Читать книгу A Necessary Risk - Kathleen Long - Страница 10

Zach headed across the New Horizon parking lot toward his restored Karmann Ghia, mentally berating himself as he walked. So much for keeping his cover intact. He’d told the blonde his true identity five minutes into their conversation—and he used the term conversation loosely.

He’d expected her to be more open to what he had to say, but she’d done nothing except tout the company lines about HC0815.

Revolutionary.

Lifesaving.

Risk-free.

He knew she was wrong, knew it just as strongly as he knew he needed air to breathe. No clinical trial company should be allowed to get away with changing study results, and apparently that was exactly what New Horizon had become involved with. If the company was doing whatever it took to keep their multimillion-dollar-accounts and keep their pharmaceutical company clients happy, they had to be stopped.

And Zach was just the man to do so.

The Little Brother consumer watchdog group had contacted him at Jim’s funeral. Zach had thought their timing left a lot to be desired, but everything they’d said jibed with what his gut had been screaming.

HC0815 was the reason his brother was dead. The drug caused psychosis in a number of otherwise healthy clinical trial participants, and now one had died. Jim.

Zach’s heart squeezed as he dropped into the driver’s seat.

His brother deserved better than what he’d gotten. Far better.

Their parents had been killed in a multivehicle car accident when Jim was only thirteen and Zach twenty-six. Zach had spent the past seven years trying to be the mother and father Jim had lost. They’d mourned together, moved forward together and embraced life together.

They’d celebrated—and how—when Jim graduated from high school and got accepted by New Jersey College. They’d found student loans and Zach had scrimped and saved. He’d done whatever he could to ensure Jim got the education he deserved.

The New Horizon HC0815 trial had seemed too good to be true. High pay for taking a revolutionary and safe drug. Animal testing had shown no side effects. The same was expected in humans.

Zach had actually encouraged Jim’s participation, delighted the kid was so proud of what he was doing.

What a fool he’d been.

If he could spare one other family the loss he’d suffered—save one other kid from a drug-induced suicide—he would.

And Jessica Parker would help. Whether she wanted to or not.

He’d gotten over his surprise at her initial reaction. Of course she’d been defensive. She wouldn’t be a loyal employee if she hadn’t been. But once she dug into the New Horizon database and found out he was telling the truth, she’d come around. She had a light in her eyes that hinted at ethics, and ethics were exactly what he needed right now.

He’d tipped his hand by offering the information on the previous trial—a withdrawn application by Whitman Pharma for the treatment of pancreatic cancer. The law protected the company, allowing them to claim whatever information the trial had provided as a trade secret.

Yet, even if there had been a cover-up, the data must exist somewhere.

Finding that data was Zach’s next step.

If he could provide concrete evidence Jim’s suicide hadn’t been the only one linked to taking the drug, he’d be on his way to putting an end to the testing.

He pulled out of the New Horizon parking lot and into the midday Princeton traffic.

Jessica Parker.

Her image flashed across Zach’s mind. All buttoned up and drop-dead gorgeous.

Something stirred deep inside him, but he tamped down the sensation, shoving it far, far away.

He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had turned his head, but he wasn’t about to let Jessica Parker do so now.

He had to focus on Jim, on clearing Jim’s name and on shutting down HC0815. For that, he needed Jessica Parker the scientist.

Zach had to ignore any unwanted thoughts about Jessica Parker, the woman.

And he would.

JESS DROPPED HER FOCUS to the name on the card.

Detective Zachary Thomas.

She lifted her attention to the man’s retreating back, dread dancing up and down her spine.

Suicide?

During the current HC0815 trial?

And during a past trial she’d never heard about?

As Zach Thomas rounded the corner and disappeared from her sight, Jess turned, not toward the media showcase tour but toward a different section of the facility. The section no one but security-cleared staff could access.

She had questions that needed answers and ghosts that needed exorcising.

HC0815 was now her baby, her responsibility, and she intended to make sure nothing stopped the revolutionary drug from making it to the public.

Especially not random allegations tossed around by a grief-stricken detective.

How dare he crash the media showcase by impersonating a reporter? The nerve of the man. Yet sympathy tugged at her heart, twisting ever so slowly. The man had lost his brother. She needed to remember that, as much as she wanted to wring his neck for voicing such lies about their work.

But were they lies?

She swiped her ID badge through the panel outside the lab, pushing the door open once the buzzer sounded.

If Thomas’s allegations weren’t lies, then she’d been kept completely in the dark about the existence of a previous trial, one that had been stopped for an unknown reason. She’d known Miles Van Cleef long enough to know he was a forthright and honest man. He’d never do such a thing. But what if he had been kept in the dark, as well?

Was it possible?

And what about the current trial?

Her predecessor, Scott McLaughlin, had beaten a hasty departure from his position as head of the HC0815 trial. At the time, Jess had written off his action as an aggressive career move, but now she wondered.

Had he stumbled upon something and been forced out?

Jess settled in front of her computer terminal and pulled up the list of archived databases, refocusing on the possibility of a previous study. There were none. But then, the trial may very well have been run under a different name.

She searched on Whitman Pharma and came up with three previous trials, all for drugs which had successfully made it to market and not one with an indication for pancreatic cancer.

She blew out a sigh and sank back against her chair, relief easing the tension that had gripped her every muscle since she’d met Detective Thomas.

Someone had given the man bad information about prior suicides. But what about that of his brother?

She pulled up the current study, knowing full well each participant’s identity would be coded and anonymous, but any adverse reactions should be logged, especially one involving psychosis. She carefully scanned the list of participant numbers and results, tracing her finger along the column for implications.

No suicides.

Not one.

No depressions.

No anxiety or panic disorders.

HC0815 truly was the wonder drug they’d all pinned their hopes on, completely free of psychological side effects.

She needed a list of participant names to put her mind at ease and she knew just where to start.

The file of hard-copy applications from potential candidates.

Jess moved toward the opposite side of the lab, using her key to open the locked file drawer. It was company policy to retain all applications, even for those individuals not selected.

The data was also computerized, but—call her old-fashioned—Jess wanted to review the actual forms on the off chance Jim Thomas’s information hadn’t been entered into the system.

Several minutes later she’d flipped through every single form, scanning each applicant’s name.

No Jim Thomas.

Detective Thomas had been certain his brother had taken part in the trial. Perhaps he’d misunderstood or perhaps his brother had lied.

She slipped his business card from her pocket and studied it. He deserved to know he was operating on false assumptions.

Jess reached for the lab phone but stopped. She needed to speak with Miles Van Cleef before she made any contact with Thomas.

Knowing the media showcase should be long over, she pushed out of her seat and headed for the man’s office, more than ready to put this entire episode behind her.

“I CAN ONLY GIVE YOU A minute, I’m afraid.” Van Cleef spoke without looking up from the jumbled mess of papers on top of his desk.

Jess never ceased to be amazed someone so brilliant could be so unorganized, even though the man was able to put his fingertips to whatever he needed without a second thought. Perhaps his clutter was actually a physical manifestation of his brilliance.

Jess shook off the random thought and refocused on the reason she’d asked Van Cleef for the meeting. She stood behind the chair opposite his desk rather than sitting.

“I thought you should know why the gentleman in the leather jacket was actually here.”

“Ah.” Van Cleef lifted his gaze. “How did your detective work go?”

Funny he should choose the word detective.

Jess hesitated for a split second, then plunged in. She summarized Thomas’s allegation regarding the earlier failed trial, watching as color fired in Van Cleef’s neck and face.

No wonder. He was more passionate about the integrity of New Horizon’s work than anyone. She’d known he wouldn’t take Thomas’s claims lightly, but he had to be made aware the rumors were floating in the public.

“The results of the prior trial are inconsequential to the current testing.”

Van Cleef’s words hit Jess like a ton of bricks.

Prior trial?

Had Thomas been right? And if so, where was the data?

“When I accepted this new position, I wasn’t informed HC0815 had been through prior trials.”

“Trial,” Van Cleef corrected. “As in one and one only. A complete disaster for a variety of reasons, most of them having to do with Whitman Pharma’s withdrawal of the product from the FDA approval process.”

Jess’s head spun with questions. “Why is there nothing in the database?”

Van Cleef shook his head, his wire-rimmed glasses sitting crooked as usual. “No reason to keep information on products that don’t gain approval.”

“But what if the trial exposed a risk to patients? What if the data presented safety implications for the Hepatitis C indication?”

Her question captured Van Cleef’s attention completely. The man visibly tensed. “The drug was pulled by Whitman. It’s not for you or me to question why.” He frowned, his expression intense, serious. “Ancient history. You’re paid to stay on top of the current Whitman clinical trial, not worry about the past. Have there been any alarming side effects to date?”

“None documented.” Jess shook her head, debating whether or not to tell Van Cleef the rest of the conversation.

She drew in a deep breath, hesitating.

“If that’s all, Jessica, I really do need to get back to work. The media showcase set me back hours, as usual.”

“The detective claims there’s been a suicide in the current trial.”

Van Cleef’s white brows snapped together. “That’s preposterous.”

“His younger brother,” Jessica continued. “A supposedly healthy candidate. He jumped from his dormitory balcony after allegedly taking HC0815.”

“I’m assuming you’ve already checked the records? The case report forms?”

Jess nodded. “No record of a Jim Thomas in the applications. No record of a suicide in the results.”

“There you have it.” Van Cleef nodded, then refocused on his work, dismissing her with this move. “Your detective is mistaken. End of story.”

But as Jessica headed back toward her work area, she couldn’t shake the memory of Detective Thomas’s determination. His was the face of a man who knew what he was talking about—or at least was fully convinced he was telling the truth.

In addition, she couldn’t remember ever being dismissed so abruptly by Van Cleef. Was he hiding something? Was he trying to brush off her questions?

She hated to think so, hated that the idea had crossed her mind, but now that it had, she had to see her questions through. It was how she was wired.

On the off chance there might be information that had been purged from the records and databases, she had to locate the one person who might have had access to, and knowledge of, additional information.

Scott McLaughlin. He might have left New Horizon, but the guy had a mind like a steel trap. If he’d ever seen data from the previous trial or reviewed Jim Thomas’s application for the current trial, he’d remember.

Now all Jess had to do was convince the man to talk.

ZACH LEANED OVER HIS kitchen table and scrubbed a hand across his face. Disgust and anger fought for position in his gut as he reread the local newspaper article covering Jim’s death.

His brother, never one to seek the spotlight, would have hated the attention. Even more importantly, he would have hated the implication he’d committed suicide because he’d grown weak mentally.

Weak.

Not the Jim Zach had known all his life.

Zach sank into a battered kitchen chair and spread the pieces of the puzzle across the table. The article. The notes from the investigation. The list of friends who had detailed Jim’s downward spiral.

He traced a finger across each of the investigational notes, all in his handwriting, all recreated from memory after one quick glimpse of the department files.

He stopped his hand when his fingertips brushed against a short stack of paper. Hard copies of the e-mails from Jim detailing the start of the semester and his work with New Horizon.

Zach’s heart grew heavy in his chest.

He had to admit his brother’s tone had changed in the days before his death. Zach should have realized something was wrong, should have done something. Anything.

The familiar guilt edged through his system. He did nothing to shove the sensation away. Hell, he deserved to feel guilty. He’d failed the younger brother who had looked up to him as he would a parent.

Zach had let Jim down.

It was that simple.

He drew in a deep breath then blew it out slowly, bolstering his determination. He might have let Jim down in life, but he wasn’t about to let him down in death.

He’d start at the beginning and work this case harder than he’d ever worked another case. This time it was his brother’s memory he’d fight to vindicate.

Zach pulled a writing tablet from the far side of the table and listed the evidence he’d gathered so far.

Testimony from friends.

E-mails from Jim.

Prior Whitman Pharma clinical trial information from consumer watchdog group.

He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut momentarily. There wasn’t much to go on, and the first item on the list pointed to Jim’s declining mental state.

As Zach saw it, he needed concrete proof of two things—Jim’s involvement in the HC0815 trial and data from the previous Whitman Pharma drug study.

Jim had reported to the hospital affiliated with the college for his daily dose of HC0815, so there had been nothing in his personal effects to link him to the drug trial. And the only thing the Little Brother watchdog group had been able to provide regarding the earlier Whitman drug study was hearsay.

Zach needed far more in order to prove New Horizon and Whitman Pharma’s guilt and take them down.

He swept all of the papers to one side, frustration growing inside him as he ran the conversation with Jessica Parker through his head for what had to be the hundredth time since that afternoon.

Jessica Parker.

The key to unlocking the evidence Zach needed. The key to getting inside New Horizon.

While he’d like to think it possible to investigate without the woman, the truth was he needed her cooperation.

As Zach shoved the newspaper article and the investigative notes back into the manila envelope where he kept them, he flashed once more on Parker and her defense of New Horizon.

Earning the woman’s trust wasn’t going to be easy, but it was a necessity.

Now, all he had to do was figure out a way how.

JESS FINGERED THE business card in her jacket pocket as she walked from her car to her condo, revisiting the day’s events in her head.

She’d stayed at New Horizon even later than she normally did, and the heaviness of the impending night pressed against the fading sun. The late hour had also forced her to park farther away than she liked.

She’d left a message for Scott McLaughlin at his home number but hadn’t heard back from him. She’d decided against calling Detective Thomas. At least for now.

Once Scott confirmed what Van Cleef had said, Jess would break it to Thomas that he was operating under false pretense and his brother’s mental illness had been just that—and not the by-product of the clinical trial.

She turned the corner toward her street, passing the alley that ran behind the neighborhood grocery market. The small hairs at the base of her neck pricked to attention, and she mentally chastised herself.

The alley had given her the creeps since the day she’d moved in. It didn’t help that her favorite pastime was devouring one romantic suspense novel after the other late at night.

Her imagination was no doubt working overtime.

When movement sounded from behind her, she glanced over her shoulder, half expecting to see an attacker closing fast.

Instead she saw nothing. No one.

“Get a grip, Parker.”

She quickened her pace nonetheless, practically breaking into a jog as she approached the last intersection before her building. She came to a quick stop, looked both ways and moaned inwardly as a battered old Cadillac approached at a snail’s pace.

The widow Murphy. The bane of the neighborhood pedestrian. The woman should have lost her license years ago, yet still she drove. The problem was you never knew if she was going to be driving fast or slow…or both.

As if on cue, the car sped up, zipping past Jess in a blur.

Thank goodness she hadn’t made a move to cross the street.

She’d been so focused on Murphy’s car, Jess hadn’t sensed the presence behind her, but she sensed it now.

A footfall sounded. Several paces back, if she wasn’t mistaken.

Jess’s pulse began to race, and she squeezed her eyes shut momentarily, trying to calm herself, trying to think rationally.

She was merely on edge from sneaking around the lab and the files. Not her usual MO.

Logically speaking, it would make sense for another pedestrian to be on the street. After all, the October weather hadn’t yet turned terribly cold and the evening promised to be clear and beautiful.

Another footstep sounded, and Jess turned to offer a greeting, deciding to face her ridiculous fear head-on.

Her breath caught at the sight behind her. The sidewalk stood empty. Yet she’d heard the footfalls. That she hadn’t imagined. No way.

Something moved beyond the stand of small maples the town had planted during its beautification project. A shadow. A shape.

A man?

Jess wasn’t about to wait to find out. She pivoted to face the street, breathing a sigh of relief when she spotted no oncoming traffic in either direction.

She sprinted across, heading straight for her condominium complex, not daring to steal another glance over her shoulder. Not wanting to risk the slightest slowing of her pace.

As she reached the steps to her building, the sound of someone running behind her was unmistakable. She’d be a fool to punch in her security code and risk whoever followed gaining entrance to her otherwise secure condo. She’d rather face her pursuer head-on, screaming for help in the open.

Hers was a close neighborhood, and she had no doubt help would be with her in no time flat, if needed.

The footfalls slowed as they neared, and Jess turned, doing her best to mentally prepare for whatever—and whoever—she might find behind her.

A middle-aged man stood close yet kept a respectable distance. His complexion was scarred, as if he’d battled severe acne in his youth. His dark hair had begun to recede, and he’d slicked it back, creating a stereotypical New Jersey tough-guy appearance. His manner of dress, however, belied his intimidating looks.

He wore an impeccable suit, crisp white shirt and tightly knotted tie. His clothes showed not a hint of wear or wrinkling, as if he’d just dressed or emerged from a corporate limo.

He reeked of money and confidence, and Jess didn’t recognize him from the neighborhood.

“Can I help you?” she asked, hoping the fear that had her trembling inside wouldn’t infiltrate her voice.

The man tipped his head to one side, a slow smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Jess narrowed her gaze, suspicion filtering through her. “I’m fine. You’re not from around here, are you? Do you need directions?”

He pursed his lips. “You were running. What made you do that?”

You, she thought.

The man’s tone had turned icy, and Jess swallowed reflexively, doing her best to ignore the fingers of dread that wrapped themselves around her neck and squeezed.

The man took a step toward where she stood, but Jess held her ground, steeling herself.

“I was wondering if you had reason to be afraid of something.” His voice dropped low now, menacing, the implied threat unmistakable.

She shook her head. “Why would I be afraid?”

He leaned near and Jess seriously considered screaming. She tensed, ready to strike out should he make a move.

“Sometimes people stumble into situations where they don’t belong,” the man continued. “You’d be surprised what can happen to a person who loses her way, to those she loves, especially when they can’t defend themselves.”

Jess fought the urge to take a swing at him but stood frozen to the spot. She hated how much fear his words had shot into her system. Just who was he threatening? Her? Her family? Her disabled father?

The man tipped his chin, then pivoted away from her. “Take care now. And don’t forget to lock your doors. You wouldn’t want to leave yourself vulnerable.”

Jess did nothing. Said nothing. She merely stood and watched him walk away as if her feet had been anchored in concrete.

Either the man was merely a Good Samaritan with a penchant for gloom and doom or he’d followed her with the express intent to intimidate.

She’d put her money on the latter.

Someone had sent the man with the message for her. She’d stumbled onto something someone else didn’t want her to stumble upon. But what?

Detective Thomas’s allegations were the only development out of the ordinary in her otherwise predictable life. Surely Dr. Van Cleef hadn’t sent the well-dressed man out to scare her. And other than those two, the only person she’d contacted was Scott, yet she’d mentioned no specifics in her voice mail, purposely being discreet.

Could the conversation she’d just had have been a random warning from a well-meaning stranger?

When she punched in her security code and entered the building, she had her answer. The door to her condo sat wide-open, as if she’d gone off to work and never pulled it shut behind her.

She stood to the side of the threshold and listened but heard nothing. Glancing inside, it was evident nothing obvious had been touched or moved. The condo was designed as an open loft, and she was able to scan the full interior from the door.

Her living area, kitchen and sleeping area were all as she’d left them with no intruder in sight.

No matter. Jess knew she’d locked the door just as she knew someone was sending her a message. No doubt the man she’d just encountered on the street.

She pulled her cell phone from her briefcase and speed-dialed her parents’ number. After they’d assured her they were fine, she disconnected, prepared to call the police. Then she had an even better thought.

She pictured Zach Thomas’s dark and intense features, a shiver tracing its way across her shoulders at the image. What if the detective was behind both the intrusion into her apartment and the warning from the stranger? What if he’d orchestrated the moves to intimidate her into cooperating?

Her gut told Jess he hadn’t, but there was only one way to find out.

She pulled Detective Thomas’s card from her pocket, read the digits of his phone number, then punched them into her cell.

Thomas’s gruff response suggested he did not appreciate the interruption.

Too bad.

“Detective Thomas?”

“Who is this?”

“Jessica Parker. We need to talk.”