At the appointed time, Caroline walked into Dixie’s, a new-to-her restaurant several miles from the office. It was located in a strip mall that hid its charming character: a southern barbecue joint with gallons of sweet tea, trays of corn bread, and tubs of coleslaw. An assortment of board games hung on the back wall, and military patches decorated the pillars. This place had a unique personality. After taking in the ambience, she snagged a menu to peruse while waiting for Anna. If the amazing aromas coming from the kitchen were any indication, this would be a great meal. She’d intentionally worn a red blouse since barbecue was on the menu.
As soon as Anna stepped inside, a waiter led them to a table in the corner. After taking their sweet tea orders, he disappeared and Caroline settled against the booth. “How’s Bethany doing?”
“She’s fighting hard, but her body seems to be fully in graft-versus-host disease. I don’t understand why, but when we test her blood, it’s showing a different DNA.”
“So she got the wrong infusion?”
“Samson and Brian both insist the right cells left Praecursoria.” She rubbed her forehead as she frowned. “And Justin verified it too. I know our process at the hospital. A mix-up did not occur there. I’m having the lab run another test to see if their results are off. But her symptoms are classic. You shouldn’t have GVHD when you’re getting your own cells.”
“Why do I sense that’s not all that’s going on?”
The woman swatted at her spiky blonde hair, but that didn’t hide the purple shadows under her eyes. “I think there’s something else, but I’m still trying to figure out what.” She leaned her elbows on the table and lowered her voice. “Can I hire you as my attorney?”
“Does this involve Praecursoria?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’d have a conflict of interest.” Concern pulsed through Caroline. “You should talk to one of my friends from law school. I had dinner with them last night, and they cover the gamut of legal fields. Plaintiff’s work, criminal defense, family law.”
Anna shook her head. “I don’t know if I need an attorney. I really don’t know what I need. Maybe nothing.” She huffed. “I’m probably imagining things.”
“I doubt that.” At Anna’s raised eyebrows, Caroline hurried on. “You are a smart, professional woman. You wouldn’t be doing the kind of work you are if that wasn’t true. Something’s bothering you, and I’d like to help if I can.”
Anna’s fingers twisted together on top of the Formica table. “I think the data Praecursoria is working with on the new protocol is wrong. At a minimum it’s insufficient.”
“What do you mean?” That didn’t sound like a legal problem.
The waiter returned with their teas, and Caroline could tell without tasting it this was the kind of sweet tea that could hold a straw upright. The good kind that southern-bred women adored . . . in moderation. She was going to enjoy every sip and then drink nothing but water for the rest of the week while her blood sugar recovered.
After he took their orders and left, Anna twirled her straw between her fingers, not making eye contact. “I’m trying to identify exactly what’s wrong, but for lack of a better way to state it, the data looks too perfect.” She rubbed her left shoulder as if wanting to release tension. “Something is off.”
“How can data be too perfect? Collecting data is the purpose of the trials.”
“Yes, but each of our bodies metabolizes substances differently. No two of us are exactly alike. Instead, there will be slight variations. Especially in the early stages of a trial, it’s not unusual to find varied responses to the dose and medication. That’s why we have Phase 2 trials to dial in what the correct dosage should be for the average patient.” She sighed as she traced the edge of the menu.
“Phase 1 only started a month ago. Prior to that, the treatment was only tested on animals. For starters, there’s too much human data for such a new trial.” She rubbed her forehead as if pushing against a crash of thoughts. “Look, on its own, this is an anomaly and something I’d investigate. But when I add it to what’s happened to Bethany, I can’t shake the feeling someone is interfering with this study. What I can’t figure out is who or why.”
“You’re still convinced she was given the wrong infusion?”
“It’s the only thing that explains how her body is reacting. None of the other patients have GVHD. None of them should. The whole point is that the mouse cells were embedded so recipients’ bodies won’t realize they’re there. With that, there should be no rejection, no part of the patient’s body attacking the infused cells.”
Caroline didn’t know how to help Anna as a scientist, so she slipped into counselor mode. She’d heard Hayden and Emilie talk about the importance of walking clients through what they knew and helping them differentiate that from what they feared. “What got you thinking this direction?”
“Like I said, there are too many data strings. At this stage, there should be fifteen, twenty, at the most thirty people being considered for the study. But I’ve got a data set of forty-three who’ve already received the drug. And some of the data looks identical.”
Caroline frowned as the significance of the words settled over her. “That can’t be right. We had to push to get it approved for Patrick. That was only in April.”
“Exactly. So it might be data for a different drug that is further along in the process. I’ve got a call in to one of my contacts in the research department but haven’t heard back. It wouldn’t be the first time files got swapped by mistake.” Anna paused as she caught sight of the waiter returning with their platters. “He’s doing some checking for me, but it still feels like something more is going on.”
The waiter set down their meals and the spicy scent of her barbecue beef sandwich elicited a growl from Caroline’s stomach. She stabbed her fork into the coleslaw and added a bit of it to the sandwich before setting the top bun back in place. This was going to be a mess. She took a bite to buy a little time as she considered how she could respond. As the meat began to fall off the back of her sandwich, she set it down and took off the top bun. She’d make this an open-faced sandwich to make sure it ended up in her stomach rather than all over her clothes.
After chewing, she focused on Anna. “What do you need from me?”
Anna looked away then squared her shoulders. “Can you see what you can learn about the CAR T 463 study? Confirm there aren’t other trials in place? Maybe happening outside the country?”
“There aren’t. I was reviewing the trial yesterday to prep for Phase 2.” She ran back through the details in her mind. “As far as I could tell, everything is right.”
“But that’s the problem. You’re too new to know what’s normal. And I’m on the outside. I have ideas of what’s wrong but can’t prove it.”
Caroline rubbed her temples, confusion pressing in as she tried to determine Anna’s core fear. “You’re going to have to spell it out for me; otherwise I could look at something and not see what you’re seeing. Why does it matter?”
“When this therapy gets through the trial to market, if Phase 2 results are based on bad data, the standard of care that doctors use to treat patients will be wrong. If it’s wrong, it could harm or kill our patients.”
“So the stakes couldn’t be higher.”
He swore softly, holding still so the women at the table wouldn’t notice him.
Dixie’s had been a last-minute choice for lunch, an inspired one it turned out.
How had Johnson figured out what he was doing with the data? She wasn’t supposed to have access to it, let alone interpret the data. When she’d interned for the company, she was terrible at data analysis. How had that changed with medical school?
He stayed quiet as he eavesdropped on their conversation. The fact Johnson was talking to the attorney made his gut tighten. Of all people to confide in, why that pipsqueak? She hadn’t shown any affinity for the work they were doing with her constant questions and prodding. Instead, she was as prep
ared to work at the high-tech pharmaceutical company as a third grader, the one who always asked why. She was so out of her league it made him want to laugh.
How did Johnson think the attorney could add anything of value to her concern?
No, the bigger concern was what Johnson thought she’d found. It sounded like a guess.
An intuition.
Some sort of feeling.
What a waste! But as he continued to listen, his contempt turned to concern. He’d forgotten how determined Johnson was. The fact that she’d made it through medical school was one illustration of that nature.
He’d just have to muddy the waters more.
So she was onto the fake data that reflected patients who didn’t exist, at least not officially. You wouldn’t find a record of them in the Praecursoria files. As long as she didn’t figure out what he was doing in Mexico, he’d be fine. It wasn’t really illegal. It just hadn’t been authorized by the big guy. But especially with the new attorney and her dogmatic insistence they follow the rules, he’d needed a way to get data about dosage and efficacy more quickly. Then he could file his own patent and jump to market in front of Praecursoria. He’d laugh all the way to the bank while Jackson wondered what had happened.
Fortunately, it sounded like Johnson hadn’t made the connection to the Robbinses’ son. His cells could be a gold mine if they continued to replicate and worked the way he anticipated. The test of those cells in Bethany Anderson would let him know. He’d need to stay close to Johnson.
If she threatened his ability to take down Jackson, she might have to join Sarah.
Chapter 17
At one o’clock, Frodo followed Brandon down the stairs from his apartment to the main floor of the lodge. Brandon stopped at the base of the stairs, taking in the wide-open yet homey space. Four of his five sets of house parents were seated on the couches that surrounded the fireplace.
Tables lined one half of the room, with seating capacity for all the children. A couple of times a week he served community meals, partly to give the house parents a break and partly to keep sibling groups connected. Though it wasn’t his first choice, sometimes larger family groups had to be split between cabins. Several multicolored couches were arranged around a large fireplace. Stacks of games filled a bookshelf on one side of the fireplace, and on the other were books appropriate for young kids through tweens. A selection of YA books was on another, higher shelf.
Brandon glanced at his watch, then at Jeff. “Do you know where the Lances are?”
“Tom had to run into town but thought he’d be back by now.”
Alaina nodded. “Tina has to stay with the kids while they nap. She’s got them very much on a schedule.”
“Want me to text Tom?” Jeff had his phone pulled out and ready.
“Sure.”
Ten minutes later, Tom hurried in. “Sorry about that. The line at the pharmacy took a while.”
“No problem.” Brandon looked around the small group. “I really appreciate you making time on short notice. As you know, I’ve been working hard to figure out how Almost Home will navigate the new regulations the state is putting in place thanks to the federal law.” His employees nodded.
“It’s been a tough time.” Jeff glanced around the loose circle. “But we appreciate your leadership.”
“Thank you.” Brandon looked down at the floor as he gathered his thoughts. He’d wanted to be smooth and polished, but now his outline had fled. “I’ve been looking at the numbers and I have an idea that should work. It’ll take some creativity and flexibility, but in the long run should work well for all of us.”
He took the next fifteen minutes to flesh out the idea of the house parents becoming individually licensed foster providers. “That would allow the state to place the kids directly with you and remove a group home from the equation. If we’re no longer classified as a group home, we can do a better job of our main mission, which is keeping these sibling groups together.”
Jeff studied him. “And what would you do?”
“I would take care of the property, manage group activities, and build community partnerships. The goal would still be to have this be a place for children to come while they’re waiting for a permanent placement.”
“But we could change that dynamic. If we’re foster parents.” Tom looked up from his phone where he was typing notes. “If we wanted to, Tina and I could switch to foster-to-adopt.”
“I suppose, but you’d pay me rent and for the activities and group functions. If you’re fostering to adopt, those things may not matter to you anymore.”
“And we’d provide support to each other?”
“Correct. We could work as a team on what that looks like. It could be providing a certain number of group meals a week. Maybe planned time off on rotation. You need to take care of your relationships as couples.”
Roselyn had crossed her arms and leaned away from him. The thirtysomething woman glanced at her husband before raising her hand. “Why would we take on the added risk when I can go work somewhere else as an employee?”
Her husband, Scott, nodded. “This upends the system we’ve had. And we’ll be on the clock even more than we are now.”
“It does, but I think it will actually allow us to be stronger as a group moving forward. I haven’t been able to do as much for you as I’d like when it comes to time off. This could give us the chance to rethink all of that. Traditional foster parents don’t get many breaks, but they also don’t have as many kids. I think it’s something we can find a solution to, but it will take creativity.” Brandon glanced at each of the couples. Roselyn and Scott seemed the most resistant, but he couldn’t read their minds. “I’d like to have each of you continue with me, but I understand it’ll take time to think and pray about it.”
The questions and brainstorming flowed for another half hour. When everyone left, he wasn’t sure who was on board, but nobody seemed turned off to the idea. “If you could let me know your thoughts in the next two weeks, that would help me out.”
Jeff waited until everyone else had left and then approached him. “Alaina and I will definitely be praying, but I wanted you to know that the Arkansas home has come back and asked what it would take to get us there by June 15.”
“That’s fast.”
“It is, but I told you they’d need an answer.”
“True.” Brandon shoved his hands in his back pockets. “Look, I can’t imagine doing this without you.”
“We haven’t made a decision, but I didn’t want you to be surprised later.”
“Thanks.” What more could he say as he watched his friend walk out the door?
* * *
Later that evening, Caroline pulled into her parking spot a half hour after Brandon expected her home. It had seemed like such a great idea to surprise her with the bouquet the boys picked for her, but now the pansies had wilted despite the wet paper towel he’d wrapped around the stems at Alaina’s insistence. It had felt dumb, but she’d insisted it would keep them fresh. Not so much. Would Caroline even want them or toss them straight in the trash? He rubbed the back of his neck as he considered them. Some romantic gesture this was.
Her steps stopped when she spotted his truck, and Brandon sighed. No slinking away now. Maybe he could leave the flowers on the seat, but he’d brought them this far. Might as well offer them to her. She’d appreciate the thought. Right? And the boys would want to see the photo he’d promised.
He stepped down from the pickup and then reached for the pitiful offering.
A smile creased her face and then grew bigger when she noticed the flowers. “Are those for me?”
He nodded as he felt a flush of heat climb his neck. “The boys and I were weeding this morning, and we picked these for you.” He thrust them at her and felt like some blushing teenager instead of the tough, strong man he wanted to be.
How did she do that? Pull out the insecurities he’d buried under layers of confidence? And then sweep them away with a
smile?
“Was Evan part of this?”
“His pulling tulips instead of weeds might have had something to do with launching the idea.” He let a grin grow on his face to match hers as he rubbed the back of his neck and she took the flowers. “It held off a war.”
“And I love flowers.”
“That’s why we planted them.” His feet shifted and he forced himself to stand in place. “I gave the boys chores, and the next thing I know Evan’s pulling tulips like they’re weeds.”
“Sounds like a teaching opportunity.” She grinned. “Don’t forget he’s five.”
And she remembered the detail. “Yep. When he realized that wasn’t how flowers should be picked, he was duly chastised.” Brandon nodded at the flowers with a quirky grin. “Those are for you with all the love and admiration of the boys of Almost Home.”
“What about the men?” A whisper of pink slipped up her neck.
“Well, Jeff’s taken.”
“How could I forget that?” She tapped her palm against her forehead. “Thanks for clearing that up for me. I miss those boys.” Her gaze met his and sent a pleasant shock through him. “And you.”
Brandon glanced up and down the sidewalk. “Any chance I can come up so we can pretend your neighbors aren’t listening to every word?” He chuckled and watched color slowly climb Caroline’s neck. She caught him watching and swallowed . . . hard. He wanted to tug her closer, explore what it would be like to touch that place along her jawline, the one teased by a strand of her hair that wouldn’t remain stuck behind her ear. His heart took off at the thought.
A harrumph came from somewhere, and his gaze scanned the windows on the ground floor. Yep, there she was. “Hello, Mrs. Haney.” He gave a big wave.
The woman waved back but then yelled, “She deserves better flowers than that. Why, my friend Doris’s grandson would bring roses. Red ones. The kind that smell good for weeks.”
Lethal Intent Page 13