Jeff Abbott - Fear

‘She was one of the last people to see Allison alive.’

Nathan closed his eyes. ‘Don’t know her.’

A knock on the door announced Hurley; Groote noticed he didn’t look at Nathan. ‘What am I supposed to do if Allison did leave Frost with Ms. Brent?’

‘Call me. I’ll deal with her. People commit suicide when they lose their therapist sometimes,’ Groote said. ‘Unfortunate, but it happens.’

Miles heard six soft clicks: dead bolts unlocking. Then the door opened. ‘Put the note down,’ a voice whispered. ‘Step back ten steps from the door. Count the steps aloud.’

He did as he was told.

The door creaked open another few inches, a hand reached out, swept the note inside. The door slammed closed. He heard the locks turn.

Three more minutes. He peered up at the moon showing its face from behind a heavy cloud, its light silvering the wildflowers that graced the beds. The dead bolts, all six of them, clicked and the door opened again. Now the hand held a gun, a sleek Glock. He could see her, only part of her face visible, standing there in a T-shirt with a Batman logo, faded jeans, her hair pulled into a thick ponytail.

‘You can come in,’ she said.

‘Guns make me nervous.’ He’d left his own in the car.

‘Everything makes me nervous,’ Celeste said. ‘Explain why she wrote you a note. Why not just ask for your help?’

He saw no reason to lie; she might slam the door in his face, but she might equally decide to trust him. ‘She didn’t want another person in the room to know she was asking for help.’

‘Who?’

‘A man named Sorenson. He said he was a doctor but he’s not. She passed me the note in a vial of pills.’

‘Pills? White pills?’ Her voice rose.

‘Empty shells. No medicine in them.’

Ten seconds passed. ‘We’ll talk. But by my rules. Hands on your head. Step inside.’

He obeyed. She eased back, keeping a healthy ten feet between them. Neither her voice nor her hand holding the Glock was particularly steady.

‘Shut the door,’ she said. ‘Don’t lock it – keep your hands on your head. Just shut it.’ He did, easing the front door closed with his elbow. He waited.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Can we talk?’

‘Sit.’ She gestured with the gun to a heavy armchair in the corner. He sat, she remained standing on the other side of the room, the gun trained on him.

‘I understand your caution, but that’s not necessary.’

‘Why did Allison turn to you?’

‘I used to be a private investigator. She believed I could help her.’

‘Used to be.’

‘I’m retired.’

‘She gave you pills. Were you a patient?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘I’m Dealing With Issues.’

‘Don’t be vague. I don’t leave the house. What do you do?’

He swallowed. ‘A friend of mine tried to kill someone. I killed him. He follows me around.’

‘I prefer my life to yours,’ she said.

‘Allison asked me for help, she asked you to keep a secret, she got killed. We should compare notes.’

‘It’s too late to help her.’

‘I can’t walk away from it. I can’t. May I put my hands down?’

‘No.’

‘I’ll tell you why Allison was in danger if you tell me her secret.’

‘Why should I care? She’s dead.’

‘I can see you care. You’ve been crying. But, Mrs. Brent – Celeste – you might be in danger the same way she was.’

A sick, sad frown twisted her pretty face. ‘I’ve already survived attempted murder. It’s generally a once-in-a-lifetime experience.’

‘Me too. But you and me, we’re beating the odds.’ He told the events of the past two days: meeting Sorenson, Allison asking him for help, finding out Sorenson wasn’t a doctor, the confrontation and chase at Allison’s apartment, the shooter coming to the gallery looking for him. He left out that he was in WITSEC and hiding from the authorities. He didn’t want to scare her.

She listened without interruption.

‘This man that’s hunting me, he thinks I’ve got this research that Allison stole. I’m wondering if she gave it to you or talked about it to you.’

‘Backtrack a minute. You’re saying Allison was a thief.’

‘I know how it sounds. But she’s dead. Nathan Ruiz has been in this hospital, and if he’s telling the truth, she was helping him escape. He was part of this Frost research… he had FROST on his hospital bracelet. Allison was trying to get him away from the research.’

‘Nathan Ruiz could be lying.’

‘People chased and shot at us.’

After a moment, she lowered the gun and he found it easier to breathe. ‘Fair enough. But why would she bring this research here?’

‘Because if they were suspicious of her… she could only go places where she could be expected to go. She stole something of great value. She can’t keep it in her house or her office – this man, or this Sorenson guy, might be after it. She needed another hiding place, one that she can reach easily yet doesn’t arouse suspicion.’

‘And you think she hid this secret in my house.’

‘How long since you left your house?’

‘That’s none of your business,’ she snapped.

‘You’re right. But say she had to hide it in a hurry. If she showed up, unexpected, she could be sure you were home. Because you’re always home.’

Celeste started to argue but saw his point. She crossed her arms under the Batman logo. ‘This is crazy.’

‘Whatever Frost is, it’s got to matter hugely to these people.’

‘But what would it be?’

‘This man she seemed afraid of, Sorenson, he mentioned a new therapy. Said it could deaden the effects of traumatic memory. Maybe Frost relates to his project.’

‘But you said Sorenson’s not a doctor. How does he connect to Sangriaville?’

‘I don’t know. But Nathan said they’d fixed him. If you forgot your trauma, or it didn’t ruin your life anymore… would you say you were fixed?’

‘You can’t just make trauma go away.’ Anger in her voice.

‘If he was helped by a new therapy, let’s say for the sake of argument, and Allison was sneaking him out of the hospital… it suggests to me that she needs to show he’s better.’

‘To support the research she stole. He’s human proof.’ He saw from her frown she was considering his theory from different angles.

‘You think this is about drug tests?’

‘If so, they’re secret tests. Or illicit.’

He noticed a rubber band circled her thin wrist and she snapped it slowly against her skin, an unconscious twiddling of thumbs. She seemed to be trying to make a decision, gauging him.

‘You’ve got two facts on your side you don’t know about. Or I’m as crazy as you are.’ She let out a tense breath. ‘The day she died. She came by to borrow my computer, hers was on the fritz. After she left I couldn’t find a bottle of white pills she gave me a couple of weeks ago, to take before our sessions, and they were missing from my purse. I had the insane idea she’d taken them, but I couldn’t really believe it.’

He remembered the message she’d left on Allison’s office phone. ‘You took these pills before your therapy.’

‘Yes. She said it would make it easier for me to talk about my trauma.’

‘I wasn’t a cooperative patient,’ he said. ‘Could you talk about your trauma freely with her?’

Celeste ran a tip of tongue along her lip. ‘Yes. Much more so lately.’

‘Are you… stronger, or less affected by the memories, since you started taking the pills?’

‘I… don’t know. I cut myself.’ She kicked at the floor. ‘But I’ve been cutting less… but that doesn’t prove she fed me experimental medicine.’