Midnight Redeemer

by Nancy Gideon

  Dreaming of finding a cure that would allow her and Louis to live happily ever after, not as princess and monster, but as husband and wife.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Frank Cobb wasn't at his post.

  For the first time since he'd been assigned as her ‘assistant,’ he wasn't lurking at her doorway, watching her every move.

  Probably because there no longer was a need.

  Had he told them everything?

  The certainty that time was short goaded Stacy into a marathon work session. A meticulous process under the best of circumstances, her efforts were slowed as she carefully took longhand notes on a legal pad instead of using her computer to graph results. If her findings weren't compromised already, she couldn't risk some cyber-snoop getting hold of her data before her testing was conclusive.

  Was this work she did crossing the boundaries of moral decency? Could it be considered transgenic—bringing specific genes across the gap between one species and another? But Louis was human, wasn't he? Or at least, he had been. She wasn't engineering alien biochemicals to threaten human existence ... or was she? Was she dabbling where science should never go? Or was she simply using the knowledge at hand to defeat the ravages of nature?

  When conscience wavered, she did what she always did to suppress it. She brought up the image of her mother whose vital life had been eaten away by chemotherapy and the ugly side effect, Kaposi's sarcoma, the rare skin cancer it could not control. When the issue of human rights and dignity raised its flag, she rallied behind that picture. Where was the decency in what her mother had endured? What right had anyone to tell her she should not do anything in her power to thwart man's most deadly diseases? She wasn't a theologian; she was a scientist. These were her tools, her talents. And she would not apologize for her methods when the haunting visions of cancer wards filled with pediatric patients denied her rest.

  She was doing the right thing.

  Stopping only when her eyes felt crossed from hours of squinting through the microscope eyepiece, she took a short break to refill her coffee mug and roll the kinks from her shoulders. She tried for the half-dozenth time to contact Alex Andrews, but he hadn't checked in at work and wasn't picking up at home or on his cell. She settled for leaving yet another message.

  And when she returned to her lab, Frank Cobb was there glancing over the notes she'd taken in her own undecipherable shorthand.

  "Looking for something in particular, Mr. Cobb?"

  He regarded her without batting an eyelash. “You didn't come in yesterday. I was worried about you."

  "Your concern was what sustained me."

  Not knowing how to respond to her cynical drawl, he remained cautiously aloof.

  "And where have you been this morning?” she asked. “I thought you might have been reassigned now that you're no more use to them here."

  His eyebrow arched. “What, you no longer need me to make coffee?"

  She wasn't buying into his charm. Her guise of good-naturedness fell away. “I mean now that you've accomplished what you were sent here to do."

  "Which was what, Doc? Take care of you?"

  She skewered him with a sour look. “Why do I doubt that that was your main agenda?"

  "I don't know. Why do you?"

  She muscled him away from her desktop, flipping her notebook shut just in case he could understand her hieroglyphics. “Stay away from my work, Cobb, and stay away from me."

  "I was with the police this morning,” he mentioned casually as he moved away from the table to assume his station at the door. He slit a gaze toward Stacy to weigh her reaction. She counterbalanced him for cool.

  "Really? Did they have more questions about the other night?"

  "No. This was about another matter. There was a hit-and-run fatality early this morning, and I was acting as the center's liaison."

  "Someone here at Harper was in an accident?"

  "No. He was free-lancing. Harper's name was mentioned, and I went to help them figure out the connection. The poor slob was knocked right out of his shoes. His papers were scattered down the whole block. What a mess. Killed him instantly."

  Cobb watched her expression with his snake-in-a-coil intensity. Uneasiness rippled up her spine and got her heart beating faster. What wasn't he purposefully telling her? Why had he brought it up at all? Unless...

  "Free-lancing as what? A researcher?"

  Cobb's laugh was short. “If you can call that kind of work legitimate research."

  The other shoe was about to drop, hard.

  "He was a stringer for Gab Magazine. Alexander Andrews. You must have known him. You had him out there digging up dirt for you."

  The room lost its focus and began to shift in great, dizzying swoops. She grabbed for the edge of the table, missing. Her knees buckled, twisting at an awkward angle, the left one banging into a drawer handle to bring an exquisite shock of pain to cut through the sudden fog of her awareness.

  "Whoa, there."

  Cobb's hands cupped her elbows, keeping her from finding the floor in a graceless heap. She let him swing her into a chair and didn't resist as he forced her head between her knees. Sickness and sorrow beat against her temples.

  "Easy. Breathe deep."

  "Alex is dead?” she managed at last, her voice as wobbly as the tears distorting her vision.

  "I'm sorry. If I'd known the two of you were close, I wouldn't have broken it to you like that."

  She shrugged off his belated compassion and his massaging touch. Sitting up was a mistake. The room swarmed with pindots of color like darting fireflies. She shut her eyes and swallowed down the rising nausea.

  "What happened?” she asked weakly. “Someone hit him? Did he step into traffic?” She could picture a distracted Alex working on some scheme, walking off the curb into the side of a bus. Poor Alex. His dedication had finally taken its toll. And to think she was ready to accuse him of being immortal.

  Now, she wished it had been true.

  "No. From what the police said, he was on the sidewalk. The car swerved up, banged into him and drove off without even slowing down. No skid marks, nothing. And unfortunately, no witnesses."

  "An accident?"

  Her doubt must have shaded her question. Cobb gave her a direct look. “You know some reason why it wouldn't be? What was he working on, Doc?"

  She forced herself to gain composure. Tears could come later, but now was a time for caution and control. She couldn't let Cobb guess at any correlation between Alex's death and the information he'd been gathering for her. And she hoped to God that there wasn't any.

  "How should I know what story he was after? We weren't really friends. I got to know him when I was doing police work. He said he was going out of town for something. Maybe that's the story that got him killed."

  "An interesting choice of wording. Killed. You think it was some mysterious story and not the background checks he was doing for you on Redman?"

  It took all her self-discipline not to be thrown by his abrupt demand. Her reply was admirably measured. “I asked him to find out some things about a man who was donating a huge sum of money for my research project. There's nothing strange about that."

  "But, admit it, there's plenty strange about Redman, isn't there?"

  "If you mean he's a recluse with some serious privacy issues—"

  "Did Andrews find out anything about Redman that would make our bashful friend consider him a ... liability?"

  She recoiled from that hypothesis, refusing to consider it. She'd been giving Louis the short end of the stick too often lately only to be proven wrong for her suspicions. “No. He was doing the check for me as a favor. Louis—Mr. Redman—didn't know I'd hired him."

  Unless Louis had overheard the message on her answering machine.

  She resisted her own awful doubts by going on the defensive. “Besides, if anything was wrong, why haven't the police been here to talk to me?"

  "I took care of that."

  "Took care of i
t?” A chill crept along her skin. “How?"

  "That's my job, Doc. I keep you in the shadows. The police believe Andrews was acting on his own, trying to get a story on Redman's donation."

  "But I left messages for him—"

  "Erased."

  A tremor swept her from head to toe. Erased. Just like that. Just like Alex.

  What else did Cobb take care of in the line of duty? Had he tapped her phone? Is that how he knew that Alex was trying to contact her? Is that how he'd managed to suppress evidence before the police got to it?

  Had he suppressed Alex, too?

  "Who do you work for, Cobb? Harper or the Feds?"

  He took the sudden shift in topics without any betraying discomfort. “Harper signs my checks."

  "To do what? Baby-sit me? Spy on me? What?"

  His gaze never flickered. “To protect their interests. And yours, when you'll let me."

  "And what exactly does that mean?"

  "It means I make sure the work goes smoothly and without interruption."

  Despite herself and her wish for self-control, anger brightened in her gaze, threatening to spill over into betraying trails of dampness. She blinked hard and pushed on fiercely. “Were Alex and his tawdry magazine an interruption?"

  "No.” He shrugged, as if one reporter held the significance of a pesky gnat, to be swatted without thought of consequence. “Maybe an inconvenience."

  "And you took care of it. Did you take care of him, too, Cobb? Is that part of your job?"

  There. She'd slapped it down in front of him as clearly as if she'd demanded to know if Harper had paid him to run down Alex Andrews before he became an embarrassment. And she waited for him to respond. To say yeah or nay.

  His silence and complete lack of expression terrified her more than either answer could have.

  "Doctor Kimball?"

  Her gaze flew wildly to where Phyllis Starke stood in the doorway. The room's tension deflated in a gush. Never had she been so glad to see the sour-faced woman. She'd asked, but she was afraid to hear Cobb's reply. Afraid because knowledge would force her to act.

  It took her a moment to realize how formally she'd been addressed. Starke never treated her with any degree of professional courtesy or distinction so the title, coming from her was more alarming than expected.

  "What is it, Phyl?"

  "Mr. Forrester would like to see you."

  "I'll be right there."

  "I'm supposed to wait and bring you with me."

  Perplexed and beginning to experience a squirm of wariness, Stacy nodded. She snatched up her note pad.

  "You won't need that,” Starke told her curtly.

  But there was no way Stacy was going to leave it behind so Cobb could pour over its contents.

  "I might want to jot down some things."

  She tucked the pad into the pocket of her lab coat and preceded Starke down the hall. She could feel Cobb's penetrating stare, like a gun sight, aimed at the back of her head. When she got into the elevator and turned, she could see him standing where she'd left him, but as the doors closed, he leaned toward her computer.

  Damn him!

  She marched into Forrester's office with Phyllis trailing behind her.

  "Mr. Forrester, if I'm to continue my work here at Harper, I must insist that Frank Cobb be removed immediately."

  Forrester's bland smile gave her a prickle of warning. “Is something wrong with Mr. Cobb?"

  "He disrupts my research, and I don't trust him.” How utterly petulant and prima donnaish that sounded. Did it also convey her fear and suspicion?

  She would have to be careful. She wasn't sure who her enemy was.

  Forrester frowned in a gesture of appropriate concern. “Well, I suppose if he upsets you that much, I could assign someone else."

  "That's really not necessary, Greg. I don't need an assistant or a baby-sitter."

  "But I'm afraid it is necessary, Doctor Kimball.” The chill in his tone ended her protest. It was a fight she couldn't win. Her wishes didn't matter. He, or his government investors, wanted someone watchdogging her every move. And at least Cobb was an evil she recognized.

  "I withdraw the complaint,” she murmured. “Cobb is adequate. I guess I'm just not used to working with someone looking over my shoulder."

  "It's for your own protection, Stacy,” he told her with a benign, grandfatherly air that was as genuine as Starke's new found respect.

  "But this is a security facility. What is he protecting me from?"

  "Perhaps from your own impulsiveness, Stacy. We wouldn't want anything to distract you from your dedication, that's all. You are one of our finest researchers, and we value your input here at Harper. Let's just say we want to do our best to guarantee the relationship continues."

  Was he threatening her? Panic and outrage sparked together as flint and steel.

  "That's what I want, too, Greg. I'm very grateful to Harper for supporting my projects in the past."

  He smiled, a crocodile showing teeth. “And we value your loyalty. It's our prime goal to see that your work is successful. I think we're only beginning to guess at its long-term ramifications. That's why we've moved you up to a priority concern."

  The ramification of that statement unnerved her. She needed an immediate clarification before knowing how to react. “What do you mean?"

  "To provide you with an optimum environment, you'll be working out of one of the lower level labs. You'll have the most up-to-date equipment, more room, and unlimited resources. And no one will disturb you."

  "But I like my lab where it is."

  "I'm afraid arrangements have already been made.” He pushed a new badge across the desk toward her. “Here's your new ID giving you clearance. Mr. Cobb can answer any questions you might have on using it. Let me forewarn you, though; we have some very sensitive projects being developed on that level, so security is at a maximum. Because of the scanning processes, you may not remove any data on disk. It will be erased."

  There was that word again.

  "But I do a lot of my after hours work at home."

  "I'm afraid that will no longer be an option. If you need to stay late to complete a study, we have facilities available for you to spend the night. Mr. Cobb can make those arrangements for you."

  A very handy fellow, her Mr. Cobb.

  She could feel the velvet-lined trap about to snap as her neck stretched forward. Then Forrester triggered the pressure plate for her.

  "One more thing. Just a routine precaution, you understand. Before you leave each evening, you will meet with Ms. Starke and fill her in on the progress you've made. You will present her with copies of all your findings and notes."

  "Why?” She couldn't help blurting that out.

  "Just in case something unforeseen happens to you. It would be awful to lose you to some random accident and even worse to lose what you've managed to accomplish. This way, the research can continue without delay."

  She got the message. If she made trouble, she was expendable. Her smile was a frozen grimace. “That's a very responsible action to take. I've been reminded lately of how fragile life can be."

  Forrester nodded agreeably, missing the reference. Or perhaps he wasn't.

  Was Harper working purposefully to cut her off from the outside world? To greedily grab onto her research for the betterment, not of mankind, but of Harper itself? She thought of Frank Cobb conveniently on the scene where Glenna was killed, ingratiating himself into her confidence, into her room so he could steal her data, tapping her phone so, coincidentally, the threat of Alex Andrews would go away. Granting her no escape from the government's hand in Harper's pocket and nowhere to turn for help.

  Except Louis Redman.

  With his money and power, he could pull the project from Harper. He could set her up in another lab, outside of the country, away from their control. She could work without encumbrances, without fear of discovery and could walk away, thumbing her nose at their autocratic rule.

/>   If they would let her walk away.

  She was thinking terrible thoughts about a company—about a government agency—that could hold her prison against her will or worse. Worse was the very real possibility that it was true. Who would know? Who would protest if Stacy Kimball disappeared off the face of the earth? They could make up any story they wanted and have it believed. And if anyone doubted what they were told, they could become statistics, too. If they knew she was about to bolt, taking her study with her, they would take measures to prevent it. Measures that would have her knocked out of her shoes on the sidewalk.

  Only Louis had as much at stake as she, herself. But would he risk exposure to reach their mutual goal? If he made waves, could he be caught in a tidal backwash? If Harper knew the potential of what she was developing, would they let one millionaire benefactor get in their way? Unlikely. He would come under their scrutiny. What kind of pressure could a company like Harper exert if they discovered his secret? How would they use that knowledge in tandem with her project?

  It would mean disaster.

  She would have to do everything possible to keep Louis far removed from Harper's clutches. She couldn't compromise him, not even for the sake of her study.

  Because of the danger if the research fell into the wrong hands.

  Because of the attraction she could deny but couldn't resist.

  She thought back. Had she mentioned Louis directly in any of her notes? She didn't think so. Even if they did know the content of her study, they wouldn't know the source. And if she could keep it that way, she could continue her work with minimal distraction and minimal danger to Louis.

  And then there was the time element. Setting up a new lab, creating new protocols, new specimen controls would take time—providing she could get what she already had safely out of Harper's clutches.

  Time was something she did not have.

  Better she play along, using Harper as they were using her in hopes that she and Louis could outsmart them in the end. Discussing options with Louis now would mean revealing facts about herself that she preferred to keep to private. For now, she could maintain a balance of control. For now, she wouldn't have to involve Louis in the equation.