Читать книгу Holiday Amnesia - Lynette Eason - Страница 13

Dr. Robin Hardy looked up from her microscope and frowned when the voices reached her over the Christmas music she had playing softly through the one earbud she wore. She never wore two when working just in case someone needed her attention. A habit she’d developed after being scared out of her skin by coworkers tapping her on the shoulder.

Some people played only music. She liked the radio app and the commentary that came with it. And she’d hoped the cheery tunes and upbeat voices would lighten the heaviness in her heart.

So far it hadn’t worked.

A part-time professor at the Middle Tennessee State University, she spent the majority of her time teaching virology research to eager young minds.

The rest of the time—too much time, some might say—she worked in the lab along with several other scientists. None of whom were on the schedule to be here tonight. She’d come because she’d craved something to take her mind off the fact that she’d been betrayed by someone she’d considered a good friend. With the potential to be something more.

Hurt feelings and righteous anger didn’t promote restful nights. So, she worked. And fumed. And vowed never to trust another charming, good-looking, smooth-talking male again.

Toby Potter, with his dancing eyes, finger-magnet five o’clock shadow and perpetually mussed caramel-colored hair, had used her. The rat. Pretending he cared when the whole time he was just getting close to her so he could get close to her research and have firsthand knowledge of what was going on in the lab. And while she just wanted to be mad, tears once again blurred her vision.

Stop thinking about him.

Easier said than done. It was hard to turn off the hurt. She blinked and sniffed—and tried to focus. The voices grew louder. Unable to hear more than the fact someone else was in the lab, she supposed a couple of fellow scientists had decided to put in a few more hours just like her.

But they probably weren’t using work to distract them—to keep their minds off of people better just forgotten. Unfortunately, work wasn’t doing anything to help her forget.

She studied the specimen, trying to see it through her tears. And finally gave up. She’d thought Toby was different, that his interest in her work was because he was interested in her. Boy, was she a lousy judge of character.

Heated words snapped her head around. “What in the world?” she muttered.

Curious, she removed the slide from the scope and returned it to its secure slot in the box next to her. She slipped off the gloves and tossed them into the hazardous waste bin. Most of the lights had been turned off and she usually liked it that way, but right now, they held a foreboding that crept over her. The farther she walked from her workstation, the darker it got, the blackness like a glove closing around her.

She shivered.

Then laughed at herself, mentally reviewing the security in the lab. No one without authorization could get in. And no one with authorization was anyone to be afraid of. While the university lab wasn’t a Level 4 secure lab working with deadly pathogens, Robin still considered her research and teaching an important part of the process for training upcoming scientists. And it was very secure.

Light returned. Someone else was working at the far end of the large building in a corner station. Or had been working. Possibly. Right now, the two men standing face-to-face looked like they were ready to start throwing punches.

“The bidding has already started. I need that virus now!”

“It’s not ready. I told you. I’m still working out some issues, but I should have it soon.”

Their words echoed through the large area.

Virus? Bidding? She didn’t recognize the first voice, but the second one belonged to Alan Roberts—a virologist like her.

“How soon is soon?” the first voice asked.

“Soon! Okay? I’ll call when I’m ready.” A pause. “I’m serious. I think I’ve got it, I just need to run a couple of more tests and then it’ll be ready.”

“How much longer?”

“Twelve hours, okay?” Alan threw the notebook onto his workstation area and it landed on top of the manila file folders that always seemed to overflow his desk. “I have to make sure it’s right. The first test said it was.”

“Then why more tests?”

“To make sure. If you sell a defective product, your investors might take exception. Just let me do my job, then you can do yours.”

“Twelve hours. That’s it. I’ll let the buyer know we’re a go.”

“Fine,” Alan said. “You have my account number. Make sure the money lands there like it’s supposed to.”

“Of course.”

Robin eased closer, careful not to do anything stupid like knock something over or misstep. She could see the two men huddled in the corner. She and Alan shared a love of the classics, and he usually had a jovial personality in spite of his daughter’s medical bills. Leukemia had taken its toll on the family.

A deep scowl creased his lean face. “I’ll figure it out. Get out of here before someone sees you.”

“Right.”

Robin held her breath as the second man turned on his heel and strode to the door that would lead him out of the back of the lab. How had he even gotten in? He’d need a key card to get out. The sick feeling that had been growing as she listened now blossomed into full-fledged nausea.

They were selling a virus? But what kind? And how would they get access to it? Or had they built it?

Alan slammed a fist on the desk and closed his eyes for a brief moment. Unsure whether to leave or confront him, she hesitated. A shot sounded, and Alan jerked, then dropped to the floor. Robin clapped a hand over her mouth.

Blood from the bullet wound in the middle of his back stained his white lab coat. Robin swallowed a sob, terror pounding through her. Alan rolled with a grunt. Another pop stilled him. The killer ran out the door. She heard two more gunshots as she turned to run. But she had to check on Alan. She hurried to his side and knelt next to him. His eyes were open with his pupils fixed.

Robin scrambled to her feet, her lungs desperate for air, adrenaline racing. The door opened and Alan’s killer stood there, hand grasping the collar of the man Alan had been speaking with. He dragged him back into the lab, then released his hold. In slow motion, she watched the victim thud to the floor.

Time sped up again when the killer swept a hand over Alan’s desk, raking up the files he’d been working through. Vaguely, her mind registered that the shooter had been in the lab the whole time. He’d heard the same conversation she had. And he’d had a gun. Why?

Frozen, she ordered herself to move and couldn’t. The man turned and jerked when he saw her standing there. Hard eyes never left hers. Breath caught in her constricted throat. “You killed them,” she whispered. “Why? How could you?”

“Call it an unexpected moneymaking opportunity that I’d be crazy to pass up.” He lifted his phone. “I’ve hit a small snag in the plan. Warn me if anyone approaches while I take care of this.”

“Snag in what plan?” Why wasn’t she running? Run!

“Sorry, Robin.” He lifted his weapon.

Robin screamed and lunged sideways. The bullet shattered the beaker on the table behind her. Stumbling, refusing to fall, she got her feet under her and raced through the lab, dodging chairs and tables, her goal the back hallway that held the break room, conference room and restrooms. She’d never make it to the exit.

Another shot whizzed too close to her cheek as the footsteps behind her pounded faster. No! She would not die like this. She burst into the men’s bathroom, slammed the door and locked it. If he saw her dart down the hallway, he’d assume she’d go into the women’s bathroom. Locking herself in the men’s might buy her an extra lifesaving minute or two.

She shoved her hand into her lab coat pocket and froze. Her phone. Where was it?

A picture of it sitting on her workstation flashed through her mind. With no way to call for help, her panic bloomed, exploding through her.

Think. Think.

Panting, lungs straining for air, she went to the window.

A loud boom shuddered through the building and sent her to her knees. The door exploded inward and slammed into her like a missile, knocking her to the floor face-first. Her forehead connected with the solid tile floor. Pain arched through her and blackness coated her.

Toby Potter watched the flames shoot toward the sky as he raced toward the building. “Robin!”

Sirens screamed closer. Toby had been on his way home when he’d spotted Robin’s car in the parking lot of the lab. Ever since Robin had discovered his deception—orders to get close to her and figure out what was going on in the lab—she’d kept him at arm’s length, her narrow-eyed stare hot enough to singe his eyebrows if he dare try to get too close.

Tonight, he’d planned to apologize profusely—again—and ask if there was anything he could do to earn her trust back. Only to pull into the parking lot, be greeted by the loud boom and watch flames shoot out of the window near the front door.

Heart pounding, Toby scanned the front door and rushed forward only to be forced back by the intense heat. Smoke billowed toward the dark night sky while the fire grew hotter and bigger. Mini-explosions followed. Chemicals.

“Robin!”

Toby jumped into his truck and drove around to the back only to find it not much better although it did seem to be more smoke than flames. The thick cloud decreased his visual field, but he had to try. Robin was in that building, and he was afraid he’d failed to protect her. Big time.

The lab backed up to a wooded area left by the designers of the campus to make it feel less city and more rural. He’d always appreciated the beauty of the place, and now he had visions of it burning, the trees and animals caught in the path of the flames. And Robin.

Toby parked near the tree line in case more explosions were coming. The lot on this side was smaller, just one row along the length of the building.

At the back door, he grasped the handle and pulled. Locked. Of course. Using both fists, he pounded on the glass and metal door. “Robin!”

He fumbled for the key card FBI special agent Ben Little had provided when Toby had agreed to take the case, allowing him access to the building when it would be empty. Better for snooping and spying.

Another explosion from inside rocked Toby back, but he was able to keep his feet under him. He figured the blast was on the other end of the building—where he knew Robin’s station was. If she was anywhere near that station, there was no way she was still alive. “No, please no,” he whispered. No one was around to hear him, but maybe God was listening.

He raced down the side of the building, trying each door only to find them locked. He wasn’t getting inside. And no one was coming out. Where were the fire trucks? He knew his concept of time was skewed. What was merely seconds seemed like hours.

Heart in his throat, he finally backed away, his mind flashing through times spent with Robin. Eating at the university cafeteria, walks around the small pond near the library, laughter at the old movies in the campus theater. Her fury when she discovered his duplicity. He blinked and shook his head.

Initially, his assignment had been to get close to her and find out what was going on in the lab. Over the past month, he’d found himself wanting to know her, convinced she wasn’t involved in anything suspect but that she might have information she didn’t know she had. Now, he’d failed her.

Grief gripped him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d quit the CIA because he was tired of the covert life. He’d been working as a professor at the university—and healing from life’s wounds—when his former handler and friend, turned FBI agent, had roped him into helping with his case.

Toby grabbed his phone from his pocket and punched in the number for Ben Little. It rang twice as a fire truck finally screamed around the side of the building. “Yeah?”

“Ben, it’s me. Someone blew up the lab and I think Robin’s inside.”

“What!”

“I failed her, Ben.” He didn’t recognize his own voice. “I failed.” Again. Another woman had died because of him.

Robin blinked. Then coughed. Her head pounded in time with her heart. The pain nearly sent her back into the black abyss, but she drew in a smoky breath and shoved herself up off the bathroom floor. Darkness swirled, and spots danced before her eyes while sweat rolled down her temples and between her shoulder blades. Nausea doubled her over, but she stumbled to the door and touched the handle.

Only to jerk back when it burned her hand. Fighting to stay upright and conscious, she staggered to the window and unlocked it. Then realized it was sealed shut. The double-paned frosted window that ran from ceiling to floor was simply for looks, not for opening.

Groaning, she looked around for something, anything to break the glass. An idea sparked in her smoke-fogged brain and she stumbled to the nearest stall. Grabbing the top of the ceramic tank, she hefted it with a grunt and carried it back to the window, ignoring her churning stomach, pounding head and shaky legs. She gathered her strength and heaved it against the glass. Once. Twice. A large crack formed in the window. Her legs gave out and she fell, gasping, choking, her lungs grabbing at any remaining oxygen in the room.

Get up! You’re going to die if you don’t!

Pulling on the last of her strength, Robin hauled herself and the tank lid up. “Ahhh!” She slammed it against the glass.

The window shattered, the pieces falling to the ground outside. “Oh, thank you,” she breathed.

She shrugged out of her lab coat, placed it over the jagged edges and hauled herself through the opening. She fell to the ground on top of the glass. Her palms stung and she flinched but pushed to her feet, coughing and gagging.

Robin staggered away from the burning building, blinded by the smoke and desperate for clean air. The sirens and red flashing lights registered. She pressed a bleeding hand to her pounding head and finally found herself at the edge of the parking lot. She staggered into the trees and retched.

The world continued to spin, and she fell to the ground, her cheek pressing into the pine needles. She had to run.

But why?

She should know why but couldn’t bring the reason into focus.

Oh, because of him.

He’d tried to kill her.

His eyes closed. Then opened. Her head continued its hammering and her ears rang with an annoying high-pitched frequency.

Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the swirling trees while she tried to figure out what had happened. There’d been an explosion. Something had hit her, and she’d fallen.

Voices reached her. Instinctively, she scrambled to her knees and crawled behind the nearest tree while she made out the words “...find her. Get rid of her.”

“There’s no way she survived that,” another voice said. “You barely got out alive and she was still in the building when it exploded.”

“Maybe.”

“No maybe about it. You said she ran into the bathroom just before the first explosion went off. She’s dead.”

“Make sure!”

“Fine, I’ll make sure.”

They had to be talking about her. Tremors set in. Shock? She curled her arms around her knees and pressed her aching forehead against them. They wanted her dead? Who? Why? No, she’d seen him. In the lab. His face blurred, and she was sick again. When her stomach calmed down, the world still spun while she tried to force her mind to work.

She had to leave. To run. She stood, using the tree to help pull herself to her feet, ignoring the pain in her hands.

As she stepped in the opposite direction of the men who wanted to kill her, a hand slapped over her mouth and pulled her back to the ground.