Jessica Andersen - Under the Microscope

There was no doubt about it. She’d changed.

Maybe she’d finally grown up in her mid-thirties.

She clicked on the light in the bathroom and got herself dressed, figuring Max would wake with the commotion. She left his clothes and weapon out, along with the food and drinks they hadn’t gotten to the night before, and packed everything else away in his duffel.

When there were still no signs of life from the bed, she shook his shoulder. “Come on, Max, wake up! What’s the matter, did I wear you out?”

She flipped the clock radio on, cranked the volume, and said in a loud voice, “I’m going to check out and load the truck. If you’re not up when I get back…” She let the threat hang, having no idea what she’d do.

He muttered and rolled over onto his back. Reassured that he’d soon be fully conscious, she pulled on his furry jacket liner, shouldered the heavy duffel, unchained the door and let herself out.

The hallway was several degrees cooler than the room. Raine shivered and huddled deeper in her borrowed coat. As the single elevator descended to the ground floor, she realized it felt strange to be alone. But there was no way for the shooters in the silver car to know where they were.

The outside air was ice cold and gloomy with the deadness of predawn. The parking lot was plowed and salted, but still slippery. Raine was shivering in earnest by the time she reached the truck, way in the back of the parking lot. She let the duffel slide off her shoulder and reached to stick the key in the driver’s side door lock.

A footstep scraped on the sandy pavement behind her.

“That was quick,” she said, her voice gaining a lilt at the thought Max had followed her out. “I thought you’d still be in bed when-”

She broke off at the click of a weapon and the feel of cold metal at her temple.

Her heart lunged into her throat and her guts dissolved to jelly. A whimper backed up in her throat.

Caught. She was caught.

“That’s right, boss,” a familiar voice said. “Behave, and neither of you will be hurt. Turn around, and keep your hands where I can see them.”

She did as instructed, winding up with her back pressed against the side of the truck. “Jeff.” Her voice broke at the sight of him. “How could you?”

Her once-trusted employee lifted one shoulder in his trademark half shrug, but there was no remorse in his blue eyes. “I’ve always been smart enough to find the shortcuts.”

Behind him, a black limousine rolled to a stop. One dark tinted window buzzed down, and silver hair flashed within. The man Ike had identified as Dr. Frederic Forsythe stared out at Raine.

“Where are the disks?” Jeff said.

Though her gut churned with sick, greasy fear, she lifted her chin and glared at him. “How did you find us? We tossed the phone near where your boys crashed last night.”

Jeff’s chest expanded with pride. He nodded to the truck, with its shattered window and damaged dashboard. “A little something I’ve been working on for a while now. I did some of the initial work in your lab, come to think of it. I’ve created a homing device small enough to be easily implanted beneath the skin. Or, in this case, inside a bullet. But that doesn’t answer my question.” His voice dropped. “Where are the disks? The computer disk with the database information on it, and the video disk the lawyer stole. Tell us where they are. Now. ”

He raised his weapon and leveled it at her right eye. The opening of the barrel was very, very black in the dawn light. It was Sunday morning. The realization brought a flash of stained glass and the quiet grace of a dead woman’s memorial.

Too many people had died. This needed to end, now. But Raine was alone.

If you were planning on rescuing me, now would be a good time, Max, she thought with growing desperation.

Impatience kindled in Forsythe’s eyes. “Go find out what room they were in,” the plastic surgeon finally snapped from the limo. “Bring Vasek out here. Maybe she’ll be more cooperative once we put a bullet in him. There’s no way we’re leaving him alive. He’s too damned dangerous.”

“They both are,” Jeff said. He glanced back over his shoulder at his boss. “We can’t leave her alive to-”

“Shut up!” Forsythe said quickly, but not before she saw the truth in his eyes.

She and Max were both dead, regardless of whether they cooperated or not.

“Wait,” she said, thinking fast. “What about a deal?”

Forsythe smirked. “You don’t have anything I want.”

“I have Thriller. I have the patents and the development rights.”

“We’ve already taken care of your little drug.” He lifted one shoulder, allowing her to see that he was elegantly and expensively clad even this early in the morning. Or else he’d been waiting all night. He continued, “A pity. It would’ve made you a fair bit of money, but there was one major problem. It made women feel better about themselves. Sexier. More self-confident. Do you have any idea what that would do to the cosmetic surgery industry?” He shook his head. “No. It couldn’t be allowed. So I dispensed poisoned samples to a few trusted associates and maneuvered things so suspicion would fall on you. Nothing personal-just an effort to confuse matters.” His voice dropped. “Then that computer tech gave you a data disk that had the ghosts on it. Ghosts that could potentially be tracked back to me. That information could not be allowed to surface.”

“So you decided to kill me.” As the final missing pieces of their theory clicked into place, Raine forced herself not to react, instead putting herself back into the suddenly ill-fitting role of a woman who put career first, business first, success first. “That’s not the only answer, you know.” She jerked her chin at Jeff. “He’ll tell you I’m a career-minded woman. Let me go back to work on the formula. Tone it down a little. Tweak a benzene ring here and there until it works well enough to sell, but not so well that it’s impacting your business. We can change the name, announce that we’ve fixed the problems we had with Thriller, and split the take. We’re talking hundreds of millions of dollars here, and I’ve already done the hard part.”

That got Forsythe’s attention. He narrowed his eyes. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I’d rather be rich than dead,” she snapped. “And because I’m a practical woman. An ambitious one. I want in. I want access to The Nine. Power. Success. All of it.”

He stared at her as though judging her sincerity. As he did, the seconds ticked past beneath her skin.

Was Max coming out? Had Forsythe already sent other men in after him? How could she protect him? She had to think faster! What could she say to convince Forsythe?

Finally, the surgeon said, “How do I know you’re serious?”

“I’ll take you to the disks.” She shrugged as though it didn’t matter. “You can have them.”

“Are they here?”

“No, they’re someplace safe, up in Boston. I’ll take you to where they’re hidden-we’ve got it set up so only Max or I can retrieve them.” She was lying through her teeth on that one, but brazened it out. “I’ll hand them over as a gesture of good faith, but you’ve got to give me something in return. Otherwise, no deal.”

“If you want me to leave the other woman alone, too late. We’ve already taken care of her. There was a tragic ferry accident on the crossing from the Cape to Nantucket.” He tsked. “Such a shame.”

Raine’s heart constricted at Ike’s fate, at the emphasis of just what a dangerous game she was playing. But she feigned a shrug. “She would’ve been a complication either way. No, I want you to let Vasek go free, unharmed.”