Tess Gerritsen - Whistleblower

“Harbor a criminal?”

“Only until we figure out what to do next.”

“And how long might that take? Weeks? Months?”

“I don’t know.”

“Just the kind of definite answer I like.”

Victor said, “I need time to find out what Jerry was trying to prove. What it is Viratek’s working on-”

“You had one of his files,” said Jack. “Why didn’t you read the blasted thing?”

“I’m not a virologist. I couldn’t interpret the data. It was some sort of RNA sequence, probably a viral genome. A lot of the data was coded. All I can be sure of is the name: Project Cerberus.”

“Where is all this vital evidence now?”

“I lost the file. It was in my car the night I was shot. I’m sure they have it back.”

“And the film?”

Victor sank into a chair, his face suddenly lined by weariness. “I don’t have it. I was hoping that Cathy…” Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair. “I’ve lost that, too.”

“Well,” said Jack. “Give or take a few miracles, I’d say this puts your chances at just about zero. And I’m known as an optimist.”

“I know where the film is,” said Cathy.

There was a long silence. Victor raised his head and stared at her. “What?”

“I wasn’t sure about you-not at first. I didn’t want to tell you until I could be certain-”

Victor shot to his feet. “ Where is it? ”

She flinched at the sharpness of his voice. He must have noticed how startled she was-his next words were quiet but urgent. “I need that film, Cathy. Before they find it. Where is it?”

“Sarah found it in my car. I didn’t know it was yours! I thought it was Hickey’s.”

“Who’s Hickey?”

“A photographer-a friend of mine-”

Jack snorted. “Hickey. Now there’s a ladies’ man.”

“He was in a rush to get to the airport,” she continued. “At the last minute he left me with some rolls of film. Asked me to take care of them till he got back from Nairobi. But all his film was stolen from my car.”

“And my roll?” asked Victor.

“It was in my bathrobe pocket the night Sarah-the night she-” She paused, swallowing at the mention of her friend. “When I got back here, to the city, I mailed it to Hickey’s studio.”

“Where’s the studio?”

“Over on Union Street. I mailed it this afternoon-”

“So it should be there sometime tomorrow.” He began to pace the room. “All we have to do is wait for the mail to arrive.”

“I don’t have a key.”

“We’ll find a way in.”

“Terrific,” sighed Jack. “Now he’s turning my ex-wife into a burglar.”

“We’re only after the film!” said Cathy.

“It’s still breaking and entering, sweetie.”

“You don’t have to get involved.”

“But you’re asking me to harbor the breakers and enterers.”

“Just one night, Jack. That’s all I’m asking.”

“That sounds like one of my lines.”

“And your lines always work, don’t they?”

“Not this time.”

“Then here’s another line to chew on: 1988. Your federal tax return. Or lack of one.”

Jack froze. He glowered at Victor, then at Cathy. “That’s below the belt.”

“Your most vulnerable spot.”

“I’ll get around to filing-”

“More words to chew on. Audit. IRS. Jail.”

“Okay, okay!” Jack threw his arms up in surrender. “God, I hate that word.”

“What, jail? ”

“Don’t laugh, babycakes. The word could soon apply to all of us.” He turned and headed for the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Cathy demanded.

“To make up the spare beds. Seems I have house-guests for the night…”

“Can we trust him?” Victor asked after Jack had vanished upstairs.

Cathy sank back on the couch, all the energy suddenly drained from her body, and closed her eyes. “We have to. I can’t think of anywhere else to go…”

She was suddenly aware of his approach, and then he was sitting beside her, so close she could feel the overwhelming strength of his presence. He didn’t say a word, yet she knew he was watching her.

She opened her eyes and met his gaze. So steady, so intense, it seemed to infuse her with new strength.

“I know it wasn’t easy for you,” he said. “Asking Jack for favors.”

She smiled. “I’ve always wanted to talk tough with Jack.” Ruefully she added, “Until tonight, I’ve never quite been able to pull it off.”

“My guess is, talking tough isn’t in your repertoire.”

“No, it isn’t. When it comes to confrontation, I’m a gutless wonder.”

“For a gutless wonder, you did pretty well. In fact, you were magnificent.”

“That’s because I wasn’t fighting for me. I was fighting for you.”

“You don’t consider yourself worth fighting for?”

She shrugged. “It’s the way I was raised. I was always told that sticking up for yourself was unladylike. Whereas sticking up for other people was okay.”

He nodded gravely. “Self-sacrifice. A fine feminine tradition.”

That made her laugh. “Spoken like a man who knows women well.”

“Only two women. My mother and my wife.”

At the mention of his dead wife, she fell silent. She wondered what the woman’s name was, what she’d looked like, how much he’d loved her. He must have loved her a great deal-she’d heard the pain in his voice earlier that evening when he’d mentioned her death. She felt an unexpected stab of envy that this unnamed wife had been so loved. What Cathy would give to be as dearly loved by a man! Just as quickly she suppressed the thought, appalled that she could be jealous of a dead woman.

She turned away, her face tinged with guilt. “I think Jack will go along,” she said. “Tonight, at least.”

“That was blackmail, wasn’t it? That stuff about the tax return?”

“He’s a careless man. I just reminded him of his oversight.”

Victor shook his head. “You are amazing. Jumping along rooftops one minute, blackmailing ex-husbands the next.”

“You’re so right,” said Jack, who’d reappeared at the bottom of the stairs. “She is an amazing woman. I can’t wait to see what she’ll do next.”

Cathy rose wearily to her feet. “At this point I’ll do anything.” She slipped past Jack and headed up the stairs. “Anything I have to to stay alive.”

The two men listened to her footsteps recede along the hall. Then they regarded each other in silence.

“Well,” said Jack with forced cheerfulness. “What’s next on the agenda? Scrabble?”

“Try solitaire,” said Victor, hauling himself off the couch. He was in no mood to share pleasantries with Jack Zuckerman. The man was slick and self-centered and he obviously went through women the way most men went through socks. Victor had a hard time imagining what Cathy had ever seen in the man. That is, aside from Jack’s good looks and obvious wealth. There was no denying the fact he was a classic hunk, with the added attraction of money thrown in. Maybe it was that combination that had dazzled her.

A combination I’ll certainly never possess, he thought.

He crossed the room, then stopped and turned. “Zuckerman?” he asked. “Do you still love your wife?”

Jack looked faintly startled by the question. “Do I still love her? Well, let me see. No, not exactly. But I suppose I have a sentimental attachment, based on ten years of marriage. And I respect her.”

“Respect her? You?”

“Yes. Her talents. Her technical skill. After all, she’s my number-one makeup artist.”

That’s what she meant to him. An asset he could use. Thinking of himself, the jerk. If there was anyone else Victor could turn to, he would. But the one man he would’ve trusted-Jerry-was dead. His other friends might already be under observation. Plus, they weren’t in the sort of tax brackets that allowed private little hideaways in the woods. Jack, on the other hand, had the resources to spirit Cathy away to a safe place. Victor could only hope the man’s sentimental attachment was strong enough to make him watch out for her.