Dangerous Tides (20 page)

He followed Jackson to the deputy's vehicle. He'd never felt so helpless in his life, or so unsure. He always knew exactly what he was doing and why he was doing it, but he just didn't have a clue about the situation he was in. He needed to protect Libby, even if it was from herself and he could see now that her family not only encouraged her behavior but would fight him if he tried to take her out of the situation.

Matt Granite and Aleksandr Volstov blocked him from reaching in and pulling Libby out of the police car. "You'd better go," Aleksandr said. "You don't want to make any enemies."

Anger flashed through Ty with such ferocity he could barely contain it. He stepped closer to the Russian, uncaring the man was an Interpol agent and had been trained since childhood in more ways to kill a man than Ty might ever know. "You back off. All of you. I'm not afraid of you and you're not warning me off of Libby. She needs help and all of you are idiots."

"So you're going to save her from her family," Matt said.

There was warning in Matt's stance, enough to remind Tyson he was a former army ranger. Ty shrugged off Sam's restraining hand. "Hell, yes, I'm going to save her from her family. They're fruitcakes and you're just as bad, encouraging them to believe in witchcraft. It's a bunch of garbage and you know it. Get the hell out of my way, Granite. You don't impress me all that much either."

Sam yanked on his arm, staring at him as if he'd grown two heads. Tyson couldn't blame him. He didn't believe in fighting—it was stupid and childish—but he wasn't afraid at the prospect of a fight. He had excelled in several forms of martial arts, but when he sparred, it was to teach or to be taught, or he simply ended the fight as fast as possible with a knockout. There was no in between. Yet now, he was virtually picking a fight with the Drake sisters' fiancés.

He shrugged Sam off a second time and stood solidly in Matt Granite's path, nose to nose, chest to chest, like a primitive jungle animal. "You're not taking her with you." Adrenaline surged through his body and at that moment he knew he was more dangerous than he'd ever been in his life.

"I'm arresting your ass," the deputy behind him announced.

Tyson didn't turn his head, didn't take his eyes off Matt, ready to fight.

Sam threw his arms around his cousin, pinning his arms to his sides. "He's upset over Jonas," he explained to the deputy. "He's not thinking right. I'll take him home. Come on, Ty. We've got to get out of here. No woman is worth getting arrested over."

That was the trouble. Libby was worth it and someone needed to save her from her family and from herself. Tyson Derrick was the man to do it, too. When he put his mind to something, he was unswerving.

"You can let go, Sam." It wouldn't help if he was in jail and Jackson was glowering at him, mean as a snake, ready to give the word. He would have to use finesse, plan his battle carefully. "I'm leaving."

Chapter Eight

SAM stood in the basement, right at the bottom of the stairs, hands on hip glaring at his cousin. "Did you forget something?"

Tyson didn't look up, didn't acknowledge his cousin's presence, continuing to frown with total concentration into a microscope.

Sam stomped farther into the room, careful to avoid the long rows of equipment, computers and big bulky machines. Tyson rarely spent large amounts of money, but when he did, it was usually on the best equipment possible for his laboratory. "Damn it, Ty, stop playing the mad scientist. You had a date tonight."

Tyson glanced up, the lines in his face grim. "No, I didn't. I made it clear to you I had no intention of dating that moron you were trying to set me up with. I'm busy, Sam. I've got work to do. I stand down here staring at all of this and all I can think about is that Drake woman."

"You're sulking, Ty. You've been down here day and night and I know you haven't slept—or eaten. What good is it going to do to make yourself sick? And over what? Libby Drake? No woman is worth this. She's become another one of your obsessive puzzles."

When there was no response, Sam sighed and changed tactics, his voice becoming coaxing. "You need to get out. The doctors won't sign a release to let you work as a firefighter, so we should plan other things to get you out of the house."

"You go, Sam, I've got a lot of work to do." Tyson wasn't going to admit to his cousin he'd been to Libby's house every day like some obsessed stalker and had been turned away by her sisters. He couldn't stop himself any more than he could stop investigating why the new drug, PDG-ibenregen, which BioLab had in second stage clinical trials, was producing depression in a certain age group of participants. Harry Jenkins wasn't paying attention, thinking the incidents small and random, but to Tyson, they were a glaring red flag and he wouldn't—
couldn't
—stop until he found the answer.

Sam swore under his breath. "You're obsessive, you know that? Totally a wackjob, and you need to find a way to get over it."

For one horrible moment, Ty was certain Sam knew about his numerous trips to the Drake home.
He felt
like a wackjob. He was used to his single-minded compulsion, his
need
to find answers and the thrill when he was on the right track, but that trait in him had never transferred to a human until Libby Drake had laughed in the streets of Sea Haven so many years ago and caught his attention. He couldn't allow Sam to know just how Libby had consumed his mind over the years. He didn't even know how it happened—or when it was that he decided to pursue her. Nor did he know exactly what he was going to do with her once he succeeded. It just was something he had to do. It was just like how his research took him over, only this was more potent. And like with his research, there was no possibility of failure in his mind.

"If you keep this up, you're going to end up in the hospital for malnutrition and I'm going to have to take care of you."

The concern in Sam's voice gave Tyson pause. He frowned up at his cousin, as usual feeling guilt for allowing Sam to try to take care of him. Sam tried so hard to understand him, but obviously it was impossible. "I promise to break for food. You go have fun on your date."

Sam scratched his head, the frown still very much in evidence. "I overheard the phone call with what's his name from BioLab. He didn't sound happy with you."

"Harry." Tyson supplied the name, waving his hand in a dismissing gesture. "Don't worry about it. We don't get along. I think he does shoddy work and he thinks I'm a glory hound. He knows, but refuses to acknowledge, that there are problems with the new PDG drug. He likes shortcuts and unfortunately the marketing department likes them as well. If they can get this new drug on the market, the company stands to make millions immediately."

"Has it ever occurred to you that old Harry might get very angry with you cutting into his territory? If this thing is worth so much money to your company maybe the safe thing to do is back off and see what happens. You could be wrong."

"I'm not wrong. Look at what happened to Drew Madison. He was taking the drug and he falls into the age group that seems to be having problems."

"We don't know that Drew's fall wasn't an accident." Sam took a step toward his cousin and halted again. "I don't like any of this, Ty. You're getting messages from Edward Martinelli…"

"A totally unrelated matter," Tyson assured him. "We're playing phone tag is all. I called him and asked him to get back to me as soon as possible. You know Ed. We've gone caving together. Hell, you've even played cards with him."

"I know he's trouble, Ty. Your head may be in the laboratory all the time, but even you know he's got unsavory connections. If he's a major stockholder in your company and you're on the verge of losing them a huge profit, you're likely to get fitted with cement boots."

"Ed may have relatives involved in crime, but I've known him for years, Sam. He's a legitimate businessman. Ed inherited his business from his parents, neither of whom were mobsters."

"You can't be that naive, Ty. No doubt he's using his business to launder money and I know for a fact he's very involved in the gambling world. He's got his fingers into all kinds of things."

Tyson sank into a chair, looking tired. "I've known Ed a long time. His parents and mine were close friends. In fact, one of the reasons I went to work for BioLab was because Ed's family persuaded my parents they would give me anything I wanted in the way of equipment and room to work on what I wanted if I joined them. And they offered a more than generous salary. My parents for once were thrilled with me. BioLab has always kept its promises to me."

"Come on, Ty. Your parents believed what they wanted to believe. Ed's father was indicted how many times?"

"But he was acquitted."

"Once the witness disappeared and another time he was killed."

"An accident."

"Electrocuted in a safe house with cops guarding him."

Sudden amusement crossed Tyson's face. "Precisely the point. He was well guarded and the idiot took a radio or something like it into the bathtub with him. He deserved to die if he was that stupid."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're not that naive."

"No, I'm not. Come on, Sam, those are urban legends. It never happened. And there was only one time, not two, that anyone brought charges against Ed's father. There was a bookkeeper who went to the feds and claimed he had proof the Martinellis were fronting for the mob. The newspapers had a field day, but when the case was dropped for lack of evidence, no one retracted the accusations. The witness didn't die, he slunk away because he was lying through his teeth. He was angry because he was fired for embezzling. No one reported that either."

"I don't care about all that. Maybe the father wasn't involved with the mob, but Ed Martinelli is. His pharmaceutical company probably launders money for his other businesses and if you're in his way, he's going to hurt you. Stop investigating this drug thing and work on your inhibitor or whatever it is."

There was a small silence. Tyson sighed heavily. "Out with it, Sam. You know too much about Ed for this to be a casual conversation. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just don't want you talking to him. I don't want you doing anything to put yourself on his radar. He plays rough."

"How much do you owe him?" Ty asked bluntly.

Sam swore softly under his breath. "It's my problem, I'll work it out. I'm not kidding, Ty, don't talk to him. Stay completely away from him."

"That's bullshit. Is he threatening you?" Tyson stood up so fast the chair hit the floor with a loud thud. "Damn it, it is my problem if he's really threatening you. I introduced you to him. Just pay him the money and get it over with."

"He won't take the money now, Ty. Let it go. I didn't want you to know because it's my problem and you're a hothead when it comes to things like this. You know me. I always say I'm going to quit playing cards, but then I think one more game. I'll take care of it the way I always do."

"What do you mean he won't take the money?"

Sam shook his head. "He told me this morning that he'll wipe out the debt if you'll arrange for him to talk with Libby Drake. If not, he can't guarantee my safety."