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Silent Awakening
Elaine Barbieri


HIS SHIELD AND GUN WERE HERS TO COMMANDStalked by a killer after discovering his nearly untraceable chemical weapon, scientist Natalie Patterson collided with one of New York's finest–rugged homicide detective Brady Tomasini. The elegant scientist and the steel-hard cop should never have met. But now their fiery attraction was as undeniable as it was inconvenient.For the first time, Brady wasn't in control. Surrendering himself to Natalie's soft, smoky eyes wouldn't help him catch the killer. Unless…. The closer they got, the more angry Natalie's stalker became–and the more careless. Was giving in to unexpected passion the best way to flush out the killer…and would Brady's and Natalie's hearts survive the aftermath?









Two detectives stood back a few paces from the scene


The shorter, light-haired man acknowledged Natalie with a polite nod, while the other—

The other detective was tall and broad shouldered, dressed in a sports jacket that had seen better days and denim pants that had been washed enough times to mold his long, muscular legs just a little too keenly. His thick, wavy hair needed to be cut, his light eyes were deeply shadowed under brows as dark as his hair, he needed a shave and he was scowling at her as if she were the enemy.

As if reading her mind, the detective raked her up and down with a look so intimately insulting that she could feel the heat rise to her cheeks.

She realized that he was prepared to dislike her.

Fine. Because she didn’t like the looks of him, either.




Silent Awakening

Elaine Barbieri





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


This story is derived from an actual criminal case history.

The cancer-inducing drug referred to on the following pages,

used on rats for research purposes, is untraceable

in the human body. It remains unidentified to

the general public for obvious reasons.

The way this unnamed drug was utilized for revenge

by a spurned lover is factual.

The characters, plot

and the name of the drug are fictional.




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Elaine Barbieri was born in a historic New Jersey city. She has written forty-two novels and has been published by Berkley/Jove, Leisure, Harlequin, Harper, Avon and Zebra Books. Her titles have hit USA TODAY and major bestseller lists across the country, and are published worldwide. Ms. Barbieri has received many awards for her work, including Storyteller of the Year, Awards of Excellence and Best Saga Awards from Romantic Times magazine. Her novels have been Doubleday and Rhapsody Book Club selections, and her book More Precious Than Gold was a launch novel for Romance Alive Audio. Ms. Barbieri lives in West Milford, New Jersey, with her husband and family.




CAST OF CHARACTERS


Natalie Patterson—The CDC lab tech couldn’t let justice go undone. But exposing a brilliant murderer puts her on the killer’s most-wanted list.

Detective Brady Tomasini—The tough homicide cop and the classy lab tech are like oil and water. So why is serving and protecting Natalie becoming the most important duty of his career?

Dr. Wilson Gregory—He’s very eager to have Natalie stay at his family apartment and continue to advise the police staff.

Dr. George Minter—Natalie’s boss is very proud of her. Has his pride become her death warrant?

Dr. Hadden Moore—The genius psycho’s hatred of Natalie is matched by his admiration of her smarts. Which will win out?

Charles Randolph—Natalie’s colleague thought he had a claim on Natalie that no one could break—until Detective Tomasini stepped into the picture.

Detective Joe Stanksy—He knows something’s getting to Brady. Will his prediction that his partner’s bachelor days are over come to pass?

Mattie Winslow—She invited her family to dinner—and unwittingly, to death.




Contents


Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen




Prologue


January

The stench of charred, human flesh had long since dissipated from the unidentifiable, skeletal remains lying partially concealed in a snowbank. Obvious to the heavily bundled, uniformed officers carefully searching the frozen undergrowth of the upstate New York Adirondack wilderness, however, was the bullet hole in the back of the weathered skull, indicating that the victim’s death was neither natural nor accidental.

The determined officers continued their investigation, snow crunching under their boots as certain truths became evident.

The first was that if not for the hunter who had stumbled on the scene, the remains might never have been found.

The second was that the crime scene had been so thoroughly compromised by weather, the passage of time and wild animals inhabiting the area that the search for clues was virtually pointless.

The third was that the story of the hunter’s grisly discovery would be news for a few days, but if the remains could not be identified and leads failed to develop, which appeared the most likely probability at that point, the public would lose interest in the stymied investigation.

Remaining was the most difficult truth of all—the fact that the unidentified victim would then become just another John Doe.




Chapter One


The previous July

“You’re wasting your time.”

Natalie Patterson looked up from her microscope as Chuck Randolph spoke. Wearing wire-rimmed glasses, his sport shirt covered by a white lab coat identical to hers, he was standing beside her workstation, closer than was necessary, and he was making her uncomfortable.

Natalie frowned. Chuck was a nice guy. He was good-looking, too, if she chose to discount the way he stared at her with his sober brown eyes, and concentrated instead on his pleasant features and slender, athletic build—unusual for a man who spent the greater part of the day either peering through a microscope or writing reports. But she didn’t discount it. Nor did she choose to consider that he was single and only a few years older than her twenty-four years, also unusual in her line of work at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Most of the men there were either years older than she, married, or not interested in a serious-minded brunette who was dedicated to her work—or worse, were married and interested.

Actually, she liked Chuck. She had gone out on a few casual dates with him. He was intelligent, resourceful and had a dry sense of humor that she enjoyed. They had a lot in common, but like was the operative word. She had taken a step back when it seemed his feelings were beginning to run deeper.

It appeared that she hadn’t stepped back far enough.

Chuck continued, “Just about everybody in the lab has already checked out those specimens with negative results, Natalie. I know New York is frustrated by the case, but we don’t have an answer for them.”

Chuck’s tone was casual, but he was still looking at her in a way that said his feelings for her didn’t match his tone, and Natalie did not immediately respond.

At her silence, Chuck frowned and prompted, “Why? Have you come up with something?”

“No, but—”

“But?”

“I don’t know…something about these specimens bothers me.”

“You can’t be more explicit than that?”

“No, and I guess that’s the problem.”

Chuck said flatly, “Give it up, Natalie. Those specimens have gone the whole established route, from the New York City Police Department, to the health department and sentinel labs, and now to us. We’ve conducted every possible test on them here, including a PCR test for the presence of DNA unique to disease agents, just in case. It bothered every one of us when we came up empty, but we’ve all accepted that we’ve done everything possible to determine the cause of the deaths.”

“I know, but—”

“That isn’t what I came here to talk about, anyway.” Chuck moved closer. She noted the line of discomfort between his brows as his expression softened and he said, “I thought you might like to go to lunch today. George is out of the office and we can take a little extra time.”

Dr. George Minter, their gray-haired, stoop-shouldered supervisor who suffered from a severe case of myopia, had been like a father to her since she’d arrived at the CDC. She knew that even if he were in the building, he would look the other way and pretend he didn’t notice if she took an extended lunch hour. But that wasn’t the point. Chuck was too nice. She didn’t want to lead him on.

She replied as gently as she could, “Not today, Chuck. I have to finish up here.”

“Maybe tonight, then. Dinner.”

“Maybe.”

Encouraged by her response, he replied, “There’s a restaurant on Ponce de Leone Avenue that I think you’ll like. You favor Italian food and I figured that you—” He halted at her uncertain expression, then continued more softly, “It’s just dinner, Natalie. No commitment involved. Give it a chance. You have to eat, and you might end up enjoying yourself.” He added, “Think it over. I’ll talk to you later.”

Later.

Natalie sighed and turned again to her microscope as the lab door closed. She really liked Chuck. She enjoyed his friendship, but she wasn’t sure how to handle the situation so they could remain friends. Despite her age, her experience with men was limited. Aunt Charlene hadn’t been much help in that department. Incredibly dear but a confirmed spinster, her aunt had raised her after she was orphaned by a rare virus that struck her parents when she was eight years old. Her first serious love affair in college with a jock named Billy Martindale hadn’t afforded much additional insight. It was a disaster. In retrospect, she realized that Billy never saw past the present or the physical. He didn’t understand her dedication to her studies or her dreams for the future.

The sad truth was that for a while, she actually started believing Billy’s incessant mantra that she was too serious, she was wasting her youth, she’d regret not taking advantage of all he had to offer her—until she learned the hard way that he had used that line too often on too many other girls. After that experience, she had sworn that she’d never let anyone get her that much off course again.

She had then turned even more firmly toward her books. She had devoted all her energy to her renewed desire to emulate her heroes, the researchers who had identified the virus that had killed her parents just in time to save her life. She’d graduated with honors and dated casually afterward. Being hired by the CDC a few years previously had been the realization of her dream.

Natalie glanced around the lab, noting for the first time that with Chuck gone and everyone else out to lunch, she was alone in the state-of-the-art facility, but she had no desire to stop to eat. The unusual appearance of the liver specimens nagged at her.

Natalie adjusted the microscope focus as she reviewed the specimens’ background again in her mind.

A young woman named Mattie Winslow, living in Queens, New York, had invited her family to her house for an outdoor barbecue. By the end of the day, many of the guests had gotten sick and died, including Mattie and her husband, Gus. It was a tragic circumstance, but not entirely unusual on a hot day when the possibility of food contamination was at its highest. The only problem was that local public health officials had found the food from the party to be uncontaminated. Nor had they found contamination in the water, soil, or air at the Winslow residence. Every other possible substance was tested, including insects, plants, and pollen gathered in the vicinity. All came up negative, but even the few guests who survived the sickness suffered extensive, permanent damage to the liver that was incapacitating.

A mystery.

Yet the appearance of the liver specimens was tauntingly familiar to her.

Natalie looked at the specimen under her microscope more closely. The erosion of the surface, the peculiar deterioration—she was certain she had seen it before.

Frustrated beyond measure, Natalie drew back from the microscope. Her jaw was set when she walked out into the hallway toward the medical library.

Hardly aware that hours had passed, she was filing through yet another shelf of medical journals when she found an issue that was excitingly familiar. She leafed through it, her hands shaking with anticipation as she scanned the article she had read shortly after arriving at the CDC a few years earlier.

A British facility conducting cancer research had developed a drug called Candoxine, which their scientists used to induce cancer in laboratory rats. The lab reported progress against a particularly virulent strain of cancer. While investigating the death of one of their researchers, they had determined that Candoxine caused sudden death to humans. It then broke down and became totally untraceable except by use of a process they subsequently developed specifically for that purpose.

Natalie turned the page and gasped. Included in the article was a photo of a liver attacked by Candoxine. The pebbled surface and the degeneration were exactly the same as the specimens presently under her microscope.

Natalie stared at the article, trembling at the magnitude of her discovery.

The similarity in the deterioration of the livers was indisputable—which made only one explanation plausible in view of the negative results of tests conducted on the specimens.

The deaths at the Winslow family barbecue could not have been accidents.

They could only have been…murder.



“THAT’S CRAZY! WHO IS this woman, anyway? I don’t intend to run around in circles, chasing a murderer who doesn’t exist just because a four-eyed, middle-aged, lab-coated nerd at the CDC can’t find a point of natural contamination in the liver samples and claims those people at the Winslow barbecue were poisoned. I’ve got real cases to work on.”

NYC Homicide Detective Captain John “Bulldog” Wilthauer glared at his detective and growled, “Take it easy, will you, Tomasini?”

Brady Tomasini, with six years on the squad under his belt, was thirty years old, tall, dark and handsome—a point rabidly contradicted by some fellow officers who resented their wives’ reaction to him—but he was definitely a man who had seen it all. Wilthauer’s glare was impressive, considering the broad shoulders, expanding waistline and sagging jowls for which he was so aptly nicknamed, but Brady did not back down. He was tired and irritable. He’d been up most of the night with his dog, Sarah, a twelve-year-old shepherd-Labrador mix he had picked up as a pup somewhere on the street when he was a rookie. The canine had rewarded him with unconditional love in the time since, and he had dropped her off at the vet’s office at seven that morning with instructions to do whatever was necessary, short of euthanasia, to make the old girl feel good again. He had arrived at his desk to face his heavy workload weary, unshaven, and depressed at the thought of what might be waiting for him when he returned to the vet’s office that evening. He had been hoping for a few minutes to gather his thoughts on the brutal homicide that had been plaguing his partner and him for the past week, but he had known he was in for trouble the second Wilthauer left his office and turned toward him with a file in his hand. He had remained silent when Wilthauer threw the file down on his desk and started to talk. He was only too keenly aware that with every word Wilthauer spoke, a few more detectives at surrounding desks in the crowded squad room had quietly vacated the premises.

For good reason. He was pissed.

Brady glanced at his partner, Joe Stansky. True to form, Joe had reacted to Wilthauer’s discourse by leaning back in his desk chair and listening in silence.

Brady met Wilthauer’s glare with one of his own. He knew what this was all about. The media had given a lot of play to the Winslow barbecue incident and the city’s failure to make progress on the cause of the deaths. Receiving notification from the CDC in Atlanta that the deaths were suspected homicides was a nightmare for the squad, and for Wilthauer in particular, who had had the case dumped in his lap. Wilthauer had explained that the findings of the CDC lab were being contested, and he was turning the file over to Brady just in case the findings were verified.

Just in case.

He’d heard that before.

Brady glanced again at his partner. Joe maintained his silence, clasped his hands behind his head and leaned farther back in his desk chair. He should have expected as much. His own outspoken manner and Joe’s laid-back personality were as different as night and day, so much so that they were referred to in the department as the odd couple—a joking reference no one dared make to Brady’s face.

Brady silently acknowledged that the dark hair, strong features, and powerful stature he had inherited from his father contrasted sharply with Joe’s light coloring and slight build. He also knew that his reputation as a ladies’ man—whether deserved or not—was as great a contrast with Joe’s successful twelve-year marriage as their personalities. What a casual observer would not take into consideration, however, was that the thoroughness and determination with which both men tackled every case was mutual, and that although their differences in style and personality were strong, their commonsense method of deduction and the core values that were the greatest influence on their stability as partners were in perfect step, making them the most formidable homicide team in the squad.

Unfortunately, Wilthauer was not the “casual observer.” A twenty-year veteran of the force, he knew how to make the best use of the talent under his command.

Aware that he was wasting his time, Brady protested, “Take it easy? You’re not fooling me, Captain. This Winslow case is a hot potato, and you’re dumping it in our laps like it was dumped in yours.”

“It’s not a homicide case, yet. The reports we’ve heard might turn out to be nothing more than smoke and mirrors.”

“Meaning?”

“Like I told you, the CDC in Atlanta notified the British lab that developed Candoxine of their suspicions. The British lab said the claim was preposterous, because the use of Candoxine was confined exclusively to research purposes in their lab. The Brits readily supplied the testing equipment that was supposed to prove Candoxine wasn’t involved in the deaths. When the test came up positive at the CDC with the use of the Brits’ equipment, the Brits protested again and demanded that the specimens be retested at one of our labs and by one of our technicians here in the city.”

“So?”

“So the specimens are going to be retested in the NYC Health Department lab, and the CDC in Atlanta is sending its expert here to observe.”

“The CDC expert? And who might that be?”

“The lab tech at the CDC who identified Candoxine in the specimens.”

“Right. That should go over big at our lab here.”

“But if the test turns out negative this time—”

“Sure. You know as well as I do what the chances are of that happening, especially if the CDC has any say in it.”

“Whatever happens, the case is all yours and Joe’s.”

“You know how heavy our caseload is, Captain.”

“So?”

Silent for a few moments, Brady said abruptly, “When’s this testing supposed to take place?”

“The CDC expert arrived in the city this morning. The test is set for sometime after lunch.”

“Great.”

“It might be a good idea if you and Stansky went to the lab to watch.”

“No, thanks.”

“You’d be doing yourself a favor. You could save yourself some time by finding out more about this Candoxine drug from an expert.”

Brady looked at him coldly. “Which will be totally unnecessary if the test for the presence of the drug turns out negative.”

“Right.”

“But there’s not a chance in hell of that happening, is there, Captain?”

“What happens, happens, Tomasini. Just make sure you or Joe keep me informed so I can keep the media happy.”

“Thanks.”

“Needless to say, everything else goes on the back burner if the test turns out positive. The Candoxine case would be first priority.”

“Thanks again.”

Wilthauer shrugged his beefy shoulders and snickered as he turned back toward his office, but Brady wasn’t laughing. Instead he looked at his partner as Wilthauer’s office door closed, shook his head, and said, “We’re screwed.”



NATALIE WALKED DOWN the hallway of the NYC Public Health Department, her briefcase in hand. It seemed to her that the hallways of all public institutions looked alike: paint of a nondescript color; marks on the walls and floors that were reminders of the steady traffic filing through the corridors daily; occasional chairs and end tables sporting tattered magazines in welcome areas that weren’t welcoming and in waiting areas that provided little help in passing the time. Yet the familiarity of the scene did little to settle her discomfort.

Natalie adjusted the jacket of her dark linen suit and raised a self-conscious hand to her tightly bound hair. She had arrived in the city early that morning and had barely had time to settle herself in her hotel room before she had to gather her paperwork and start out for the lab. She had purposely donned an ancient pair of reading glasses that she now used only to boost her confidence. Her shower had been rushed, and the steamy New York heat that had frizzed her determined curls had defeated her efforts to appear the consummate professional by melting off her makeup and by turning her sedate, linen suit into a mass of wrinkles.

Natalie’s lips tightened into an anxious line. Being a little less than average in height and with a slight build, shiny brown hair, big gray eyes and a damned dimple in her cheek that she could not seem to conceal made it difficult in her profession. She was intelligent, observant, competent, well-educated and experienced in her field. She reserved expressing her opinions until she was satisfied with her conclusions, but defended her conclusions adamantly and intellectually once they had been reached. Yet she had trouble being taken seriously because of her appearance. She had battled being called “kid” or “darlin’” and even “honey” all her life, and she was only too aware that she was now taking those problems with her into hostile territory.

Natalie silently groaned as she glanced down at the ID tag that had been pinned on her at the entrance of the building. She was an outside professional dispatched to oversee local professionals as they did their work—a situation she would heartily resent if she were the technician who was testing the Candoxine sample here. She had done her best to avoid the situation, but George had insisted. She hadn’t intended that her discovery in the medical journal and the subsequent research she had done on Candoxine out of professional curiosity would make George dub her the U.S. expert on the drug. Yet for all intents and purposes, she supposed she was, and George was proud of her.

So here she was. George was also equally resolved that no determinations would be made during the ensuing testing in NYC to negate her accomplishments or the accomplishments of the CDC lab. Besides being a point of professional pride with George, it was also a matter of funding—a double whammy.

Politics. George’s pride in her did not negate the fact that she was presently a pawn in the game, but she realized only too clearly that she was a necessary pawn who needed to uphold the credibility of the CDC. She was also beholden to George for his confidence in her and his support. He deserved hers in return.

Besides, George had made it clear in his own, sweet way that her future at the CDC depended on it.

Aware that she could do nothing more about the circumstances of her visit than she could about the NYC humidity, Natalie paused at the doorway of the lab, pushed it open, then stood hesitantly in the opening as a smiling, middle-aged, female technician in a lab coat approached.

“Miss Patterson?” And at Natalie’s nod, “How do you do? My name is Mildred Connors. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Waiting. Damn.

Natalie said apologetically, “It took me longer than I thought it would to get here from my hotel. I hope I haven’t messed up anybody’s schedule. I realize how important lab time is and I—”

Natalie’s apology came to an abrupt halt when she turned the corner of the corridor and saw the sober-faced group awaiting her. She stiffened her back determinedly.

Mildred Connors said formally, “Miss Patterson, I’d like you to meet Dr. Wilson Gregory, Dr. Philip Truesdale, and Dr. Phyllis Ruberg. Dr. Gregory will be conducting the test. The rest of us will be observing, including these two gentlemen, Detective Joe Stansky and Detective Brady Tomasini, who are here at the request of the New York City Police Department.”

Natalie acknowledged the introductions with quick, assessing glances. Dr. Wilson Gregory was trim, middle-aged, balding. He wore wire-rimmed glasses, a spotless lab coat, and surgical gloves. Dr. Philip Truesdale, sporting a well-trimmed beard, glasses, and the traditional lab coat, appeared younger and more intense than Dr. Gregory. Dr. Phyllis Ruberg, a slender, gray-haired, female contemporary of the other two, did not pretend to smile.

Natalie’s gaze halted abruptly on the two detectives standing back a few paces from the scene. The smaller, light-haired fellow acknowledged her with a polite nod, while the other—

The other detective was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a sports jacket that had seen better days and denim trousers that had been washed enough times to mold his long, muscular legs just a little too keenly. His thick, wavy hair needed to be cut, his light eyes were deeply shadowed under brows as dark as his hair, he needed a shave and he was scowling at her as if she were the enemy. She realized abruptly that he was prepared to dislike her. That was all right, because she didn’t like the looks of him, either.

As if reading her mind, the detective raked her up and down with a look so intimately insulting that she could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. She turned back toward Mildred Connors when the older woman said, “Shall we begin?”

Annoyed to have been even momentarily distracted, Natalie watched as Dr. Gregory snipped off a piece of the affected liver tissue and prepared to start.

Immediately engrossed in the procedure, Natalie observed in silence. Surprised when Dr. Gregory questioned her offhandedly throughout the test about the properties of Candoxine, the purpose it served in the British lab and the procedures used in handling it, she responded knowledgeably and succinctly. She watched him intently and cautioned him without hesitation at different points in the testing when he appeared to rush a step, explaining that the peculiarities of the drug sometimes demanded a longer response time if a more thorough and precise result was to be obtained.

Natalie took a relieved breath when the testing drew to a close. The lab became somehow stifling, a condition she was annoyed to admit no doubt resulted from the realization that she was again the focus of the Detective Tomasini’s insolent gaze. Doing her best to ignore him, she turned her attention to Dr. Gregory when he said, “We’ll have to wait until tomorrow for the final results, but I’d say the tests prove pretty conclusively that Candoxine is present in these samples, and that the liver deterioration of all those affected at the Winslow barbecue was caused by Candoxine poisoning. I applaud you, Miss Patterson.”

“I think it might be best to hold off on the congratulations, Dr. Gregory.” Detective Tomasini spoke up for the first time, his deeply voiced caution falling like a pall over the smiling group as he continued gruffly, “These results are too important for anybody to rush to premature conclusions and, like you said, the tests won’t be complete until tomorrow.”

Frowning, Dr. Gregory responded, “I suppose you’re right. We should wait for the tests to be formally concluded, but anyone with lab experience would assume the results would turn out positive. He’d also agree that Miss Patterson was exceptionally astute in identifying the source of the contamination by recalling an obscure article in a medical journal that was years old, and that she deserves congratulations and credit for her accomplishment.”

“Sure, fine, but I’d rather wait until tomorrow.” Turning unexpectedly toward Natalie, Tomasini addressed her condescendingly by saying, “If that’s all right with you, Miss Patterson.”

Miss Patterson.

Natalie forced a cold smile. Detective Tomasini had left no doubt in anyone’s mind what he intended to stress by his emphasis on the word Miss. He was putting her in her place—making sure she remembered that, with the exception of Mildred Connors, she was the only professional there who didn’t have a Ph.D., an M.D. or any other laudable initials of that status after her name.

Natalie responded, “You’re the homicide expert, Detective, but I think we can trust Dr. Gregory’s judgment in this case where he’s the expert.”

“Oh? I thought you were the expert. Isn’t that why you’re here supervising him?”

“I’m not supervising Dr. Gregory or anyone else.” Natalie’s face flamed. “I’m simply representing the CDC to validate the accuracy of these tests.”

“I guess you’ll have to show up here again tomorrow, then—when the tests are completed.”

“She’ll be here, of course.” Dr. Gregory interrupted opportunely, “There are some papers Miss Patterson will have to sign tomorrow when a formal conclusion is reached. I assume we can expect to see you and Detective Stansky tomorrow, too, Detective Tomasini.” Not waiting for his response, Dr. Gregory extended his hand toward the two detectives in informal dismissal and said, “And thank you for your concern.”

Accepting his hand, Tomasini replied, “You’re welcome.” He nodded at Natalie briefly, his gaze almost palpable before he turned to his partner and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

Unable to bear the awkward conversation sure to follow the detectives’ departure, Natalie said, “If you don’t mind, I’ll leave, too.” She paused to add, “I just want to be sure you understand that my presence as an observer doesn’t indicate the CDC’s lack of confidence in anyone’s ability here. As Detective Tomasini pointed out so clearly, Dr. Gregory, your experience and expertise far outrank mine, and it isn’t my intention to pretend otherwise. If that was the impression I gave, I apologize.”

“My dear…” Responding with a smile that was truly generous, Dr. Ruberg spoke up for the first time, saying, “I think I speak for all of us when I say that we understand your position and the importance of the findings here. Don’t concern yourself. Everything is fine.”

Back in the hallway later, Natalie approached the exit, overwhelmed by the generosity of the treatment she’d received from the professional staff at the facility but seething at the obnoxious Detective Tomasini’s obvious objection to the necessity of her presence during the tests.

She didn’t like it.

She didn’t understand it.

She was presently helpless against it.

Damn! What had George gotten her into?



THE LAB SCENE behind them was still on Brady’s mind as he slid his car into Drive and took off from the curb, cutting off a silver Honda without looking back. The image of angry gray eyes remained with him, displacing the responsive blast of the Honda’s horn as he advanced through the traffic. It occurred to him in retrospect that Felicia, his very vocal former girlfriend, would say he had acted like a jerk back there at the lab.

He figured he had acted like an ass.

Brady shook his head. He supposed lack of sleep was partially to blame for his reaction to the CDC “expert,” but he knew that wasn’t entirely true. For some reason, Natalie Patterson had ticked him off. Maybe it was because he never had appreciated the just-graduated-from-college, know-it-all type she represented—the kind who thought everybody had to listen when she started talking. She had probably graduated from college with the idea that the world was waiting for her talents. Being hailed the U.S. expert on an unknown drug by an agency as renowned as the CDC had obviously given her an inflated sense of importance, if he were to judge from the way she watched the test and took every opportunity to caution a seasoned Ph.D. as if he were a novice.

Besides, he didn’t like the way she had tried to put him in his place.

Brady huffed. Good luck on that.

Brady screeched the car to a halt at the light, giving Joe the opportunity to say, “What was that all about, Brady?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You were pretty rough on that girl back there.”

“Rough on who?” Brady replied caustically, “The U.S. expert?”

“That’s what she looked like to me.”

“Not to me. She’s probably right out of school, and she’s already an expert on a drug that nobody else in the U.S. knew existed?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“What’s eating you?”

“Come on, you’re happily married, but you’re not dead. She’s a babe!”

“You’re saying good looks and brains are mutually exclusive?”

“She did her best to hide her looks, like she was trying to impress somebody with her brains.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Why the need to try to impress somebody?”

“What’s your point? Are you mad because she isn’t quite the four-eyed, middle-aged, lab-coated nerd you expected her to be?”

“She did her best to look like one.”

“You’re losing me, pal.”

“The last thing we need on this case is a pain-in-the-butt expert who’s trying to prove herself by sticking her nose into our investigation.”

“You’re crazy, you know that?” Joe paused, then said, “You look like hell, you know. How much sleep did you get last night?”

“Enough.”

Joe stared at him. “Look, I don’t know what’s got into you, but I’d say laying off that CDC girl would be a good idea. She’ll probably be back in Atlanta by the end of the week, anyway, and that’ll be the last we see of her.”

“Not soon enough, if you ask me.” Relenting in the face of his partner’s obvious disapproval, Brady said, “Look, none of this makes sense, Joe. Candoxine? Who ever heard of it? If it was confined exclusively to research purposes in a lab in England, how did it make its way out of that lab and here to this country? And what possible reason could somebody have for poisoning a family in Queens with it?”

Joe raised his brow speculatively. “I guess you’re assuming the test will come out positive tomorrow, then.”

“Everybody seemed to think so.”

“Then why the big speech about not jumping to conclusions?”

“I told you. That Natalie Patterson pissed me off.”

“Really? You usually don’t have that reaction to a hot little number like her.”

“Janie would like to hear you say that.”

“Come on! I’m just repeating what you said.”

“She didn’t look that good to me.”

“Sure.”

Ignoring his partner’s response, Brady said, “We’ve got a day’s reprieve before we can do anything on the case, anyway. I say we get something to eat and then try to clear up what we can on our desks. I need to get home on time tonight.”

“What for?”

“I’ve got things to do.”

“Oh? What’s her name? No, don’t tell me.” Stansky shook his head. “Just tell her to let you get some sleep for a change.”

Yeah, sure. He forgot. He was supposed to be a stud.

Brady slipped the car into Drive and took off from the light with a screech of his wheels that set Joe to cursing.




Chapter Two


“The results are conclusive. The liver specimens test positive for Candoxine.”

Natalie glanced around the lab at the gathering of smiling faces as Dr. Gregory made his pronouncement. She had awakened in her hotel room that morning and had dressed conservatively in a sober brown suit that she believed made her appear older and, she hoped, more credible, yet doubts had assailed her. What if she had made a mistake when testing the liver specimens at the CDC? What if by some chance the results proved negative after all? What if Doctors Gregory, Truesdale and Ruberg decided the tests were inconclusive and challenged the results, thereby ultimately challenging the findings of the CDC?

What if…what if…?

But her doubts had proved groundless and, to her relief, everyone present appeared as pleased as she was to have the results confirmed.

Natalie glanced at the tall figure standing silently beside a lab table a few yards away. She altered that last thought. Everyone in the room appeared pleased that the results of the test had confirmed her report…with the exception of Detective Brady Tomasini.

Natalie struggled to present a composed demeanor. She had become intensely aware of the arrogant detective’s presence the moment she walked into the room that morning; but then, how could she not? It wasn’t only that she couldn’t miss him, considering that Tomasini easily dwarfed the other occupants of the lab with his height and stretch of shoulders, or that she knew he might be considered good-looking by some women—if they were the kind to appreciate his type. Neither was it the fact that he seemed more rested, making the intensity of his surprisingly light eyes keener as they seemed to linger on her longer than necessary, or that the more conventional sports jacket, crisp shirt, tie and freshly pressed slacks he wore did nothing to tone down his intimidating demeanor. She had done her best to ignore him as his stare had bored into her back while the results of the tests were thoroughly examined and rechecked, yet she had been unable to miss his subtle, negative reaction when the results were confirmed.

Natalie’s lips tightened almost imperceptibly. The man had a way of putting her immediately on the defensive, which she didn’t appreciate. She had worked too hard to eliminate negativity from her life to allow it to seep back in now.

To be succinct, she didn’t like him—apparently no more than he liked her.

Intensely aware that the detective had walked forward to join their group, Natalie smiled and accepted the hand Dr. Ruberg offered her. She shook it warmly as the older woman said, “I want to be the first to congratulate you, Natalie. You’ve done us all proud. You’ve proved the true professional that you are by identifying a source of contamination that we couldn’t find. However ghastly the thought that the people in the Winslow party may have been deliberately poisoned, it’s a relief for us here to know that there isn’t a virulent, as yet unidentifiable virus out there somewhere, just awaiting the right set of circumstances to burst into an epidemic.”

“I’m glad to see somebody’s happy about the results.”

Detective Tomasini’s interjection turned the attention of all in his direction. He pinned Natalie with his penetrating stare as he continued, “I suppose congratulations are in order, Miss Patterson, but since you were so adept at identifying the Candoxine, maybe you can tell me how such a carefully controlled substance managed to make its way out of a British lab to the U.S.”

Openly annoyed by the question, Dr. Gregory replied in Natalie’s stead, “I think we’re all agreed that Natalie’s done her job and done it well, Detective, so I guess it’s time for you to answer that question by doing your job.”

“Actually, I’d like to respond, Doctor.” Refusing to back down from the detective’s challenge, Natalie replied with a cold smile, “In my opinion, there’s only one way the Candoxine could have found its way out of the British lab, Detective Tomasini. It had to be smuggled out.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you’re a conspiracy theorist.”

“I don’t like labels, Detective. I find them inaccurate and limiting, and you’ve just done me the favor of proving my point. No, I’m not a conspiracy theorist, but I have spoken several times to the Director of Manderling Pharmaceuticals, the British lab working with Candoxine and, as you probably read in my report, I’m satisfied that all the necessary precautions were taken to isolate the drug. There’s no way it could’ve been removed from the lab by accident.”

“Since you’re the U.S. expert on Candoxine, I suppose I have to take your word for it.”

“Drug development is a risky, painstaking and expensive business,” Natalie said even more coldly. “Hundreds of millions of dollars are spent with no guarantee of success, making protection of the developmental process an integral component in the successful approval of any drug, Detective, but you can check out Manderling Pharmaceuticals’ procedures yourself if you doubt me.”

“Oh, I believe you. I wouldn’t expect that someone like you wouldn’t have done your homework.”

Blood rushed to Natalie’s face. “Someone like me?”

“Right…an expert.” Tomasini continued, “It just seems to me that you don’t fully comprehend the complexities of the scenario you’ve created.”

“I’ve created? I had no part in creating this scenario. The only part I played was in uncovering it.”

“Oh, right again. I did fail to give you credit there, didn’t I?”

“I’m not looking for credit, Detective. I’ve only done my job.”

“I suppose.”

Natalie said flatly, “Whatever. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a moot point. As Dr. Gregory said, the rest is up to you.”

Deliberately dismissing the detective with a turn of her back, Natalie smiled at Dr. Gregory and said, “Please let me know if I can do anything to facilitate the formalities. I won’t be flying back to Atlanta until tomorrow and I’d be pleased to help.”

“That’s very generous of you, Natalie.” Natalie noted that Dr. Gregory’s smile dropped a notch in intensity when he turned to Tomasini, offering his hand as he said, “I’ll send a report to your office as soon as possible, Detective. Other than that, I suppose we’re finished here. I’m sorry your partner couldn’t be here today. I know you both must be anxious to begin your investigation. I wish you luck.”

Appearing unaffected by the hostility he had created, Tomasini shook the hands offered him and replied, “It’s not goodbye, doc. I have a feeling you’ll all be seeing a lot more of me around here before we’re finished with this case.”

Dr. Ruberg watched as the detective left, closing the door behind him. She slipped her arm through Natalie’s and turned her toward the office door as the other doctors took up behind them. She leaned toward Natalie to comment softly, “That detective looks like a sharp individual to me, even if he is a little hostile. Damned sexy, too. I have to admit, if I were a few years younger, I might do my best to make him feel welcome when he returned.”

Momentarily speechless, Natalie stared at Dr. Ruberg. Stunned at the unexpected twinkle in the woman’s eye, she gasped, “You can’t mean that. The man’s a Neanderthal!”

Dr. Ruberg’s only reply was an amused twist of her lips as she drew Natalie toward the door.



“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, you want me to stay in NYC for a while, George?”

The pride in her supervisor’s familiar voice rang brightly over the telephone line, twisting Natalie’s stomach into knots as he continued, “I don’t know what you said or how you conducted yourself during the testing, dear, but it appears everyone you dealt with was very impressed with you. Dr. Gregory informs me that he’s expecting some pressure from the media as the result of your findings, and he freely admits that neither he nor his colleagues are familiar enough with Candoxine to competently handle questions. He’s asked if I could lend you to them for an indefinite period to function as the U.S. expert on the drug.”

Natalie silently groaned. It was just past 6:00 p.m. A few minutes earlier, she had been sitting slumped on the edge of the bed in her hotel room, consoling herself that within two days she had accomplished everything she had come to the city for and that the worst was over. She was acutely aware that the worst included her introduction to the exasperating Detective Tomasini. She was somehow embarrassed to admit even to herself that the obnoxious detective had played a large part in her having been anxious when she had entered the lab for the final test results that morning, and that his infuriating attitude had almost forced her to lose control. She had been relieved to be going home, but it now appeared that wasn’t going to happen.

Natalie protested, “My being the U.S. expert on Candoxine is a misconception, George, and you know it. I discovered its presence in those liver samples simply by chance.”

“You’re too modest, Natalie.”

Ignoring George’s response, Natalie continued, “I’ll concede that I’ve been in contact with the British lab that developed Candoxine, and have since done some research on its properties, but—”

“Which means you know more about the drug than anybody else in the States does.”

“Yes, but—”

“It’s only a temporary assignment, dear, and it’s a feather in our cap to have your assistance requested.”

“George…”

“Dr. Gregory is expecting that they’ll be asked to cooperate with the investigation when needed and he’d like you to be the liaison with the police department.”

Natalie went still. “You mean I’d be involved in the investigation?”

“As an observer…on an as-needed basis…yes. It’s an excellent opportunity for you.”

“I’d be working with the detectives assigned to the case?”

“You’d be working primarily with the detective who is the principal on the case.”

Oh, no! With her luck, it would be the Neanderthal.

“As I said, it’s only temporary, until the lab is comfortable with the situation.”

“What if I’m not comfortable with the situation, George?”

Natalie could almost see George smile as he said, “I’ve already granted Dr. Gregory your assistance, dear.”

Silence.

“You know we’ll all miss you here, but I’m extremely proud of everything you’ve accomplished, and it gives me great pleasure to see the caliber of CDC personnel recognized.”

Natalie silently groaned. George was proud of her. There was nothing more to say.



“WHAT’S THIS all about?”

Leaving his morning cup of coffee steaming on his desk, Brady strode into Captain Wilthauer’s office and slapped the newspaper down in front of him. The headline glared up at them:

Mysterious Winslow Deaths Suspected Homicides

Captain Wilthauer’s bloodshot eyes rose slowly toward Brady as he replied, “So?”

“Who leaked this to the press? You know damned well we’re not sure about any aspect of this case yet. The poisoning might’ve been accidental.”

“You know what the chances of that are.”

Brady did not respond.

“Look, we’ve sent the food specimens from the Winslow picnic to the lab for testing. As soon as we find out how the Candoxine was ingested by the victims, you and Stansky are on your own. But until then, the public is demanding an answer here, and the Commissioner is determined to give them one.”

“The Commissioner, huh? This is a mistake, and you know it. If there is a killer out there, he’s just been put on guard.”

“We’re going to have to take that chance, Tomasini. The Commissioner has the last word.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. The lab has the last word, and you can bet your tail that I’m hoping the lab turns up accidental poisoning.”

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Wilthauer smiled. “Whatever happens, we’re going to eliminate a lot of speculation because the CDC has agreed to allow its expert to remain in the city to do all the testing for as long as we need her.”

“Her?” Brady felt the knot that tightened in his gut. He repeated, “Her?”

“Meaning Natalie Patterson, of course.” Wilthauer stared at him confusedly. “You ought to be glad. She’ll get the media off your back by answering most of their questions. Hell, there’s nobody who can contradict her here, either, considering the situation.”

“Right.” Brady gave a harsh laugh. “Have you seen this expert?”

“No.” Wilthauer shrugged. “So what?”

“She’s a babe, Captain, even if she tries damn hard to disguise it, and she’s young. She’s got a hell of a lot less experience on the job than those doctors at the Health Department who couldn’t figure any of this out, and she’s got the look of somebody who’s trying to convince herself and everybody else that she knows what she’s talking about.” Brady leaned forward as he said adamantly, “Unless I miss my guess, those reporters will tear her apart.”

Wilthauer looked up at him for a moment, then replied, “What’s got into you about this Patterson woman, Tomasini?”

Brady drew back as if he had been singed.

“What happened? Doesn’t she like you?” Wilthauer shook his head. “Look, Romeo, take my advice and keep away from her. If she falls flat on her face, I don’t want any of my detectives going down with her.”

Romeo.

“Tomasini, did you hear me?”

“I heard you. Did you hear me?”

Wilthauer’s expression grew frigid. “Should I have?”

“How do you expect Stansky and me to conduct an investigation if we can’t depend on the information we’re getting?”

“She hasn’t been wrong so far.”

“That’s no guarantee.”

“All right, show me where Natalie Patterson doesn’t have the background for this investigation, and I’ll get her off the case. Put up or shut up, Tomasini. Now get out. I’ve got work to do.”

Brady walked back out into the squad room and signaled Stansky to his feet.

As they reached the door, Stansky asked, “So, how did it go?”

“I told you,” Brady replied coldly. “We’re screwed.”



STUNNED, DR. HADDEN MOORE stared with disbelief at the headline on the newspaper lying on the table in front of him. No, it couldn’t be true! Candoxine was untraceable in the human body. There was no way an autopsy could have revealed that it had caused the Winslow deaths!

He read the article. Frustrated, he slammed the newspaper back down on the table. He had executed the perfect crime and had achieved the perfect revenge on the woman who had led him on and betrayed him—only to be foiled by yet another woman!

Mattie Winslow appeared before Hadden’s mind’s eye as she had looked the first time he saw her, and he seethed with a familiar rage. He had been representing Manderling Pharmaceuticals at a reception given by Parkerhouse Pharmaceuticals, the major U.S. drug company contracted to handle production of the British lab’s breakthrough cancer drug when it was approved for sale in the U.S. She had been wearing a black cocktail dress that hugged her slim, faultless figure. Her eyes were the same color as her lovely hair, her perfect features bright with laughter, and her beautiful legs so long and slender that his heart had started racing the moment he saw her. She had been the most desirable woman he had ever seen.

By far the most brilliant scientist on the staff at Manderling, he was also the most extroverted in a field where introverted types abounded. Brilliant and handsome, with blond hair, blue eyes, patrician features and a carefully tended physique, he had always stood head and shoulders above the average man, both literally and figuratively. He had been a prodigy from the moment his progress was measurable as a child. He had graduated university at the age of seventeen and had earned his doctorate at the age of twenty. He was also fluent in five languages, which he spoke with no discernable accent, adding to his suitability as temporary liaison in a country as diverse as the U.S. He had been the perfect choice on many levels to represent Manderling at Parkerhouse when a meeting between the two labs had been deemed necessary.

Yes, there had been no one who could match him at the party the night he met Mattie, and he’d had the world at his feet.

He recalled the event, his heart pounding. Mattie had entered the room on the arm of a researcher from Parkerhouse whom she was dating. It was love at first sight for him, and he was determined to have her. The common fellow she was dating was no challenge at all, and in the weeks that followed, he wined, dined and charmed her. He would have given her the world if—

Fury again flooded his face with color. He had been so sure of Mattie’s love, so certain that no woman, most especially the magnificent creature who had stolen his heart, would be foolish enough to refuse him when he offered her his ring. Yet she had actually had the gall to pretend to be surprised when he did, and to explain that although she was fond of him, she didn’t love him the same way he loved her. Even after she had rebuffed him, he could not make himself believe she had simply led him on.

Whore!

He finally had come to the realization that Mattie was lying, that her rejection was simply more of the same type of thing he had experienced all his life—jealousy of his superior intelligence and achievements. When it came down to the wire, Mattie had known she would always stand in his shadow while standing at his side, and she had been too vain to accept that fate.

But he had loved her and had been prepared to forgive her and overlook that flaw in her character. He was certain he could make her see that she had made a mistake in passing up the opportunity to rise with him as he met his destiny.

Mattie had said she thought it would be best if they stopped seeing each other, but he’d been persistent. He’d called her until she had her number changed and unlisted. He sent her flowers and precious gifts, hoping to win her back, but she refused to accept them. Desperate to talk to her, he approached her on the street, but she would not speak to him.

He began watching her apartment day and night, hoping to catch her with the new man who he then became certain had taken his place. Neglecting his work in order to keep up his constant surveillance, he’d finally returned to his temporary office at Parkerhouse Pharmaceuticals only to be served with the restraining order Mattie had signed against him.

Humiliated, he had been unable to restrain his rage when he was served, and an appalling scene had ensued.

His fury took a quieter tack, however, when his work visa was unexpectedly revoked and he was forced to return to England without Mattie.

He was a different man after that. With Mattie dominating his thoughts and his heart broken, he became quiet and morose. Yet hope remained…until the day he learned Mattie had married another man.

It was at that moment when he awakened to the true depth of Mattie’s betrayal, and his hatred for her then flowed through his veins with molten rage, encompassing his every thought.

His fury was too overwhelming for his common contemporaries at Manderling to comprehend, and they began avoiding him. His “problem” was finally brought to the attention of the board of directors, who worked within the legal system to assert that he’d had a breakdown and needed temporary confinement and treatment in a mental institution. Yet he knew that wasn’t true. He knew the members of the board had simply taken the opportunity to serve their concealed jealousy and the fear that he would one day replace them.

But he didn’t blame them. It was all Mattie’s fault, after all.

Aware that he was powerless against the courts, but too smart to allow them a control he did not sanction, he decided to play along. He told the doctors at the institution exactly what they wanted to hear, and allowed only enough time to elapse between phases of his “recovery” for his act to be convincing.

He was released within six months.

He then began planning his revenge in earnest.

Manderling Pharmaceuticals so generously restored him to his former position after his release. He had access to the Candoxine once more, but that did not surprise him. The drug had been his brainchild, after all, and he was the man with the greatest knowledge of its intricacies.

He was so careful. He removed Candoxine from Manderling’s stores in small amounts that would not be missed, uncaring of the time it took to accumulate the quantity needed.

It amused him to realize that, although everyone was exceedingly kind when he returned from his “breakdown,” they were relieved to see him leave when he finally served his notice.

Back in the U.S., he headed straight for the little house in Queens where research had revealed that Mattie and her new husband had taken up residence. He watched for several days as Mattie and the common fellow came and went in the daily routine that had been denied him.

Deceitful witch!

He had been determined to make her pay for the misery she had caused him.

It wasn’t difficult at all to ascertain the perfect moment to pick the lock and slip into the house unseen. Placing Candoxine in the lemonade Mattie had prepared for the barbecue the next day had been inspired. He knew Mattie would choose that drink over any alcoholic beverage that was being served. He also knew Candoxine was untraceable, that it deteriorated in the human body and would not be discernible under normal laboratory procedures in the remnants of the lemonade.

Then he had sat back and waited for the “natural, inexplicable catastrophe” that followed.

Mattie and her husband…dead.

The parents who had given birth to Mattie…dead.

Relatives who had doted on her…either dead or so impaired that they wished for that sweet release.

He had not been concerned by the furor that followed as public health officials conducted autopsies and tests, failing again and again to ascertain the source of the deadly contaminant. It was the perfect crime, revenge was sweet and he was free to return to his former profession in England whenever he desired.

Hadden looked down again at the unexpected headline in the newspaper. It screamed out at him in the silence of the room, and his fury heightened.

Mysterious Winslow Deaths Suspected Homicides

His perfect crime unearthed by a lowly, inauspicious laboratory technician who was being feted at his expense.

No, he would not allow it!

He would see to it that this woman did not profit from the blow she had dealt him. He was good at that.

He searched the article again, his gaze finally coming to rest on the technician’s name.

Oh, yes.

Her name was Natalie Patterson.




Chapter Three


“I don’t believe it.”

Brady sat at his desk in a squad room functioning at full tilt around him. He was deaf to the shuffle of handcuffed prisoners being moved across the room with mumbled protests, the loud conversation at the desk behind him, the droning hum of fans intended to circulate air that never seemed cool enough on a hot summer day and the burst of laughter from the doorway at a joke not meant for tender ears. Unbuttoning his shirt collar and loosening his tie, he stared down at the report faxed to him that morning. He repeated, “I don’t believe it.”

Stansky looked up from the paperwork on his desk, which abutted Brady’s. He said, “Okay, I’ll bite. What don’t you believe?”

“Did you read this fax that came in this morning from Manderling Pharmaceuticals?”

“Did it have my name on it?”

“No.”

“Then I didn’t read it.”

“It’s in reply to the fax I sent them about the Winslow case.”

Stansky’s fair face twisted and he groaned. “Dammit, Brady, that Winslow case is all I’ve heard about for the past week. We do have other cases, you know.”

“Yeah, sure, but only this one has Wilthauer breathing down our necks.”

Stansky opened his mouth as if to reply but then shut it abruptly, and Brady’s gaze narrowed.

“Say it.”

Stansky shook his head. “Say what?”

“What you were going to say.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Say it, Joe. You know you will, sooner or later.”

Stansky paused a moment longer, then leaned across his desk to reply in a softer voice, “Look, I know Wilthauer is on our backs about this one, but I never saw you so wrapped up in a case before.” He paused again, then added, “That little CDC chick wouldn’t have anything to do with it, would she?”

“Little CDC chick?” Brady forced a surprised expression that he was sure wouldn’t fool anyone, especially Joe Stansky. The truth was, that “little chick” had a lot to do with his interest in the Winslow case. After his conversation with Captain Wilthauer, he’d called in a favor from an old buddy in the Atlanta PD. What he’d learned hadn’t confirmed his thinking.

In the first place, Miss Natalie Patterson wasn’t a “fresh from the university know-it-all” as he had thought. She was actually twenty-four years old. She’d had a brush with the radical scene in college, but she had graduated with honors and seemed to have put the past behind her. She had several years’ experience in the field, making her qualifications quite adequate for her job at the CDC. Her work at the CDC was more than adequate, too, if he were to believe the evaluations written by her supervisor, Dr. George Minter, a tough old cookie who seemed to have taken a “special interest” in her. It did not escape his notice, however, that Minter was the same man who’d named her the U.S. expert on Candoxine and recommended she be sent to NYC to supervise the testing of the liver samples.

He didn’t know why learning about her personal association with a fellow worker at the CDC, Charles Randolph, bothered him. Randolph was highly regarded at that agency. It was rumored he had a thing for her and wasn’t the type to give up. That was understandable, Brady supposed.

He’d had to face the fact that there was nothing negative in Miss Natalie Patterson’s background. The only question that remained was if she was really an expert on Candoxine. As far as he could see, the answer was that she was the best the CDC had to offer.

And…it was damned hard to admit that he had been wrong.

Stansky interrupted Brady’s thoughts to say, “That’s right, that CDC chick. You know damned well who I’m talking about.”

“Oh, you mean the CDC woman you agreed was a ‘hot little number?’”

Stansky sneered. “Right. That one. You know, the same woman who tested the Winslow barbecue food this week and discovered traces of Candoxine in the lemonade.”

“After both our lab and the Health Department lab tests failed to reveal any contaminants.”

“So she found Candoxine when our labs couldn’t. So what?”

“So you should’ve been at the Health Department lab the day the specimens were confirmed. You would’ve thought she’d won the Nobel Prize the way those doctors acted.”

Stansky retorted, “Your reaction to Natalie Patterson is unreasonable, Brady, and you know it. I don’t know why she strikes a sour note in your mind, but did it ever occur to you why those doctors may have made such a fuss over her discovery? Dr. Gregory wanted her to be temporarily assigned to his lab so the heat would be off them when the press came calling, and he didn’t want her objecting. That was pretty smart of him, if you ask me.”

Brady did not respond and Stansky said, “Just forget it, will you? What does that fax say?”

“Nothing—except that Natalie Patterson probably solved the case for us, too.”

“Give me that fax!”

Stansky read the fax, then looked up. “Maybe this Patterson cookie does deserve the Nobel Prize. I’d say this is pretty cut-and-dried. This guy Dr. Hadden Moore met Mattie Winslow in the States when he was sent here by Manderling. If everything this fax reports is true, it all went south from there. He stalked her to the extent that she signed a restraining order against him.” Stansky took a breath, then added, “You’re right. Natalie Patterson did just about solve the case for us. All we have to do now is find out if this Moore guy is still in the country. If he is, we’ll find him and Wilthauer will be happy, the Commissioner will be ecstatic and this case will be history.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s wrong now?”

“Wilthauer wants us to keep ‘the babe’ informed on our progress in the case.”

“Us?”

Brady stared at him.

“Who’s the principal on this case?”

“Me.”

“So—the job’s all yours.”

“Maybe not.” Brady stood up abruptly. “Let’s go talk to Wilthauer.”



NATALIE WALKED ALONG the crowded New York street, weaving between loitering office workers determined to soak up as many rays as possible during a limited noon break on a sunny summer day. She avoided collision with determined street vendors selling all manner of wares—hot dogs and pretzels, knockoff jewelry and handbags, “rare” and used books, “original works of art” or anything else a wandering tourist or a willing New Yorker might buy.

She was neither a New Yorker nor a wandering tourist, but she should’ve known better than to expect to make time when traffic was at its height and taxis were unobtainable. She had finally caught a bus and had ridden as far as she could before getting off to walk the rest of the way to the police precinct assigned to the Winslow case.

She also should have known better than to wear shoes that weren’t completely broken in.

Natalie grimaced as she continued walking. It was only a few more blocks, but she was sweltering in her sober brown suit, she was hungry and every corner where crowds converged to await the signal to cross a street added to her irritation.

Chuck had called her the previous evening to say he missed her and that the days dragged without her. She had been miserable in her lonely hotel room where the droning of the TV was the only sound that broke the silence. Talking to him had lifted her spirits to the point where she sincerely began questioning her former feelings. Chuck was such a great guy. When she was new and uncertain at the CDC, he had been gracious and willing to help her with every problem. There had never been a hint of condescension in his voice or mockery in his gaze—unlike her brief encounters with the obnoxious Detective Tomasini.

Natalie stared at the flashing street signal, then finally admitted to herself the true source of her irritation. George had committed her to completing all the lab work connected with the Winslow case and she had spent the past week conducting tests on samples of the Winslow barbecue food. She had known what to expect, yet the discovery of Candoxine residue in the lemonade had made her flesh crawl. With that grisly finding behind her, she had spent her spare time at the Health Department lab occupying herself with studies regarding the ongoing West Nile virus problem in NYC and its environs. She was enjoying her participation in that important project. The work was intriguing. It took her mind off the Winslow case, and she was pleased with Dr. Gregory’s reaction to her initial efforts; yet as far as she was concerned, she wanted nothing more than to get as far away from the rapidly developing murder investigation as possible.

Also, if she were totally honest, she would have to admit that she was dreading another session with the odious detective in charge of the Winslow case.

Natalie waited impatiently for the signal to change as swiftly moving street traffic roared past and the crowd built up on the corner behind her. The image of Detective Tomasini’s mocking expression returned to mind, and her irritation swelled. Captain Wilthauer had insisted that her presence was necessary at this meeting so she could be brought up to date on the most recent information received on the case. He had also explained that he needed her help in alerting all his detectives to specific information regarding the properties of Candoxine that were essential at this point in the case. The call was a testament to her credibility—yet her discomfort did not abate.

Dr. Ruberg’s reaction to Detective Tomasini still mystified her. She simply could not fathom how such an intelligent woman could find a man like him appealing. Tomasini was—

Natalie gasped as whispered words and a lightning fast thrust in the middle of her back sent her lurching forward into the street.

Her horrified scream was simultaneous with the screech of an approaching limo’s brakes and the sharp, breathtaking burst of pain that sent her spiraling into darkness.



“A CONCUSSION…needs to rest…needs to be careful for the next week, at least…”

Mumbling and disjointed phrases in soft tones roused Natalie to wakefulness. She attempted to open her eyes, but the light hurt, and she squeezed her eyes shut again.

Finally peering out from between slitted eyelids, she saw an attractive woman in a lab coat move into her line of vision. The woman questioned, “How do you feel, Natalie? My name is Dr. Weiss. I’ve been taking care of you since your accident.”

Accident? No. It wasn’t an accident. She knew that because—

The pounding in her head started again and she couldn’t remember.

The doctor cautioned, “Lie still, please. You have a concussion. Bystanders pulled you out of the path of an oncoming car just in time when you fell into the street, but you struck your head on the curb. Headaches, scraped knees and a general soreness notwithstanding, you should be all right in a few days. You were lucky. The accident could have been fatal.”

“Not an accident…”

The doctor turned to a shadowed figure near the doorway that mumbled something in response. Natalie strained to see the person, but her vision blurred and she closed her eyes.

“What did you say, Natalie?” The doctor’s voice again. “I couldn’t understand you.”

Her eyes still closed, Natalie replied with a touch of breathlessness, “Not an accident…someone pushed me.”

The doctor shook her head sympathetically. “I’m sorry. Such careless behavior is unforgivable, but unfortunately all too common in a crowded city.”

“Not an accident,” Natalie repeated. She raised her hand to her head as a vague memory nagged. A pain stabbed sharply and she rasped, “Somebody shoved me. I felt it.”

The doctor turned back briefly toward the doorway, then replied, “We can discuss this later, Natalie. You’re in no condition to talk now.”

Her stomach suddenly queasy, Natalie insisted faintly, “It wasn’t an accident…” before surrendering to the encroaching darkness.



“WHAT DID she say?” Brady stood near the entrance to Natalie’s hospital room. He frowned as Dr. Weiss approached, awaiting her response.

“She said the accident wasn’t an accident. Somebody pushed her.” Dr. Weiss glanced at his left hand with a look that was slightly less than professional. She smiled at the absence of a ring as she continued, “I wouldn’t take what she said too seriously, though, Detective. It’s quite normal to be confused after a head injury. Somebody at the back of the crowd might have pushed a little too hard and caused her to fall into the street, but I doubt it. It’s been my experience that she probably won’t even remember what she said when she wakes up again.”

Brady shook his head. “Somehow I don’t think so, Doctor. She’s a very precise woman. She doesn’t make haphazard statements.”

Drawing Brady into the busy hospital corridor, Dr. Weiss asked, “Is that why you’re here, in an official capacity because she claims she was pushed?”

“No, I’m here because—” Brady paused. Yes, why was he here? Wilthauer had called for a squad meeting with Natalie Patterson because of the fax he’d received from Manderling. They had waited impatiently for her to arrive, only to receive a phone call from Dr. Gregory when she was already an hour late, informing them that Natalie had had an accident, that she had been taken to the hospital unconscious and that he was on his way there. Dr. Gregory had said he’d let them know more about her condition as soon as the information became available.

Brady hadn’t been inclined to wait.

Dr. Gregory and he arrived at the hospital within minutes of each other to find Natalie still unconscious. Satisfied that her injury wasn’t life-threatening, Dr. Gregory had gone back to his office. Not quite certain of the reason, Brady had stayed.

It had occurred to Brady as he watched Natalie lying in the hospital bed, a bruised patch on her forehead where she had received several stitches and raw, scraped palms the only visible signs of her injuries, that she looked far different from the self-possessed academic that she had sought to appear to be when they had previously met. Instead, she looked young, innocent, and so damned helpless and alone that it twisted him up inside. He wasn’t sure if what he felt was guilt for the way he had acted toward her or if—

Dr. Weiss asked at his continued hesitation, “Is Natalie a friend of yours?”

“We’re working together on a case.” Brady considered his response further, noting the spark of interest in the striking doctor’s eyes and the bare finger on her left hand, which still bore the mark of a ring. The doctor was obviously recently divorced and making certain he knew she was available. Under other circumstances, he might’ve been flattered enough to accept the doctor’s unspoken invitation. Instead, he heard himself add, “But she’s a…special friend.”

“Oh. She’s luckier than I thought.” Dr. Weiss added with a shrug of her shoulders, “Stay as long as you like, Detective. She should wake up soon.”

“Right.”

Brady watched the sway of Dr. Weiss’s hips as she strode down the hallway. Interesting. Dr. Weiss obviously had plenty to offer, and he had just turned it all down. For the life of him, he didn’t know why.

Brady glanced into Natalie’s room.

Not an accident. Somebody pushed me. I felt it.

Brady walked back inside, pulled the armchair closer to the bed, and sat down.



CONSCIOUSNESS CAME slowly and painfully. The throbbing in her head had not subsided, but the semidarkness of the room was a relief when Natalie opened her eyes and attempted to get her bearings.

Memory nagged again and fear stabbed her gut. She had been standing on a street corner waiting for the light to change when someone had deliberately pushed her into the path of an oncoming car.

Accident…accident…

Natalie closed her eyes, unable to hold back the tear that slipped out the corner of her eye as the pounding in her head increased. She gasped when a calloused hand smoothed it away and a deep voice said, “Are you all right, Natalie?”

She recognized that voice.

Natalie opened her eyes to the image that had haunted her angry thoughts for the past week. She said in a croaking voice, “What are you doing here?”

Detective Brady Tomasini smiled as he responded, “It’s nice to know you’re glad to see me.” It took Natalie a moment to realize she’d never seen him smile before. The transformation was startling.

He sobered as he asked, “How do you feel, Natalie? Do you want me to call the doctor?”

“Natalie?” she continued hoarsely, “When did we get on a first-name basis?”

“When they brought you into the hospital unconscious.” He asked again, “Do you want me to call the doctor?”

“No. I’m not ready for her yet.”

“The nurse?”

“No.”

“Your supper came while you were sleeping—a liquid diet, I think. Do you want anything?”

Natalie shuddered. “No.”

“Some water?”

Natalie eyed him cautiously, “Why are you being so nice?”

“All I did was ask if you wanted some water.”

Natalie swallowed with difficulty, then said, “Yes.”

She was uncertain how to react when Tomasini held the cup close to her lips and tilted the straw into her mouth, but she swallowed thankfully.

A sudden thought occurred to her and she asked abruptly, “Am I dying?”

Amused, Tomasini replied, “Not that I know of.”

“Then why—?”

“You were late for the meeting at the precinct, and Dr. Gregory called and said you’d had an accident.”

“It wasn’t an accident.”

All sign of levity disappeared from Tomasini’s expression. “That’s what you told the doctor this afternoon when you woke up the first time.”

“It wasn’t an accident.” Natalie closed her eyes again as the pounding in her head increased. She persisted with her eyes closed, “Somebody pushed me. I felt his hands.”

Natalie opened her eyes slowly. Tomasini wasn’t laughing.

“Dr. Weiss said the sensation of being pushed was probably just a result of your concussion.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

He looked amused again. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

Natalie took a deep breath, winced at the effort, and said, “Why would somebody push me, Detective?”

“Brady.”

“What?”

“My first name is Brady. In answer to your question, I don’t know.” He added, “I’m not even completely sure I can believe what you’re telling me now. You might wake up tomorrow and forget everything you just said.”

“Somebody pushed me!”

“All right, don’t get angry. They’ll throw me out of here if I upset you.”

The sound of footsteps turned them both toward the door as a gray-haired nurse entered. Her cheerful voice reverberated in the silence of the room as she said, “So you’re awake at last. Good for you! Maybe this fellow will go home, now that he sees you’re all right.” She smiled as she turned back toward the door. “Dr. Weiss is still on call. I’ll bring her back to take a look at you. I’ll only be a minute.”

Natalie looked at Brady as the nurse left the room. She said, “You’ve been here all day?”

“No, only since they put you in here.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Have I been sitting here, waiting for you to wake up? Yes. Why? Because when you first opened your eyes, you claimed someone deliberately pushed you into the street. For some reason, I believed you and I wondered why somebody would want to kill you.”

“Kill me…” A chill ran down Natalie’s spine. “Somehow I didn’t think of it that way.”

“What did you think?”

“I don’t know.”

Natalie saw him frown as he searched her face. She noted the concern that knit his dark brows and she wondered what he saw. A slowly escalating fear gained control as she asked, “Who would want to kill me?”

“That’s what I was going to ask you. It could’ve been a random act—some psychopath with a grudge against something or other. Unfortunately, that kind of thing does happen occasionally.”

“No…I don’t think so. It was—” Memory nudged again and Natalie shuddered. Her breathing grew agitated as the memory cleared and she gasped, “It wasn’t random.”

“How do you know that?” Brady moved closer. He gripped her hand as she started to shake. He said tensely, “Natalie?”

“I know because—” Natalie’s breath quivered on her lips. Her eyes widened as she managed to choke out the words, “Because…he said my name.”



BRADY INSTINCTIVELY moved closer. He held her hand tighter, but she was suddenly trembling so badly that her teeth were chattering. Leaning closer, he whispered against her cheek, “Don’t be afraid, Natalie. You’re safe now.”

Natalie mumbled with growing incoherence, “How did this happen? I don’t understand. He said my name…my name…”

She moaned and twisted in bed. A wave of panic overwhelmed Brady and he pressed the call button. Where the hell was everybody? He turned as Dr. Weiss ordered sharply from behind him, “Step back, Detective. Move out of the way, please.”

Brady drew back to the far wall and watched as Dr. Weiss talked softly, responding to Natalie’s increasingly confused mumblings. He saw her speak to the nurse, then accept the syringe the nurse handed her a few minutes later. After injecting it into the IV, Dr. Weiss turned toward him to say, “Perhaps you’d better leave for a little while, Detective. There are some things I’ll need to take care of here that’ll take me a half hour or so. Don’t worry. Natalie will be fine while you’re gone.”

Nodding, Brady started toward the door. He had reached the hallway when he heard Dr. Weiss call out, “Wait a minute, please.” Drawing him outside the room a few moments later, Dr. Weiss said, “I heard what Natalie told you, Detective, but you have to understand that situations like this are quite common with head trauma. Natalie may even come up with more alarming delusions before this is over. She’s confused…frightened. She’s had a terrible experience and her mind is trying to make sense out of it. In my opinion, it wouldn’t be wise to put too much credence into what she says for another day, at least until she’s completely coherent.”

“You could be right, Doctor.” Refusing to add that she could also be wrong—dead wrong—Brady said, “You said you’d be busy here for a while?”

“About half an hour, at least. Natalie needs to be made more comfortable before she’s settled in for the night.” She hesitated. “Why don’t you go down to the cafeteria and get yourself a cup of coffee? I’ll make sure somebody stays with her until you return, if that’s what’s concerning you.” She patted his arm. “She’ll be much better tomorrow. You’ll see.”

Brady walked rapidly down the hospital corridor, his expression tense. He didn’t like this. Dr. Weiss could be right, of course. Everything Natalie had said could be a result of her injury, but he didn’t buy it.

Brady scrutinized the surrounding rooms as he passed. He had half an hour. Visiting hours were in effect, making it difficult as he searched the faces of the crowd moving down the hallway, but he also knew there was safety in numbers. With Dr. Weiss and the nurse in Natalie’s room, and with steady traffic moving past, Natalie would be safe enough for a while—at least long enough for him to get outside so he could use his cell phone to call the precinct and to make a quick call to the veterinary hospital.

Sarah was going to miss his nightly visit.

Wilthauer would have a fit when he called.

Stansky would be sure he’d gone crazy.

Hell, maybe he had.

Brady rang the elevator and waited anxiously. Actually, no one was more surprised than he was at the range of emotions Natalie—a virtual stranger—had raised in him. A few hours earlier, he had been gritting his teeth at the thought of seeing her at that precinct meeting; yet the moment he saw her lying in that hospital bed, battered, bruised and so damned helpless—

Brady felt an inexplicable heat rise to his face. He’d find the animal who’d pushed Natalie into the street and make sure the bastard never tried anything like that again.

He had half an hour.

The elevator doors opened and Brady stepped inside. He automatically scanned the hallway again as the elevator doors closed.



DR. HADDEN MOORE strode down the hospital hallway at a modest pace. It was almost nine o’clock and daylight was fading on the busy streets outside. Inside the hospital, the hallways had cleared of visitors and the nurses were busy dispensing meds before the patients were settled down for the night.

He wasn’t concerned by the late hour. Visiting hours didn’t apply to him. Dressed as he was in a white lab coat he had removed from the hospital linen closet, and with a stethoscope around his neck that he had found lying nearby, no one gave him a second look. The nurses’ station was vacant when he strolled past and he picked up a chart without challenge. Yet it didn’t really matter if he were challenged. He had a Ph.D. and he was completely confident that he was capable of carrying off his disguise in a convincing manner.

Hadden halted and leaned down toward the water fountain, frowning as Dr. Rita Weiss strode toward the elevator. Dr. Weiss was late leaving the hospital. His short visit to the emergency room earlier that day had been very informative. Natalie Patterson had been brought in and her injuries treated. She had been admitted and her care turned over to the recently divorced, efficient Dr. Weiss, whom a chatty clerk had helpfully pointed out to him. He had then gone to the cafeteria to pass the time until Natalie was situated in her room, the location of which the clerk had also cheerfully provided.

He had waited patiently until a later hour when he knew he could make his entrance virtually without being noticed.

His smile faltered as he approached Natalie’s room. Aware of the merits of well-planned strategy, he had resumed his surveillance of Natalie’s daily routine since she’d been assigned to the city, but she had emerged from her hotel later than usual that morning, surprising him. He had followed her covertly and had watched as she walked to the corner, failing again and again to hail a cab before finally boarding a bus in frustration.

He’d boarded the bus behind her, but she did not even look his way.

Disembarking from the rear door of the bus at the same stop as Natalie, he had then followed her cautiously as she continued on through the heavy pedestrian traffic.

He saw her irritation when she stopped at the last street corner and waited for the light to change. The crowd behind her swelled in size as she stood on the curb, alternating on obviously aching feet, and it was then that he realized he had been presented with an opportunity too irresistible for him to turn down.

No one paid attention to him as he slipped up behind Natalie in the crowd. Nor did anyone notice when, in a flash of movement too quick to perceive, he pressed the flat of his hands into the curve of her back and shoved her into the street.

He had been euphoric. Yet his euphoria came to an abrupt end only seconds later when two fellows managed to jerk her out of the limo’s path. She struck her head on the curb as they did.

He supposed that was why neither of the men had waited around after the ambulance arrived. But by that time the situation had slipped beyond his control. He’d had no recourse but to follow the ambulance in a cab in order to find out the result of his effort.

And now here he was…determined to finish what he had started.

Hadden neared Natalie’s hospital room, his heart pounding. He was about to step inside when the unexpected sight of Detective Tomasini of the NYPD dozing in a chair beside her bed halted him.

Damn the man! What was he doing here?

Hadden pulled back without being seen, then stared at Natalie lying so still in the hospital bed. Her long, dark hair was stretched across the pillow in sharp contrast with the stark white of the bed linens and the bandage she wore on her forehead. She was petite, silent, her small features delicately composed, the long, black fans of her eyelashes lying like lush crescent moons against her pale cheeks. Surrounded in immaculate white, the pale beam of light shining down on her in the semidarkness forming a gleaming halo around her head, she looked like a celestial being—innocent and so completely pure that she stole his breath.

He paused at that thought.

But Natalie Patterson wasn’t pure, and she wasn’t celestial. She was the lab technician who had foiled his perfect revenge and because of her, the entire NYPD would soon be out searching for him.

Hatred surged hotly through him as Hadden turned abruptly and started back down the hallway.

He’d be back.




Chapter Four


The sound of morning activity in the hospital corridor beyond Natalie’s door woke Brady abruptly. Angry with himself for having dozed, he glanced at the bed a few feet away where Natalie slept, breathing easily. Her color had improved and her features were relaxed. Her sleep appeared to be natural and presently devoid of the nightmares that had awakened her several times during the night.

Brady rubbed his palm across his stubbled jaw, then ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to restore a sense of order to his disheveled appearance as he pushed himself upright in the chair. He recalled Natalie’s incoherent mumblings jarring him from his semisleep during the night and the sudden panic that had snapped her eyes open. He had moved to her side spontaneously. He had comforted her, telling her she didn’t need to be afraid, that he was there and he’d protect her. He had whispered reassuringly until her breathing became normal, and he had suffered a sense of helplessness when she awoke again, tortured by the same frightening torments. The experience had been bittersweet as she turned to him in her terror; yet as confusing as his feelings had become, he was certain of one thing—he would protect her with his life.

His attitude toward her had changed drastically. He couldn’t be sure if guilt at his misjudgment of Natalie was responsible; if having misjudged her once, he was anxious not to repeat the same mistake, especially when the stakes were so high. Or if his reaction to her utter helplessness was what had kept him sitting at her bedside, holding her hand until she fell back to sleep again.

It annoyed him that he’d been unable to remain awake all night, but he had consoled himself that he had been immediately alert each time someone stepped into the room, that he had diligently checked all medication and IV changes that had been conducted during that time—all of which, he recognized, would be a complete waste of time if Natalie woke up and recanted her story about being pushed into the street.

Yet, he somehow knew she would not.

Despite Dr. Weiss’s warning, there had been something about Natalie’s adamancy, and the look in those heavily lidded gray eyes that made him believe her when she repeated, He said my name.

He supposed he might not have given those four words much credence if not for the chilling fax he had received from Manderling Pharmaceuticals and his realization that only a madman could be guilty of the atrocity Dr. Hadden Moore was suspected of having committed. The knowledge that Moore might still be in the city was a major concern. Brady knew that if Moore were guilty, he would realize that having identified Candoxine as the cause of the Winslow barbecue deaths, Natalie had set the police on his trail. The possible repercussions of that scenario, considering Natalie’s “accident,” were too disturbing to ignore.

Truth is stranger than fiction. Brady was too familiar with that maxim to disregard it.

Brady glanced back at Natalie, recalling the way she had clutched his hand until she fell asleep—so tightly that she had surprised him with her strength. She was so slight that she—

Natalie’s eyes fluttered open, interrupting Brady’s thoughts. She stared at him a moment before she said, “Are you still here?”

“Yeah.” Brady moved closer to the bed. “Something wrong with that?”

“You were here all night, weren’t you?”

Brady nodded.

“Why?”

“Let me see.” Brady moved closer still and looked down into her pale face. “You had an accident on the street.”

“It wasn’t an accident.”

“And you said it wasn’t an accident, that somebody pushed you.”

“Somebody did.”

“Maybe I believed you and figured you’d need somebody to stay with you for a while.”

Natalie searched his face, frowning.

“And maybe I stayed because I owe you an apology.”

“An apology…”

“Because I was tired and irritable that first day I met you and I acted like an ass. Because I was wrong and needed to tell you I was wrong.”

“What about the second day?”

Brady smiled. “I was an ass then, too.”

Natalie nodded.

“And I also wanted to tell you that—”

A sound at the door turned them toward Dr. Weiss as she stopped still and said, “Excuse me. Am I interrupting something?”

“No.” Brady stood up. “Come on in.”

Dr. Weiss glanced between them as she approached the bed. She said, “Well, you look a lot better today, Natalie. That’s more than I can say for your friend here. How do you feel?”

“Somewhat better.”

Brady started toward the door and Dr. Weiss said, “I’ll be done here shortly, Detective. Also, there’s a uniformed officer waiting for you at the nurses’ station. He said you’re expecting him.”

“Right.”

“Brady?”

Brady looked back when Natalie called after him with uncertainty. He responded to her unasked question. “I’ll be back.”

It occurred to Brady as he stepped into the hallway and the officer at the desk started toward him that he suddenly felt like smiling.

Why?

The answer to that was embarrassingly simple. It was because Natalie hadn’t wanted him to leave.



BRADY PULLED THE DOOR of the precinct station house open and strode inside, squinting as his eyes acclimated to the darkness within. He swore under his breath as he tripped over a carton of snack cakes beside the vending machine that was being refilled. He glared at the service attendant, mumbled an apology and moved the carton out of his way, then turned toward the squad room in the rear where Wilthauer was waiting. He was late. It had taken him longer than he had expected to get cleaned up, change his clothes and negotiate the traffic for his morning meeting. The fact that Wilthauer was waiting was already one count against him.

In Wilthauer’s office minutes later, with Stansky standing silently nearby, Brady insisted, “You know damned well Natalie Patterson will need protection, at least until she leaves that hospital. She can’t protect herself and since she’s the possible target of a homicidal maniac and somebody already tried to push her into the path of an oncoming car, I’d say we have no choice.”

“Possible target of a homicidal maniac? Don’t you think you’re going a little overboard on this, Tomasini? I don’t have the statistics, but I’d say similar, unfortunate accidents like the one that happened to Patterson, have been known to occur more often than we care to admit in this city.”

“It wasn’t an accident. Somebody pushed her.”

“So she says.”

“I believe her.”

“Maybe somebody did push her, some careless bastard in a rush who—”

“She said that careless bastard called her by name.”

“What do you mean?”

“She said he whispered her name before he shoved her into the street. There’s nothing accidental about that, and you know damned well I wouldn’t be making a case of it if I didn’t believe it was true.”

“Come on…”

“Natalie’s not the type to cry wolf, I tell you.”

“You haven’t gotten far enough in this investigation to be sure what type this Patterson woman is, or to be sure if this Moore character is still in the country—if he is the perpetrator.”

“He’s the one. He had motive and the opportunity to obtain the Candoxine. You know that as well as I do. And I’ll make you a bet that as soon as we do some checking to determine his location, we’ll find out—”

Breaking his silence, Stansky interjected, “I’ve already checked on Moore’s location. There’s no record of his return to England…or of his leaving the U.S., for that matter. He’s still in this country somewhere as far as the records show.” At Brady’s inquiring glance, he added, “What did you think I was doing while you were babysitting at the hospital all day?”

Brady looked back at Wilthauer’s frown. “What does that tell you?”

“That you’re both jumping to conclusions.”

“I don’t know. Are we?”

Brady stared at Wilthauer boldly. Damn, the man was hardheaded! He’d been able to get a uniform stationed at Natalie’s door temporarily, but he knew temporarily wouldn’t do. He said, “Look, Captain, we can’t afford to take the risk. If Natalie gets attacked again and the attack succeeds, there’ll be hell to pay. Natalie’s the golden girl of the CDC. They won’t take it lightly that we didn’t protect her.”

He knew he had hit the bull’s-eye with that thought when Wilthauer hesitated, then responded, “All right. You win. I’ll keep a uniform outside the Patterson woman’s hospital door until she’s released, but remember, we can’t provide protection for an extended period. We don’t have the manpower to spare, so find this Moore guy and make it quick. Manderling provided us with his picture. Leak it to the newspapers. Notify the networks. Flood the town with his picture, and then get set for the deluge. If he’s still around, you’ll get him.”




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