Escape (Last Chance Series, Book 3.5)

by Davis, Dee

  Coward, the little voice in her head snickered. And she took another sip of wine, shaking her head to clear her thoughts. “I’m not afraid.” Saying the words out loud made her feel better, but she realized that trying to deal with this on her own wasn’t going to do her any good. She’d just wind up with a wine-induced headache tomorrow. Better to call for moral support.

  She picked up the phone and dialed, and only after Madison’s sleepy voice filtered through the phone did she remember how late it was. Or early. “You all right?” her friend asked, her voice clearer now.

  Madison O’Roarke was Tracy’s best friend. They’d started working together when Madison was a newly minted FBI agent and Tracy was just starting her company. Madison was currently a profiler for the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit, as well as a member of Last Chance. She and Madison had always had each other’s backs.

  “I’m fine.”

  “No you’re not. Not if you’re calling me at this time of night. What’s up?”

  “Seth asked me to marry him.” The words came tumbling out, tears pricking at the back of her eyes. Great, now she was losing her composure on top of everything else.

  There was silence on the other end, then a sigh. “I take it that’s not a good thing?”

  Tracy swallowed, pushing back the tide of emotion. “No. It’s not. You know how I feel about marriage.”

  “I know how you feel about your marriage,” Madison said. “But that was a long time ago. You were a kid. And it lasted, what, all of a minute?”

  “Three months.”

  “Which hardly makes it the real deal. Look, it was just a mistake. Everybody makes them.”

  “Not you. You waited until you found Gabe—and it’s still pretty damn perfect.” Madison and Gabe had started out a little rocky but it turned out that opposites really do attract. At least where they were concerned. And now, the two of them had two gorgeous children. A precocious preschooler and a brand new baby.

  “So what? That makes me the poster child for patience and good decisions?” In the background Tracy could hear Gabe snorting. “Okay, well the point is,” she continued as she made a shushing noise, “that you shouldn’t let a mistake you made like fifteen years ago affect the decisions you make now.”

  “It isn’t just about that, Madison. I value my freedom. I love what I do, and you know as well as I do that sometimes I get so engrossed I don’t even remember what day it is. That’s hardly conducive to maintaining a marriage.”

  Again silence, but this time Tracy could feel her friend’s laughter. “Nothing I say is going to change your mind. But at least recognize the ridiculousness of what you just said. There is no one on this planet as tunnel-visioned about his career as my husband. Except maybe me. And as you just noted, we’re doing fine.”

  “Point taken, but I’m not you. You’ve always been able to juggle. And besides you like being married.”

  “I like being married to Gabriel,” her friend said. “There’s a difference. And if you aren’t in love with Seth, then you did the right thing.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t care about him. I do.”

  “Then why are we having this conversation?”

  Tracy blew out a sigh of frustration. “Because I told him how I felt and he ignored me. Because I thought he understood me. That he was a person I could maybe… Oh God, I don’t know. I just feel like he blind-sided me and then backed me into a corner. I just wanted things to stay the way they were.”

  “Well, then maybe this is for the best. If you truly want different things.”

  “But we were good together.”

  “Just not good enough for you to make a commitment.”

  “I’m not saying I won’t commit. Just that I don’t want to get married. And even if I did, I sure as hell don’t want to be bullied into it.”

  Madison laughed. “I somehow doubt he threatened you with a lifetime commitment.”

  “No. Actually, it was beautiful. He bought a ring and served it to me on a platter with rose petals. It’s just that he knew how I felt and then steamrolled me anyway. It was like my wishes weren’t important. Everything was about him.”

  “You’re confusing Seth with Danny.”

  Tracy sucked in a breath, her mind dragging forth memories of her ex-husband. In the beginning it had been really good between them and she’d fallen hard. But then the closer they got, the more he tried to manipulate her into doing what he wanted. He’d alienated her from her friends, and then cut into her self-confidence. She’d been young and stupid. And he’d taken advantage of that.

  “You’re wrong,” Tracy said. “Seth is worth a million Dannys. And I’m more than aware of that fact. I don’t want to lose him. I just don’t want to get married. I’m afraid it’ll ruin everything.”

  “Yeah, because it’s going so great for you now.”

  “Hey, you’re supposed to be on my side.” Tracy reached for the wine and took another sip.

  “I am on your side. Always. But that means I want you to be happy. And I think you’re happier when you’re with Seth.”

  “Believe me, that ship has sailed. You should have seen him slam out of here.”

  “Not surprising. It takes a lot of courage for a guy to ask a woman to marry him. Especially guys like Seth and Gabe. So he’s hurt. And angry. You kind of shredded his pride—hence the ultimatum. But once he’s cooled down, maybe he’ll come back.”

  “I don’t know if I want him back. Especially if he’s still stuck on this idea that the only way our relationship can work is if we get married.”

  “Oh, come on,” Madison said. “Of course you want him back. Look, I understand your hesitance. And I support your right to make your own choices about what’s right for you when it comes to commitment. But I’ve also seen the two of you together, and whether you want to accept it or not, the two of you are the real deal.”

  “Well, I know that. It’s Seth that seems to have a problem with the idea.”

  “Look, give the guy a chance. Maybe he’ll figure out that there are all kinds of successful relationships out there and that they don’t all end up in a church with rice and rings.”

  “Yeah, it all sounds simple when you talk about it. But you didn’t see how angry he was. I think he really believed I’d say yes. And I was so pissed that he hadn’t listened to me. That what I wanted wasn’t part of the equation. Still am really.”

  “Do you want me to come over? At least then you don’t have to deal with it all on your own.” Gabe murmured something that sounded suspiciously like a protest. And beyond that, Tracy could hear the baby start to cry.

  “No. Sounds like you’ve got your hands full. And I’m all right. Better now that I’ve talked to you. Thanks for the pep talk.”

  “And you’ll seriously think about giving Seth another chance?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Right now it’s a moot point because he made it perfectly clear that he isn’t coming back.”

  “Yeah, well, famous last words. And in the meantime, think about what I said, okay?”

  “I will. I promise.” She hung up the phone and drained the last of her wine. Tomorrow. She’d think about it tomorrow.

  Right now, she was going to head downstairs to her lab. There was loads to be done, and work always made her feel better. She corked the wine bottle and then grabbed the stack of files. At least this way she wouldn’t end up with a hangover.

  Chapter 3

  The idea for Braxton Labs had come about only after Tracy had fought hard and long to win respect in what was in many ways still a man’s profession. In the beginning, she’d rented the space she needed, equipping it as best she could, often hiring staff on a case by case basis.

  But as success built both her reputation and her wherewithal, Tracy had decided to create a space with state of the art labs. A real home for her life’s ambition. So she’d bought an old warehouse in the Meat Packing district on the west side and converted it into the perfect setting for her work.
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  Three floors with administrative offices and another four with state of the art laboratories in all areas of forensic pathology. She’d never actually intended to live there. But as a self-admitted workaholic she spent pretty much every waking hour in the labs. At least when she was in the city. And maintaining a separate residence seemed ridiculous.

  In all truth, she’d probably have just added a sleeper sofa in her office and called it a day, but Harrison and Madison had insisted she needed something more. Something better. And so Tracy had taken the top floor conference rooms and had them redesigned as a living space.

  Like the rest of the building, it was state of the art. And more importantly it was only steps from her labs. Which meant that when she had the urge to work, all she had to do was head downstairs. It had turned out to be the perfect arrangement. Her own little piece of heaven. Her entire world centered under one roof. Seth had joked that all that was missing was a pizza joint and a grocery store.

  But this was New York and everything could be delivered. Truth was that when she was in town, she hardly ever left the building. In fact, one time, after Charlie, the security guard, had cheerfully welcomed her back from her trip, she realized that she hadn’t actually stepped foot out of the building for over a week.

  It was another thing Seth gave her a hard time about. Too much a homebody. But he’d loved her apartment, too, with its ceiling-to-floor windows and distant views of the Hudson. He’d called it an oasis above the city. And now, thanks to his defection, it was simply too full of memories. Damn it all to hell, she hadn’t asked for this.

  Why couldn’t he have just played by the rules?

  With a sigh, she stepped onto the elevator. Private, it connected only to upper floors of the building. Giving her access to all of the labs, circumventing downstairs security. A second elevator, also private, at the other end of the hall connected to the entrance at ground level.

  She’d have to change the access code. Not that Seth was likely to come back, but still, it was better to make the change and move on.

  But not tonight.

  She pressed the button for one of the two floors holding autopsy labs. They were currently working on an open case. A college co-ed found dead behind an East Village bar. A routine police investigation had indicated it was a drug overdose. And with little evidence to support anything otherwise the case had grown cold.

  But the girl’s parents, particularly her father, a prominent attorney, had refused to accept the idea and had called in favors, the end result being that the case had landed in Tracy’s lap. Quid pro quo or some such.

  Anyway, after examining the original autopsy and redoing some of the tests, Tracy was now convinced that the woman, Margo, had been murdered. A tiny, almost invisible, needle prick on the back side of her neck indicated that someone had forcibly injected the drugs that had killed her. The burning question now being who—and why.

  The elevator doors slid silently open and Tracy stepped out into the hallway. The lights had been dimmed for the evening, the soft humming of the florescent blubs comforting in some weird kind of way.

  If Madison were here she’d be telling Tracy she needed to get a life. Preferably with someone like Seth. Madison wasn’t big on letting the past rule her life. But then Madison hadn’t married Danny. God, everything was so freaking complicated. Which is why Tracy was better off here.

  She opened the door to the lab, the cold air embracing her. She’d always been more comfortable extracting secrets from the dead. They rarely expected more than you could give. And they never talked back. Or tried to change you. Of course they weren’t exactly the best conversationalists either. She swallowed a laugh and flipped on the lights.

  The lab, as usual, was spotless. Six tables were arranged to capture the best of the lighting. Ten drawers in the far wall served as temporary crypts. Most people would be nervous here, but Tracy only felt calm as she moved to the back of the room to pull out the drawer containing Margo’s body.

  Except for the Y shaped stitches running across her chest, she almost looked peaceful. As if she were sleeping. Tracy felt her throat tighten. Margo was too young to be lying here. “So what have you got to tell me?” she whispered, as she flipped open the chart in a bracket on the facing of the drawer. She thumbed through the pages, frowning as she reviewed the latest tox report.

  One of the compounds identified seemed impossible. A spider toxin usually only found in the rain forests of Central America. The first screen had missed it, finding only traces of coke and meth amphetamine. There was no doubt that Margo had been partying the night she’d died. But advanced tests had showed only traces of the drugs. Not enough to kill her.

  But this. This was the kind of stuff that could level an elephant with only a tiny drop.

  And if Tracy had to call it, she’d bet the compound had been administered through the needle into the neck. Acting as a nerve agent, it would have incapacitated and then quickly killed. And while not untraceable, it wouldn’t have been found in a routine tox screen.

  The killer had clearly counted on the fact that Margo’s death would be attributed to the other drugs in her system. A college kid gone wild. But he hadn’t counted on Tracy.

  “Don’t worry,” she promised, looking down at the dead woman. “I’ll find the person who did this. And we’ll make sure he pays.”

  That it was a man she had no doubt. Men were all about power plays. But the presence of the toxin was their best clue yet in finding the killer. It wasn’t something easy to come by. Particularly in a form that could be injected.

  But Margo, a student at Columbia, had been a biology major. So maybe someone connected with the University had been involved. With the proper research grant, the toxin could have been brought into the states. She scribbled a note in the file, and reached for her phone to leave herself a message to call the NYPD with her latest find.

  But her pocket was empty. Damn thing was still on the bureau upstairs. She’d been in such a hurry to get out of the apartment she hadn’t even bothered to grab it. Heck, she hadn’t even bothered with shoes. She smiled down at her bare feet, her sweats and tee-shirt hardly the attire of one of the world’s foremost forensic pathologists. But then she’d always liked shattering expectations.

  There was a land line across the room, and so after carefully returning Margo’s body to its bay, she crossed over to call and leave a message on her cell. But when she picked up the phone there was no dial tone.

  Frowning, she tried again, this time punching in the numbers for Charlie’s pager. But again there was no response. The phone was dead. Swinging around, she moved over to one of the computer stations on the far side of the room opposite the body drawers.

  She hit a button and the iMac sitting there sprang to life, the Braxton Labs logo filling the screen. She typed in her password and the logo gave way to the internal menu for the lab’s computer system. So far, so good.

  But when she tried to access the internet there was nothing. Just an icon spinning and spinning as it tried unsuccessfully to connect. Next, she opened the email program, again logging in with her company ID and password. But as with the internet there was no connection. Instead a box flashed onto the screen saying that the connection attempt had failed.

  The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as the reality of what she’d just discovered hit home. She was completely isolated. Yet even as she had the thought, she dismissed it. Her lab was secure. And besides, Charlie was on the desk downstairs and there were security measures in place to keep unwanted guests out. Fingerprint identification was required for anyone entering the labs from the bottom floors. And passwords and keycards were needed to access any of the labs with expensive equipment or restricted research.

  Here on the autopsy floor, there were fewer restrictions, but still access was only allowed with proper identification and approved authorization. It had to be some kind of IT glitch. Despite the fact that Harrison, probably one of the best forensic computer people
in the world, was one of her best friends, she’d never been particularly good at understanding the inner workings of networks and IPs and computer systems.

  So before she let her imagination run away with her, she’d just head upstairs and put in a call to the head of Braxton’s IT department. Due to her propensity for working all hours, he was used to late night calls for help. And if the entire system was down, it needed to be fixed before the offices opened on Monday.

  With another sigh, she glanced back at Margo’s bay. “Sorry. But, I promise, I’ll be back.” She waited for a moment, almost as if she were expecting approval. And then she shook her head at her own insanity. It was common knowledge among those in her profession that it was okay to talk to the bodies—it was only when they started talking back that one needed to worry.

  Thankfully, Margo remained silent.

  But something outside in the hallway rattled, and Tracy spun around, staring at the door, her heart racing. A minute passed, and then another. Nothing moved, the only sound the slow drip of the sink in the far corner.

  She sucked in a breath, cursing herself for letting her imagination run away from her. It had to be the phones. And the computers. She was used to knowing that people were only a few nanno seconds away. Suddenly she felt very alone. And kind of foolish. Clearly whatever she’d heard was nothing to be afraid of. Probably just Charlie making rounds.

  Moving on silent feet, she made her way back to the door, pausing to give it another beat. When nothing moved, she risked a peek through the window in the door, relieved to see an empty hallway, the lights, although dimmer than daytime, still functioning as they were meant to.

  Pushing aside her misgivings, she opened the door and stepped out into the hall, her gaze darting first to the left and then to the right and then back to the left again. The passage way was empty, with no sign that anyone had been there at all. Maybe she’d imagined the noise.

  She wasn’t exactly operating at her best. Unexpected proposals had a way of throwing a person off her game. Especially when the subject was supposed to have been off limits. An image of Seth, wearing nothing but his tux pants, holding out the rose petal covered tray filled her mind.