Simple Misconception (Jordan James, PI Series)

by Rachel Sharpe

  “What has she come across?”

  “Impatient much?”

  I didn’t reply.

  “Like I said, she’s still looking. At first, she noticed it seemed like he flew in and out twelve times in the past year. Now, it looks like that number may be higher. Most of the flights were to Copenhagen, but a few were to Estonia. And Belgium. He used different names. Oh, and he had an issue with Customs.”

  My heart jumped. “What?”

  “This isn’t a police report, Sherlock. There’s no descriptive narrative. She said there was some kind of issue with him that led to them doing a full body search. If she was reading it right, something about his luggage.”

  “It doesn’t say anything else? Was it drugs?”

  At this, Zane glanced at me. It was a strange look that left me more uncomfortable than anything else he had done in the past few hours. I looked away. When I turned back, his gaze was elsewhere.

  “I don’t know.”

  “When was this?”

  “I don’t know. Wait. No. I think she said in May.”

  “Do you remember what happened back in May?” Dr. Weisman had bellowed. “I had to give that bag back to Alrick! And this last time . . . if they had bothered to do their damn jobs and actually search my carry-on . . . let’s just say somebody up there likes me.”

  “Was he detained?” I swallowed hard, hoping it would calm me enough to be able to hear his reply over the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my eardrums.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Pretty sure she would’ve told me that.” Jon paused. “Wouldn’t that put you on some, like, no-fly list? Like you’re a terrorist?”

  “Are you asking me or telling?”

  “Asking.”

  “How should I know?”

  “No need for attitude.”

  Likewise.

  I glanced over at Zane. He was sipping his coffee. The engine purred. He stared out the driver’s side window, bored. Still, I sensed he was listening to every word I said. Closely. “Did she say anything else?”

  Jon sighed. “I don’t think I need to repeat myself. She really didn’t have much. Just that there was something weird going on, like, something off with this guy. That and your friend’s some kind of pothead.”

  My heart dropped. “Okay. Well, if you hear anything else?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Call you.”

  “Thanks, Jon. Bye.”

  “Oh, wait. There was one other thing.”

  “What?” I said too eagerly. I could feel Zane’s stare on my neck.

  “She found his name mentioned on some backdoor site.”

  “What?”

  Jon groaned. “I don’t know the term. Black market? Something. Just stay with me, okay? Sophie’s connected. She’s not gonna get herself red flagged, but she knows things. Anyway, she wouldn’t go into specifics. Only said that his name was mentioned on some kind of document. It had something to do with something called Chemophyl.”

  “Chemophyl?” I frowned. “What’s that?”

  “I think it’s some kind of drug ‘cause she’s got a friend at the DOJ who she was gonna run the name by.”

  “Did you look it up? You know, Google it?”

  “I called you as soon as I got off the phone,” he roared.

  Oh, no. I pushed too hard.

  “I haven’t slept! I haven’t eaten! I’ve been up since five! Five in the morning! I’m trying to help you with God knows what because some friend from a hundred years ago might’ve been kidnapped or I don’t even know!”

  “Jon, I’m sorry.”

  “Do not interrupt me!” For a few moments, he was silent. I thought he had hung up on me. From past experience, that would not be out of the ordinary. When I was about to check, he finally spoke. “Before you left, when I came by to see you—”

  Uh-oh.

  “Jon,” I replied. “I apologize for being insensitive. I apologize for not appreciating all that you do for me and my firm.”

  “I thought it was our firm.”

  My face grew warm. “It is. Just— I don’t know. I’m sorry. It’s been a long night. I just want to know my friend is safe.”

  “Yeah,” he snapped. I could tell in an instant I had hit a nerve. I seemed to be doing that a lot lately. “When I hear from Sophie, I’ll call you.”

  “Thank—”

  He hung up. I stared ahead. My eyes focused on the colorful posters taped to the shop’s door, but my mind was elsewhere. I blinked as a young couple exited. The guy, maybe nineteen, was holding the door open for his girlfriend. I could only guess they were heading to one of those tacky sweater Christmas parties. He donned a green monstrosity replete with reindeer, Santa Claus and light up bulbs, and she was sporting a red-and-white number with ‘’Tis the Season’ embossed in a flaming comet.

  “’Tis the season.” Zane took a sip of coffee.

  “Ain’t that the truth.” I sighed, staring down at my cell phone screen.

  21

  I was running out of time. It was already nine. I hadn’t heard from Natalie. Even for someone flighty like her, this was unusual. I also couldn’t reach her. I tried to call. The phone rang once, then went to voicemail. After my second attempt, I realized it might not be a good idea to keep trying.

  I was running out of excuses. My mother had tried calling me twice. When I didn’t answer, she left two long, guilt-laden voicemails. I had to listen with the volume on low so Zane wouldn’t hear. I knew I had to tell her something. It would be wrong not to considering all that had happened. I texted her a story that Natalie and I had spent the rest of the evening at her dad’s house reminiscing until all hours and fell asleep. I apologized. I promised I would be home in time for Christmas in the Oaks. Her reply was instant.

  ‘Okay, sweetie. Looking forward to seeing you. Six sharp!’ followed by three winky faces.

  I was running out of ideas. Sophie hadn't given me much. I felt there had to be some connection between Dr. Weisman’s international excursions, Chemophyl, and Natalie’s disappearance. I had one idea. I asked Zane to drive me to St. Juliana General Hospital. Alicia worked there.

  He gave me a surprised look, but headed out without a word. On the drive, I was grateful for his continued silence. I spent the time searching my phone for any information on Chemophyl. There wasn’t much. It was just enough to confirm my suspicions.

  Chemophyl was an experimental drug, developed in Russia as an alternative to chemotherapy for cancer patients. It was still in the testing phase. It had not been approved. Anywhere. Apart from that, there was no other mention of it. I checked as many ways as I could, but there was nothing else. I had hit a wall.

  I was certain there had to be more about this drug available online. I just had no idea how to access it. I thought about calling Jon again. I could ask if he could get me some information about those “Black Market” or “back door” sites. I had a feeling that would agitate Jon. And probably alert every intelligence agency in the world.

  I had nowhere else to turn. I did the unthinkable—I decided to go to my sister. By the time we arrived at St. Juliana’s, it was almost ten. I still had not heard from Natalie. I also had not heard back from Jon. Both were frustrating.

  I climbed out of the passenger seat of the luxury sedan. I Zane followed behind me in silence. I hurried in through the front entrance, the automatic doors greeting me with another blast of chilly air.

  St. Juliana was relatively new, having been built sometime after I moved up to Providence for college. It wasn’t a large hospital. But, it had already become known as one of the best in the metro area. It was named after a saint who was martyred for her faith. She became known as the Patron Saint of Sickness. Seemed pretty fitting for a hospital, but I digress.

 
Alicia hadn’t done her residency there, but she had volunteered a lot. From what my mother told me, she helped in the children’s ward, which was one of the best in the state. When it came time for her to decide where to practice, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind she would end up at St. Juliana’s. As I walked up to the information desk, two elderly women wearing light-colored blouses, long skirts, and Santa Claus hats stood up and smiled.

  “Can we help you?” the shorter of the two asked. Along with the festive hat, she also wore a plastic necklace with Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and light-up, dangling earrings. When she noticed Zane stop beside me, her smile wavered.

  “Um, yes. Thank you. Do you know where Dr. Alicia Coyle is today?”

  “Dr. Coyle. Remind me, dear, what is her specialty?”

  “Pediatric neurosurgeon.” I felt Zane’s eyes focus on me. I pretended I didn’t notice. The woman leaned over. She picked up a black tablet.

  “It was hard enough having to learn how to use the Internet,” she said with a sigh. “Next, they tell me to get on the Facebooks. Now, I have to figure out this darn thing.”

  “Dolores, for God’s sake! It’s Facebook. Not Facebooks. There’s only one. Not multiples. Give me that,” her friend exclaimed, reaching for the device. “I already told you. Tap on the blue app and when the magnifying glass pops up, type in her name. No. Not there. Not there either. It’s right— No. Just give it to me.”

  “No. I volunteer here, too, Ethel,” the first lady snapped, yanking the tablet back. “I can do it myself.”

  “Obviously, you can’t,” Ethel replied, still grabbing for it. “If you could, they would be on their way now.”

  “Everyone is in such a darn hurry nowadays!” Dolores moaned, her plastic red and green fingernails clicking as she tried to tap the screen with one hand and fight off Ethel with the other. “That’s it, right? No. Wait. Hold on. Something isn’t right here.”

  “It’s okay.” I raised both my hands and my voice to be heard over the bickering. “I’ll just follow the signs. I’m sure I can find her.”

  “Now you’re scaring them away,” Ethel griped, her large, red and green bracelets clanging against each other. She kept pointing at us. “Give it to me, Dolores!”

  They continued to bicker and grapple for the latest in the hospital’s electronic technology. I took the opportunity to back away. The information desk was located directly in the center of a large, open room, four stories high. To the right were the elevators and a lovely waterfall with marble tiles surrounding it, listing the names of all the donors responsible for the hospital’s founding. To the left were the gift shop and three separate halls.

  I decided to try the gift shop. A small, octagon-shaped room with glass walls, it was filled with everything under the sun. There was candy, drinks, snacks, magazines, toiletries, and every imaginable gift for someone who just heard a loved one either had a baby or got sick. Behind the waist-high counter stood a girl in her late teens wearing an exasperated frown. She was focused on her cell phone.

  “Um, hello?”

  She glanced up at me for a second then returned her gaze to the screen.

  “Uh, yeah. So, I need to know, where would a pediatric neurosurgeon hang out?”

  She looked up again. She stared at me for a good four seconds. I watched her eyes narrow. Then, they returned to her phone’s screen.

  “Still here,” I chirped, waving my hand. I offered a smile to mask my frustration.

  “I’m not the help desk,” she muttered, her thumbs racing across her phone’s screen.

  “Doesn’t mean you can’t help,” a deep voice bellowed.

  We both turned to find a middle-aged man wearing red scrubs adorned with Santa Claus’ smiling face standing behind me. He was not very tall, maybe five-nine. It was evident that he worked out. The bottle of Fiji water and healthy grain bar in his hands suggested he watched his diet. His dark eyes were focused on the girl. His tanned brow furrowed.

  “I’m sorry, Doctor,” she mumbled, her face suddenly as red as Santa’s rosy cheeks.

  “You don’t owe me an apology.” He nodded in my direction.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, refusing to meet my gaze.

  “Did you say something about a pediatric neurosurgeon?” the doctor inquired. Before I could reply, he pointed at the girl. “Put these on my account.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” she nodded, making note of his purchase by typing something on the tablet she had behind the counter.

  “Um, yeah.” I followed him out of the gift shop. I noticed Zane was still inside. I didn’t care. Maybe, finally, he had lost interest in all the insanity. He still had Natalie’s car keys. I could always say he stole them. That was basically the truth.

  “Who are you looking for?”

  “Dr. Alicia Coyle.”

  His face brightened. “Alicia?”

  “Yeah. She’s my sister.”

  His smile widened, revealing two rows of perfect, white teeth. He looked like he could have been on a toothpaste commercial.

  “You’re the sister in Boston?”

  I stared at him, surprised. “Maybe?”

  He let out a hearty laugh. “Don’t worry. I’m not a weird stalker. My name is Barrett Kaine. I was your sister’s mentor when she first started here. My friends call me Barry.”

  “Oh! You’re Dr. Barry?”

  He was definitely not what I had expected. Now, my older sister and I never had many heart to hearts. I didn’t know a whole lot about her career. I only saw her about three times a year. I did know she had been mentored by a “Dr. Barry.” The way she had described him, I pictured a wiry, thin man in his mid-60s, not a muscular, tanned surfer in his early 40s.

  His thin lips morphed into a mischievous smile. “Maybe?”

  “I know about you. I mean, I’ve heard about you. I mean—”

  “Relax.” He laughed. “I know what you meant.”

  “Right.” I forced a smile. I hoped my cheeks weren’t as red as they were hot.

  “Did you just get in town?”

  “What? No. I need to talk to her.”

  He glanced back at Zane. He was now standing outside the gift shop staring past us. He wasn’t looking at me, but I knew he was listening. Dr. Barry must have sensed it too. His brow furrowed.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “What?” I asked. He stared at me, a slight frown forming. “Yes. Sorry. Crazy night. Everything’s fine. I just need to talk to Leesh.”

  His gaze shifted between Zane and me. I could tell he didn’t trust the man any more than I did. We stood there in silence for several long moments. He made me feel guilty. I felt like I was doing something wrong. I swallowed hard.

  “She was in O.R. this morning. Emergency surgery. Newborn.” His eyes locked on Zane. Clearing his throat, he added, “I believe she’s out now. If she is, you can probably find her in the pediatric unit. Fourth floor.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled. “And it was nice to meet you.”

  He returned the smile. “You too. Come back and visit sometime. And Merry Christmas!”

  With that, he opened the bottle of water, took a sip, and hurried toward the elevators. I watched him pass Dolores and Ethel. They had gotten over their argument. They stood cooing together over a newborn baby as it was leaving the hospital for the first time with elated parents. After stepping into the middle elevator, he pushed the button. Just as the doors were closing, he met my gaze across the lobby. He offered a nod.

  “A doctor, huh?”

  I ignored Zane. I hurried across the lobby. I followed Dr. Barry’s path to the elevators. Zane was still beside me when the elevator chimed, the doors opening. Our eyes met for a brief moment. I turned. I didn’t want him to get the impression his presence had any effect o
n me at all.

  In reality, it did. Ever since we first met the night before in the Quarter, he aggravated me. His attitude. His clothes. His smug smile. Hell, even his voice. But what aggravated me the most was that he was there. Period.

  When I first met Jon, he broke my arm. That’s not the best way to start a friendship, let alone a business relationship. But I could deal with Jon. I understood him. I could predict his actions, his reactions. But this guy?

  I don’t always make the best decisions in life. Especially when it comes to men. It was sheer, dumb luck that I landed an amazing guy like Rick Michaels. It was equally improbable that Jon Riché had remained my business partner through some pretty crazy times over the past two years. I know I don’t deserve love or loyalty from either of them. Still, they remain.

  Cut to present. I’m riding in an elevator in the hospital where my sister works. I’m going to ask her, on nothing but a hunch, about some experimental drug that may or may not have anything to do with Natalie Weisman’s possible kidnapping. Oh, and this dark, handsome, and super-annoying stranger? Yeah, I have no clue who he is or why he’s here. This is going to go so well.

  22

  “I’m sorry. What are you asking me?”

  I took a wrong turn into the maternity ward that resulted in some curious stares. I finally found my sister in a small, cramped break room a little bigger than a walk-in closet. It was located behind the nurses’ station in the pediatric unit. She had performed emergency brain surgery on a premature baby that took her four hours. I heard all about it from one of the nurses who recognized me as her sister. The surgery must have taken it out of her. The bright fluorescent lights accentuated the dark, deep circles surrounding her eyes.

  I wanted her help. But, her help was a double-edged sword. The other edge? My mother.