Jeff Abbott - Fear

‘You want me to make you a deal for Frost.’ A year or two of life for Amanda.

‘We’re willing to pay Mr. Quantrill quite well for Frost. But he cancels his auction, you close down this thief’s auction, and we’re the exclusive buyer.’

‘You’re a real humanitarian.’

‘Patients will get it sooner. And I prefer not to deal with a murderer like Michael Raymond.’

‘How do you know so much about him?’

‘Allison identified him as a patient who was helping her in acquiring the research. I got the impression he was a very dangerous man.’

A patient; it wasn’t what Groote had expected to hear about Michael Raymond. ‘But your deal’s worthless if he’s conducting an auction.’

‘Mr. Quantrill puts the word out to the other buyers that the research is flawed. The buyers lose interest. The deal is then between us and Mr. Quantrill. Michael Raymond needs to be dead so he doesn’t tell the media or the FDA Frost’s dirty secrets, but I expect you can drop him. I can help you. I could arrange a meeting. You could show up in my place. Michael Raymond solved.’

Michael on a plate, Jesus, that sounded sweet. ‘Let’s you and me make a deal of our own, Mr. Sorenson. You want Frost. I want a reputable drug company that will get Frost on the market. I don’t want to put my life on the line anymore just to make a bigger profit for Quantrill and Hurley.’

Sorenson kept an amused expression on his face. ‘I’m listening.’

‘I’m just tossing out an idea. I’ll deny it if you take it to Quantrill. But if you help me make sure Michael Raymond can’t blow the whistle on the testing here, Aldis-Tate gets Frost. I’ll give you the research myself if Quantrill won’t play.’

Sorenson smiled. ‘You’re a bad boy, screwing over your boss, but I like you, Mr. Groote.’

‘When Aldis-Tate starts the legitimate testing…’ Groote lost his voice for a second, coughed his throat clear. ‘There is a person I would insist be involved. If you can guarantee she gets Frost, not the placebo, not a damn sugar pill.’

Sorenson nodded. ‘I’ll consider your proposition and I’ll keep it private. One request, while I’m here. Might I see Nathan Ruiz?’

‘Why?’

‘Allison was supposed to provide him as an interview subject to our researchers.’

‘Forget he attacked you. He was scared.’

‘I don’t wish him ill. But I’d like to examine a patient who’s benefited from Frost.’

‘All right. He’s upstairs. He ran from us but got roughed up, so he’s not the picture of health right now.’

‘Let me,’ said Sorenson, ‘be the judge of that.’

A knock sounded on the door. Groote opened it. The front-desk guard stood there, frowning, leaning close in worry.

‘You have another visitor. His name is DeShawn Pitts and says he’s a federal marshal, and he won’t leave until he speaks to someone in charge.’

The feds. He glanced at Sorenson. ‘Wait here for a minute.’

Sorenson stood. ‘I don’t need the hassle of the feds. I’ll leave.’

‘Wrong. They’d come in force if they were in arrest mode. This is one guy. Let me find out what he wants and I’ll be back in a few.’

Sorenson gave the slightest of nods and Groote closed the door. He knew he was double-flipping on a tightrope, cutting a deal without Quantrill, and now a fed showing up after business hours. He sauntered into the lobby, hand out for a hearty shake, saying, ‘Hi, I’m Dennis Groote, ex-FBI, I’m the security director. What can I do for you today?’

Celeste answered the door, telling herself, Pretend you’re back on the island, playing the game. Get him to open up. You can do it. Find his weakness and play against it.

‘Hello, Ms. Brent,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to show up without warning, but I picked up my phone messages while I was close to your home and thought I’d stop by.’

‘I appreciate it.’ Celeste nodded. ‘Come in.’

He stepped into her fortress and Celeste gestured him to the sofa; let the shrink sit on the couch for a change. She settled in a leather chair; she wanted the power position in the room. She put on a blank smile; Celeste Brent had played dumb and helpless while manipulating her fellow players across a sand-strewn chessboard, letting the alpha males thump their chests and strut their way out of the competition, letting the bikini-clad nubiles claw each other, spicing the competition with rumor and innuendo that never caught up with her, rising above the backbiting to win the votes necessary to walk off with five million dollars. She wanted to put a gleam in her eye, show her guts, show her resolve, but not now. She wasn’t sure she could play the game, fool this capable man. She forced herself not to look toward the bedroom, where Miles was listening.

‘How are you?’ he asked.

‘Shocked by her death but coping.’

His neutral expression didn’t change. ‘I’m sure the last thing Allison would want is for your treatment to be adversely affected by this tragedy.’

‘Do the police know what happened yet?’

He shook his head. ‘It takes time. I suspect a gas leak.’ Hurley leaned forward with an air of grave concern that was designed, she decided, to steady her. ‘You were one of the last people to see Doctor Vance. We found her appointment schedule on her computer at the hospital. Did you make that appointment, or did she?’

Celeste decided on the truth. ‘She stopped by here. On her own.’

‘Is that an expectation you have of a therapist – impromptu visits?’

‘No. She wanted to check on me.’ She decided to put Miles’s theory to the test. ‘We’ve been trying a mix of new ideas in my therapy and I seem to be handling the stress of my memories better.’

Naked surprise crossed his thin face and then he blinked and it was gone. ‘That’s great, Ms. Brent. What was she trying in your therapy?’

‘I hate taking pills,’ Celeste said, ‘but she had me on a new antidepressant before our therapy sessions and the new pills definitely helped.’

‘Wonderful. And she came by to monitor your progress with this new medicine?’ A chill filled his voice.

‘I suppose. She took the pills back from me.’

‘Did she say why?’

‘She said I didn’t need them anymore,’ Celeste lied. ‘Then we talked, sort of an abbreviated session.’

‘Did these pills have a name?’

‘She called it some kind of compound, but I don’t recall the name.’

He took a deep breath, Celeste guessed, to collect his thoughts. ‘This will sound odd, but did she seem nervous, or frightened?’

‘Well… she wasn’t herself.’

‘I wonder if she might have asked you for a favor.’

‘What kind?’

‘This is awkward. To keep information safe for her. Perhaps on a computer disk.’

Celeste forced herself to frown in surprise. ‘Why would she?’

‘That day Allison removed sensitive data from the hospital.’

‘What kind of data?’

‘I’d rather not say.’

Celeste let two beats pass. ‘I can’t see Allison doing anything unethical.’

‘Allison might have gotten involved with very bad people – they might have forced her to take the data.’

She lobbed a test at him. ‘Then call the police.’

He failed. ‘We’d prefer not to-’

‘Of course. Hospitals hate scandal. They hate dirty laundry.’

He gave her a frown that suggested he’d underestimated her. ‘Sangre de Cristo has nothing to hide, and we’ve already reported the theft,’ he backpedaled.

‘If she stole it, what reason would she have to leave it here? I don’t think you’ve thought this through, Doctor Hurley.’

He leaned back from her, pride clearly stung – he was not a good poker player.