperative brain. “And I’m pretty sure we bought the automated sequencer and those two centrifuges from Intelligenetics last year. I don’t think I’ve ever done business with Rothman.” She turned to Nick. “You?”
He nodded. “I buy from Petrie, too, and we just ordered a half dozen gel boxes from Intelligenetics. Rothman doesn’t really sell lab supplies—it’s strictly a drug company. I’m not sure there’s any connection.”
Connections to drug companies. Steph’s new boyfriend was from Petrie Pharmaceuticals. Genie shoved the thought away. There was no way she was getting her new friend and her boyfriend into trouble over what had to be nothing more than a coincidence.
No way.
There was a tap at the door. “Dr. Watson? I mean, Genie?” Steph’s red head popped around the corner of the door. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but the extraction on that other pellet is done. Do you want me to rerun that Gray’s Glaucoma family with the new DNA?”
Genie remembered the outlier DNA from the morning, the one person that didn’t match the rest of his family. Normally such a mystery would excite her and she would spend the next few hours trying out scenarios that would make the data fit. Could he be adopted? The product of an affair? Switched at birth? Or maybe the small section of chromosome they were looking at had an abnormality that could only be seen at the DNA level, a duplication or an inversion that might cause the disease.
But this was no ordinary day and Genie wasn’t going to be responsible for anyone else getting hurt. She sighed heavily and shook her head. “I don’t think so, Steph. In fact I’m closing up shop for a few days until we get all this sorted out. I want you and Molly to help the others finish up whatever they’re working on, freeze it down in the ultralow temps for storage, and take the rest of the week off.”
“But I… But we…but.” Steph didn’t seem as overjoyed at the prospect of a few days off as Genie had expected.
“Consider it a bonus four day weekend. Spend some time with your boyfriend.” Genie tried to suppress the flutter of unease. Maybe she should tell Steph about the drug company connection. That was it, she’d give her a quick heads up about the direction Sturgeon’s questions were heading, and let Steph decide what to do about it. That way Genie would protect her new friend without siccing the police on her and causing her grief with her new guy.
Mumbling, Steph withdrew. Nick was frowning. “Are you planning on taking the rest of the week off, as well?”
“Of course not.” The thought had never occurred to her. “I’m going to stay here and call the other Fenton’s labs myself, see if there’s anything we’re missing. There has to be some reason this person wants the project shut down.”
“Unless he’s insane and he’s fixated on you for no reason,” Nick muttered darkly, earning himself a look from Sturgeon.
“That’s a possibility you should consider, Dr. Watson, and I also think you should leave town for a few days. Do you have family you could visit? Friends?”
Her remaining family was as foreign to her as the land of her mother’s birth. And her friends, such as they were, consisted of a scowling Nick Wellington and the three women who had kidnapped her and forced her to buy that tiny bronze dress not an hour earlier.
But instead of admitting that, Genie said, “There’s no way I’m leaving town now. I’m staying right here. You need me to figure out what’s going on and who this jerk is so you can catch him and make him go away for a very, very long time.” She glanced at Nick. “You can leave if you want, though.”
She’d thought he might get offended at the suggestion, but she was wrong. He just stretched lazily and said, “You’ve been trying to get me out of here since the day I walked in. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you set this whole thing up just so you could get the equipment all to yourself.”
“Yeah. I attacked myself and then blew up my own car just so you’d go away. You’ve got a pretty inflated opinion of your own power, don’t you, Beef?” But she touched his arm as she said it, to let him know that she appreciated his attempt to lighten the admittedly dark mood. He caught her fingers in his own and, almost unwillingly, their hands intertwined.
“I’m not leaving you alone, understand?” Nick brought their joined hands to his lips and she felt the kiss shimmer through her body until it coiled, throbbing and ready, in her stomach. “Until this is over, we’re a team.”
A team. The words glowed with promise if she ignored the time limit. Genie had never in her life been part of a team. The idea fascinated her. It worried her.
What if she did it wrong? What if she made a mistake?
Sturgeon cleared his throat and gathered his papers. “Well, that’s all I have for you today. Have you remembered anything more about your attack, Dr. Watson? If he mentioned on the phone that this was your second warning, it stands to reason he said something to you in the darkroom.”
As if she wouldn’t have told him that first thing. Genie shook her head. “Nothing more than a few impressions. I think I remember the darkness and the red lights warming up. Maybe a man behind me, breathing on my neck. A voice maybe? Nothing more than that.”
Nick’s fingers tightened. “A voice? Did you recognize it?
“Maybe. I think so. I don’t know.” Anger and fear and frustration beat at her, made her feel weak. “I don’t remember. I can’t remember. This has never happened to me before. I can always remember things.” It’s who I am.
“Don’t worry about it, Dr. Watson. It’s completely normal to suppress the memory of an event as traumatic as this. It’s your brain’s way of protecting itself.”
“It has no right,” she muttered, and Nick let go of her hand. She felt like crying for no good reason.
She shook her head, which was aching like fury again. “No hypnosis. I’ve tried it, and they tell me I’m not creative enough to be hypnotized.”
There had been a pre-Archer frat party at college. She had been fifteen and desperate to fit in—so desperate that she’d pretended that the mesmerism had worked and she’d been programmed to cluck like a chicken. For a few weeks she’d remembered to flap her arms and say “bock, bock, bock” every time a classmate said the word fellatio. Then the novelty had worn off and Genie the Amazing Chicken Girl had gone back to being simply Genius Watson, geek.
Absently she wondered whether the same thing would happen this time. Once the madman was caught, would life go back to normal at the lab? Would Molly and Steph and Jill smile politely in the halls and call her Dr. Watson? Would they occasionally invite her along for a Friday night beer and seem relieved when she said she had work to do?
And what about Nick? Would he remember that she liked extra salt on her popcorn and none on her eggs? Would he knock on her door some night and see whether she was up for an evening of James Bond? Would he touch her in passing, unaware of the starburst of warmth that a simple hand on her shoulder could create?
Or would they fall back into their old roles and once again become Genius Watson and Beef Wellington, barely civil co-workers who fought over the vibrating incubator and ignored each other on the elevator?
Bingo.
Genie scowled at Nick, as irritated with him as if he had already left in search of prettier, more socially astute company.
“Well, if you can’t be hypnotized, we’ll just have to keep digging at those drug companies and looking at people connected to the Fenton’s Ataxia project—including Mr. Dixon, however unlikely a suspect he might seem to Dr. Watson.” Sturgeon stood. “The phones here and at your house are tapped, and a local uniform will make regular passes by your condo. I assume you’ll be staying with Dr. Watson for the time being?”
The question was directed at Nick, who nodded, and Genie felt as if the Neanderthals had just agreed upon a strategy for defense of the cave. You go hunt. I’ll stay and protect woman from bear.
Nobody ever thought to ask the woman what she thought about the arrangement—except that in this case, the arrangement suited the woman just fine.
And that realization was as unsettling as the thought of a dead man floating in Boston Harbor.
Nick tapped his fingers impatiently on the desk and glanced at Genie. She had been silent for too long and it made him edgy. She was either processing that foolish scene earlier when he’d flipped out because she’d gone shopping with the girls—something she’d never done before, and why pick today to start?—or she was worrying about the faceless terror that waited outside somewhere…or most likely she was trying to think of a reason why he shouldn’t stay with her.
Besides the obvious one that he wasn’t sure he could spend another night in that condo without putting his hands on her.
Sturgeon took his index cards and left after assuring the two scientists that there would be regular police patrols of the lab area and increased security in the garage where Nick’s Bronco was parked. Genie paled at that last piece of information.
“You don’t think…”
“Of course not,” Sturgeon assured her. “He has no way of knowing that Dr. Wellington is involved, and no reason to wish him ill.” Nobody mentioned that Randy Baines hadn’t been involved, either, and he’d ended up dead. “The patrols are simply a precaution—one that has been fully supported by the hospital, I might add.”
“The hospital’s paying for the patrols and the garage security?” Nick wondered how badly Leo had squealed over the expense. The Head Administrator hated spending money on “unnecessary expenditures.” “Why? Did something else happen? I’m surprised they’re moving so fast.” He shot an apologetic glance at Genie. “Her car wasn’t on hospital property, and they’ve never been quick to react to things like this.”
“There was an incident at the Eye Center the day before yesterday,” Sturgeon allowed. He looked moderately embarrassed. “An office was broken into and a computer, some personal items, and several files were stolen.”
Nick frowned. “That’s the same day Genie was attacked. And this is the first we’re hearing of this?”
Sturgeon coughed. He was definitely looking put out. “Yes. Well, because the Eye Center is on the opposite side of Boston General, it is the responsibility of the Theater precinct, not Chinatown, and Peters and I didn’t get the information until earlier today. We’re checking into it, but it doesn’t seem related.”
“Two incidents at the same hospital on the same day and they’re not related?” Genie seemed to find that as unbelievable as Nick did. “What office was broken into? I have files at several departments over there.”
Sturgeon added a note to the growing pile and scowled. “You can be sure I’ll find out. For now, let’s concentrate on what we know about this case—that it’s connected to your Fenton’s project. That’s my job.” Sturgeon leveled a finger at Nick and Genie. “Your job is to stay safe.”
He made it to the door before he turned around and added, “And it sure would help if Dr. Watson could remember what happened in that darkroom.”
GENIE STOOD IN THE sterile white hallway and curled her fingers into sweaty palms. Her stomach churned sluggishly and the fluorescent lights stabbed into her eyes and made her head spin and hurt at the same time.
Nick’s office door, with its Face of Erectile Dysfunction poster, was slightly ajar and she knew the room was empty. Nick had followed Sturgeon downstairs, presumably to have more “man talk” without “worrying the little lady.”
Molly and Steph had cleared the last of the stragglers out of Genie’s lab, and Nick’s side of the floor was equally deserted. When had it gotten to be quitting time? Genie glanced at her watch and was surprised to find that it was past six o’clock.
She was alone.
The lid of the developer stood open and the big machine was silent. Though Jonesy, Boston General’s fix-it wizard, had been there that morning, the repairs would take at least another day and would involve the ordering of expensive brushes and rollers to rebuild the developer’s guts. A faint smell of chemicals still hung in the hallway, overlain with that of the cleaning solutions used to wash away all signs of Genie’s attack. Or so she hoped.
Because it was time to go back into the little room to see what memories it held.
She took a deep breath and put her hand on the light-lock door. What would she find in there? An enemy? A stranger? She thought of ice-blue eyes and shivered. A friend? Or nothing? What if she found nothing in there? No images, no memories, nothing.
Then she would know that her brain had well and truly failed her for the first time in her life. And in a way, that was the scariest thought of all.
“We going in?”
Genie jumped a mile and let out a little squeak. She’d been so caught up in arguing with her brain that she hadn’t noticed Nick’s arrival—but there he stood. At her shoulder. Handsome. Masculine.
Big Game.
Rubba-thump, rubba-thump. Pushing aside thoughts of hopeless fantasies, glad for his presence at her back, she spun the door so it would let her into the lock, then made sure that the outside switch was flipped up and the fluorescent lights were on in the little room. Rubba-thump, rubba-thump. She spun the door the other way and stepped into the developer room for the first time since she’d been carried out. The door rumbled behind her and Nick let himself through.
As she scanned the brightly lit, sparkling-clean room, Genie idly wondered how they had managed to get a stretcher out through the light lock. Then she recognized that thought for what it was: her rebellious brain’s way of avoiding the real issue.
; “Focus,” she told it, and stared hard at the stainless-steel sink at the end of the narrow room. There was a row of cabinets to the left, high shelves where they stored the film cassettes and the unexposed films, a waist-high counter where dark work could be done and a set of lower cabinets where the heavy bottles of developer chemicals were stored.
There was a fine layer of grit here and there, and Genie had watched enough forensics programs on TV to guess that it was fingerprinting powder. “They took prints and DNA samples?”
She felt Wellington nod at her back—felt it in the swirl of heavy air and the heat that trickled along her spine. “No real info from the prints yet, and the DNA is only good if there’s a suspect to compare it with.”
“No kidding. My lab does a little work for the forensics lab, remember?” But her idle remark held little sting as Genie tried to put herself back in time two days.
The room was cleaner than she’d ever seen it, and that in itself was eerie. She couldn’t remember the attack, and the room didn’t remember it, either.
It might never have happened at all.
But her stomach gave a little flutter at the sight of a pair of bandage scissors on the floor beneath the sink. She must remember them, but why? What had they done? Had he held them to her throat and whispered hot promises and heavy threats? Had she waved them around in the red blackness, trying to defend herself?
What had happened?
Suddenly cold in the close little space, Genie wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. It was too silent in the room. Too bright. She rocked herself and felt the unfamiliar bite of failure.
“I can’t remember.”
It almost broke Nick to see her standing there, holding herself as though she was the only person she’d ever been able to depend on. She closed her eyes in defeat, and that was enough to propel him the single step it took to close the distance between them.
Dr. Bodyguard Page 11