Читать книгу Dangerous Conditions - Jenna Kernan - Страница 14

Paige hurried up Main Street with her head down against the wind and her shoulders bent by the weight of her troubles. Someone stepped directly into her path, bringing her up short. She startled, glancing up. Instinctively, her hand went to her shoulder bag and the printed copy of the file she had found on Dr. Sullivan’s computer.

Logan stood before her.

For just a moment he looked as he always had, back when her family had been in trouble and he’d done the wrong thing for the right reason. One look into Logan’s sympathetic eyes and she fell to pieces.

The years of his absence disappeared. Pain and fear lowered her resistance and she stepped into his arms, sobbing. He was just the right height to cradle her against his chest and rest his chin on the top of her head. His familiar scent comforted her as tears rolled down her cheeks like raindrops down a windowpane.

“Why are you crying?” he said. “Is it Dr. Sullivan?”

She couldn’t have answered if she had wanted to. And she couldn’t tell him what had happened. But she wasn’t sure who to tell about the text message or what she had found afterward. She wasn’t even sure what the document meant, just that it highlighted an inconsistency. Inconsistencies were the enemies of quality assurance.

Dr. Sullivan had found something. She suspected he reported his concerns to the head of security or to his supervisor, Sinclair Park, or even the CFO, Veronica Vitale, and then he had died.

A correlational relationship. Not necessarily causal. But she could not eliminate, out of hand, the possibility of causality.

“Is this about Dr. Sullivan?” Logan asked again.

Paige nodded, snuggling closer to the canvas jacket supplied to Logan by the village.

Logan cradled her against him. “I’m sorry about Dr. Sullivan, Paige.”

Nodding, she managed to rein in the sobs. Logan helped coach Ed’s son on basketball. He’d lost a friend, as well. Her coworker’s death would leave such a hole in the community. And his kids…his wife…

Her ragged breath and a hum in the back of her throat was all the sound emerging from her.

“He was a good man,” said Logan.

“He was.”

“They had the state police up there. County sheriff, too.”

Since they were a village of only a little over four hundred residents, they could not afford a police force. But after Logan had come home, his brother, then newly appointed to the village council, raised concerns that traffic had increased with the arrival of the pharmaceutical company two years before, the company that Connor himself had helped advocate for. Rathburn-Bramley expected the village to manage the increased traffic flow and issues arising from the daily commute of the workforce of two hundred employees, nearly all of which lived outside their community. The taxes they paid more than covered the cost of the salary of the new village constable, the hiring of whom had caused debate in the village, narrowly winning out over the placement of a traffic light on Main. Rathburn-Bramley also covered the cost of a new hook-and-ladder fire truck, EMS vehicle and emergency equipment for the volunteer fire department, continuing to make yearly donations. The company seemed interested in a good public image, and they were willing to pay for it.

Now the village had both a well-equipped volunteer fire department and a constable, who was fully trained according to New York State law. Finding a doctor to pass Logan on the medical exam had been a challenge, but Connor had managed that, too. His brother had wisely ridden the wave of pride generated by Logan’s heroism. As a Silver Star recipient, Lance Corporal Logan Lynch made his hometown proud. Because of his accident, no one expected him to do much but direct traffic every afternoon and march in the village parades.

“They’ll find who did this,” said Logan.

“I doubt it,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He drew back and dropped a kiss on her forehead, then drew back again, his face registering worry. Perhaps he thought he had overstepped.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be.” She’d enjoyed his tender touch, a reminder of his protective care of her at a time long ago.

He looked relieved. “I’m glad you walked this way.”

This route was slightly longer than cutting across Railroad Avenue and then turning up Turkey Hollow Road to Main. But she walked it daily so she could see him. He’d often walk her home, then return to the office next to the hair salon or, on evenings when she was running late and he’d finished directing traffic, he’d simply walk her home and then head to the house next door to hers. Like her, Logan had never moved out of his childhood home. He and his dad, now a widower, lived in the big yellow farmhouse north of her mother’s place, a white, two-story home that had been there for a hundred and fifty years. Both farms had barns large enough to hold a few cows and a plot of pastureland behind that was big enough to keep them fed summer and winter. The cows had been moved out long ago, before Paige or Logan’s parents purchased their houses. Paige’s dad had been a dentist until his death in an automobile accident during her junior year in college. Logan had lost his mom just after he had turned eleven.

How old were Steven and Valerie Sullivan? Paige tried to remember Ed talking about their birthdays. Steven would turn fourteen this December, old enough to try out for the JV team next year. That made Valerie…eleven. The same age Logan had been.

The ache in her heart pulsed with every beat.

Those poor kids. She was glad they had Ursula. Their mom was strong and capable. She’d be there for her children.

Paige rested her head on Logan’s shoulder and her arms hung at her sides. He patted her back while she tried and failed not to long for more than comfort from him. She lifted her head to gaze up at his big brown eyes, looking again for a flicker of recognition. She went still as her body galloped to life. Everything inside her wanted him to kiss her. Except he didn’t. He never did. The top of her head did not count.

“Why don’t you think they’ll catch who did this?” he asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t have the faith in the system that you did. Do,” she corrected. “Never have.”

“If you hear anything, Paige, you should tell me.”

“I should,” said Paige. But she wouldn’t.

She felt she couldn’t rely on Logan anymore, ever since he’d left for Iraq years ago, not telling her he was reenlisting until it was too late.

Now all memory of her as the love of his life had been blown out of his thick skull.

After her dad died, she and her mom struggled financially, and she really didn’t know if she could finish her undergraduate degree. With no life insurance and in deep debt, her father had left her mother and Paige in dire straits, with only bankruptcy protecting their home.

Even so, it was her father and mother’s mess. Not hers; certainly not Logan’s. She’d told him that and that she’d figure it out. But Logan had done what he thought best. Without consulting her. Reenlisted and volunteered for the higher-paying combat duty. She could have strangled him then and now.

She had told him, at the time, that she believed life decisions that affected them both should be discussed. He thought her ungrateful. He said he was taking care of things. The disagreement that ensued had turned ugly and he’d asked for his ring back.

She’d been so shocked that he would break their engagement especially after her father had just passed away, but she had done as he asked and returned the diamond solitaire. Logan had left for Iraq and she had not seen him again until after his accident.

“You can trust me, Paige.”

“I do trust you.” But inside, she just didn’t count on him anymore. He had improved. Was it enough to try again? She gazed up at him, wondering what he’d do if she just kissed him already. Maybe that would jog something loose inside that brain. Like the reverse of the prince kissing Sleeping Beauty.

She reminded herself how grateful she was he’d come home at all. When she’d first learned of his injuries, though, she thought he was gone in a different way, never to return. His doctors told his family that Logan would probably not be capable of caring for himself. But she had disagreed. She’d gone to him at Walter Reed and stayed right up until her due date.

When he’d finally come home, Paige had been there. But after Lori’s injury, people who knew they’d been together urged her to move on, not to burden him or herself with trying to recover memories of a relationship that had broken up anyway.

She’d tried. She still did. Until moments like this when she wanted him to remember everything, to be awakened by her touch, her kiss. But that wasn’t how brain injury and recovery worked. Some things were just gone forever. She had to accept that.

Sleeping Beauty, she thought and smiled. Logan was still beautiful. The scar didn’t change that. His dark, fathomless eyes and crisp, thick hair still tempted. Even that stupid cowboy hat made him look as handsome as any Western hero of movie or television.

She paused to face him. He pushed back the brim of his hat. She used her teeth to tug off one glove and then used her index finger to trace the hard line of his jaw. His coarse whiskers gently scraped her finger pad. She gave him her best seductive smile.

And for an instant, he was back. His eyes went wide with speculation and then came that easy, slow smile.

A familiar garish, orange Audi SUV raced by them and made an illegal U-turn right on Main. Connor Lynch pulled to a halt at the curb, and the passenger window whisked down. Logan’s brother leaned across the seat to peer at them.

As if caught doing something illegal, Paige jumped back from Logan and now glowered at Connor. He used to make a habit of interrupting them whenever he thought they might be…occupied. Some things never changed.

“Paige, you need a lift home?”

She stiffened and narrowed her eyes at Connor. This was yet another attempt to keep her away from his little brother. He’d made his feelings crystal clear after Logan finally came home. Logan was not capable of that sort of relationship, Connor had told her in no uncertain terms. And she should not burden him with trying to have one. Connor had been adamant, she’d ignored him and Lori had suffered as a result.

She’d backed off, but stayed close, watching his gradual improvement. He might not remember her, but his accident had not reduced his intelligence. Even his doctors said so. The slow speech and hearing trouble were results of brain injury. The part of his brain that handled cognitive function had been unharmed. Most people around here forgot that. Spoke to him more slowly than necessary and as if they were dealing with a child or a pet monkey. It infuriated her.

But was that indignation on his behalf or fury over what she had lost? She didn’t know, and sometimes her disappointment over Logan reenlisting blended into a general anger at the universe for stealing something precious from them both.

“I can walk her home,” said Logan to his big brother, his speech slow by comparison.

“Aren’t you supposed to be directing traffic at five?” he asked his kid brother.

“Yes. But I have time to walk her home and get back.”

“Today we need you in your office to cover phones. We had a traffic fatality. You still have a job, bud. Don’t blow it on me.”

“I can walk her and then come back. I didn’t take a lunch today.”

Connor ignored him. “Paige. Get in the car.”

Her home was half a mile east on Route 10, but she wasn’t sure she could make it, even leaning on Logan. She was equally sure that she didn’t want to ride with Connor. Ever since his little brother came back from Iraq, Connor had been trying to move in on her. Not that his little brother noticed because he’d forgotten her with the rest. Logan might not remember what they were together, but she did. And Connor was not Logan’s replacement. She’d told him so, more than once. All the cars and boats and fancy houses in the world wouldn’t change that.

Logan drew back as if anxious to put her aside again.

“It’s getting cold. Windy,” he said and glanced toward his brother’s car. Logan could drive, but his truck was parked back beside the office.

She stared up at him, willing him to recall something, anything, as she had so many times before. The betrayal of his forgetting them as a couple, as an engaged couple, of him forgetting he told her that he loved her forever and would make this all right, hurt in her bones. That betrayal had mellowed into a pervasive longing and soul-deep aching sadness. It hurt to look at him sometimes, especially when she was remembering, and he was just giving her that congenial smile.

Still, she had to wonder, who did she seek out when she was in trouble? Not Connor, the village councilman with a successful business in real estate and a large empty house of his own.

She’d come to Logan.

“Paige, I have to talk to you,” said Connor.

Her radar engaged. What did a village councilman have to talk to her about? She decided right then that she was not speaking to him or anyone else about what she had found until after she had reread the document from Dr. Ed’s folder.

Logan opened the passenger-side door, and Paige reluctantly slipped inside. She gave his free hand a squeeze, but he didn’t return it as he once would have.

Connor took his foot off the brake, and she waved to Logan, whose brow knit as he lifted a hand in farewell.

And then she was being whisked down Main Street, toward her mother’s home, her home again, too.

She still couldn’t believe she was back here in Hornbeck. That had never been her intention. Neither had getting pregnant her senior year of college. Her mother disapproved of Paige’s decision to keep the baby and stay close to help with Logan’s recovery. But Lori’s accident forced Paige to face facts. What choice did she have? She’d needed to earn a living and care for her daughter, so she’d accepted the fellowship at Cornell and earned her master’s degree in only one year. Next came an opportunity in Arlington, Virginia. But when her mom had been diagnosed with breast cancer, Paige had come home to find Logan much improved, a fact that no one in his family or her mother had shared with her. The job at Rathburn-Bramley allowed her to stay. That had been four years ago. They had even paid for her doctorate. And here she was, still, close to Logan and waiting for him to come back to her.

“What are you doing, Paige?” Connor asked.

She gave him a blank stare.

“You tried this. We all were against it, but you told Logan everything and he forgot it as soon as you told him. How many times?”

“Six,” she lied.

“More like ten.”

“He’s doing better,” she insisted. “No lapses in short-term memory.”

“Great. So what if your daughter calls for help and Logan thinks it’s the television again?”

The memory made her stomach clench. Shortly after he returned to his father’s home, Paige had been visiting with Lori, then ten months old. Paige had stepped out to retrieve a package from the mailbox, leaving Lori happily perched on Logan’s lap. When she returned, she heard her daughter wailing from outside and ran into the house to find Lori on the floor, a gash on her chin. Logan stood before the lounge chair pointing the remote at the television as he vainly tried to turn off the volume. He thought their baby’s howls of pain were on the television.

“It was too soon,” she said.

“It always will be,” Connor replied. “You should listen to us this time.”

Before they reached the old white farmhouse, they passed the funeral home where Dr. Sullivan’s body likely now lay in the basement on an aluminum table. He should be finishing up at the lab and heading home for supper. She shook her head in despair. The authorities would have to do an autopsy. That thought gave her the shivers. She checked the connection on her safety belt again.

“What did you tell Logan about today?”

“Tell him? Nothing.”

“That’s good. Just upset him.”

While she appreciated his concern for his little brother, Connor was the one who seemed upset. His face was red and he kept dragging his fingers through the hair on the top of his head. Connor looked much like Logan with just a little thickening at his waist and hair that was lighter and noticeably thinner. His skin was ruddy, and tiny burst blood vessels in his cheeks pointed to a drinking problem. Too many meals alone at the pub and too many evenings alone in his big, empty house, he had once told her. If that was supposed to make her feel guilty, it didn’t. No one told him to buy that B and B.

“How did you hear about Dr. Sullivan?” Connor asked.

“Lou told us.”

“Lou Reber?”

She nodded.

“I heard from Freda. We were going over the agenda for the board meeting when Ursula called.”

Freda Kubr was Ursula Sullivan’s sister, a village councilor and the administrative assistant to Principal Unger.

“And Lou told you how he died?” he asked.

“Hit-and-run.”

“Did you see Dr. Sullivan today?” he asked.

“Not today.”

This began to feel like an interrogation, as if Connor was constable, and it made her uneasy. Why was he so interested in these details?

“I’m sure the state police will want to speak to you. They told me they’ll be interviewing all his coworkers.”

“Why? Wasn’t it an accident?” she asked. She had her suspicions, but she wanted to see his reaction.

“That hasn’t been determined yet.”

How did he know that?

He swiped a hand over his mouth and then returned his hand to the wheel. She’d never seen him this jumpy.

“Did he say anything to you or was he behaving strangely?”

“Not as strangely as you’re behaving.” She twisted in her seat to face him. “What is this about, Connor?”

“We’ve never had a case of manslaughter in Hornbeck before. It is going to be in the papers. Most people who live in this county don’t even know we exist, and the village likes it that way. I know Rathburn-Bramley does. It’s why they picked us for the plant.”

It was true, Paige knew, that even people living in the same county didn’t know that this little turn in the highway was a village. Both the railroads and the major highways had left them behind years ago. This was an advantage to a company who produced controlled substances. Hiding in among the farms and hills made perfect sense.

Connor banged his hand on the steering wheel. “They’ll mention where he works.”

“No secret where he works. Is there?”

“Your company prefers a very low profile. Can’t see it from the road, so the tourists and visitors certainly don’t know it’s here. Draw the wrong people, it gets out what you all are cookin’ down there.” He glanced at her. “You know exactly what they produce.”

“I should. I test every product on every run.”

“Well, then you also know that opiates are a target. They don’t want to be on the map.”

Her company also produced fentanyl and a variety of intravenous drugs and gases used by anesthesiologists. Most had a high black-market value and were favorites of some addicts. Ironically, they also produced innocuous medical supplies like aerosol disinfectant spray and gel hand sanitizer.

“Well, they can’t just pretend he wasn’t killed,” said Paige, addressing Connor’s concerns with sarcasm.

“Your employer is requesting he be listed as unemployed. His widow has agreed.”

“That’s sick.” And a shock. She could understand the company’s desire for a low profile, but this seemed to take it too far.

“They offered her money. A lot of it, above and beyond what she’d get with the company’s life insurance.”

“But they think this was an accident? Right?”

“Maybe. But his ID tags are missing.”

Her eyes widened. Had he been killed for his access key?

“But they can’t get to the manufacturing area with that and they can’t get past security. They check our photo against the tag.”

“What about after hours?”

“Tag is time sensitive. Six a.m. to six p.m. Plus, you need a special card to access the finished goods area. After hours you need an escort. One of the security team. They’ll deactivate his access. I’m sure they already have done so.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. She shouldn’t be revealing security measures, even to Logan’s brother.

“Sheriff and the state police are looking for his tags and the vehicle that hit him. Anyone you know want to hurt Dr. Sullivan?”

“No! Of course not. Everybody loved him.” She felt a jab in her belly as she recognized that she was already referring to her friend in the past tense.

Connor made a face.

“What?”

“I overheard Lou speaking to Dale Owens at the funeral home. Lou told him that your firm was investigating Sullivan. Something out at the plant was going missing. They were getting ready to fire him.”

“That’s ridiculous.” She again peered at Connor. He seemed to have done a fair amount of nosing around already. Why was he so interested in this? Was it just because he was concerned for the town’s reputation?

“They were onto him.”

“He’d never steal from his employer.”

“Maybe it was intellectual property. Like a process or formula. Could he have known they were onto him?”

“Are you suggesting he stepped in front of a vehicle and then stole his own ID tag as a cover-up?”

“Of course not.” His hand raked his hair again. “It’s just, we’ve never had a thing like this happen here. I helped bring that plant here, Paige, and I feel responsible for it and any trouble that comes because of this sort of industry. Could have been a bad drug deal or something.”

“Nonsense.”

“We are a peaceful village, Paige. Cows, cornfields and…”

“Opiates,” she finished.