Bloodline (17 page)

Aaron closed the door and leaned against it, exhausted. The stress of this project alone was wearing him out, and this detective, this man calling himself John Robertson, was making it worse.

Where the hell had he heard of oDNA? Only a handful of people besides him and Julia, all with top security clearances, were privy to it. Every mention of it—and there hadn't been many—had been expunged from public and private records.

So where had…?

Gerhard must have told him.

But he'd said Gerhard was dead when he found him…

Just last night, Aaron had concluded that someone had tapped into his home computer. He assumed it had been Gerhard. His own damn fault, really. Last year he'd succumbed to the alluring convenience of a home wireless network. His daughter wanted it—everybody was doing it—and after a while the idea of sitting down with his laptop and surfing the Internet from any room in the house had proven too seductive.

He'd been able to set up the network—firewall and all—in a matter of hours, and it had been a great convenience. But last night he'd discovered that a few old documents on his hard drive had been recently accessed. It hadn't been him, and he was sure it wasn't his wife or daughter.

That left someone from outside. If Gerhard had the means to breach the firewall, all he'd have had to do was sneak to the side of the house with a wireless-enabled laptop and tap into the network.

The good news was that Aaron had a habit of turning off his computer before turning in, otherwise Gerhard would have had all night to wander through his files.

That had been the end of the Levy wireless network.

As for this detective, he'd worry later about how he'd heard of oDNA.

He peeked out the sidelight and watched Robertson get into his car. Had he bought the story about Bolton's alibi? Flimsy at best, but no way to disprove it. As he drove off Aaron tried to get a look at his license plate but couldn't make out the numbers. He remained at the sidelight, watching the yard after Robertson's taillights disappeared.

Bolton could be out there. He shuddered at the thought. Damn it, he wished the man were back behind bars. He didn't care what Julia said, or what warnings or threats she'd issued to Bolton, he was a loose cannon, primed and ready to fire.

Aaron wanted to see the therapy succeed as much as Julia did. Well, almost as much. Nobody had more invested in D-287, time and careerwise, than Julia. But he wanted someone other than Jeremy Bolton to be the guinea pig. He'd been overruled, however, and he couldn't risk doing anything to jeopardize the clinical trial. At least not directly.

But indirectly…

Robertson or whoever he really was… he struck him as someone as foolish as Gerhard, someone who would keep poking his nose where it didn't belong.

Which wouldn't be a bad thing if Aaron could guide him in a useful direction, one that would trip him into exposing Bolton's identity and ending the trial. Robertson could act as a stalking horse of sorts. And if he wound up exposing Bolton, the resultant shit storm would focus on him, leaving Aaron watching safely from the sidelines.

Yes… this had possibilities.

As Jeremy Bolton reached for the front doorknob on his townhouse, he knew he'd have to play this very carefully—just the right combo of hurt pride and indignation. Strike a single clinker and Dawn might start to wonder. Couldn't allow any doubt in that little girl's head. She had to believe him like his momma had believed in Jesus on her deathbed. Before that, she hadn't believed in nothin except maybe a snootful of hooch before she bedded down with the latest truck driver stopping over on his way to Shreveport, but she became a major Bible thumper after she heard she had the cancer.

Yeah, Dawn damn well better believe, because turning away from those stacks of C-notes had been just about the hardest thing he'd ever done. All those zeroes… damn! His fingers had fought like they'd had a life of their own.

He shook his head. He could have taken off with that envelope and had a real good time—maybe even started a new life.

But no go. He had to keep his eye on the prize and stay on course. Plenty of time—all of time—for fun and games afterward.

He patted his pocket. He'd left the money behind but the photo was about to come in very handy.

He stepped inside and found Dawn sitting on the couch in a sweatshirt and a thong. His groin stirred at the sight of her smooth, firm, young flesh. Not a pretty face and not a fantasy body, but no flab, no sag, no wrinkles, no lumps—the freshness of her flesh made up for whatever flaws she might have.

God, he'd been horny when he got out of Creighton, so horny that he couldn't wait till he'd sweet-talked Dawn out of her clothes. He didn't know how experienced she was—not too very, from the look of her—but he knew he wasn't. Damn near all his adult life without a woman. He wanted to come on as more experienced than her, but to do that he had to get some experience. So he'd hired hookers and had them teach him ways to make Dawn forget she'd ever had anyone else.

And it had worked.

He noticed she had her damn iPod buds plugged into her ears and didn't even know he'd come home.

These iPods drove him crazy. Every damn kid her age or younger didn't seem to be able to exist without them. Earlier today he'd watched a clump of five teen girls shuffling through the Queens Center Mall, two on cell phones and the other three plugged into their iPods. Why go out together if you've got nothing to say to the people you're with?

I'm showing my age.

Couldn't come across as an old fart with Dawn. She had to see him as cool and very much of the moment.

But this illusion of connectedness had to go. Technology—especially the Internet—gave the illusion of bringing people together when actually it was isolating them. They "met" in chat rooms, IM'd and TM'd people who were fifty yards away, and used smilies to overcome the physical and emotional distance that separated them.

That had to change. And it would. Oh, yes, it would.

Finally Dawn spotted him. She disconnected herself from her iPod and ran across the room to throw herself into his arms.

"What happened? What did she say?"

He hugged her, gave her a kiss, then broke free.

"I called you on the way back but you didn't answer."

She pointed to her iPod and shrugged. "Sorry. Didn't hear you, I guess. But what did she
say
?"

He turned away, stepped to the window, and stared out at the night sky.

"I'm not sure I know how to tell you this."

"Oh, God, what?" She was close behind him, breathing on his neck. "Tell me what?"

Without looking around he removed his phone from his pocket, called up the photo, and handed it over his shoulder.

"Take a look."

He felt it snatched from hand, and waited as he heard Dawn fumbling with it. Any second now…

A gasp and then, "What is this?"

"Money."

"I can see that, but—"

"Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, to be exact."

"Ohmigod! I don't get it."

He figured it was time to face her now. After a slow turn he gripped her by the shoulders and stared into her blue eyes.

"Your mother offered it to me."

Her eyes widened. "Why would she—oh no!"

He nodded. "Yeah. All mine if I took it, got in my car, and never saw you again."

She backed away a step, her gaze shifting between him and the phone. "I totally can't believe she'd do this!"

"The proof's right in your hands. And the fact that I'm here is the proof of my answer."

"I still can't believe—!"

He put on a hurt expression. "You think I'm lying?"

"No. No, of course not, but this… this is so totally unlike her."

"Call her then. Ask her. See what she says."

She looked at him. "You won't be hurt? It's not that I don't trust you but—"

He pointed to the phone in her hand. "Do it. What are you waiting for? Let's settle this once and for all."

"Okay."

She sounded frightened and looked terrified, touching the keys as if they were red hot. Finally she put it to her ear. Jeremy sat and pulled her down beside him, then angled the phone so that he could listen along with her.

His gut tightened. This was a gamble. He hoped it worked.

Moonglow's voice: '
"'Hello
?"

"Mom? It's me. I think you know what I'm calling about."

"
Oh, Dawn, I
—"

"Is it true? That's all I want to know. Did you offer Jerry money to leave me?"

"It's not like you think."

"Did you or didn't you?"

"
Yes, but
—"

Dawn screamed and hurled the phone across the room. It slid along the flood and bounced off the far wall as she buried her face in her hands.

"It's true! I can't believe it."

"Sad, isn't it," Jeremy said.

Dawn lowered her hands and looked at him with a tear-smeared face. "What?"

"That that's all she thinks you're worth."

"I think it's plenty. But you… you turned down all that money for me?"

He'd known she'd ask that, and he'd come up with a perfect response—if he could keep from gagging.

"There's lots of money out there, darlin, but there's only one you."

She fairly flew into his arms and sobbed against his chest.

"Oh God, thank you! I knew you were for real! No matter what she said I totally knew you were the best thing to ever happen to me!" She leaned back and looked up at him. "I can't go back there. I mean like no way I can live with her anymore." She looked at him with pleading eyes. "Can I move in with you? Please?"

Yes!

He couldn't help smiling. "Of course you can. What's mine is yours. But are you sure? That's a big step."

Her eyes glowed as she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed.

"Totally sure. I don't think I've ever been so sure of anything in my life."

He held her and kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair. Across the room he could see his reflection in the mirror. He grinned at it.

You did it, Jerry. She's right where you've always wanted her.

It was all coming together.

Like fate.

Jack stood behind Gia in the first-floor study and stared over her shoulder at the computer screen.

He'd tried every search engine he knew but hadn't come up with a single hit for "oDNA." They'd all produced hits for "odna" but none of those had anything to do with genetics. No problem finding rDNA and mDNA, but that wasn't what he was looking for. So he'd asked Gia to try. She hadn't fared any better, but he'd been buoyed by the way her fingers flew across the keys. Those physical therapy sessions seemed to be paying off.

He noticed specks of dark pigment on her fingers. He touched one.

"You've been painting?"

She shrugged. "If you can call it that."

"That's great. Can I see?"

She shook her head. "These aren't for showing."

"Not a show—just me."

"I'd rather not."

"Why not?"

"Because… because they're not mine."

"I don't get it."

"Neither do I. They're too…
off
if that makes any sense. Not ending up the way I'd intended when I started them."

"But at least you're painting."

She sighed. "If you can call it that." She nodded toward the screen. "I'm not having any better luck than you did."

"I thought it was just me."

"No, there's no oDNA on the Internet, which means it's probably safe to assume that it doesn't exist."

"I disagree. Just because it's not on the Internet doesn't mean there's no such thing."

She swiveled in her chair to face him. "The net is chock full of fantasies, delusions, wishful thinking, and outright lies—all sorts of things that
don't
exist. Doesn't it follow that there'd be at least one mention if something
did
exist?"

He looked at the crumpled sheet from Gerhard's pad:
oDNA
? What did the question mark indicate? That Gerhard hadn't been sure about it either?

But Levy's reaction was a clear indicator that he was on to something. So why didn't it show up? And why didn't Levy want to admit that it existed?

Jack had a feeling that oDNA held the key to Jeremy Bolton's value to the Creighton Institute and whoever was funding them. Might even be the key to getting him off the street and out of Dawn Pickering's life—without screwing up Jack's.

But who else besides Levy and others at Creighton would know anything about it?

He'd have to keep hammering Levy.

"What if some super agency cleaned up all mention of it?"

Gia shook her head. "I don't see how that's possible."

Neither did Jack. Unless…

"What if they started early—at the first mention of it?"

She looked up at him. "You really think there's some secret government agency doing that?"

Levy had mentioned one, and he believed him. But Jack had given Gia only the sketchiest outline of what he'd uncovered.

She reached out and squeezed his hand.

"Are you sure you want to be involved in this? It started off as helping this woman find her private detective, then it moved into helping her get her daughter out of the clutches of an older man, and now… what's it now? This seems to be escalating every day."

No argument there. He hadn't told her about Gerhard's murder or the abduction—she'd only worry.

"I said I'd help her and I can't very well back out now. Her daughter's involved with a bad apple"—though maybe not so bad if the therapy was working—"and I wouldn't feel right leaving her in the lurch. Don't worry, I'm being careful."

All that was certainly true.

"But government agencies and some sort of DNA… what's that got to do with her daughter?"

"Not so much the daughter as the guy she's seeing. This oDNA could be something the mother can use to split them up."

She squeezed harder.

"Be careful, Jack."

"You know me." He offered his most reassuring smile. "Careful is my middle name."

Gia rolled her eyes. "If it were, you wouldn't do what you do."

"But I do take every possible precaution."

"And things still go wrong, don't they."

No argument there, either.

The risks involved in this fix-it had quickly escalated. And he was about to take them to a higher level.

But first he had to have a sit-down with another writer. Abe had left a message that he'd made contact with Winslow directly via e-mail through his Web site, pfrankwinslow.com. Winslow had e-mailed him back with a phone number, saying he lived on the Lower East Side and to call anytime.

Sounded like a man looking for all the publicity he could get.