Until It's You (13 page)

Landon looked up when she entered, but his dark eyes were still half-lost in thought. He looked back down at the notepad, made a quick note, then turned to her.

“How’s it going in there?” he asked.

“It’s going,” Kristina responded, shoving her hands into her pockets. “What about out here?”

“The pharm Tom has explained to me is fascinating,” Landon said. “We got the workup from your blood on the tablet, and I’ve been working through its chemical composition before we move onto the delivery system. Which is nano-powered.” He shook his head. “Seems like overkill unless they’re doing something more than I’m seeing.”

Kristina nodded numbly. Tom had shown Landon the workup he’d taken from her when he did her Recall?

“Find anything else interesting in my blood?” she asked dryly.

Landon’s eyes opened wide and he stared at her blankly for a moment. Then he shook his head. “We’re just looking at the pharm, Kristina. I’m not a doctor.”

More relief than she wanted to admit flooded through her. It wasn’t that she had anything to hide. It was just the principle of some privacy. Politicians got elected on platforms that focused on protecting people from overreach these days.

“That’s good,” she said. “I’m going to leave you guys to that. There’s something I need to follow up on.”

“Follow up?”

“Dunn just gave me a call. Said she got the ID from her secretary. Must have happened while I was having the secretary plug her ID in. She wants to talk.”

Landon pressed his thin lips together hard as his jaw worked. The mole on his cheek really did look ridiculous. It was hard to look away.

"I don’t like this," he said. "What if it’s a trap?”

He sounded like Kevin. “I don’t think so. She sounded too excited. And it’s in a restaurant I know well. Busy area. It would be suicide to try something there.”

He continued to shake his head. “I don’t like it,” he said.

She shoved her hands in her pockets. “So what, are you going to hold me down and stop me from going?”

His brows shot up. “It’s an idea, but no. You can go if you want.”

“Why thank you.”

“Just...can you leave me your brother Kevin’s comm ID? If you disappear I think it would be best to have his help in going after you.”

She shrugged. “Fine. I’ll leave a note before I head out.”

“Good.” He turned to Tom, who had shown no interest in the entire conversation. “Tom, do you have no opinion on this?”

Tom looked up, finally. “If Kristina wants to do something, she’s going to do it,” he said.

Kristina fought down a smile. Trust Tom to be blunt when a situation warranted it.

Tom's eyes returned to the tab in his hands. “It’s just a waste of time to fight about it,”  he muttered. "I don't know why people bother."

Landon’s coal-black eyes narrowed. He turned to Kristina. "Is that true?"

Kristina motioned to her brother. "You could ask him again if you want."

He shook his head. “I’ll pass. But be careful. I’m going to be pretty pissed off if I have to add finding my investigator to my list of problems.”

Her nostrils flared, but she held back any other forms of reaction to his sarcasm. “Your concern is noted,” she said coolly.

Then she turned for the bedroom to get touched up before she went out. You had to be made up to blend in at a place like Di Roma.

***

Roy sat in his car and watched the apartment Kristina and her brother had walked into, waiting for his moment. His heart pounded. This was it. If he came through here, he would be alright.

It looked like the first floor unit, based on the pattern of lights going on and off since they entered. A one-bedroom unit, by the size of the building. Two at most. In this neighborhood there wouldn’t be anything bigger unless it was a house. Not with these little lots.

It was a clever hood to hide out in. Way out from the crowd of downtown, and even from the secondary crowd of the inner ring of neighborhoods, but not so far out that you ran into the parts of the city that had the secondary government: gangs.

Hoods like that, you could count on somebody knowing who lived in every building. Bosses had the right to know, of course. That was how gangs worked.

But in a place like this, people mostly minded their own, and the city government didn’t bother them much either. No big bars, mostly greasy spoons and dives, a couple of convenience stores, and industrial shit. Not rich, but fairly safe if you weren't an asshole. That about covered it.

It was a decent street, really. Tall elms free from the aeros the city put in richer areas. Older, lightly modernized buildings that weren’t falling apart but didn’t look liked some pre-fab bullshit either.

He shifted in his car’s driver seat. It was getting to be past dinner time. He was already pretty hungry, and it would get worse soon. Should have brought some supplies if he planned on staking out like this.

The front door to the building opened. Roy eased back in his seat and watched. A shortish, well put together woman with her gray hair down walked out.

It was the investigator, and she was alone.

He watched as she looked back and forth on the street before hitching her bag up on her narrow shoulders and turning south toward Foster. Roy turned his head and pretended to be searching for something in his passenger seat as she passed level with his car. Then he watched in his side mirror. Then his rearview mirror.

Where was she going on her own? Seemed odd after finding her brother, leaving him alone in that apartment. Even if she assumed he was safe, he must have told her something about what had happened last night. That would put her on high alert if she wasn't an idiot.

So far, she hadn't been an idiot. Fair bit better than most of the morons he'd dealt with on this job. Was Tom the only one in there? It was impossible to tell if he was. No lights had been on that he could see when they had arrived, and they had shades down. A lot of people left the lights off in the daytime, and he hadn’t cased the back of the building yet to see what the light and visibility situation was like back there. Maybe they were spending all their time in the rear of the unit.

He returned his eyes to Kristina and watched her turn the corner, out of sight. If she was carrying her bag like that, she was probably going to be out for a while. This wasn't just a quick run to the store.

That left her brother isolated from her, at least. There might be someone else in the house, there might not be, but unless the other brother was in there—unlikely—he should be safe going in.

After making sure there was nobody else on the street, he reached  under the passenger seat and took out both his dart gun and his trusty Beretta with a silencer. Added to the utility-tool in his pocket, he should be all set to get into the apartment.

If he ran into trouble there and got out, he might have to bolt for real. But if he got the brother, maybe the boss would welcome him back into the fold. It would be a negotiating chip, anyway. A way out of a recent history of failure.

He checked both weapons one last time, opened the car door, and got out. Time for some work.

It took Kristina almost the full hour to get down to Di Roma. The restaurant was west of downtown, in a neighborhood that had been primarily meatpacking in the last century. Several of the old buildings had been maintained, along with a rusting, decrepit train line that was in serious need of renovation.

As she walked under that line’s tracks and over to Randolph, she pressed the lines on her blazer down. Her palms were sweating. Why was she so nervous? More of that unexplained intuition . . .

If she bailed now, Dunn would know she was under real suspicion. Which would present its own problems. However, if she kept her appointment, it could be a trap.

She'd decided to go in. It would be a matter of caution.

She'd been extra careful all the way down, keeping an eye on anyone potentially following her and even taking a quick loop around. Nothing had been even remotely suspicious. If things kept up that way, the meet should be fine. If she saw
anything
, she would make a break for it and call Kevin.

With two minutes to spare, she made it to the restaurant’s front entrance. The building had been renovated recently by removing the entire brick wall facing the street and replacing it with glass that had electrodes implanted within it. Those electrodes allowed spidery designs to move within the clear glass wall, like tightly defined shimmers of light. The effect was on such a long loop she knew she would have to look at it for a long time before she saw it repeat, if she could even remember the initial pattern. By that time she would be starving as a result of the aeros they ran from the place.

She stopped a few feet from the door, gathered herself, and then walked inside.

A young hostess with long, straight black hair and skin so pale it was nearly white greeted her as soon as the door closed. “Will you be dining with us this evening?” she asked.

Kristina nodded and hitched her bag up again. “Yes. I’m meeting someone here. I’m not sure if they have arrived yet.”

The woman’s eyes flicked down to the tablet embedded in her hostess stand. “Who are you dining with?”

“Victoria Dunn.”

The hostess scanned for a moment and then nodded. “Very good. If you'll just tap your comm, you can follow me.”

Kristina froze. It hadn’t occurred to her before that this was one of those restaurants that took your info up front to provide “extra, customized service.” The associate from Walgreen's words rang through her ears again.
Comms wouldn't even be on the web.

“Sorry,” she said, shrugging apologetically. “I’m actually using a pre-paid at the moment.”

A look of pity crossed over the hostess’s face. “Ah. Well then, just follow me.”

Kristina trailed behind her, feeling her judgement with every step. She wasn’t sure why restaurants that provided these personalized services took it so...personally, when people either couldn’t or didn’t want to play along, but it definitely happened.

They arrived at Dunn’s table and Dunn raised her glass to Kristina. She wore the same conservative, black skirt suit she’d been wearing earlier. Unsurprising, of course, but it told Kristina that she'd come straight from the office.

“Thank you for coming,” Dunn said.

The hostess left and Kristina took a seat. “By your tone I assumed it was important.”

“It is. Would you like to have a glass of wine first?”

“Can you at least tell me what this is about? 'Intra-office' could be a lot of things, and I'm afraid I don't have much time.”

Dunn nodded once, but showed no signs of being put off. “I have some information I think will be helpful for your investigation into this situation you claim Mr. Tatum is...bothered by.”

“Can you be more specific?”

She cracked a small smile. “Why don’t you pick out a glass of wine?” she said steadily.  “And then we can talk. I assure you, I did not bring you here to waste your time. I do pay for it, after all.”

Kristina took a deep breath, then nodded. She wasn’t the one who negotiated for a living. If Dunn wanted to have a glass of wine before they talked, then they were going to have a glass of wine.

She picked one out quickly—a Merlot—the waiter came, and they ordered. Dunn also chose a bruschetta for them to share.

“So do you want to wait until we actually have our wine before we talk, or can we get started?” Kristina asked.

Dunn looked around the restaurant before returning her cool gaze to Kristina. “You’re very twitchy, Kristina. Is everything alright?”

Kristina had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Besides the obvious?”

“Of course." Dunn looked at her over her clear-framed glasses, so that the frames rode low on her nose. "You did say you found him. That sounds like progress.”

“Obviously not enough. I'm pursuing every angle.”

"I'm sure."

Dunn traced circles along the linen tablecloth with her long, perfectly manicured nail. Seconds passed. Kristina held her silence and waited.

Finally, their wine came. Dunn accepted her glass with a smile and the waiter left. Kristina didn’t touch hers, even as Dunn drank.

“That’s better,” Dunn said. She didn’t even seem to notice Kristina’s expression. “Now, I’m sure you’re wondering if I’m wasting your time.”

“I know better than to wonder that,” Kristina said politely.

“Bullshit.” Dunn leaned forward. “But that’s okay. In this case, I am reasonably certain your concerns would be unfounded.”

Kristina nodded.

“Do you know how Dunn-Brantley came into the Tatum Pharmaceuticals business?” she asked, sitting back.

Kristina swallowed. “Tatum mentioned something about a mentor.”

“Did he?”

Kristina shrugged. Her wine remained untouched.

“Well, that’s accurate to a point. But of course Dr. Oliver didn’t pick us out of a hat, did he?”

“I assume he did not.”

“In fact, that was a relationship I’d maintained for a number of years. Did you know I also attended the University of Chicago?”

Kristina shifted in her seat. It was unusual for Dunn to be this talkative. “I did.”

Dunn’s brows arched up, but she smiled quickly. “Of course. I pay you to be a snoop, don’t I? Anyway, I knew Oliver from the University community. I had a good reputation for patent work and Mr. Brantley had a solid stable of corporate clients. It was perfect for him. But the clincher was my relationship with Oliver.”

“You’ve both done very well with that business,” Kristina said.

“We have. But again, for me it was a client built on a personal relationship as opposed to merely business.”

“I thought everything was business, Ms. Dunn.”

Dunn took a deep breath. “Not quite everything. As I said, Dr. Oliver and I had a very good relationship. His memory is something special to me.”

Kristina took in the words Dunn was saying as well as her tone. It had softened in a way she hadn't heard before. This was a night full of new information. She flicked her eyes around, trying to take in all the sensory information she could for a Recall later.

“And it makes you want to maintain your business relationship with Tatum Pharmaceuticals more?" she asked, keeping things moving. "It seems to me you don’t need any extra incentive for that. They represent an enormous amount of the firm’s billings."

Dunn smiled, her lips tight. “Billings can be replaced with time, Kristina. It isn’t impossible.”

“It’s the biggest company in the city,” Kristina pressed. "We're not talking about divorce cases."

“It would be a huge blow, of course.” She waved her hand and then trained her graze firmly on Kristina so that she couldn’t turn away. “But that’s not why I’m so pissed off about this situation with Mr. Brantley.”

Kristina swallowed and fought to hold her entire body very still. That was a change in tone if she'd heard one.

“What situation is that?”

“I recently discovered that Mr. Brantley has been courting Atlas Pharmaceuticals in anticipation of Tatum Pharmaceuticals' fall.”

Kristina exhaled. “Ms. Dunn, I have been researching that fact for the last several hours.”

Dunn licked her lips, the motion like a lizard slurping a fly off its face with its long tongue. “I know,” she said.

More stillness. Kristina fought the nausea in her stomach. She wanted to bolt. “What? How?”

“Stop it." Her  green eyes twinkled. She seemed to be enjoying herself, somehow. "You should know I take an active interest in the activities of the firm.”

“But—”

“The point is, I have done my own searching and discovered Mr. Brantley has been working at this courtship for almost two months."

Kristina’s jaw dropped, just slightly, before she could catch it. So much for a poker face.

“How did you find that?” she asked, fighting her voice so it would not break.

“One of us doesn’t need to be delicate when researching a name partner at the firm.” She took another sip of her wine. "I'm the other one. In this case, I went through channels outside of it to have someone take a look at these meetings Brantley was having off his schedule."

Kristina straightened up. She'd had him followed? For how long? "So what did you learn?” she said.

“Just as I said. Mr. Brantley has been in communication with Atlas Pharmaceuticals for the past two months.”

“Without your knowledge?”

"Without telling me. Correct."

"And you're not on board with this idea?"

“Absolutely not.”

Kristina looked around furtively. The usual buzz of a busy restaurant. She turned back to Dunn.

“Why do you think Mr. Brantley has been pursuing this? Tatum Pharmaceuticals is significantly bigger than Atlas.”

Dunn shrugged, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’m sure that both I and Mr. Tatum would love to know.”

“So you want me to tell Tatum this?”

She shook her head. “God, no. Not until you have more information as to the
why
of the situation.”

“Okay. Do you have any avenues you think I should explore?”

Dunn reached into her pocket and held out a piece of paper. “This is a list of dates on which Brantley met with Fordelli. At least, these are what I have. There are likely more.”

Kristina took the list and looked at Dunn quizzically. “You want me to spy on Mr. Brantley?”

“Do whatever you have to do. I want to know why they were meeting, who initiated the relationship, and if it has anything to do with Mr. Tatum’s actions of late.”

"Why can't you use your previous investigator?"

Dunn shook her head. "Because I'm not. I'm sure you will do a more than adequate job with this, correct?"

Deep breath. "Of course. Are you forcing Mr. Brantley out of the firm?”

“Depends what I find out.” She motioned toward Kristina’s still untouched wine glass. “Drink up, Kristina. You’re making me feel like a lush.”

Kristina took the wine glass in her hand and sipped it. She had to say, the Merlot was very good. And if this list was legit, it could be very, very valuable. Maybe things were turning.

Or it was a setup. She'd just have to find out.

***

Roy crouched beside the back window of what he believed to be the bedroom of the apartment and listened close for activity inside. Heartbeats passed, pounding through his entire body. Nothing moved.

His eyes flicked around to every window in sight, looking for a pair of witnessing eyes. All clear. He poked his head around to scan the sidewalk. Just the trees, the grass, and the silent cards. Nobody driving in sight.

It had taken him about forty minutes to case the situation to his satisfaction. Finally he was ready.

After a deep, steadying breath, he took his utility tool from his pocket and into his hand. The tool was shaped like a matchbox, sleek brushed metal, and fit in the palm of his hand. He set it to cut and trained the laser onto the glass of the window just above him. Pushed the button and the tool went to work, a laser cutting the glass cleanly.

Roy moved the tool along the length of the frame, cutting in as close to a perfectly straight line as he could so he would have less chance of cutting himself when he jumped in. As he cut, he continued to listen carefully, unable to use watch out now for any length of time while he worked. If he tried turning the tool off and back on, the cut would be messy. He needed to stay true.

He kept listening.

Nothing.

He moved through the process steadily. At the last line, sweat began to drip from his brow. But he made the line perfectly, hitting his starting point at a right angle and freeing the glass from the frame. He hit the button on his tool and the laser vanished.

Doing the next bit silently was a trick. Roy delicately flicked the tool around and slide the backing away to reveal a suction cup. He pressed the cup gently to the glass, trying to make a seal without pushing the newly freed section out of its home.

A light on the back of the tool came on, and he waited for it to remove air from inside the seal and pulled the glass tight to the tool. Once that was done, slowly and evenly, he pulled the glass away.