The Target Page 21

  Brickman gave a tight smile. “I expect the people of San Diego to judge me on my platform and success as an entrepreneur, not my body. I’m getting the SlimPro because it’s effective, and I want to improve my health. I also want to show consumers that the product is safe and that the insertion is easy and nearly painless.”

  Another reporter, a middle-aged man, cut in. “The product’s clinic trials indicate that only fifty-eight percent of the participants experienced a significant weight loss, and another twenty percent had some weight loss. What if this doesn’t work for you?”

  “I’ll try something else. I’ve never given up on anything important.”

  The woman in red asked about people gaining weight back when they stopped using the implant.

  Cheryl was no longer listening. The bastard was running for mayor and gaining voters’ sympathy with this publicity stunt. He was shameless. She had to stop him. Should she finally go public with his treatment of her? Maybe sue him for her share of the SlimPro profits—‌just to give him some negative publicity?

  Cheryl tried to tune back into his press conference, but her phone rang.

  “It’s Holly.” Her assistant was whispering.

  “Speak up please.”

  “I can’t. The FBI is here. They have a search warrant, and they’re taking everything.”

  Cheryl’s heart skipped a beat. How much did the feds know? “What are they looking for?” Cheryl tried to sound calm.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t read the warrant.”

  Was it real or another attempt by Brickman to steal her product? “How many agents?”

  “Four.”

  Good god, it was real. Panic gripped her and she couldn’t think straight. What if they had caught K and offered her a plea deal in exchange for testimony? Had the feds already searched her records? Cheryl was good about deleting texts, but the information could still exist at the phone company somewhere. Heart hammering, she tried to plan for the worst. If she went to prison, what would happen to her research? Would Santera abandon it? He’d never fully supported the idea.

  And what about Amber? Her daughter would not only lose her mother, she might never get a treatment for her disease.

  Cheryl stood, legs shaking so badly she had to grip the chair for support. She couldn’t go to prison. It was that simple. She wouldn’t survive in a cell, surrounded by idiots and criminals, with no access to a lab. A better option was to go into hiding and conduct her research in private. That life wouldn’t be much different than how she lived now. Amber might even be happier. Saul would take her daughter in. From there, Cheryl could cross into Mexico if she had to.

  As she stepped toward the door, she heard Brickman say, “This product is the result of years of research and dedication. I have great compassion for people who struggle to maintain their weight, and I’m thrilled to finally be able to help them.”

  Lying motherfucker! She couldn’t let him get away with saying that. Not any more. Cheryl rushed toward the group, ready to grab a microphone.

  Another reporter stepped toward Brickman. “One of your employees said you’d been questioned about the murder of James Avery. What’s your connection?”

  Cheryl’s heart seemed to stop. Then her thoughts shattered into sharp pieces that rained down, each one cutting into her soul. Her father was dead? When? And the bastard had killed him? Confused, she froze in place. Why hadn’t her father’s wife told her? That jealous little cunt. Just because Cheryl had cut her father out of her life long ago didn’t mean she didn’t deserve to know he was dead. How dare Veronica keep it from her? Another sharp thought: How had she let herself become so isolated?

  Grief and rage engulfed her—‌dark, sucking pain like she’d never experienced. Cheryl couldn’t bear the grief, so she focused on the rage.

  Jonas Brickman had done this, and she would make the bastard pay.

  The reporter’s question hung there, while Brickman’s face tightened and his eyes narrowed into slits. He spun around and walked toward the center of the clinic. Cheryl hurried after him. Someone grabbed her arm and tried to stop her. She shook them off and reached into her purse for her gun.

  Chapter 38

  Dallas opened her eyes and glimpsed blocks of white and silver. But everything else was blurry, and the back of her head hurt like hell.

  A voice in the distance said, “She’s coming around.”

  Where was she? She tried to sit up, but a gentle hand pushed against her shoulder.

  “Not yet. Take it slow.”

  The room came into focus. Medical equipment, a partitioning curtain, and a man in a white coat. She was in a hospital. Her eyes closed again as she tried to remember what had happened. She’d been running on the beach and had passed under the pier. Someone had smashed her on the head. Dallas sat up, pushing the hand off her shoulder.

  “How did I get here?”

  “Two drunk young men brought you in around five this morning. They said they found you on the beach near the pier.”

  “I don’t remember anything.”

  “You were hypothermic. We spent hours warming you up.” He smiled. “But the cold water kept your brain from swelling, and we think you’ll make a full recovery.”

  She shivered, instantly aware that she was still cold. “I have to get going. Where are my clothes?”

  “Slow down. We need to know who you are before we let you go.”

  “Jace Hunter.” She inched toward the edge of the hospital bed.

  “It looks like you were assaulted and left to die. A police officer wants to question you.”

  Left to die. The phrase scared her. And she hated to be scared. But she was still alive, so dwelling on it was pointless. “What time is it?”

  “Around one o’clock. In the afternoon.”

  Oh fuck! She’d lost more than half a day. River was probably freaking out. And Brickman’s procedure was scheduled at the clinic in an hour. It seemed important to be there. Dallas pulled out her IV line and swung her legs down to the floor, unconcerned about the flapping hospital gown. “I have to go.”

  “You haven’t finished your antibiotics. Your white-blood count is high, so we assume you have an infection.”

  “Just give me some sample packs to go. Where are my shoes? And my key and phone?”

  “Your shoes are on the shelf over there, but I don’t know about your key or your phone. You were on the beach with waves washing over you.” The doctor’s voice was gentle. “You could have died.”

  “I’m sure that’s what she had in mind.” Decker’s slick little operative must have circled back and followed her. Boy, she’d really blown that encounter.

  “Who attacked you?”

  “Don’t worry, my people will handle this.” Habit made her keep her agent status to herself.

  “You should talk to the police officer.”

  She didn’t have time for that. “Please bring my clothes.” Maybe the cop would give her a ride home, so she could retrieve her bag with her other phone and weapon.

  “They were wet and bloody, so we threw them away. But a nurse will find you something in the lost and found.”

  Bloody? Dallas felt the back of her head and came in contact with a gauze bandage. “How much hair did you shave off?”

  The doctor gave a sympathetic smile. “A couple of small patches that you can cover with the rest of your hair. And eight stitches.”

  Not that she cared about her hair. She would shave her head if an assignment called for it. “Thanks for patching me up.”

  “Take it easy for a while.” The doctor left the room.

  Dallas stood and took a few steps. Yep, she was fine. She made a trip to the bathroom and was startled by how haunted she looked without makeup and proper body temperature. As she waited for a nurse to bring clothes, she realized her hair smelled like seaweed. None of that mattered. She had to call River. But the hospital room didn’t have a landline, just a call button for the nurse’s desk. Everyone used cell phon
es now.

  A nurse brought her a baggy brown skirt and a lime-green T-shirt with a surfboard logo. “It’s all I could find in your size.”

  They could have been worse. “Thanks. I had a house key in a zipped pocket in my shorts. Do you know if it’s still around?”

  The nurse turned to a shelf on the wall and handed her the key.

  “My cell phone?” It had been in an open back pocket.

  She shook her head. “Sorry.”

  Dallas dressed in the borrowed clothes, ignored her blinding headache, and pulled on her still-damp running shoes. Out in the hall, she found a young male officer waiting in a chair. “Hello.” She grinned at him. “Will you give me a ride home?”

  “I’m glad you’re okay, but I need to get a statement from you.”

  Dallas leaned in and whispered, “I’m a federal agent on an undercover assignment. We know who assaulted me, and we’ll nail her on several charges.”

  The officer looked her over, skeptical. The lime-green shirt obviously wasn’t helping.

  “You can call the bureau on the way. Let’s go.” Dallas started down the hall, and he got up and followed. She turned back. “But first, I need to use your cell phone and let my contact know I’m alive.”

  River tried to talk her into sitting out for a while and taking it easy, but Dallas ignored her. “I’m going home to change and pick up necessities, then I’ll drive over to the clinic.” She glanced at the officer, not sure if she should use sensitive names out loud. At this point, it probably didn’t matter. “What if Decker shows up there? Can I arrest her?”

  “Not yet. The team is serving search warrants at TecLife. As soon as we find anything solid, we’ll bring her in.”

  “I saw Decker meet with someone who later tried to kill me. Isn’t that enough?”

  “You said the unsub hit you from behind, so you can’t really ID her. Be patient, we’re almost there.”

  “Did you find the perp in the database?”

  “No, but we’ve got law enforcement all over the state looking for her.”

  “Good luck. She’s a chameleon. Anything else?”

  “The TecLife bacteria killed Palmer, which is why we’re getting the warrants. Good work.”

  “It’ll stand up in court?”

  “Curtis Santera gave you permission to take the sample.”

  A version of the truth that was close enough. “Keep me posted.”

  River started to speak, stopped, then finally said, “You had me very worried this morning, and I didn’t like it. Please be careful.”

  Dallas chuckled. “It’s a medical clinic, where an overweight man is having a minor procedure. What could possibly happen?”

  Chapter 39

  As Cortez drove toward the clinic, he kept second guessing himself and almost turned around. Maybe it was more important to question the scientists in the building where Avery had likely exited the walkway. Brickman’s wife had claimed her husband was home the evening Avery died, and as a mayoral candidate, the man had everything to lose by involving himself in a murder. Unless Avery knew something about Brickman that could derail his political career. Cortez still thought it was someone else in the company. Or two lower-level employees working together. It had probably taken more than one person to drag Avery into the cannery and bind him to the chair. Unless he’d been drugged first. Yet Brickman was a big man who could have pulled it off by himself.

  His mind more settled, Cortez pulled off the interstate and turned on Broadway. A few blocks later, he spotted the clinic and its packed parking lot, including a couple of TV news vans. Dang. He didn’t want this to become a public spectacle. If he was wrong about Brickman, the man might sue him. Should he wait? He could go back to ProtoCell’s R&D facility and question everyone. Brickman wasn’t going anywhere and wouldn’t be hard to find later. Cortez pulled into the parking lot and sat, trying to make up his mind.

  His phone rang and he glanced at the ID. The evidence facility. About time. He picked up, praying for something he could use. “It’s Cortez.”

  “DeMarco at the processing center. I went back over the Avery vehicle to see if I could pull more fingerprints. I found one on the inside of the steering wheel, and you’re not going to believe who it belongs to.”

  Cortez’s breath caught. “Who?”

  “Jonas Brickman. He was printed twenty years ago on a DUI, so he’s in the system.”

  Yes! A solid break. “Thanks. I’m about to pick him up for questioning.” Cortez started to get out of the car, then stopped and called Harris. He might as well have backup. Brickman was a big man, and this could get ugly.

  Chapter 40

  Dallas promised the officer she’d give a full statement the next day and hurried into her condo. She headed straight for the kitchen, gulped three aspirin for the pain in her head, and brewed a strong pot of coffee. The saltwater had made her skin itchy, so she took a quick shower. The water made her think about herself lying there on the beach in the dark, with waves washing over her body. She’d almost disappeared into the nothingness of death. Like her father would soon do. Cold pain gripped her torso. She jumped out of the shower, pulled on a robe, and had to sit on the bed for a moment and just breathe.

  It wasn’t the closest she’d ever come to death, but this time it scared her more. She reminded herself that death was only painful when you looked at it too hard. Once it happened, there was no more to think or feel or regret. Still, she was lucky to be alive. Lucky that someone had found her and given her help. She wished she could thank the young men. But her father wouldn’t get a second chance. He would just be gone soon. Dallas found her lucky cloth and rubbed it between her fingers, but it brought her no comfort.

  Shaking it off, she dressed in work clothes—‌lightweight pants and a short-sleeved shirt—‌then grabbed her bag. No longer undercover, she pulled her gun out of its zippered compartment and strapped it to her ankle.

  The lot at the clinic was full, so Dallas had to circle the block and park at the sandwich shop next door. Before she got out, she put her hair up and donned sunglasses in case Decker was around. She would hang back and keep a magazine in front of her face too. She was curious to see how Decker and Brickman would interact. But more important, she wanted to scout the crowd for the unsub who’d tried to kill her. If Decker was determined to sabotage ProtoCell, she might have planned something for today. The meet-up last night could have been about this last-minute opportunity.

  Dallas looked over at the medical building. Larger than she expected, with an urgent care entrance that accommodated emergency arrivals. There was Decker’s silver car, parked in the back by the ambulance bay. Feeling better about being here—‌instead of searching computer files with the rest of the team—‌she headed into the clinic, each step causing a fresh wave of pain in her head.

  The cool air inside the clinic eased her distress. She stood near the entrance and took in the scene. A tall man with the weight of an aging linebacker stood behind a podium, taking questions from a group of reporters—‌while patients waited and clerks went about their business. A strange juxtaposition and too many people to keep track of. She scanned the patients in the chairs against the wall. No one who looked like the unsub. One woman was the right size and skin coloring, but she had a little boy in her lap. Where was Decker?

  Brickman held up his hand to the reporters, gave a parting smile, and turned toward the nearby hallway. As he walked into the medical back area, a woman in a black dress and white shoes darted out from behind an L-shaped bend. Decker! The scientist headed straight for the group of reporters and pushed her way through. What the hell was she up to?

  Dallas crossed the huge waiting area, no longer concerned with whether Decker would spot her. She followed the woman down the hall and watched her push past a nurse in pink scrubs. Brickman turned a corner and so did Decker. Dallas started to run. A male doctor stepped out of the back office and blocked her path.

  “Please leave this area immediately.
”

  “I’m FBI. Move!”

  She pushed past him and rounded the corner. In front of a procedure room, Decker had a gun to Brickman’s head and a syringe in her other hand. A fifty-something woman in a doctor’s coat was against the wall, about five feet away. Holy shit! Decker had snapped. Dallas itched to grab the weapon in her ankle holster, but feared that the sudden move could get her or Brickman killed.

  “Back off!” Decker yelled. “Or I’ll kill him and inject the doctor.” Decker turned briefly to the woman against the wall. “Take this scarf and tie his hands. Now!”

  The doctor followed orders, making short work of it, and stepped back.

  What was in the syringe? “Don’t do this,” Dallas pleaded. “He’s not worth life in prison.”

  Decker didn’t seem to hear or recognize her. The crazy woman’s eyes were glazed over, like someone on meth. She began to step backward and yelled at Brickman to do the same. He hesitated, frozen in fear.

  “I will shoot you in the head!”

  No one doubted her. Brickman began to walk backward too, his body shielding Decker. Ten feet behind them, sunlight burned through a glass-door exit.

  “Do not call the police!” Decker shouted. “If I see a squad car, I’ll kill him!”

  Dallas scrambled through her options. She could rush them and use Brickman’s body to take down Decker. No. Risking the civilian’s life to save him wouldn’t fly. She could keep moving forward, hoping for a chance to shoot or knock down Decker before she made her next move. Another risk to Brickman. The needle worried Dallas even more than the gun. People survived gunshot wounds all the time. Gangbangers sometimes survived multiple GSWs. But whatever was in the syringe could kill instantly. Dallas was leery of getting too close to the crazy woman until she had parted with her lethal injection.

  Decker reached behind her back and opened the door. She was talking to Brickman, but Dallas couldn’t hear what she said. She made a decision. The best thing she could do was follow Decker, watch for an opening, and be there when this scenario played out. She turned and bolted for the front door, a faster way to reach her car. On the way, she passed a man in a dark suit asking a clerk what was going on. Was he law enforcement? She didn’t stop to find out. Someone at the clinic had probably called 911 already. Decker wouldn’t get away. But she might kill Brickman before they arrested her.