The Target Page 20

  Cheryl took her meds, then drank a cup of coffee while checking her email. When it was time, she went to Amber’s room and gently shook her daughter’s shoulder. “Wake up sweetie, it’s time for school.”

  Still half asleep, Amber mumbled, “I don’t want to go.”

  Like every other day. Cheryl had become numb to it. “I know, but you have to. An education is important.”

  “But someone always picks on me. Let Marta come live here and teach me at home.”

  Cheryl held back a sigh. She’d tried homeschooling with a qualified nanny. But the woman had quit in four days. The next one had lasted nearly two weeks. Cheryl felt sorry for Amber’s teachers at the private school, but at least Amber controlled her behavior better in public. It was hard for her to be pleasant and cooperative. The poor girl was always starving.

  “I’ll talk to the principal again. Just get up, please. You have to go. And you have to learn to deal with things.”

  Cheryl didn’t bring up the SlimPro implant, which seemed to be helping. She’d inserted it on Saturday, and by Monday, her daughter’s appetite had started to decline. But not enough. Still, Cheryl was cautiously optimistic it would give Amber some peace. But for how long? She only had two more implants, but they would last until ProtoCell could sanitize its facilities, have them inspected, and produce another batch.

  As she helped Amber to her feet, Cheryl had a stressful thought. What if K hadn’t sabotaged the SlimPro product line? The proof—‌a cell phone picture of an unconscious watchman outside the building—‌could have been staged. Or maybe the quality control person at the factory had discovered the contaminant and they’d halted production.

  In either case, Brickman’s implant wasn’t tainted, and he wouldn’t even suffer personally, let alone financially. Unacceptable! Hands shaking, she started to text K, then realized the pointlessness. Keeping busy while her mind whirled, Cheryl pulled her paperwork into her briefcase, tucked her gun into her purse, and packed a lunchbox for Amber.

  Then it hit her. The only way to ensure that Brickman’s implant was contaminated was to sabotage it herself. Her father had always said it was the only way to ensure that things were done correctly. Maybe she could simply swap out the one the clinic had ready with one that contained the infectious bacteria. But that would mean one less implant for Amber. No, she would have to inject the clinic’s device with a syringe of bacteria. The idea intimidated her. She’d never done anything clandestine in person. But she’d intended to show up at the clinic anyway and witness the spectacle the asshole had planned. She wanted to watch him walk out the door, thinking he was on the path to better health, all the while breeding bacteria and heading toward financial and political ruin.

  Cheryl went back to her bedroom and dug out the ProtoCell employee badge from the back of her closet. Her spy—‌a sales rep that used to work for her—‌had stolen the badge six months earlier when Cheryl had decided to escalate her plan to cripple ProtoCell. She’d never used it until now.

  On impulse, she took the last of her cash from the floor safe, stuffed it into an envelope, and shoved the money to the bottom of her purse. Her fingers touched the gun, and she checked to make sure it was loaded. It always was. She might run into Brickman today, and if he went into one of his rage-generated meltdowns, she needed to be ready.

  Chapter 35

  Wednesday, July 16, 7:09 a.m.

  River woke to the sound of Jared’s ringtone. The sweetness of hearing from him was quickly pushed aside by the sense that she’d slept late and something bad had happened while she snored, oblivious to everything. She sat up and reached for her personal phone, which she kept on the nightstand next to her work phone and Glock—‌just as she did at home.

  “Good morning.” River blinked and squinted at the clock. It wasn’t that late.

  “I woke you, didn’t I? Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I needed to get up. Is everything all right?”

  “Things are fine. I just want to know what color to use on the base molding. I’m finishing the dining room today.” The remodeling project had been going on for months, and she was in no hurry to wrap it up. His warm and handsome presence had stirred her first real sexual longing in years. But she would never let him know. The follow-up conversation about her body would be too painful. “What are my color choices again?”

  “You brought home two samples, one labeled warm taupe, whatever the hell that is. And the other is sandstone.”

  “Which gives more contrast with the paint?”

  “The taupe.”

  “Let’s use it.” River felt a flash of impatience. Not with Jared, but with having to make mundane decisions while involved in such a high-stakes case. But her life had to go on. She didn’t want to be like Dallas, living out of rentals and never forming long-term relationships.

  “You seem distracted,” Jared said. “I’ll let you go.”

  “I’m sorry. This case is escalating, and I need to check in with someone.”

  “When will you be back? I miss you.”

  Her heart fluttered, and River had to take a moment to respond. “Another week or so. I miss you too.” Embarrassed and flustered, she added, “I haven’t had a good bacon breakfast since I left.”

  Jared laughed. “Good. Save your appetite for me, and I’ll whip up something special for your return.”

  “Thanks. I have to go.” She hung up before he could say anything else. What did he mean? Did he miss her as a roommate and someone to talk to? Or did he have feelings for her? Good glory. What was next? She either had to send him on his way or tell him the truth about her past. Every decision will be correct in the moment, she reminded herself.

  River pushed Jared gently out of her mind and picked up her BioTech phone. No texts from Dallas. That was unusual. But it was early, and they’d both had a late night. River keyed in a message, asking her to come for a task force meeting at ten, then headed for the shower.

  Dallas wasn’t in the conference room when River arrived at the bureau, and her pulse quickened. Dallas hadn’t responded to her earlier text. River calmed herself with another mantra, then took a seat.

  Agent King, at the head of the table, looked up. “I have a warrant prepared and a supportive judge ready to sign. We should be able to confiscate Cheryl Decker’s computer this afternoon.”

  “Good news. Any luck identifying the unsub?”

  “We got nowhere with facial recognition software. She’s never been arrested or detained by any law enforcement agency in the U.S. We’ll reach out to the international community next.”

  Agent Kohl came in, his face animated, and announced a finding. “The CDC called, and the bacteria from TecLife is the same thing they found in Palmer’s wound. Now we can get a warrant to seize everything in the R&D department too, effectively shutting it down.”

  Another worry wormed into River’s gut. Dallas had been exposed to the bacteria, and now she wasn’t communicating. “Has anyone heard from Agent Dallas?”

  Three heads snapped toward her.

  “She was fired yesterday and witnessed a meet-up last night,” River explained. “But now she’s not responding to my texts or calls.”

  “Do you have a key to her place?” King asked.

  “Yes, and I’ll check on her after our meeting.” River took a long slow breath. “She was exposed to the bacteria when she took it from their lab. Can we get someone to start calling hospitals?”

  “What name would she be under?” King asked.

  “Her current ID says Jamie C. Hunter.”

  “I’ll get someone on it.” King’s tone was worried. “Update us on recent activities.”

  River summarized the meeting between Decker and the unsub, then reported her conversation with Santera.

  “Is he still in custody?”

  “I released him last night after he gave us permission to search his personal phone and email. I picked up his home computer this morning, and it’s with the tech people.” She fel
t certain now that Santera wasn’t involved.

  Agent King stood, signaling a wrap. “Let’s wait to move on TecLife until we have the warrant for the lab too, which should be soon. We don’t want to spook anyone at the company until we’re ready.”

  “What’s the plan for this morning?” Agent Kohl asked.

  “Get the unsub’s photo out to local law enforcement and to airports and train stations. We think Decker passed her a pile of cash last night, so she could be on the move.”

  River stood, her worry mounting. “I’ll try to find Dallas.”

  Chapter 36

  Wednesday, July 16, 12:05 p.m.

  Jonas bit into the meat lovers’ pizza and moaned in pleasure. He’d eaten many pizzas right here at his desk, by himself, but this was the last one before starting his new life as a physically fit politician. The sacrifice would be worth it. He couldn’t let food get in the way of his ambitions. He chewed slowly, enjoying every bite, then surprised himself by tossing the last two slices when he got full. Jonas took it as an omen that this time would be different. And not because of the SlimPro. He already knew the product didn’t work well for him. He simply had to become a different person. And eventually, Cheryl’s product would be on the market—‌either from TecLife or ProtoCell, however it worked out—‌and he would be the first customer again.

  After washing his hands, he stepped into his assistant’s office. “I’m heading over to the clinic now. Is everything in place?”

  “It should be, but I’ll check with Rashad. He’s already there, working with the film crew and staff to set up.”

  “Thanks for making this happen so quickly.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Should he invite her to attend the event? No, it would be a circus already with the reporters. And possibly some of his competitors, if someone had inadvertently leaked the news. He hoped not. Cheryl was the last person he wanted to see today.

  As a commitment to his new program, he took the stairs for the first time. His phone rang on the way to his car, and he recognized Detective Cortez’s number. Jonas let it go to voicemail. No one was going to ruin this day for him.

  Chapter 37

  Cheryl stopped in her office long enough to check her voicemail and return phone calls, then crossed the walkway to the R&D building. She hurried back to the main lab, a sense of excitement building. She’d missed working under the bright lights where anything was possible and her coworkers shared her passion. Two young scientists greeted her, with only a hint of surprise. She gave them a rare smile, feeling more upbeat than she had in years. After a decade of plotting, waiting, and working seventy-hour weeks to develop a superior product—‌Prickman was finally going down.

  She strode to the stainless steel refrigeration drawers and looked for a vial of STA-2014. The cultures were gone. A shimmer of panic darkened her mood. The vials had been here last Friday when she’d taken one for K to use in the sabotage. Cheryl turned to the closest young man, whose name she couldn’t remember. “Where is the STA-2014?”

  “We moved it to the isolated unit in the storage area this morning.”

  “Why?”

  “We had a contamination issue last Friday, and Curtis asked us to.”

  “Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Her heart raced. Was Santera working against her? Or spying for ProtoCell? She recognized her paranoia, but it seemed warranted.

  “It was a minor thing.” The young scientist’s voice wavered.

  “Contamination is never minor. Is the next wave of research compromised?” They were already working on a better version of Slimbiotic, one that lasted longer.

  “Everything is fine, I assure you.”

  She would investigate the incident more thoroughly when she had time. Right now she needed to grab the bacteria culture from the other storage area, fill a syringe, and drive down to the clinic before anyone from ProtoCell arrived.

  Cheryl pulled into the L-shaped parking lot, surprised to find it half empty. Pacific Family included a chain of medical facilities around the San Diego area, but the Chula Vista branch was near ProtoCell and contained an urgent care center for its clients. She drove around to the back, not wanting Brickman to see her car, and parked near the ambulance bay.

  She slipped on a white lab coat, a black scarf, and dark glasses, then checked herself in the mirror. Not easily recognizable. A quick glance into her bag to make sure the plastic gloves and syringe were still on top. She grabbed a clipboard, then climbed from the car. Cheryl hurried across the parking lot, eager to get out of the hot sun. Her skin was pale and burned easily. Once she was under the shade of the entryway, she paused. Could she do this? Her heart pounded with anxiety. What was the worst that could happen if she were caught? Scientists were expected to be a little eccentric, and she could say she’d forgotten to take her meds. And if she ever faced a jury, they would side with her over Brickman, any day.

  Cheryl forced herself to move forward. Her daughter’s health, plus a billion in profits, could be riding on this. Once inside, she strode calmly to the waiting area and called the clinic. She watched a chubby young woman pick up the phone at the third check-in counter.

  “This is Jonas Brickman’s assistant,” Cheryl said. “He asked me to make sure the SlimPro device was ready for his procedure. Will you please check to see if it has white packaging? We want to ensure that you use an implant from the current batch. This is important.”

  “Uhh.” The receptionist hesitated. “Sure. Can you hold a minute?”

  “Of course.”

  The girl stood and excused herself from the patient at the counter.

  Clicking off her phone, Cheryl scooted to the open hallway leading to the center of the clinic and waited for the receptionist to enter it from the counter area. When she did, Cheryl slipped into the medical area and followed the girl to a procedure room. A middle-age woman in pink scrubs approached in an intersecting hallway, and Cheryl turned away, glancing down at her clipboard. The nurse passed and Cheryl turned back. The receptionist had gone inside to look at the device. Cheryl walked into another hallway, counted to five, and hurried back. The receptionist was already headed back to her check-in station.

  Cheryl ducked into the procedure room, which held a narrow surgical table in the center. She hurried to the prepped, stainless-steel tray on the counter. Hands shaking, she pulled on latex gloves and slipped the syringe out of its plastic bag. She lifted the SlimPro package from the tray and carefully pressed the needle into the end-seal where it wouldn’t be noticed. Feeling with her other hand, she pushed the small cylindrical device up against the tip of the needle and injected a tiny drop of solution into the package. A microscopic amount of bacteria would do the job. And if K had done the factory sabotage, the device would also have STA-2014 inside its magnesium-and-silk exterior. Cheryl had a moment of uncertainty. Had she gone too far? Would the infection overwhelm his system and kill him? She almost laughed. Others had already died for this cause, but Brickman was the one who deserved to.

  Cheryl placed the device on the tray exactly where it had been, shoved the syringe back in her purse, and hurried out of the room. In the hallway, she spotted a man with a big camera and a tripod talking to a woman in a white doctor’s coat. They were setting up for the video already. Relieved that she’d completed her task just in time, Cheryl walked in the opposite direction, then made her way toward a back exit. Too nervous to wait in the clinic lobby, she went back to her car and pulled off the white coat. She was tempted to drive around until her nerves settled, but decided she didn’t want to lose her parking spot. The lot was already filling up, and once the reporters arrived, it would only get more crowded.

  A small sandwich shop next door proved to be a perfect place to wait. The large spans of glass gave her a view of the clinic, and the shop served a decent cup of coffee. She ordered a bagel too, but couldn’t eat it. Twenty minutes later, Brickman’s SUV pulled into the lot. When he climbed out, she blinked in surprise. She hadn’t seen him in
a few years and was surprised at how much weight he’d gained. No wonder he was getting the SlimPro implant.

  Cheryl tossed her bagel in the trash, left the sandwich shop, and crossed back over to the clinic. An attractive woman in a red suit entered the building just ahead of her. Was she a reporter? Sometimes not watching television or any news made her feel disconnected, but most of the time she was glad to not be bothered with the distraction.

  Inside the clinic, she found an empty chair in the corner about twenty feet from where Brickman and another man were staging for a press conference. They’d moved a tall lectern into place, and the fat bastard stood behind it, his hands on the top. Brickman had dressed well for the occasion in a charcoal-gray suit with a light-blue shirt, but neither concealed his girth. The lectern would hide most of his belly from the cameras, but it wouldn’t do anything for his upper body. Jonas had been so handsome when they were together, but his face was now buried under a thick layer of insulation.

  More reporters gathered around the lectern. Brickman was too busy checking his tie and his notes to look over and notice her. Ten minutes later, he announced that he was ready to take questions.

  The woman in red spoke louder than the rest. “Is this weight-loss effort connected to your run for mayor? And what if it fails?”

  Cheryl nearly choked on her coffee. He was running for mayor? How did she not know this? More important, how could she stop it? Even though she hated politics, she wanted to protect her town from this heartless thief.