Stephenie Meyer - The Chemist

“I’m pretty sure the right-hand side medicine cabinet belongs to our guy. Refill safety razor blades, Excedrin, SPF forty-five sunblock, Centrum Silver, some makeup, but it’s all flesh tones…”

“Be positive.”

“I am. Lots of lipsticks and perfumes on the left side.”

“Some things they might share… check the drawers under the medicine cabinet.”

Alex pictured the pretty blond woman she’d seen standing beside Wade Pace in the official photos. Carolyn Josephine Merritt-Pace. She was only ten years the senator’s junior, but she looked a full quarter of a century younger. Whatever surgeries she had undergone, she’d been circumspect enough to keep things minimal; she’d retained her warm, beaming smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes and had every appearance of being genuine. She’d inherited a fortune from her aristocratic southern family, much of which she used to fund her various causes – literacy, feeding hungry children, saving music programs in inner-city schools, building shelters for the homeless. Never anything controversial. She had been a stay-at-home mother for their two daughters, both of whom had graduated from Magnolia League schools and were now married to respectable men – a pediatrician and a college professor. From everything Alex had learned in her hurried research about the senator’s wife, Mrs. Merritt-Pace seemed a pleasant enough woman. Certainly not deserving of the painful death her husband was about to suffer. Hopefully about to suffer, Alex amended. There was still so much that was left to luck.

“I’ve got three boxes of bar soap, a pack of extra toothbrushes, ChapStick in two flavors, cherry and strawberry… pomade, cotton pads, Q-tips… Next drawer down – oh, now here we go. Hemorrhoid cream. That’s fitting. Suppositories, too. Whatcha think, Ollie?”

“That might work. I’d love to use something topical rather than going the oral route, just to separate this as much as possible from Carston. But he might not use either the cream or the suppositories regularly.”

“A good point. Though it would be so great to literally shove this poison up – oh, hey, is our guy a smoker?”

“Um… hold on one second.”

Alex typed the phrase Does Wade Pace smoke? into her open browser window. She was immediately flooded with articles and pictures. She clicked on the images – poor-quality photographs taken from behind or at a great distance. Wade Pace – younger than he was now, still some dark in his hair, usually in a military uniform – was never at the center of the photo, but it was easy enough to pick him out, cigarette in hand. And then the more recent photos where he was centered; these were after he’d morphed into the “silver fox” Val had called him, and he never held a cigarette. But several photographers had focused in on the nicotine patch just slightly visible through the sleeve of his white button-down. Another on vacation, in a garish Hawaiian shirt, the bottom corner of the tan patch showing just below the sleeve. The vacation picture was from April. Not that long ago.

“Looks like he used to be,” Alex said. “Tell me you found the patches.”

“NicoDerm CQ. One half-used box, with three unopened packages behind it. I’ll check the trash.”

Alex waited eagerly through the short silence.

“Affirmative. Used patches in the trash under his sink. I’d say this bin gets emptied regularly. So he’s still actively using them.”

“This couldn’t be more perfect,” Alex said through her teeth. “Use the syringe marked with the number three.”

“Got it.”

She could hear the quiet pull of a zipper.

“Don’t let the liquid come in contact with your skin. Come at it from the seam – don’t leave an obvious pinhole.”

“I’m not an idiot. How much?”

“Depress the syringe halfway.”

“It’s pretty small, are you sure – you know what, never mind. How soon will it dry?”

“A few hours. Put it -”

“Underneath the top patch, right?” Kevin interrupted. “Second down.”

“Yes, that will work.”

Alex heard Kevin’s low chuckle.

“Mission accomplished. Wade Pace is one very deserving dead man walking. Moving on to target number two.”

“Will you check in when you’re in position?”

“Negative. Should be less than twenty-four. I’ll see you back at the apartment.”

“Fine.”

“Get on your guy, Ollie.”

Her voice was a little higher-pitched when she answered. “Yeah. I’ll have that, um, done before you’re back.”

He tuned in to her nervousness, and his tone became gruff, commanding. “You’d better. If I cause ripples, your plan might not work.”

“Right.”

He disconnected before she could. Again.

Alex took a deep breath and set the phone and the computer down on the bed next to her.

Daniel was cross-legged on the floor at her feet, one hand curled loosely around her calf. His eyes hadn’t left her face throughout the phone call.

“Did you get all that?” she asked.

Daniel nodded. “I can’t believe he didn’t wake anyone. Tell me my voice isn’t so piercing.”

She grinned. “It’s not.”

He leaned forward to put his chin on her knee. She felt his hand tighten around her leg.

“And now it’s your turn.” He said the words in barely more than a whisper, but the volume didn’t disguise his intensity.

“Not quite yet.” She glanced automatically at the digital clock she’d set up as part of her temporary lab. The display read 4:15. “I’ve got a few hours till showtime.”

She felt the shift against her skin as his jaw tightened.

“I’m not doing anything dangerous,” she reminded him. “I won’t be breaking into anyone’s fortress. It’s not so different from placing the tracker.”

“I know. I keep telling myself that.”

Alex stood, stretching, and Daniel leaned back to give her room. She nodded to the corner where her lab equipment was spread out inefficiently across a variety of end tables. She’d taken advantage of the setup to create a healthy supply of Survive after she was done with the recipes for Pace.

“I suppose I should clean this up before it upsets Val.”

Daniel got to his feet. “Can I help?”

“Sure. Just don’t touch anything without gloves.”

It didn’t take long; she’d had so much practice setting her lab up and taking it down, sometimes with an urgent deadline. Daniel was quick to grasp the order of things, and soon he had the proper case ready before she had the equipment totally dismantled. As she carefully wrapped up the last round-bottomed flask, she glanced at the clock again. She still had hours before Val would need to start on her makeup.

“You look exhausted,” Daniel commented.

“We got an early start. Val will fix me up so I’m presentable.”

“A nap might not hurt, either.”

Alex was fairly sure that she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. She was working to seem composed so that Daniel wouldn’t worry, but in truth she could feel the seeds of panic beginning to take root in her stomach lining. Not that she’d lied to him about anything she would be doing, but she wasn’t anywhere close to relaxed about the next phase. The actual action part. The truth was, she’d fallen back into her usual mind-set, gotten very comfortable with preparation. Now that it was time for her to implement the plan, her nervous system was in overdrive. Still, even just resting would probably be smart.

“Good idea.”

As Alex watched Carston’s housekeeper walk through the automatic doors into the huge supermarket, she took a few slow, deep breaths, trying to center herself. She examined her face in the visor mirror and was reassured by the illusion Val had created. Alex was sandy blond today, quite believably so. Her makeup appeared understated, despite all the coverage. Alex was happy to see that her nose was settling into its new shape, probably permanently. Every little bit helped.