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Prequel: The Making of the Man
A Preview of The Lost
Copyright Page
This book is dedicated to Anne Frazier Walradt, Gail Freeman, Kathye Quick, Lois Winston, Melinda Leigh, Michele Richter, and Rayna Vause for being an amazing group of friends and for all their hard work and dedication in helping found the Liberty States Fiction Writers. You all rock!
To my wonderful agent, Kevan Lyon, and my amazing editor, Selina McLemore, who believed in this series from day one and helped make it possible.
To Michele Maughan for enduring my many questions about gene expression and the “what ifs…” Any and all scientific errors are solely my fault and no reflection on this very bright and understanding Graduate Student Senate president and PhD graduate student.
Finally, to Colleen, Gretchen, Irene, Jamie, and Tami for helping me while I struggled to find a new title for SINS OF THE FLESH. Your help was truly appreciated!
PROLOGUE
The day the music died, Caterina Shaw did as well.
Not physically, although she understood the death of her body was inevitable. She had come to terms with that reality some time ago. She had even managed to deal with the blindness caused by the tumor eating away at her brain. But then the pain had become so great that it had silenced the music, stealing away the only thing that had made life worth the anguish.
“You understand this treatment is new and uncertain,” Dr. Rudy Wells explained, his voice smooth and comforting. The touch of his hand, warm and reassuring, came against hers as it rested on her thigh.
“I understand,” she said and faced the direction of that calming voice.
Another person abruptly chimed in, his tones as strident and grating as a badly played oboe. “We’ll begin with laser surgery to remove the bulk of the tumor followed by two different courses of gene therapy.”
Two? she wondered and sensed Dr. Wells’s hesitation as well from the tremble that skated across his fingers. He removed his hand from hers and said, “Dr. Edwards believes that we can not only shut down the tumor growing in your brain, but possibly regrow the portions of your optic nerve that the tumor damaged.”
Caterina’s only wish when considering the experimental treatment had been to stop the pain so that she could play her cello once again. So that her last months would be filled with the vitality her music provided.
It was through her music that she lived. That her mother lived, Caterina thought, recalling the passion she had felt as a small child when her mother had played the piano for her; the way her mother’s fingers had coaxed life from the keys much like she now did with a stroke of her bow and the deft touch of her fingers on the strings of her cello.
Or at least like she had up until the cancer had put an end to her music, bringing her life to a close. Except now she was being told something different.
Caterina had never thought about eliminating the tumor. Every prognosis so far had been that she was terminal. Now these new doctors told her not only that she might live, but that she might actually see again, too. She didn’t dare believe that she would be able to get her old life back completely, as well as her sight, but…
“You think I’ll be able to recover? To see again?” Caterina asked, needing to be sure she had understood correctly.
“The risks are great, my dear,” Dr. Wells urged gently.
“But you qualify for the human trials because of the advanced state of your illness, Ms. Shaw,” Dr. Edwards added, annoyance at his partner evident in the staccato beats of his voice.
Her advanced state, which could possibly bring death even with this treatment, Caterina thought. Not that she feared her end. What she did fear was letting the pain in her head rob her of the one thing she could not live without: her music.
She knew without hesitation that it was worth any risk to regain that part of her. To drive back the illness so she could play her cello once more and reanimate her heart for as long as she had left if the treatments couldn’t stop the tumor.
“What do you need me to do?”
CHAPTER 1
Six months later
Mick Carrera understood what kind of man he was.
Ruthless.
Determined.
Skilled in the art of killing.
People came to him when no one else could handle their problems because Mick either solved them or eliminated them—if Mick thought elimination was justified. Some scruples remained buried in his soul, a secret he closely guarded. In his line of work, having scruples equated to weakness.
Dr. Raymond Edwards had presented him with the kind of job that possibly ended with elimination, although Edwards hadn’t come right out and said so during their short telephone conversation. The doctor had skirted around the subject with the skill of a ballroom dancer, insisting time and time again that all he required were the services of a security specialist to assist with a problem at their facility.
Mick’s initial misgivings made him wonder why he had even come to the doctor’s office for this additional discussion. His typical clientele preferred meeting places that were much less visible, but then again, maybe such transparency meant that the doctor had been truthful about the nature of this assignment.
He scoped out the office as he entered, taking note of the fact that there was only one entrance in and out. Not good for a quick escape. As he passed a credenza located beneath a wall filled with diplomas, framed news articles, and photos, he noticed a small bronze statue of a horse mounted on a heavy marble base.
The size and weight of the statue would make it a handy weapon for either cracking open a man’s skull or breaking through the plate glass windows which lined one long wall of the office. The clear windows were now darkening, the color becoming as deep and dense as squid ink and likely for the same reason—concealment.
Mick had noticed all the high-tech security on his way through the entrance of the building. He had expected it even while worrying about it. He knew his image would end up saved on a hard drive somewhere from the assorted cameras positioned throughout the offices, but if Dr. Edwards was on the up-and-up, this was one job that was too good not to consider.
“I thought you might like some privacy,” the man behind the desk said as he rose and offered his hand.
“Dr. Raymond Edwards,” the man said.
Mick shook his hand and with a nod said, “Mick Carrera.”
As Mick sat, he caught a glimpse of another security camera behind the desk, aimed directly at his chair. When Edwards tracked his gaze, he said, “Don’t worry, Mr. Carrera. I’ll make sure all traces of you are erased from our systems.”
“I appreciate your understanding,” Mick replied, even while wondering again why a supposedly distinguished scientist like Raymond Edwards had sought out the services of a man like him. What else had the good doctor erased from the company’s security videos?
Dragging his attention back to the man seated behind the desk, he listened as Edwards offered a rather lengthy introduction about the work that his biotech company did and their many accomplishments. Edwards’s manner was outwardly confident and businesslike, but Mick couldn’t help noticing how the doctor kept his right hand on the face of the file on his desk and fiddled with one corner of the thick folder, thumbing it again and again. The curled corner of the papers confirmed that Edwards had opened up that file more times than the good doctor wanted Mick to know.
When Edwards paused for a breath, Mick seized the opportunity. “Your mission is clear, Dr. Edwards. Your company specializes in developing gene therapies for the terminally ill.”
The man stiffened and immediately corrected him. “Our
present group of patients is terminally ill, but we hope that what we learn from our current research—”
“Will help all of mankind in the future. So why do you require my services?”
Edwards thumbed the edge of the folder again before lacing his hands together on the face of the file. He leaned forward slightly, as if he was about to share something intimate. A furrow of worry developed over the bridge of his nose, but the rest of his thin face remained passive.
“I’ve been told your specialties are corporate security and discreet investigations,” he said.
The dance has commenced, Mick thought. He was almost amused by the way the man was twirling his way around the true nature of Mick’s work. “My experience—”
“Is rather extensive. Army Ranger. EMT. Security consultant for one of the nation’s top companies before you decided to go out on your own.”
It hadn’t really been a voluntary decision, but in the end it had worked out well for all involved—except the two civilians who had been killed during his last assignment.
Mick pressed on. “Your background check seems to have been quite thorough, Dr. Edwards, which makes me wonder just why you need my… special skills.”
A sly smile slinked across Edwards’s face as he finally pushed the folder across the desk, but another thicker file still remained beneath the doctor’s manicured fingers.
Mick opened the slim manila folder. On one side were copies of preliminary police reports on a murder that had occurred in the company’s labs. He recalled hearing about it on the early morning Philadelphia news a few days before and had immediately made the connection last night when Edwards had telephoned.
Dr. Rudy Wells, a top researcher and co-owner of the biotech company, had died a grisly death. Both the officers’ notes and photos detailed the many injuries he had suffered.
Wells had been ripped apart. One arm and leg had been torn from his torso. The sharp point of a broken chair leg had been jammed through the foramen magnum at the base of his skull.
Mick flipped through all the pictures, imagining the kind of strength it would take to do that to another human being. Gauging the apparent rage, Mick reasoned it must have been a personal attack, since no professional would have done such a messy job.
The bruises visible on Wells’s body in the photos would likely yield prints of some kind, and with the battle that probably went on between Wells and his assailant, a treasure trove of DNA, fibers, and other evidence had likely been transferred to the dead scientist or left behind in the lab.
As he finished reviewing the last of the photos, he risked a quick glance at Edwards to study his reaction. The other man’s lips had stiffened with displeasure, but there was nothing else to give away what Edwards was thinking.
“This is the problem you wouldn’t discuss last night on the phone? Aren’t the police already investigating this murder?” With a quick flip of his wrist, he tossed the file back onto Edwards’s desk.
The clear grey of the other man’s eyes chilled at Mick’s dismissal. Tight lines bracketed Edwards’s thin lips before he said, “If the police get wind of what actually happened here, everything we do could be in jeopardy. That’s why we need a man of your caliber for this assignment.”
Mick motioned to the file. “Let me get this straight. You don’t want the police to solve this crime—”
“There’s nothing to solve.”
Edwards finally handed him the second, thicker file. “We know who the murderer is—Caterina Shaw. One of our patients.”
As he opened the file, Caterina Shaw’s engaging smile and intense blue-eyed gaze peered at him from the photo within the folder. A beautiful woman, he thought. A wealth of midnight-black hair contrasted nicely with her perfect, creamy skin and surrounded a delicate face with a pouty pair of lips.
The photo was clearly intended for business purposes, as Ms. Shaw was dressed in what looked like a sedate black gown. A motherly string of pearls lay at the long elegant line of her throat. Mick couldn’t help but notice that the low cut of her gown provided a delicious glimpse of her other endowments as well.
It took all his willpower to battle the very visceral response that the photo created. He definitely had been without a woman for too long, and with good reason.
Women seemed to find him physically attractive, but he always felt it was the aura of danger surrounding him which really drew them. Either reason did not generally lead to anything of lasting value, since relationships based on such shallow motives lacked the kind of trust necessary for permanence.
Reviewing the short bio on Caterina Shaw, Mick realized that permanence was something to which she was accustomed. Caterina had been born in the Philadelphia area and had stayed there for most of her life. The only breaks from the city had been for schooling, but each time she had returned home to Philly. Even her employment record screamed of stability. She had been with the local orchestra for several years.
He gazed at her picture one last time before turning his attention to the final entry in what appeared to be a lengthy medical history.
Patient has recently developed uncontrollable seizures leading to episodes of memory loss and rage combined with full expression of the implanted gene sequence.
Medical mumbo jumbo, Mick thought, for she’s a raving psycho.
As Mick flipped back to the photograph of the woman, he was struck again by her beauty—not that beauty wasn’t capable of the kind of violence perpetrated on Dr. Wells.
“Why is Ms. Shaw one of your patients?” he asked as he closed the file and returned it with greater care than he had the previous folder.
Edwards flipped open the file and removed the photo, glancing at it almost wistfully before he said, “She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”
“Why is she here, Dr. Edwards?” Mick pressed, annoyed by the man’s almost staged theatrics and his use of the past tense for a woman who was still very much alive, as far as Mick knew.
“Sad, sad story,” the physician said with a tsk and dramatic shake of his head. “About three years ago, Ms. Shaw was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. Slow-growing at first, but then some switch flipped and the tumor became more aggressive.”
“So she came to you?” he asked, wondering just what state the young woman had been in when she arrived at Edwards’s facility.
“Not at first. The only patients we are allowed to admit are those with no other recourse.”
“Which means?”
“Ms. Shaw went blind when the tumor invaded her optic nerve, but she managed to deal with that. Some laser treatments kept the growth confined for about another year, but then—”
“It spread and she came to you for help.” A note of disdain escaped with the comment, obviously irritating the man across from him.
Edwards jerked Caterina Shaw’s photo into Mick’s line of sight. He jabbed at the image of the woman. “Just twenty-eight and already at the height of her career. Her brain was rapidly being destroyed. Even if our treatments were untried, Ms. Shaw understood the possible reward. Wouldn’t you do the same?”
Mick thought he would have probably put a gun in his mouth and blown what little brains remained out the back of his skull, but suspected the doctor sitting across from him wouldn’t appreciate hearing that solution.
“What do you want from me?”
Edwards picked up both files and thrust them across the width of the desk. “After killing my partner, Caterina escaped the confines of our facility. Find her. If you can, bring her back so that we can get her under control before we turn her over to the authorities.”
Something about the tone of Edwards’s voice didn’t ring true.
As Mick met the other man’s icy stare, he got the sense that the seemingly proper physician was much like he was.
Determined.
Ruthless.
And possibly not above breaking a few rules to accomplish his goals.
“What if I can’t bring her back? What if—”
“Caterina resists? Chances are she will. She’s quite dangerous in her current state. My partner found that out the hard way.”
Mick glanced at the files in his hands, debating if he would take the assignment. As if sensing his hesitation, Edwards leaned forward once again and passed him a check with too many zeroes to refuse.
He examined the check for only a second before slipping it into the pocket of his black leather jacket. As he rose, Edwards held out his hand to seal the deal.
Mick ignored the man and walked to the door, certain of one thing as he exited.
If Edwards wasn’t telling the truth, what happened to his buddy Wells would seem like a cakewalk compared to what Mick would do to him.
CHAPTER 2
Caterina struggled to contain the thoughts rampaging through her brain. Scattered ideas and images collided there, creating a convoluted maze which kept her a prisoner of her own mind. The images surprised her, prompting other vague memories of unending darkness.
Unwelcome darkness that had lasted for too long. That had been accompanied by pain only…
Little pain remained anymore and the darkness was gone, replaced by bright images swirling around in her brain, a weird melding of colors reminiscent of a Peter Max painting.
Peter Max.
She forced herself to focus, remembering other pictures and artists. Lots and lots of paintings and artists while people milled about.
Had she been an artist as well? she wondered, confused about who and what she was as she gazed around again at the multihued shapes surrounding her. As unnatural as the colors were, she was grateful she could see, suddenly aware that she hadn’t been able to do so in some time.
Trees.
Bushes.
Birds twittered overhead. A tiny flash of brown and white scurried into the underbrush.
She was outdoors, which meant…
She was free.
She had escaped.
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