“Jack?” Regan asked.
“Of course, Jack,” Cordie said, clearly exasperated. “And if he doesn’t go away, Sophie?”
“I can’t let this happen. I’m in way over my head.”
“You fell in love.” Regan nodded.
“You know she did,” Cordie said. “Sophie doesn’t sleep around. If she didn’t have feelings for him, she wouldn’t have slept with him.” Turning to Sophie, she said, “So you don’t want to sleep with him again?”
“Of course I want to sleep with him again. That’s the problem!”
Cordie looked sympathetic. “Maybe you’re worrying for nothing. Maybe he doesn’t plan to see you again. He might have moved on now that you’re back in Chicago and safe.”
The possibility made Sophie’s heart ache.
IN BED THAT NIGHT, the images of Harrington and Inook and the scientists’ camp came flooding back to Sophie. She had gone to Alaska to write William Harrington’s story, but since returning home, she had done everything she could to avoid the task. A pang of conscience stung her. She had vowed that she would give him a voice, and she owed William at least that much.
She threw off her covers and went to her computer. For the next hour she wrote of what she knew about the man and his ambitions and his ultimate demise.
She thought long and hard about the ending to the story. After all, she didn’t really have all the pieces to the puzzle. And so she wrote:
William Harrington loved challenges. He thrived on them. What took him to Alaska remains shrouded in mystery for now, but someday that shroud will be lifted, and we will know the truth. His story is not finished.
THIRTY-FOUR
HIS STORY IS NOT FINISHED.
Marcus Lemming read the words in the newspaper and was enraged.
He was close to his goal, and nothing was going to get in his way now. Eric had almost destroyed the dream with his stupidity, and he had paid the price. Marcus, on the other hand, was too careful, too intelligent, to let it slip through his fingers. Every last piece of research was compiled, recorded, and filed away in a secure place. No one would find it before it was time to hand it over to the buyer. And no one would ever know about the deal he’d made, the fifty million dollars for his research and Eric’s formula. What the buyer did with it was of no concern to him. It was all part of the confidentiality agreement. The buyer wanted his scientists to take the credit for the discovery, and that was fine with Marcus. If they revealed the truth, they’d look like fools.
There was just one little problem Marcus had to handle before he was home free: Sophie Summerfield Rose. Eric had said she wouldn’t stop. The article she had written for the newspaper said as much: His story is not finished.
Marcus had to silence her. He supposed he could find another one of Eric’s friends to eliminate her, but the last one had bungled the job, so why would he go to that well again? He’d see to the job himself, and since there is a purpose behind everything a scientist does, he would gain some benefit from the undertaking. Sophie would become his first female subject. After the experiment, he would give her a lethal dose and cremate the body. No body, no crime. But he would have the data for the sake of science…or at least for his own gratification.
How to grab her without being seen was the problem he still needed to work out. Preparation and patience—that’s what the situation called for. If she didn’t make any hasty moves and gave him time, he could work out a plan down to the most critical detail. He hoped to have the opportunity to talk to her before she died. He would ask her why she had gone to such lengths to find out the truth. Why did she care? William Harrington was a nobody. He didn’t have any friends or lovers or hovering relatives. He was a loner, and she had done only one interview with him. Just one. She had barely even known him.
When Eric heard that Harrington had mentioned the name Alpha Project to her, he feared she would dig for the truth and get too close, so he had hired one of his unsavory friends to get rid of her. But Marcus had thought Eric had acted rashly. No one, not even Harrington, knew what the Alpha Project really was. Now things had gotten so screwed up, there was no telling to what extremes she would go to unravel their secret.
If luck was on his side, he’d have a month before he had to deal with her—a month before he received his fifty million.
THIRTY-FIVE
MR. BITTERMAN LOVED THE ARTICLES. HE WAS ESPECIALLY fond of the story Sophie had written about the foot ball team, and was moved by her story about Harrington. It was good to be back to work, back to her routine.
She hadn’t seen Jack since he’d left her apartment after bringing her home from the airport. He had checked every room to make sure no one was waiting to pounce, kissed her on the forehead, and walked out the door.
Sophie struggled to keep him out of her thoughts, but late one evening she decided to watch the video on YouTube. She replayed it several times, and each time she saw something new, the way he calmly handled a horrible situation, the way he coolly kept everyone else from panicking. She wasn’t surprised by his courage. She’d already seen him in action and knew how he handled himself in a crisis, how he protected others. He had certainly protected her.
The alpha male. Jack was that, all right.
At five minutes to twelve, Sophie went to her closet, got the cell phone out of its hiding place, and waited for her father to call.
He was always on time.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“Tell me about your trip,” he said in greeting.
She wanted him to tell her about Kelly’s first.
“Now your turn, Princess,” he said after giving his account.
Sophie glossed over the shootings and the fire and told him about the weather and the people and the food, but her father had a way of finding out information, and he already knew down to the last detail what had happened. He sounded like a scolding parent when he said that he would never have encouraged her to go had he known the dangerous trouble she would get into, and he promised to send a team of bodyguards the next time she wanted to travel. She assured him that wouldn’t be necessary. She didn’t plan on going on any more adventures.
Wanting to move on to more pleasant topics, he said, “I enjoyed the story you wrote about Mr. Harrington. You did an excellent job.”
After a few more minutes of conversation, her father paused. “Something’s bothering you. I hear it in your voice. What is it?”
“You won’t like it.”
“I’m your father. You can tell me anything.”
She took a breath. “I did such a stupid thing. I fell in love.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“With…him.”
“Him?”
“The FBI agent.” She thought she heard a gulp. She took another breath. “There’s more.”
“You’re pregnant?”
“No. He went to law school.”
She knew how her father felt about attorneys. He was one of the best, but he understood what the unscrupulous ones were capable of; he’d witnessed it firsthand. Many years ago, as an enthusiastic young lawyer, he had unwittingly gone to work for the most corrupt law firm in Chicago: Ellis, Ellis, and Cooper. They had turned Bobby Rose into the man he was today.
The Bridget O’Reilly case had been the turning point. An automobile explosion took her husband, her three children, and her mother. Bridget was left with severe burns over half her body. Had the auto company heeded the warnings from the dealers and mechanics about the faulty connection, the explosion never would have happened.
The court awarded Bridget thirty-two million dollars, but by the time the appeals were disposed of, and Ellis and Ellis took their cut and reimbursed themselves for expenses, Bridget was left with two hundred thousand dollars. The amount didn’t even begin to cover her medical bills. Bedridden and settlement gone, Bridget couldn’t get the health care she needed. Before she could get state aid, she died of an infection.
Meanwhile, Ellis, Ellis, and Cooper celebrated their windfall.
Bobby Rose had been a young, idealistic attorney at the time. His research had helped win the case for Bridget, and in spending a great deal of time together, they had become good friends. He naively believed that she would receive the justice she deserved, but watching Bridget die penniless as the law partners went on lavish vacations and built colossal homes to match their colossal egos, Bobby changed. He resigned his position with the firm. He didn’t have to tell them why. They knew, and they had a good laugh over his moral indignation.
Six months later, some of the investments the firm was using as tax write-offs suffered unforeseen and severe losses, and that was followed by unexplainable withdrawals from several accounts. Their assets were dwindling before their very eyes. Since many of their transactions were of a dubious nature to begin with, the lawyers tried to keep the losses quiet. Not only were they afraid of the scrutiny of the authorities, but they also feared for their reputation. They were high-priced attorneys. Who could trust a firm that couldn’t even protect its own accounts?
From that time on, Bobby vowed that the fat cats who came to their wealth by underhanded and ruthless means would not enjoy their riches. Over the years, he gained a reputation for being involved in the downfall of several notorious businessmen. Of course, to do this, he had to resort to some questionable methods himself, which was why the law was constantly looking for him. Bobby was not only shrewd, he was street smart, and when necessary could disappear. He was never sought for criminal charges, but, rather, for questioning.
His one regret was that he had not been present for most of Sophie’s growing up. Her mother died when she was a baby, and circumstances kept him from being the kind of father he wanted to be. Still, Sophie had never once doubted that her father loved her.
“Say something, Daddy,” Sophie prompted when her father didn’t speak. “I said he’s a lawyer.”
“It’s a shock, Princess, I don’t deny it, but we’ll get through this.”
“I don’t want you to be concerned. I just felt I should tell you, but it isn’t going anywhere. He’s moved on, and I will, too.”
Sophie realized she’d never really been in love before, and if this was how it felt, it sucked.
“Do you think you can get away for a while…just to clear your head? Why not join me in Monte Carlo?”
“That sounds nice,” she said, her voice lacking enthusiasm. “I’d have to wait until after Thanksgiving. There are too many people depending on me.”
“I understand. I know what you have to do. After Thanksgiving then. You go to sleep now, and don’t worry so much. Things have a way of working out.”
She pretended to believe him.
WORK BECAME HER SALVATION. She buried herself in it, writing for hours on end. She managed to block out all thoughts of Jack…until she got into bed. She’d close her eyes, and he was right there.
“Get out of my dreams,” she whispered.
What was he doing? Where was he now? Had he taken time off and found the warm beach he wanted? Or was he back at work?
Had he handed off the Inook investigation, or was he still involved? She hadn’t heard anything for days. Surely they were still looking for answers. Had they found a motive behind the men who tried to kill Jack and her? Alpha Project…four scientists…William Harrington. She fell asleep trying to connect the dots.
THIRTY-SIX
NOW THAT THE FUROR OVER THE YOUTUBE INCIDENT HAD died down, Jack was able to get back to work. His star had faded because there were two new online superstars for the world to watch. Both were gorgeous Hollywood A-list movie icons, and they were caught duking it out at a high-powered producer's swank wedding reception, the guy having had the bad taste to dump one sexpot to marry the other. What made the video so popular was the X-rated language and the footage of the scantily clad actress punching her way through the crowd to get to the blushing bride. The acid-tongued starlet throwing the first punch ended up sprawled across the ten-thousand-dollar wedding cake. This disaster movie was a huge hit.
In the meantime, Jack found himself reassigned to a fraud case, but since the investigation labeled “Inook” was ongoing, he went to Pittman and argued that he would be far more effective working on the information coming in from Alaska. His argument was valid, and Pittman was swayed.
“I know you, Agent MacAlister. You’re going to work this case with or without my permission. Isn’t that right? Never mind, don’t answer. Okay, you’re back in. I’ll make the call and let everyone know you’re the agent in charge. Finish this soon. I don’t like my agents getting shot at.”
All the boxes of information that had been gathered from the scientists’ facility in Alaska had been shipped to Chicago. Anchorage didn’t have the manpower, and since the first crime had been committed in Chicago, the case was theirs. Agents had already pored over every scrap of paper in every box and had viewed the disks. Wolves. Hours and days and months of video about wolves. There was only one thing unusual about the recordings: they stopped before the final year. Had those last months been recorded? If so, where were the disks?
Jack watched the footage, fast-forwarding through scenes with no activity. Sophie had been right. They did eat, sleep, kill, eat, sleep, kill.
He was going through a spiral notebook when two assistants came in, rolling a cart with more boxes.
“Where are those from?” Jack asked.
“The TNI Foundation archives. The research from past years that the doctors had compiled.”
So far everything the FBI had examined had proven to be mundane scientific research, but they were leaving no stone unturned. Jack kept going back to what Carter had said to Sophie before Ricky got to him: You kept pecking away. What was he afraid she would find? What the hell was he hiding?
Agents had talked to the two remaining scientists several times, but they were unable to shed any light on Carter’s motives. Jack familiarized himself with the files on each of the four doctors and wasn’t satisfied with what he found. Somebody at TNI had to know something about Carter’s secret.
Jack decided that it was time he talked to them face-to-face. He would start with Dr. Marcus Lemming in Chicago. He stopped by the doctor’s office unannounced and was told by the secretary that Dr. Lemming had gone to North Dakota for a seminar. The other scientist, Dr. Kirk Halpern, lived just outside of Minneapolis. Jack grabbed a morning flight and was knocking on Halpern’s door early that afternoon.
The scientist showed him into his cluttered living room. A slight man with hunched shoulders and an old man’s demeanor, his file indicated he was forty-five years old. His obvious fatigue made him look older.