Damned If You Don't (3 page)

* * * *

The ferry stopped, and the conga line began. Since her car and Jack’s were toward the back, Morgan knew she was going to have to sit for a while. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel impatiently, trying to figure out the best way to get out of the mess she was in. Even trying to bury herself in Jack hadn’t been able to completely erase the horror that filled her soul.

She swallowed, knowing she’d never forget the taste her discovery had left behind. She’d stumbled upon the file as she was going through her data. It certainly wasn’t hers and just thinking about it left her whole body numb. In spite of Jack’s heat, she was certain she’d never get warm again. The day seemed as if it had happened only moments ago.

Day one. Subject female. Morbidly obese. Weight 398 pounds. Blood pressure now 189 over 95 without medication. Glucose without medication 512 mg/dL. Cholesterol 325 mg/dL. Enzymes slightly elevated. Subject in excellent spirits. Excited to be accepted into program.

Program? What program?

Morgan remembered her consternation as she exited out of the file and clicked on another. How had these files gotten here? No one had her access to her personal database.

Day eight. Weight 370 pounds. Blood pressure slightly lower now, 180 over 90. Glucose down to 375 mg/dL, a marked improvement. Cholesterol not changing as rapidly. Enzymes still slightly elevated. Subject feeling much better. Very happy with results.

Results? A hollow had filled her being. Bewildered she’d asked herself,
What the hell’s going on? What is this experiment?

Day fifteen. Weight 350 pounds. Blood pressure not changing. Still at 180 over 90. Blood chemistries not changing, but this is to be expected as the body needs to catch up with itself in regards to the rapid weight loss.

Rapid weight loss? Was this an additional experiment that BioClin was conducting while she was working on her project?

Total comprehension eluded her as Morgan skipped a couple of file folders and went to one marked a month later.

Day thirty-two. Weight dropping too quickly. Patient now at 300 lbs. Blood pressure spiking again at 198/100. Began administering beta-blockers again as a precaution. Glucose at 225 mg/dL. Enzyme levels still elevated. CRP level very high indicating inflammation within the body. Patient has begun to run a low-grade fever and exhibits general malaise. Advised this might be a reaction to the extremely rapid weight loss.

All of a sudden the notations began to sink in, and she remembered her heart beginning to pound. The journal read much like the notebook she’d kept on Pinky and Louie. Someone had stolen her process. Not only that, but whoever did steal it had used it on a human test subject.

With trembling fingers, she’d opened up another folder down in the series.

Day fifty. Subject deteriorating rapidly even though all therapy halted fifteen days ago. Weight at 250 lbs. Skin folds becoming a problem because of bacterial infections. Blood pressure still spiking even with beta-blockers. Blood chemistries normal except cholesterol levels have remained high at 300 mg/dL in spite of the statin therapy, and liver enzymes have climbed to near-critical levels. CRP levels extreme. Muscle and skeletal mass decreasing at an alarming rate. Debating hospitalization at this point. Patient exhibiting bodily stress akin to acute starvation. Patient on constant nutrient drip. Hypothesis: the more nutrients consumed, the more the body is burning. Considering halting all nutrients to see if metabolism slows down.

Morgan hadn’t wanted to read any more. She’d taken the same steps with her test mice. Once the metabolic rate reached a certain stage, it couldn’t be turned off, even if the subject starved.

Murderer.

Her mind had refused to accept the sentence. She’d begun working on weight-loss theories and drugs to save lives, not take them.

Murderer.

* * * *

Morgan shook her head as anger ignited once again in her belly. What that “who” didn’t realize was Morgan was part pit bull. She was going to find out who killed this woman if it was the last thing she did.

And that meant no more Jack.

With a shiver and a swift shake of her head, she reined in her libido and tried to think. Her first priority was to get away from him. Maybe she could lose him as they shopped. Maybe she could use the excuse of the ladies’ room in the restaurant he wanted to go to, and leave through the back door.

Knowing her luck, they wouldn’t have a back door. For a moment her mind flashed on what they could do with a back door.
Damn you, Jack
, she thought, wishing his arms held her tight once more. When they did, reality disappeared.

Morgan inched the car forward and pulled off the ferry. She glanced in the rearview mirror to see Jack hadn’t pulled out of line yet. She snorted. He didn’t trust her. But at least now they were in the parking lot and the line was moving faster.

The car in front of her pulled forward. Morgan was so engrossed in trying to figure out what to do that she didn’t follow right away. This allowed a uniformed guard to walk in front of her car.

What the—

Morgan’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. Why was a guard standing in front of her car, signaling to her? Her heart shot to her throat. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.

The guard motioned for her to pull out of line to her left. She bit her lip. She couldn’t run him over, and she didn’t dare pull out.

She flipped her head to the left and then to the right. Wait a minute. If she pulled out, she could go around the traffic and get out of the parking lot through the entrance instead of the exit. She just had to get around the guard first.

She frowned and nodded at the guard as if she didn’t understand what was going on. She hit the automatic button for the window to bring it down to get the guard to walk around the car to come and speak with her.

As he moved, the car in front of her pulled forward. She pulled the steering wheel to the left and edged around between the other car and the guard. She was just about to step on the gas pedal when another man stepped in front of her car.

Sandy-brown hair, dark glasses, and a black suit. All she could think of at the moment was police, FBI. Her heart slammed into overdrive as fight-or-flight took over. She jerked the wheel hard around him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another car approach, trying to cut her off from the left.

Pulling back hard to the right, Morgan clipped the other car with her front fender but not hard, just enough to bounce off and steady her car so she could burn rubber out of the entranceway.

Without thought, without knowing how she managed to miss the guy, Morgan drove. She saw a sign that said EXIT and followed blindly, having no clue where she was going. Then she noticed she was on some kind of long access road and to her left was the highway. She hit the gas.

Long moments followed before she got the courage to look in the rearview mirror. She expected a line of police cars to be after her.

All she saw was Jack’s car.

Jack?

What the hell was he doing following her?

The man had to be insane—it was the only logical reason.

He held his own as she sped down the highway. She took several deep breaths, told her heart to cut it out before she had a heart attack, and loosened her grip on the steering wheel. She looked down at the speedometer and realized she had to slow down. The last thing she could afford was an accident. She certainly didn’t want anyone to get hurt.

Then it hit her. What was she going to do about Jack?

Lose him.

How? She had no real 007 training. Tell him the truth? Out of the question. Wouldn’t that make him an accessory after the fact? Morgan wasn’t positive. She was a scientist, not a lawyer.

No, she had to get rid of him, get him off her tail. Fast. But first she had to figure out what direction she was headed in. She didn’t have time to waste doubling back.

Finally. A highway sign. She breathed a huge sigh of relief. By some miracle, she was headed south, exactly as she needed to be.

Morgan finally had time to check her rearview mirror again. Jack was flashing his high-beams at her. She couldn’t really see his face, but she had a pretty good idea that he was rather confused and a lot concerned at the moment. Probably mad as hell too.

He started tapping on his horn, and Morgan knew she had to do something. Anything. He was drawing too much attention to both of them and was becoming a liability instead of an asset.

Just as she was about to pull into the center lane and weave her way through traffic to get rid of him, Morgan watched him pull out and come alongside her. He was signaling frantically for her to follow him.

She couldn’t. But she did have to lose him. Maybe she could pretend she was parking, not park, and wait for him to get out of his car, and then pull away.

She nodded to herself and began to slow, seeing a large outlet mall up ahead. She watched Jack nod. He slowed down with her, then pulled behind her again, waiting to follow.

As Morgan pulled into the outlet mall, a strange thought struck her. Something metallic had glinted in the late-morning sun, catching her attention.

And it begged the question. Why was Jack wearing a Bluetooth?

Chapter Three

“What the fuck were you thinking, Sam?” Jack yelled into his microphone, a lead ball taking up residence in his stomach. “That had to be the sloppiest setup I’ve ever seen.”

“Public place.”

Jack rolled his eyes. He almost laughed. Almost. “We’ve done this in public places before. What the hell is the matter with you? I just served her up on a silver platter for you, and you blew it.”

“You’ve still got her, don’t you?”

Smug bastard. “Of course.”

But as he said the words, something started bothering Jack. The lead ball became a lead weight. Then it hit him. Where were the authorities? The police? The state troopers? Someone in law enforcement?

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s going on?” he asked, his tone even.

“What do you mean?” Sam replied,
his
tone too innocent.

Confusion rang through at the end of the question, enough for Jack to almost believe his friend. After all, it was Sam. But a terrible possibility had been planted in his brain. One that had him asking, “Where are the authorities, Sam?”

“Authorities?” Sam repeated.

Was that bewilderment he heard, or was bewilderment what he wanted to hear? “Uh, you know, uniforms? Black suits? Those guys?”

“No time.”

Jack snorted. At best, Sam was a bad liar. Disappointment carved a hollow in his belly. “Bullshit. You had plenty of time.”

“I swear to God, Jack. They wanted to make sure their i’s were dotted and their t’s were crossed. I figured I had to try it alone first.”

Jack frowned. It all sounded so logical on the surface, that had he not known there was anything wrong, he would have accepted the excuse. But not now, not when his gut was screaming at him. “Next time let me take care of the details. You suck at it.”

Sam laughed. Was that relief he heard or self-deprecation? “No problem.”

“So what now?” he asked, not quite sure how to rectify the mess Sam’d made.

“Pick a place,” Sam replied. “I’m in a car tailing you about five or six deep. We’ll converge, and I won’t blow it again.”

Jack shook his head. Somehow Sam didn’t make him feel reassured. Then again, Sam wasn’t the guy to go to for exact plans. He had “people” for that. “We’ve got two ways to go on this,” Jack answered. “Get her out of the car, or get us both down to one car. Stay back until I get this fixed without you fucking things up again.”

“No need to get testy.”

At the moment, Jack had every need. Especially when Sam didn’t volunteer the rest of the information, forcing him to reiterate. “This will give you time to bring in the good guys.”

“You got it.”

Jack sighed, glad his buddy agreed. “Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do I always end up saving your ass?”

He listened to Sam roar, wishing he felt like laughing. “Just lucky, I guess.”

Jack hung up, knowing luck had absolutely nothing to do with it. Jack had been trained to find people, people who didn’t want to be found. Criminals who deserved to be punished.

And that made him want to hurl. On the surface, looks were deceiving. The man he’d trusted with his life was lying to him, placing him in the middle of a total role reversal. Because his gut was telling him something that couldn’t possibly be true—that Sam was lying to him and Morgan was not.

* * * *

Morgan eased her foot down on the brakes. She glanced at the rearview mirror and a sharp sear of acid burned a hole in her stomach.

When things went south, they really went south.

She pulled her car into the outlet parking lot. She didn’t have to look. Jack was right behind her. While one part of her mind wondered if things could get any worse, the other cleared and took note of how many cars were in the lot and where they were parked.

Morgan pulled into a row, making sure no car was in front of her. This would force Jack, at the very least, to get out and walk around to talk to her.

So why wasn’t he getting out of his car?

She watched a black sedan pull into the row opposite her car. She started to wonder about that when all of a sudden Jack was standing next to her car door, a world of hurt in his gaze.

Trapped, as much by Jack as by circumstance. She rolled down her window. “You could have let me say good-bye.”

“Jack, I—”

He leaned forward to grip the metal above her car door. “Are you that much of a coward that you wanted to get someone killed back there?”

Yes
, she wanted to scream.
Yes
. Instead she answered as calmly as she could. “Jack, I’m sorry.”

He released the metal as if it burned, and raked through his hair, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. Then it fell with a heartfelt sigh. “Not half as sorry as I am.”

“Let me go, Jack. Please.”

“I’m sorry, kitten. I can’t.”