"This is Dr. Monnet."
"Oh. Dr. Monnet… good morning."
Nadia leaned back on her mother's old sofa, straining to hide the crushing disappointment. She'd been trying Doug's number for hours—before she'd left for the clinic, and while she'd been at the clinic—but yesterday's busy signals had been replaced by a robotic voice telling her that the line was out of service.
"Good morning," he said. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"Not at all. I just got back from the clinic."
I just wish you were someone else.
"Such devotion."
"Well, as we both know, diabetes doesn't recognize national holidays."
"How true." He cleared his throat. "I was wondering if you were going to be in the lab today."
"I hadn't planned on it."
Actually she had, but only to remove the Berzerk from the imager's sample chamber. After that she might never go back, at least not until she had a good explanation as to why the inert form of a street drug matched the inert form of a molecule she'd been assigned to stabilize.
And then an alarming thought struck her. "Are you there now?"
"Yes. I stopped by. I thought if you were here we might discuss your progress."
Her heart fluttered in panic. She'd never dreamed Dr. Moanet would be there on Memorial Day. Should she run over? No. She couldn't go. Not until she contacted Doug and was sure he was all right.
"I… I have other plans."
"Oh. I see. Excuse me but did you…?" His voice seemed to falter. "Did you say, 'Doug,' when you picked up?"
Yes… Doug. A pang of longing seized her. Where are you?
And now, after giving Dr. Monnet a lengthy cock-and-bull story Saturday about how they were just acquaintances, how was she going to explain this?
"Yes. He, um, asked me out to dinner last night and never showed up. And now his phone is out of service. I'm worried."
"Because he's an old friend."
Nadia wasn't sure if that was a statement or a question. Either way, Dr. Monnet's voice was rich with concern.
"Yes," she said. "I'm going over there to check on him personally."
"Do you really think that's wise?"
An odd question. "What do you mean?"
"I'll meet you there."
"No. That's not at all necessary. Besides, he's all the way over in DUMBO."
"DUMBO?"
"Yes. It's in Brooklyn—Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass."
"That doesn't matter. Douglas Gleason is a valued employee. I insist. Give me his address."
Nadia didn't know what else to do. She gave him the address and he said he would meet her there.
This strange turn baffled Nadia, but at least Dr. Monnet would be leaving the lab. He hadn't mentioned the Berzerk in the imager, which meant he hadn't looked. Sometime today she had to get back there and clean up.
But Doug came first…Her worry for him blotted out all other concerns.
2
Luc stood outside the brick-faced apartment building on Water Street, one of many along the block. He looked up at the blue underbelly of the Manhattan Bridge; he could hear the traffic rumbling across. An odd place to hve, but he supposed one had to live somewhere. Perhaps the view of the city at night made it worthwhile.
He'd already been up to Gleason's apartment. He'd knocked and tried the door, but it was locked. Too bad. He was hardly eager to see Gleason's corpse, but if he'd been able to get in, he at least could have found the body himself, sparing Nadia the trauma.
Luc had told Prather he wanted Gleason handled differently this time. Macintosh had simply disappeared—bought a round-trip ticket to Chicago and never came back. He'd had no close friends, and when his family came looking, no one had any useful information, least of all his puzzled and concerned employers.
Gleason, on the other hand, was anything but a loner. And having a second GEM employee simply vanish—especially one with friends on the sales force, connections to dozens of doctors and their staffs, and a longtime relationship with Nadia—would make too many waves. It might even raise an official eyebrow, prompting an investigation into the whereabouts of both men. The last thing Luc wanted.
So Prather had been instructed to make Gleason's death look like a botched robbery. Very tragic and very final. And to cover all bases, Luc had requested a little vandalism as well—specifically, the theft of Gleason's company laptop and the destruction of his home computer if he had one.
That was why he'd insisted on meeting Nadia here—to help minimize the trauma of her finding an old friend dead. Even so, she wasn't going to be much use as a researcher for the next few days.
And every single day counted, damn it!
Luc paced the sidewalk. He wanted to see Nadia face-to-face. He'd experienced a moment of panic this morning when he'd checked the office and learned that she hadn't signed in. Was it because of the holiday or fatigue, or something else? He needed to look into her eyes. He'd know in an instant if she suspected him of being connected to Berzerk.
A cab pulled into the curb and Nadia alighted. Her face was drawn, pale. She looked worried.
"Good morning," Luc said.
She nodded. "I hope it is," she said. "You really didn't have to—"
"Let's not discuss that anymore," he told her. "I am here. What floor is Douglas on?"
"Top floor—the tenth."
At that moment she looked squarely at him and he saw no sign of fear or distrust, only concern—not for or about him but for her missing friend.
Deep concern. Warning prickles raced along his scalp and gathered at the back of his neck. Too deep perhaps for someone she'd described as "just a friend of the family"?
"How will we get into his apartment?"
"I have a key," she said, moving ahead of him.
As Luc followed her to the elevator, a lump in his gut told him that there had to be more to this relationship than Nadia had let on.
At Gleason's door he hid his unease and waited as Nadia knocked and called. Finally, when she inserted her key in the lock, he acted.
"Allow me," he said, gripping the doorknob as the bolt snapped back. "Just in case."
"In case of what?" she said, blanching.
"Something may not be right here."
He pushed the door open and went in first, Nadia right behind him. A few steps took him down the short entry hall until he could see the overturned furniture in the living room. He turned quickly and gripped her upper arms to keep her from coming any farther.
"Wait. Don't go in there. Something's happened."
"What?" Her eyes went wide and wild as she tore loose and fought past him. "What do you mean?"
Luc followed and almost plowed into her as she skidded to a stop on the living room threshold. The couch lay tipped over onto its back, a coffee table was flush against the opposite wall, and a floor lamp lay on the floor.
"Ohmigod!" she cried, hands to her mouth. "Ohmigod!"
Her shoulder bag tumbled to the floor as she darted off in another direction, moving deeper into the apartment, Luc at her heels. No stopping her. As she turned left into what looked like a bedroom, Luc wheeled right and found a room that looked like an office. As he heard doors slamming in the other room and then in the hallway, he noted briefly with satisfaction that the desktop computer's mini tower had been ripped apart, its contents strewn about the room. The hard drive lay bent and cracked open, damaged beyond repair.
As he turned to go, Nadia appeared and they almost collided. She must have found Gleason because she looked as if she were about to faint. He gripped her arm to support her.
"He's not here!" she gasped, panting as if she'd run a marathon. "I checked his bedroom and the kitchen and the bathroom and the closets but he's not here!"