Mind Games

by Laura K. Curtis

“I was telling him we could never have completed the project without you,” Clive said.

  “Can I get you a drink or anything before we face the piranhas outside?”

  “Maybe a bottle of water, if you have one.” Jane wished Clive would have left her in the lab and done the conference by himself. She hated being the center of attention. Teaching in grad school had been pure hell. She shifted and fidgeted, and Eric brushed his fingers briefly over hers.

  At nine o’clock on the dot, Jane, Clive, and John walked out and stood before the small crowd that had gathered. Eric hung back, watching from off to the side, but she could feel his eyes on her.

  The conference went on considerably longer than usual, though luckily most of the questions weren’t for her. She and John explained the mechanism of the drug and how it differed from Alophil, but most of the reporters wanted to know about the lawsuits from Alophil and how soon the new drug would go into testing and how long it might be before they’d see it on the market.

  When it was over and the reporters had dispersed, Jane, Eric, and Clive went back to AHI.

  “Honestly, Jane, I didn’t think we were going to make it,” Clive said after they had settled in his office and gone over the questions asked at the press conference. “I wouldn’t say so to the team, of course, but I was pretty sure we’d lose the Sundeman contract.”

  “Never count them out, Clive. Especially Rashid. He’s a brilliant scientist, and he and Stella worked a ton of overtime.”

  “I know they did. But we couldn’t have done it without you. Thank goodness Sorenson was able to keep you safe.” He looked at Eric. “If there’s ever anything I can do for you and your boss, please let me know. I know HSE’s lab is second to none, but I’d be happy to help if you need extra resources.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” said Eric. “But for now I’d like to get Jane home so she can relax in peace. It’s been a stressful ten days.”

  “Of course! Jane, can I at least call a car service for you?”

  “No, I’m fine. Eric will take me.”

  “Oh?” Clive eyed her, waiting for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. What could she say?

  “All part of the service,” Eric said easily.

  “Great.” Clive stood and held out a hand. “Again, my thanks, Eric. Jane, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Eric didn’t say much as he drove her home, but his hand rested possessively on her thigh. Its warmth comforted her, and she drifted off a bit until they pulled up in front of her house. The door was her same, bright blue paneled wood, but the frame had been replaced with a new, unpainted oak one, and as they walked up the steps, Jane was filled with memories of how they had left.

  “When they broke in, the door held up great,” Eric explained. “The frame not so much.”

  He held her back, placing her bag inside the door and drawing his gun to check the entire house before allowing her inside.

  “But I’m safe now,” she protested.

  “Let me be sure, okay? I don’t want to take any chances with you.”

  Oh. That was very sweet. She waited patiently while he searched, then plopped down on the couch when he allowed her inside.

  “The crew cleaned up upstairs,” he told her. “The glass is gone, but the windows are just boarded over. I figured you’d want to work through it all with your insurance company, but they couldn’t be left the way they were.”

  “No, I really appreciate that. The house is old. I probably should put in better windows anyway. My heating bills are astronomical. I can’t imagine what it’s like for those people who live in the giant Victorians in this neighborhood. Of course, I can’t imagine cleaning those places, either, so clearly I’m not cut out to live in one.”

  “People who live in those places don’t worry about cleaning them. They have maid services for that.”

  She shuddered. “Is it weird that I wouldn’t want that, even if I could afford it? Having a stranger in my space all the time?”

  “Nah. Privacy’s important to me, too. But my mom cleaned houses like that. And one of the families she cleaned for eventually hired her full-time. They didn’t consider her a stranger. She was special to them. When she had a heart attack a couple of years ago, it was the daughter who called me and my sister.”

  “I suppose I could manage that. Around here you mostly see services. Like ‘Happy Clean Maids’ or whatever.” The conversation wasn’t about maids, or even about his mother. It was about not letting him leave.

  Apparently, he came to the same conclusion. “Have dinner with me tonight?”

  Thank God for direct men. “Sure. Down by you, or up here?”

  “Here. I hardly ever bother with eating out when I’m in New York, so I’m not up on the good places.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven?”

  “That works.”

  “Great.” He pulled her into a hard, fast hug and pressed a hot kiss to her lips, then left.

  Holy hell. She was in deep. She took a breath and waited for her heart to slow down. Checking her watch, she saw it was only one o’clock. She should have lunch, then clean the house. With a little luck, that would keep her busy until Eric came to pick her up, because if she had too much time to ponder what might happen on an actual, honest-to-goodness date, she’d go mad.

  She ordered Chinese because she could stock the extra needed to make the delivery minimum in her fridge, which needed a clean-out after a week away. While she waited for it to arrive, she changed out of her fancy clothes into jeans and a tee and stripped her bed. She was transferring the first load of laundry into the dryer when the doorbell rang. Her stomach growled in anticipation.

  It took a minute for her to process the fact that the man wearing a ball cap with “Harry’s Hunan” on it and holding a bag smelling of soy sauce and sesame oil in his left hand held a syringe in his right. Before she could slam the door, he’d stepped inside and jammed the needle into the side of her neck. She screamed, or tried to, but no sound emerged, and then she was falling. . . .

  • • •

  ERIC SAT IN the driver’s seat of the HSE SUV he’d borrowed for the evening. What kind of man didn’t even own his own car? Everyone told him that owning a vehicle in New York City was more trouble than it was worth, and under normal circumstances he agreed. Public transportation was fast and comprehensive, and parking prohibitively expensive. When he went home to North Carolina, he flew and then rented a car at the airport. And next time he and Jane went out he’d rent a car, too, because asking Lexie to borrow the SUV was like stroking a viper’s belly. Of course, there might not be a next time. Now that the pressure was off, Jane would get bored with him soon enough.

  But he’d worry about that when the time came. For now, he’d enjoy what they had. He jogged up the steps and rang Jane’s doorbell. He waited a few minutes, then pressed his ear to the door. With another woman, he’d assume she was in the bathroom getting ready and hadn’t heard the bell, or even that she was simply making him wait so he’d appreciate her more when she answered. But neither of those explanations suited Jane’s character. The hairs on the back of his neck rose.

  He rang again but didn’t wait before making his way around the side of the house to peer through the window into the living room. No movement, but nothing particularly out of order, either. Still, he couldn’t ignore the increasing knot in the pit of his stomach. He went around the back and tried the door. It opened easily.

  Fuck.

  “Jane?” He headed for the front of the house and the stairs and saw, lying just inside the front door, out of view of the windows, her purse lying next to a spilled bag of Chinese food. His mind played out the ambush scene all too easily. He’d done the same thing himself more than once, rushing in on the heels of a delivery guy or taking him out as he approached a house using his uniform as an entry pass.
r />   He was back in the SUV in seconds punching a button to connect him directly to Lexie.

  “They took her,” he said the minute she picked up.

  “But the press conference. She should have been safe now.”

  “This isn’t about the schizophrenia drug. It never was.” Damn, damn, damn. If he hadn’t been racing to HSE at top speed, he’d have bashed his head into the steering wheel at his own stupidity. “I’m such a fucking idiot. The timing was a cover. If she disappeared before the conference, people would assume there was no reason to look for her afterward. They’d believe she was dead, the same assumption we’ve been making about Dani.”

  “Oh, hell. I am so sorry.”

  “Is Nash there?”

  “He is. Do you want to talk to him?”

  “Not now. I’m headed back. I should be there in half an hour. Can you get me some time with him then?”

  “Of course, Eric.”

  “And get the tech guys working on it. I want to know who would want Jane. She’s been the object all along. If they need a client number, you give them my name. I’ll settle with Nash on how I’ll pay the debt.”

  “Don’t worry about that, for God’s sake. I’ll be sure Nash is waiting and research will start on Jane’s background and contacts. They’ll be happy to. They all really liked her.”

  “Thanks, Lex.” He hung up, his heart pounding, and had to blink a couple of times. What the hell was that? He was a fucking warrior. Warriors didn’t cry. But the idea of Jane held against her will gutted him. He’d been in too many horrible places, seen too many kidnap victims, witnessed the bits and pieces sent back to family members. He shoved the memories and the images they inspired out of his mind. Hang on, Janie. I’m coming.

  Amazingly, he made it down to HSE headquarters without getting a ticket. As Lexie had promised, Nash was waiting for him, his face set in grim lines.

  “Come on in the office. Lexie, you, too.”

  Lexie took a seat, but Eric remained on his feet, pacing the carpeted floor.

  “Goddammit, Nash, I should have known.”

  “We’re good, Sorensen, but we’re not psychics. We have to work with what we’re given. And what we were given was a client in need of protection because of her research.”

  “Do we have any leads at all?”

  “Maybe.”

  He froze. “Maybe? Like what?”

  “The name Jane gave you, Bryan Axlerod. Research just told me they don’t think he went to work at a lab when he left AHI. Or if he did, they’re not paying him in the usual fashion. No employment records exist after September of last year. Proving a negative is impossible, as you know, so we can’t be sure someone didn’t hire him under the table, but no one’s paying taxes on him.”

  “Are you saying he was abducted, too?”

  “No,” said Nash. “After all, he told Jane and the others he was moving, right? But what happened after that will take some more personal investigation, which means calling people, which we cannot do at eight o’clock at night. At least not for people like his former landlord, whose offices are now closed. But I can call Clive Handler, and I will. I was just waiting for you.” He pressed the speakerphone button and dialed.

  When Clive picked up, Nash explained the situation as succinctly as possible, but Eric noticed he didn’t mention Bryan Axlerod by name.

  “So the timing is coincidence? But Jane’s association with AHI was all about Project Calm. I mean, yes, she came on board with us before it got off the ground, but we discussed it at our first meeting. If another company wanted to poach her, all they had to do was wait. She was dedicated to this project because of her mother. She doesn’t have the same connection to anything else we’re working on.”

  “I’m going to want to talk to her lab group. Can you give me their phone numbers?”

  Clive read them off, and Lexie scribbled them down. Not that they didn’t already have the information—Nash’s files on each of the lab’s employees had addresses, phone numbers, even birthdays and social security numbers—but comparing what Clive gave them to what they already had might provide insights.

  “Now that we know the attacks weren’t specifically aimed at the schizophrenia solution you were working on, I need to ask a couple of other questions before I let you go.”

  “Whatever I can do,” Clive said.

  “Has she worked on any other projects over the last, say, year?”

  Eric understood why Nash was being so roundabout. He no longer trusted Clive and didn’t want to alert the man to the fact that they were looking at Bryan. Still, impatience gnawed at him.

  “No.”

  “And her team members. Have they always been the same?”

  “No. People move around depending on what’s the most urgent at any given moment. As I mentioned during our earlier conversation, I’d only recently moved Dani to Project Calm.”

  “Right. So that’s one change. Any others? New hires? Fires? Transfers in or out?”

  “We did have one guy who left. Got a better offer from a place in California. Bryan Axlerod.”

  “Did he have reason to resent Jane? Or to want to hurt your company?”

  “I can’t imagine why. He was successful at AHI, and we parted on good terms, I thought.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “No. Rashid has been off and on the team depending on what we need, but he was part of it in the beginning and he’s never left the company, just worked on other things for periods of time. I suppose Alan Michaels, who’s running the project Jane is transferring to, might resent the fact that they’ll be heading it up together, but he knew that when I assigned him and I’ve always thought they had a good relationship or I wouldn’t have asked them to work so closely together.”

  “I’ll need his information as well.”

  “Of course.” Clive read it off.

  “And that’s it?”

  “Yes. Honestly, I can’t think of anything else.”

  “All right, then. Oh, one last thing: Do you by any chance remember the name of the lab Bryan Axlerod went to work for?”

  “I’m afraid not. It shouldn’t be hard to find out, though. Research and development is a small world. I can look into it, if you like.”

  “That would be great.”

  But, of course, Clive wouldn’t find anything. Because Nash had already checked and Bryan Axlerod had simply disappeared.

  • • •

  JANE’S HEAD HURT. And not with the “all I need is a cup of coffee and a hot shower” pain she often felt after a long night in front of the computer. What had happened? Her eyes were crusted shut, and when she opened them she didn’t recognize her surroundings. The bed she was lying on was not her own. The last bit of moisture in her mouth dried up. When she sat up, the scream of her neck muscles brought memory rushing back.

  How long had she been unconscious? And where had they brought her? Clearly, they had no fear of her escaping, as she was not restrained in any way.

  She jumped off the bed and rushed to the door but found it locked. Not a big surprise. The second door she tried opened, revealing a bathroom that she made use of before continuing her exploration. The bedroom appeared utterly normal. Under other circumstances, she might even have called it beautiful with its whitewashed walls, high ceilings, and oversized windows. A large wood and wrought-iron ceiling fan circulated humid, green-scented air. You’re not in Kansas anymore, Jane.

  A scraping by the door sent her scrambling for any object that might serve as a weapon, but before she could grab anything, the door opened, Dani was shoved in, and the door closed again, the latch clicking with finality behind her.

  “Jane?” Dani’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh my God, this is my fault. It never occurred to me that if I didn’t work fast enough they’d go after you!”

  “This isn�
��t your fault. Come and sit.” She led Dani over to the bed. “I’m just . . . Thank God you’re alive. Are you okay?” Jane had often envied Dani’s shiny, bouncy hair, but now it lay flat and stringy, all sheen gone. Heavy purple circles smudged the skin beneath her eyes.

  “Tell me what you know. Where are we? What’s going on? How are you being treated? Have you seen your brother?”

  “I saw him once.” Dani shook her head, and the tears fell. “Only once in person. But they bring me a picture every morning. Him and the newspaper to prove they still have him and that he’s still alive.” Dani rubbed her hands over her arms, shivering despite the heat. “We’re in a house—a mansion, really—in Mexico somewhere. I don’t know where. But there’s a full lab built into an addition, so you don’t have to leave the house to get to it. The grounds are heavily patrolled. There’s no point in trying to run.”

  “So you stay inside and work . . . on what?”

  “It’s Bryan’s project. And he’s lost his mind.”

  “Bryan Axlerod?”

  Dani nodded. “He didn’t go to work in California. He came here. I don’t know who’s running the place. He makes like he is, but he doesn’t have this kind of money. This . . . Well, after Alvaro got involved in drugs, I learned more than I wanted to about the creation and sale of illegal drugs. Everything about this setup screams ‘cartel.’ People think cartels just deal in cocaine and heroin, but they make other things, too. They have full-on manufacturing plants for off-label pharmaceutical pills and liquids.”

  “But Bryan wouldn’t need you for that. Don’t they just take the patents and create their own drugs? I mean, they’re criminals; it’s not as if they’re worried about intellectual property.”

  “No. I mean, yes, that’s what happens. But no, that’s not what Bryan is doing. When I say he’s lost it, I mean he’s completely insane. No conscience whatsoever.”

  “What’s he working on?”

  “It’s some combination of the schizophrenia and phobia research we were doing at AHI. He’s trying to eliminate realistic fear, replace it with something else, a kind of amorphous paranoia. No fear of real-life death or pain because they are subsumed beneath the fear of this vague supernatural threat; no memory of love, no guilt, no conscience can survive in the face of that paranoia. The only thing left is total loyalty to the person or thing that can protect you from the threat. In short, sociopathology in pill form. Or maybe IV.”