by L. C. Shaw
“Warwick has. Taylor called him. As you’ve seen on the news, she’s with Jack Logan. She told her father that Malcolm had sent Jack to help her.”
Damon’s jaw clenched. How had he missed this?
“I’d have thought that Malcolm’s pride would have prevented him from going to Logan. Do you have any idea why he changed his vote at the last minute?” If anyone understood Malcolm’s psyche, it was Evelyn. Until she’d married Taylor’s father and moved into his Chevy Chase home, she’d lived on campus and been Damon’s most valued psychologist; she could detect a vulnerability long before it became a liability. No one advanced in the programs here without her approval. Her consulting services still served Damon well.
“There can only be one reason, sir.”
“And that is?” He was losing patience now.
“She mentioned a letter Malcolm left. He told them they need to find Jeremy.”
“Jeremy got to Malcolm?”
“It appears so, sir. Jeremy must be very angry to try to sabotage your work.”
“That phone call led my men right to her. Logan left her alone and they were able to grab her. She will arrive shortly. For the sake of the baby, I want her to feel safe, especially after what she’s been through. That’s why I summoned you. She’ll feel less threatened if she sees you.” He pushed his intercom and summoned Jonas.
“Jonas will take you to wait,” he told Evelyn.
Evelyn was about to leave when his phone buzzed, and he put a finger up to stop her.
He grabbed it from the desk and swiped. The color drained from his face as he listened to the man on the other end. “You lost her?” Damon demanded.
“Logan must have had some training,” he told Damon. “They got away.”
Damon ended the call and looked at Evelyn, the fury building in his chest. “She and Logan got away. You know her. What will she do next? Will she call Warwick again?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe Jack won’t let her.” She opened her mouth as if to say something else, then seemed to think better of it and waited for him to speak again.
If Jeremy had indeed told Malcolm the truth about the bill, and he had passed the information on to Taylor and Jack, they would follow the story to its conclusion. They were news hounds, after all. So Damon needed to find them before they got to Jeremy. He didn’t share this with Evelyn, instead leveling his gaze at her. “Figure something out. Use your talents. Find a way to make her call home.”
“Yes, sir.” She got up and left.
Damon’s phone flashed, and he saw a Twitter alert for Brody Hamilton’s latest tweet. He picked up the phone and dialed Catherine Knight.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Crosse.” Her Texan accent was strong.
“I want you to put out stories on why the Vaccinate All Children Act is important. Find pictures, children who’ve suffered from RSV, parents who’ve lost children to it—flood all the outlets.”
“I’m on it.”
“I want print and broadcast, too.”
“Done.”
“And keep up the heavy coverage on Taylor Phillips’s disappearance. I want you to dig into Jack Logan’s background. Find something we can use to make him look dangerous. Make sure by the end of the week Logan’s face is more recognizable than the president’s.”
Chapter Twelve
TAYLOR WAS GONE. HE SAW THE LAPTOP SITTING ON THE bed and grabbed it before he ran out of the room. He ran around to the side of the motel. She was being pulled into the back of a brown Dodge, a snarling Beau still on his leash, clutched in her hand.
“Stop!” He flew toward them.
Dropping the computer, he pulled out his SIG and aimed at the right front tire, shot, then did the same to the left.
The driver scrambled out of the car.
“What the—”
“Drop your weapon,” Jack yelled.
The man didn’t move.
Gun pointed at the man’s head, Jack spoke again. “Do it.”
The man reached in his pocket and slowly pulled his gun out and threw it to the ground.
“Kick it away from you.”
The man complied.
Jack bent forward to retrieve it, keeping the gun trained on the man, and his gaze level. “Now get back in the car and no one gets hurt.”
The man put his hands up and backed away.
Taylor’s face was white as she ran toward Jack.
“Grab the computer, and get in the car.” Taylor and Beau jumped into the Mustang.
They tore out of the parking lot as a black SUV rounded the corner and started gaining on them. Jack floored it, navigating around traffic expertly, and sailed up the on ramp to the highway. His eyes darted to the rearview mirror. The SUV was still behind them.
Jack jerked the wheel all the way to the left. The tires squealed as they did a 180 and headed into oncoming traffic. Horns blared as cars swerved to avoid colliding head-on with them.
“What are you doing?” Taylor screamed as she turned and kept a hand on Beau to keep him from lurching forward.
Jack expertly wove in and out of approaching traffic, swerved onto the shoulder, and turned the car around.
“Saving our lives!” he yelled above the din of screeching tires and screaming horns. In the rearview mirror, he watched as two cars collided trying to get out of the path of the SUV that was racing to catch up with them.
“Hold on.” He pushed the gas to the floor and changed lanes, clipping the back of the car next to him. They were on top of an overpass now. He had to get rid of them. He swerved again, until they were in the left-hand lane, against the low Jersey wall. He slowed enough for the SUV to catch up. When the SUV was two cars back, he tapped the brakes a few times quickly. The car behind them slammed on his brakes, causing a chain reaction behind him. The SUV was sandwiched between a truck and a four-door sedan. Jack veered to the right again and sped up until the crash was no longer visible in the mirror.
“You okay?” He looked at Taylor.
She shook her head. “I’ll let you know when I can feel my face again. Where did you learn to drive like that?” Her voice was shaking.
“I took one of those evasive driving courses a few years back. Long story.”
“I guess you passed with flying colors.”
After another ten miles of checking his rearview, Jack was satisfied that they were in the clear. “We should be in Boston in a couple hours. We’ll switch cars, then keep going.”
He didn’t understand how anyone had found them so soon. He turned to Taylor.
“Did that guy come to the door?”
“No. I was walking Beau, and he just pulled up and grabbed me.”
“I don’t understand how they knew where we were.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “I think I know.”
“What?”
“I used my cell phone to call my father.”
He felt the blood rush to his face. “Oh, Taylor, I told you not to call anyone.”
“I had to let him know I was okay. Besides, we were using your computer; it didn’t occur to me that these people were that sophisticated.”
He took a deep breath. “I installed a VPN, a virtual private network. No one can track it. I didn’t know what we’d be dealing with, so I took precautions. You need to take the SIM card out of your phone and give it to me.” He shook his head. “I should’ve thought of it before.”
“How do I do that?”
“Oh right.” He grinned. “I suppose you haven’t become any more tech-savvy?”
“Ha ha.”
He pulled off at the next exit and into a gas station, where he removed the SIM card from her phone and inserted a different one. Then he stuck the old card deep into a trash bin while she used the bathroom. The last light was fading from the sky as they got back on the road.
“Anything in the vaccine bill that looks strange to you so far?” Jack asked.
“Nothing suspicious. It was just about adding RSV to the li
st of illnesses receiving federal assistance for vaccines—a good thing.”
“Tell me more about RSV.”
“Well, it’s a respiratory illness that preemies are especially vulnerable to. I have a friend who had twins and one of hers wound up in the hospital for a month. The treatment is expensive, and the preventive vaccine costs hundreds of dollars even after insurance.”
“So why wasn’t the vaccine a part of the inclusions in the first place?” Jack asked.
She shrugged. “RSV is not that common. It’s only indicated for a certain subset of children, preemies and those at high risk. But it can be fatal, and it’s certainly better to prevent it than to have to treat it. I don’t understand why Malcolm would oppose the vote.”
Jack wondered the same thing. Obviously, there was more to it. “He said it had to do with the rider. Hamilton sneaking something in it that had nothing to do with the main bill. We need to read all of it—see if there’s anything else. How many children get RSV every year?”
“I’ll check. Let’s hope the laptop didn’t get damaged when you threw it on the ground,” Taylor said. She unclipped her seat belt and reached back to get it.
Jack got a whiff of her hair as she moved past him. Lavender. He heard the twang of the Mac turning on. “Seems to be working.” Her fingers tapped the keys. “Well, someone’s certainly pissed.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I googled RSV, and the entire page is populated with article after article from today. From every news outlet.”
“Strange, considering the bill hasn’t even been in the news,” Jack said.
“There’s a segment on Newsline tonight, too, about a family who lost two of their triplets. From what I can tell, it looks like the whole Knight news outlet is covering it: in print, internet, and television.”
Jack was stumped. This wasn’t the type of do-gooder bill the power players cared about. Catherine Knight’s holding company owned television stations all over the world, over thirty magazines, twenty-five major newspapers, myriad radio stations, and the second-largest social media platform. Why would she expend resources to make a bunch of noise about something that affected such a small portion of the population? It’s not like most people wouldn’t already be in favor of increasing funding to make vaccines affordable to children. Someone was trying to stir up a public outcry. But why? And against whom?
“We need to read every line of that bill.”
“I’ll keep reading. But it’s over four hundred pages with the rider,” Taylor replied. “I’ll see how far I can get before we reach Boston.” She pulled it back up on the laptop and Jack was quiet as she continued to read.
* * *
After an hour, Taylor leaned back and massaged her neck. Night had fallen, and she glanced out into the darkness. Finally, she spoke. “I never really knew him at all, did I?”
Jack shifted in his seat. What could he say?
“He was fighting his own demons, Taylor. His heart was in the right place at the end.”
“I think I knew deep down that he was holding back, that things weren’t as they should be, but it was all so intangible. We were both so busy those first few years. Between my hours at the network and the traveling I had to do when working a new story, we hardly saw each other. And then when I couldn’t get pregnant, he was so wonderful, supportive. It was like we were finally in a real partnership, but now I don’t know what’s real.”
“I’m sorry, Taylor. That must have been tough.”
“That’s the funny thing. All—and I mean all—the women I met in the infertility support groups complained about how insensitive their husbands were, how they couldn’t relate to how devastating infertility is. Some of their marriages fell apart over it. But it brought us closer together. He was suffering just as much as I was, and he never said the wrong thing. I wouldn’t have gotten through it without him.”
Jack didn’t feel like hearing what a saint Phillips had been. He drummed his hands on the wheel. “Try to get some sleep. You’ve been through a lot.”
“There’s no way I can sleep with all this going round and round in my head.”
“Just lean back and close your eyes anyway. We’ll be in Boston soon and we can switch cars there. My brother-in-law has a truck registered to his business that we can use. It shouldn’t be on anyone’s radar.”
“I’ll keep reading,” Taylor said.
“Okay.” As long as they didn’t talk anymore, he thought. Every turn of their conversation had been rife with minefields. He didn’t want to discuss her marriage or her pregnancy. She was supposed to have married him. That had been the plan. She would finish her last year of college, and they would be married the following fall. He’d gotten an apartment in New York and a job with the Associated Press. Taylor used to come down from BU on Friday afternoons, and they’d spend the weekends together exploring the city. They were going to live the life they’d always dreamed of—two journalists in the most important city in the world, the future at their fingertips.
He had never seen Dakota coming. A flash of red hair that framed a face defined by angles and contours, her blue eyes flashed with an intensity he’d found irresistible. He might never have met her if not for his sister Sarah. Their father had died a month earlier, and Jack had still been grieving. Sarah had come into town to visit friends and had insisted he join them for dinner. After, she had talked him into accompanying them to an art exhibit in Chelsea—not typically his thing. Once they arrived, Jack went straight to the bar, grumbled that there was no beer, and grabbed a plastic cup of wine. Nails with chipped red polish reached out and took the cup from him.
“You don’t want that rot. Come with me.”
Taken off guard, he went along. She grasped his hand in hers and led him to the back of the gallery and to a small kitchen. Picking up two crystal wineglasses, she held a bottle of pinot noir in her other hand and showed it to Jack.
“Much better, no?” She smiled.
“It’s lost on me.” He grinned. “I’m happy with a cold beer.”
She stared at him and bit down on her plump bottom lip, her white teeth showcased by the soft pink hue. He found himself wondering how her lips would feel on his.
“Time to change that. You have no idea what you’re missing.” Moving toward him, she lifted the glass to his lips.
He took a sip then shook his head.
“Sorry. Still rather have a beer.”
The full lips puckered in a pretty pout. “You’re a terrible boor.” A smile lit up her face, and she put a hand on his shoulder. “No matter. I’ve decided I like you, and I’m going to keep you.”
Jack frowned. “Keep me?”
“Oh, don’t worry, silly. I’ll keep you as a friend. Come on, let’s see if any of my paintings have sold.”
“You’re . . . ?”
“Yes, I’m Dakota Drake.” She took a bow. “Welcome to my world.”
“Stop. Stop. Jack! Beau needs to go out,” Taylor shouted.
Jack glanced at her, startled out of the memory. “Sorry. I’ll pull over.”
He steered the car to the shoulder and put it in park, then turned on the interior light.
“You stay here. I’ll take him. Where’s his leash?”
Jack held the leash while Beau sniffed in the dark for a place to relieve himself.
When he had finished, he loped up to Jack and licked his hand. Jack envied the dog his uncomplicated existence. He shook his head and wondered how he had managed to screw up his life so badly.
Chapter Thirteen
THE INSTITUTE, MAY 1975
THE ENTRANCE FOYER IS ENORMOUS, AND WARDROBE RACKS are lined up on the marble floor, each tagged with a sign bearing a name. Clothes hang from each of them—uniforms is perhaps a better word. Shiny black jumpsuits. I take one and hold it up in front of me. It appears to be a perfect fit. There are slippers, too, and scrubs, cotton shirts, blankets, and pillows on a shelf below. I notice a Dopp kit and pick it up. Insi
de are toiletries—toothbrush, mouthwash, shampoo, and soap. I look around at the others. Everyone has the exact same provisions. Our hosts have thought of everything.
Our driver clears his throat, and we all turn to look at him.
“You may follow me. Pull your rack behind you. We’re going to your quarters.”
His face is as expressionless as it was when he first picked us up, and I wonder at his lack of affect. I have an urge to reach out and poke him, try to provoke a reaction. But of course, I don’t. I make my face a mask and follow along with everyone as if this is the most natural thing in the world. We are led to an elevator and line up to go down in groups. No one speaks while we wait our turn. I have to pee but am too embarrassed to ask. He comes for my group, and we descend six floors, and when the elevator opens, we are faced by a steel door. A woman stands next to it, in a black jumpsuit, and smiles.
“Good evening, students. Welcome.” She is pretty, not much older than me, and her eyes look kind.
Gratitude rushes through me at her warmth, and I feel myself relax.
She opens the door, and we push through with our new belongings.
There are beds lined up on each side of the room, army barracks–style, and others have already staked their claims and are sorting their things.
“Marianna, you’re over here.” She turns to me and puts a hand on my arm, then leads me to a bed at the end of one of the rows.
“Please, call me Maya.”
She tilts her head. “Maya?”
I smile. “My sister couldn’t pronounce Marianna when she was little, so she called me Maya. It stuck.”
“Maya it is. I’ll make sure to let your instructors know. I’m Evelyn. I’ll be your coordinator for this session. Anything that you need, any problems you have, you can come to me.”
“Thank you,” I manage, my voice cracking. I look around. “Are we all staying in here?”
“Part of being here is learning how to think differently. Does it matter, when you treat a patient, if the person is male or female? Certainly male doctors examine females, just as female doctors examine males. Would you refuse to examine a male patient?”